.-.

Beneath

Chapter Two-Hundred Five – Scales

Loki settled into his chair, still warm from the person Finnulfur had hurried out of it when Loki showed up unannounced.

"What can I do for you?" Finnulfur asked as he took his seat behind his desk.

"I have some questions. We can start with how many lashes can be administered in one day."

Finnulfur showed no sign of surprise. "It depends on a number of factors. Age, health, the physical conditions surrounding the flogging, such as whether the prisoner must stand. Whether and how soon healing is permitted. Whether a flogging was also administered recently, and if so, the conditions surrounding that flogging. It sounds complicated, but the guidelines are straightforward. If you tell me what you're thinking, I can advise you as to its permissibility."

"Such concern Asgardian law exhibits for the care of its murderers. Quite unexpected."

Finnulfur immediately looked down. Shame. Loki found it gratifying, and waited patiently for the response. "Asgardian law is forever a work in progress. Despite many changes and refinements over the millennia, flaws remain."

"Mmm. I see. Eighteen lashes per day, with the prisoner standing. Age and health I assume pose no issue."

"Ten is the maximum if healing isn't permitted in between. Assuming healing is administered, then, for how many consecutive days?"

"Eighteen?"

"Yes, it is permissible."

"What about one thousand and thirty days? The inappropriately symbolic eighteen, which suggests punishment would be lighter had Baldur been a child, plus the more appropriate thousand and twelve, for each year of silence?"

"That would be nearly three years. Only one year of consecutive daily lashes of any number is permitted without a break for recovery. After the required recovery period, though, floggings may resume, and yes, one thousand and thirty days is within the law. The maximum period allowed is five years."

Loki nodded. He'd not been flogged, but some of this was still familiar from his own experience. If he had been told at the time what was general law and what was specific to the terms of his punishment, however, he'd never absorbed that information. "And if I wish him to walk on his own feet from his prison cell to the site of the flogging? And to return to his cell the same way for his healing, with his back bared?"

"Permissible, if the usual locations are used. Although if the prisoner cannot walk, he must be provided transportation. A horse, horse-drawn conveyance, or, if he cannot manage even that, a litter."

"And if I want the execution done more swiftly, what's the maximum permissible number of lashes on consecutive days? Standing, with healing permitted in between?"

"Fifty. Although in this case, after one month a period of respite is required."

"Fifty," Loki repeated with raised eyebrow. "A thousand and thirty lashes could be delivered in well under a month." It was better than dragging it out for three years. Much as he wanted those blows to rain down on Geirmund's back, though, much as wanted to extend Geirmund's suffering, he also wanted it to be over and done with right away. He didn't glory in the grisliness of executions, but he could hardly be absent from this one. Whether it was three years from now or a month from now or a week from now, he would have to return to Asgard for it. And while he could not for certain say he would never return to Asgard, he hated the idea of something tying him to such a specific schedule of return, not to mention so soon. Perhaps if he came in disguise…but no. He should be seen there. Geirmund should see him. The whole of Asgard should see him. It was frustrating. He could insist the first lashes be delivered immediately, leave Asgard, return in time for the last few days of lashes and the execution. A worthy sacrifice. He didn't have to remain afterward. "If I want the flogging to take place at the site of Baldur's death?" he asked as soon as the idea came to him.

"Yes, it's permissible."

"No, that wouldn't be right," he mumbled, picturing it. Baldur had drawn his last breaths there. The place should not be sullied by drops of Geirmund's blood where Baldur's had been spilled. Eighteen lashes would probably not break the skin of a healthy grown Aesir. Fifty, though, might. "He should be skewered with a thousand and thirty arrows of mistletoe. But they would do nothing to him."

"It would be unusual…"

"Yes?" Loki prompted, surprised that Finnulfur was seriously considering his offhand remark and entirely implausible idea.

"He could be struck with arrows, proper ones, if that is what you want. An equivalence would need to be determined."

Finnulfur's face was drawn; Loki could tell he did not care for this idea. Loki, in truth, did not care for it, either, now that he himself was seriously considering it. The ax was simple, clean, final. Floggings, too, as the standard physical punishment, were straightforward, carried out with precision and without fuss. Perhaps, in the end, keeping things simple would be best. Why should Geirmund's name outlive him for the infamy of his unique, terrible punishment?

He wasn't done thinking about this, but at the moment he had no more questions for Finnulfur.

Not about this.

The questions he had asked he could have sent a servant to deliver, and received back all the information he required. Yet he'd come in person.

"At what point did you become convinced I was guilty?"

Finnulfur drew in a slow breath that hitched; Loki realized he was holding his. He had always respected the Chief Magistrate. He wasn't certain, because of the maelstrom of the emotions of that day, of that entire period, but as far as he recalled, he'd respected Finnulfur even as the man told him he'd been judged guilty and the law called for his death. Upon reconsideration he thought the memory was perhaps inaccurate, though, for he also remembered spewing vile invective at Odin, all rational thought driven out of him, as Odin explained the details of his substitute punishment, and in those days he'd respected no one more than his own supposed father. Those memories were imperfect, regardless of how old they were, and it had nothing to do with The Other's attempts at memory-warping.

"Not until I had reviewed the presentations and all of the evidence. It's no comfort, I know, but the decision was not made lightly, nor was there a rush to judgement. I was certain I had weighed everything as carefully as I possibly could have. Obviously, of course, I was wrong. We all were, but I want you to know that as First Magistrate I take full responsibility for this debacle."

Finnulfur looked away, and Loki, uninterested in absolving anyone for what had happened back then or even discussing it after that encounter with Odin, waited for him to continue.

"I think of the law, and of justice, neither as something personal, existing for each individual, nor as something abstract, whether words on a page to be defended to the letter or philosophies to be interpreted, but primarily as a societal pact. Asgard remains stable and calm in large measure because its laws and their careful, consistent application ensure that everyone from an orphaned youth living in near poverty to a prince of the realm can trust that with regard to the law, when standing before a magistrate whether as accused, accuser, or witness, they are the same. You cannot have ever felt fully secure on Asgard after this faulty judgement. And now that we all know it was faulty…even I do not feel secure. If a people do not feel secure…I fear for what may follow. Changes are required. I—"

"They are not the same."

"Pardon?"

"Vidgdis and I. We are not the same. Not on any level, certainly including when standing before a magistrate. Had Vigdis or anyone else who was not a prince of the realm been declared guilty of Baldur's murder, she or he would have been executed. I would have been executed."

"Yes. And no. Before me you would have been the same. Before each of the other magistrates as well."

"I was before you. Yet I was not executed. To be clear, I'm generally glad of that much, at least."

"That had very little to do with me. You don't know how that came about?" Finnulfur asked, reacting to the confusion Loki wasn't hiding.

"I know what you said. That I could not be executed because the death of the king's son could not be made right by the death of another of the king's sons."

"I'm certain I didn't phrase it precisely so. But in essence, yes, I said that. The impetus for it, however, did not come from me. We had already held our first meeting, the other magistrates and I, after each of us individually reviewed all of the evidence. We had already shared the decision we had each separately come to. That you were guilty." Finnulfur paused, but not for long. "We each knew what that meant: the ax. There was no question of it. Deciding to condemn someone to death always weighs heavily, even more so in your case, but there was no discussion of applying the law differently. Not until your father came to me, in secret."

Despite himself, Loki was intrigued. A secret meeting between Odin and Finnulfur? He had always thought Odin had stayed out of it until the decision was reached, whereupon he'd taken the reins with both hands.

"He had surmised what the judgement would be. He said he couldn't lose you, too. He asked me to find a way to spare your life, while remaining within the law. It was quite inappropriate, him coming to me like that, and I told him so. I was uncomfortable with it, but he persuaded me, and I told him I would do my best. Had it been left solely in my hands, mine and the other magistrates', you would not be sitting here. Your father is the only reason you're alive."

Loki gripped the arms of his chair as the office seemed to spin. "Your father is the only reason you're alive." The words swam amid memories and imagined memories, merging them together. Condemned to death for the crime of crafting a weak arrow that someone else had altered to ensure his brother's death, condemned to death for the crime of being a burden to the woman whose womb had produced him. And there was Odin, plucking him up from the ice for a life of privilege and fruitless striving, plucking him out from under the ax for years under a serpent and a lifetime of a false burden. Scratching at the dark recesses of his mind was the thought that Odin shouldn't have bothered, that he and everyone else would have been better off. Baldur, after all, would still be alive if it weren't for him; he had figured out the mistletoe exception, and he had shaped it into an arrow. Geirmund had acted on the means Loki had provided.

"It wasn't your fault," he heard Jane saying, and pushed those thoughts aside.

So he owed his life to Odin. Twice. The first time, there had been a plan. Oh, perhaps Odin had been overcome with sentiment, too, in the aftermath of a brutal war, but Asgard's king had taken him for a purpose. The second time…why? What purpose had there been in letting him live, when Odin believed he had murdered a true Odinson? According to Odin, the plan to install him on Jotunheim's throne was no more. Frigga had confirmed that, telling him that it had been discarded when he was just five years old.

And then it clicked. Frigga. Odin had surely known her well enough to know that no matter how much her grief and distress and anger shadowed her heart at that time, no matter how much she turned away from her second son, her heart's strength was immense. One day the shadow would be cast off and she would want to reclaim her rejected son regardless of how much he had cost her. Odin had perhaps seen him as a consolation prize. He could easily imagine that. "It is not within my means to return our beloved Baldur to you, but I can give you Loki, years from now, when his remorse is sincere and when perhaps you'll want to see him again."

He was glad to be alive. That didn't mean he had to be grateful to Odin for it.

With effort he turned his attention back to Finnulfur, sitting there, watching him, waiting. Broken. Loki didn't think he had ever looked like that himself, so physically destroyed, but he'd felt it behind masks of bravado, walled it off behind pressurized fountains of rage. Finnulfur wasn't trying to build up Odin in Loki's eyes; he was making plain the enormity of his own error, the extent to which he'd botched the most significant trial of his career. He wasn't looking for absolution, and Loki still wasn't inclined to give it, even though seeing Finnulfur like this brought no pleasure, either.

"Enlightening," Loki finally said in a droll tone.

"I hadn't realized you didn't know. I gave no oath of secrecy; there was no need, for we all recognized that His Majesty's involvement needed to remain hidden. I simply did not assume that to include hidden from you. I cannot regret telling you, however. I'll not misrepresent myself. Credit is not the word for it, given what you endured in place of execution, but I cannot accept any consolation for the fact that you live."

"Thank you for the clarification. It's important to know how it came about that one's head remains attached to one's neck."

"It's important to be honest about it, at least."

"I do wish Roalnur still lived," Loki said, giving up trying to needle Finnulfur, since he wasn't reacting to the barbed responses.

"If he did, the shame would kill him."

"I might like to see that."

"He was considered a skilled, capable advocate. I didn't note anything deficient in his performance at the time, and I don't wish to cast blame on him for what is ultimately my failure, regardless. But…from your perspective, working more closely with him…did you observe any problems? Any lack of commitment or preparation? Anything?"

Loki brought his hands together and steepled his fingers, gaze drifting off vaguely in the direction of one of the bookcases in the office, as though to ponder Finnulfur's question. "I believe that enduring that trial once was more than enough. I have no interest in revisiting it and weighing its merits and demerits. His role was to show that I was innocent, when I was in fact innocent, and yet I was judged guilty. I think it's fairly obvious there was a problem."

"Yes, that much is obvious indeed. I understand your unwillingness to be put to any test over this again, and I don't mean to do that. I do have another question, however, that I would appreciate your insight on, if you're willing to give it."

"I don't promise an answer, but you may ask," Loki said, extending a hand in invitation before dropping them both back to the arms of his chair. He was losing patience and ready to leave, but he was also mildly curious; Finnulfur usually asked good questions.

"Should we have employed a means of compelling truth? Would you have wanted to submit yourself to such a means, in order to prove that you spoke the truth?"

Loki sat in silence, all words failing him, right along with breath. This had to be purely hypothetical. Finnulfur's tone was so matter-of-fact, though, as if speaking of the most mundane of tonics. "Precisely what means are you referring to? I'm unaware of the existence of such a thing." That wasn't entirely true. He'd heard rumors. Elixirs or enchantments that worked imperfectly, one he'd even gotten hold of and tested on Thor, with Thor's – the idiot's – permission. The results hadn't done anything to convince Loki such a thing worked.

"There was a project, long ago. Well before your birth. Asgard pursued various means of compelling truth, or else prohibiting falsehoods. They were all banned, for various reasons, and the knowledge of them suppressed and hidden. I ask you, by the way, to protect this secret. You can imagine that such things could present a danger."

All boredom gone, Loki was riveted. Multiple means of ensuring truth? They must have worked; else they wouldn't have been banned. "Banned for what various reasons? Why do you speak in such vague generalities?"

"As a Prince of Asgard you may know all of it, if you wish. I was simply trying to avoid going too far off on a tangent. They were banned due to unreliable results or serious side effects, or both. I believe everyone involved recognized in the end that it should have been obvious that it wouldn't work. 'Truth' and 'lie' are simple terms for inordinately complex concepts. Take a simple question such as…'Are you alive?'" The answer seems obvious enough, doesn't it? You breathe, your heart beats, your brain is a hive of electrical pulses. A simple truth, a simple 'yes.' But what if upon hearing this question, instead of thinking first of lungs and heart and brain, you think of fulfillment? Of joy? Of a sense of worth? Perhaps you lack those things in the moment the question is asked. 'Are you alive?' Might you not answer 'no' just as truthfully as you could have answered 'yes'? A poor example, perhaps, but I'm sure you can see how interpretation of a question can affect its answer in ways that go beyond mere truth and lie. Similarly self-deception, differing perspectives and understandings, in certain contexts the instinct to lie out of kindness or politeness, the-"

"Out of fear," Loki put in, thoughts, racing.

Finnulfur gave a wan smile. "Most techniques would probably work on that."

"Unreliable results, then. And side effects?"

"Yes. Some were overly physically or mentally taxing. Volunteers lost consciousness, or lost muscle control while remaining conscious, experienced spasms, heart tremors…the list goes on and on. Interfering at the juncture of the brain's physical functioning and multiple depth levels of thought and conscience and will is difficult and risky. Perhaps given enough time and experimentation we could have perfected one of these methods. But at the heart of the matter also lay the question of honor. If a person is compelled by some artificial means to speak the truth, is he or she not diminished? The implicit message is that this person has no honor, and cannot be trusted to speak the truth absent external interference. And if, as a society, we take that message to heart…would anyone trust anyone else without this external guarantee of truthfulness?"

No matter which angle of it momentarily monopolized Loki's attention, he was fascinated. And he understood immediately that the question of honor, and honor's place as a foundational element of Asgardian society, was the real reason why this work was abandoned; the Aesir were not a people to let either "this is difficult" or "this is dangerous" dissuade them from a goal. But an assumption that your neighbor, your local butcher, your local metalsmith, and so forth might deceive you unless artificially compelled to deal honestly with you, that would destroy Asgard at its foundation.

A heady thought, one worth filing away in the back of his mind for later reflection.

In the meantime, though, Finnulfur had asked him a question, one he'd lost track of as his thoughts raced along tantalizing new lines. Finnulfur, sitting there quietly with that forever unhurried manner, wouldn't press him on an answer, or even remind him of the question if he chose not to return to it. But that question, too, was an interesting one, if uselessly theoretical. If such a means had been available at the time, would he have wanted it to be used on him? In the beginning, he knew he would have categorically refused, and done everything in his power to avoid it. He hadn't been thinking clearly. In retrospect, Odin was correct, obviously, in that he should have been honest from the start. But at the time, the truth was the last thing he wanted.

Even later, when he begged to be believed and spoke mostly the truth, the truth about the most important things, he wasn't sure if, at the time, he would have wanted to be compelled to speak all of the truth. He'd been terrified of the depth of his anger at Baldur becoming known, and horrified when some of it did come out through Einharjar who had overheard their arguments, Einherjar who were sworn to secrecy in what they observed of the royal family, a situation Loki had grown so accustomed to that he had behaved as though they weren't there at all. As it turned out, when one of the royal family members was accused of murdering another royal family member, those secrecy oaths did not apply. Would he have wanted to be forced to tell magistrates and clerks and his own family about his shameful jealousies and anger – at a youth – and a whole tangled knot of deeply hidden feelings? He couldn't imagine that he would have wanted that. Loki had never told anyone about such things, not until he was half out of his mind and spilling unfiltered words in that so-called confession, and by that point, unable to stand and avoiding urinating on the throne room floor by sheer luck of timing, his own humiliation didn't even merit a rank on his very short list of concerns. Would he, at any point along the way prior to that, have been willing to be forced to reveal that maybe, maybe, he had wanted to hurt Baldur, and some blackened corner of his heart – some lingering Jotun corner, perhaps – had even wanted to hurt his brother badly, far more than a scratch? Each of the reasons Finnulfur had cited as concerns about the effectiveness of compelled honesty made more sense, the more Loki considered it.

No matter how complex his motivations, though, no matter how angry he was, no matter how conflicted his feelings or how conscious of them he'd been at the time, had he been asked under the power of compelled truthfulness whether he'd made that arrow sturdier, his answer would have been a clear and simple no. It wouldn't have been enough to prove he hadn't murdered Baldur. But it would have been enough to raise a doubt, surely. To raise a question that perhaps his advocate and the investigators would have looked harder for an answer to. As a stranger to Baldur, Geirmund was, admittedly, a difficult suspect to identify, and Loki himself had never suspected the involvement of another. But he'd been young, not nearly as clever then as he thought he was, with no skills or training in investigations, and hardly in the frame of mind to apply deliberate logical thinking to the problem. Everyone else, under the weight of the rest of the evidence, simply thought he was guilty. If better-trained and clearer-thinking minds than his had known he hadn't used magic to change the arrow, someone might have questioned whether another could have been involved, despite the mere seconds in which that person would have had to act. And if they had specifically sought out someone with the ability to change the weight of the arrow, someone with enough skill at that particular use of magic to do it quickly and without advance planning, maybe they would have learned about Geirmund, and gone to speak to him, and then learned that he'd left for Vanaheim shortly after Baldur was killed. From that point, they would have easily learned of Geirmund's connection to Baldur through Nanna. Loki would have been humiliated, but he wouldn't have been branded a liar and murderer, and he wouldn't have spent years tied down under a venom-dripping serpent. Geirmund would have gone to the ax, if Thor didn't get to him first and pound his head flat before it could be lopped off.

"I don't think I would have wanted it in the beginning, during the investigation or even the trial, though of course I know now that it would have been much better had everyone known when I was speaking truthfully. Probably if you'd asked me a few years into it, my thoughts on the matter would have shifted. But it's a nasty conundrum, isn't it? If you compel honesty of all suspects, you do diminish that person's honor, and by implication, every person's honor. If you grant a choice to suspects, an invitation to prove one's innocence by choosing to be compelled, then by implication anyone who does not choose this route, for whatever reason, would come under deeper suspicion. Even if that person simply decided against it out of stubborn refusal to allow his or her honor to be impugned in that way – a very Aesir reaction. Perhaps it could be applied only when someone has already been judged guilty and is to be sent to the axe. Or the substitute axe," Loki appended sardonically.

Finnulfur nodded slowly; Loki could almost see him sifting and weighing thoughts. "An interesting idea. It's a rare enough occurrence, and could be cast as—. I'll ask our magistrates and other law specialists to think on it."

"And you?"

"I'm sure I'll be thinking on it, too. I believe everything surrounding your case will be foremost in my thoughts for a long time to come." Finnulfur's troubled expression cleared and softened; the gaze that fell on Loki was one of fondness. "I always thought you had a mind for law. Had you not been Odin's son, I would have encouraged you to consider pursuing it as a career."

Despite everything, Loki laughed. "I would have been bored to tears. And my reaction to boredom would not have endeared me to either my fellow clerks or my superiors. Not to mention the judgement against me for murder against the throne."

Finnulfur nodded, his smile reflecting discomfort. "It would have complicated things. I'm sorry, my prince."

Loki rubbed his palms on his thighs then stood; Finnulfur followed suit. "I heard a saying on Midgard. 'The truth shall set you free.'" He'd intended to say more, but whatever words were about to follow slipped away. The truth had not set him free. Honest as they'd been at the time, lies had accomplished that. Truth, however, would have set him free much earlier, and perhaps, in some ways, would have changed the course of his life, if not the truth of his birth.

And the truth of his birth…that had set his world aflame, but he supposed it had also set him free from the never-ending struggle to find equal favor in Odin's eye. It had set him free from the tethers of his life on Asgard, opening the cosmos to him in a way it hadn't been before. If only there was somewhere he actually wanted to go. An image of the jamesway, Jane looking up at him and pointing animatedly at her laptop leapt unbidden to mind. Then Austin taunting him while he took aim at the dartboard. Zeke promising to show him how to drive a snowmobile. Gary looking at him like he understood, and Loki having the strange sense that Gary did understand, when Gary knew next to nothing about him, not even his real name. Those GIFs-not-gifts he was supposed to work on, for a feast he'd never thought he would still be there for.

And he wouldn't be. He would leave for Alfheim tonight for some undetermined period of time, and Jane would return to Midgard and go to her feast. He would find a way to see her, later, and she would tell him all about the Mid-Winter celebration and the rest of her winter at the South Pole. It would be a while, probably. She would be at the Pole another four or five months, and after that, according to the last he'd heard, she planned to take a vacation at a house belonging to Tony Stark. If Tony Stark was there, he was skeptical of just how much actual vacation Jane would be taking, and if Tony Stark even remotely might be there, Loki was hardly going to drop by for a visit. He didn't know where or when, or even precisely how, but he would see her again. Of this he was certain.

First, though, there was the little matter of retribution.

"I know where to find you if I have further questions," he said brusquely, waiting just long enough to see Finnulfur nod before leaving.

/


/

Beneath Jane's feet, the bifrost came alive with another of its seemingly random bursts of energy in a spectrum of light that lent it its other name, the Rainbow Bridge. It wasn't truly random; Heimdall had explained how they were using the Tesseract to supply the bridge with a periodic influx of what he called "directional particles" – something Jane had been maddeningly unable to nail down the Earth science equivalent of…not that she had given up on that. These particles along with other power boosts would, in time and with the combined efforts of builders, engineers, astronomers, and magic users, eventually return the bifrost to service. Heimdall wasn't sure how long it would take, only that it would be much faster with the Tesseract.

Their discussion about the Nine Realms and the nature of Yggdrasil – building on what Loki had told her, what the probes had revealed, and the theoretical physics of Einstein-Rosen bridges – was more productive. Heimdall spoke about it differently than Loki did, and far differently than Earth's physicists did, but much of this language divide Jane had already bridged, through the time she'd spent working with Loki.

She'd started off on the long walk back to the palace swimming in new concepts and ideas, equations flashing before her eyes only to slip away as the next one came to mind while for the first time she gave real thought to whether Earth's modern understanding of physics could even account for the complexities of Yggdrasil. Certainly no theory had predicted it. Stable, traversable, nine main event horizons whose precise locations could be minutely adjusted, and, unknown to Heimdall, with functionally infinite smaller branches connecting all nine realms not just in space, but in every point of time, branches that continued to form even now, as time marched inexorably forward.

Jane knew she could spend her entire life on this and only scratch the surface. Here on Asgard, a realm where a thousand years old was still considered young, her life seemed pitifully short. Woefully inadequate. She hadn't thought much about it before, but she now found herself envious of their long lives. Loki had once told her that they wasted a lot of it. How was that fair?

Nobody ever said life was fair, though. Case in point, she thought, staring up at the palace looming larger with every step she took. If he hadn't figured it out by then, any illusion Loki might have had that life was fair had been shattered right about the time Baldur died from Loki's carefully-made arrow, the pieces of it further smashed when he was arrested and then found guilty of murder.

Whatever precise form of retribution Loki decided on for tonight wouldn't make it fair, either. It wouldn't negate the consequences of what had happened to him way back then, or the ways in which in must have affected him in the years since.

Another pulse of energy lit up the bridge beneath her. Such beauty amid such darkness. Just two days ago the ravens had come for her with their miniature message, captivating the entire station with their presence. An invitation to a party. She hadn't really had time to consider what it might be like, this sudden and unexpected trip to Asgard, but she never could have imagined everything else that had happened here besides a celebration with lots of food and drink. She'd just wanted to see Loki and Thor again. And – there was no sense in lying to herself – she'd wanted to see more of Asgard, to travel through the stars in a new way, to get another look at the Asgardian sky, maybe through a massive Asgardian telescope.

Thor had given her that, in one unforgettable night. She could have spent an entire lifetime just in that incredible room, observing, cataloguing, confirming theories, tweaking others, rewriting still others entirely. It was mesmerizing. Here, they could physically see phenomena that physicists on Earth could only theorize about.

In retrospect, of course, she hadn't exactly been the best date. Once she'd understood what she was looking at, everything else had faded out of existence, Thor included. It was unfair to him. Even a little rude. Or a lot rude. Thor hadn't complained; he'd taken her there because he knew how much she would love it. But he'd probably hoped for a little more talking, maybe a little more touching, definitely a little less being ignored. He'd taken her to a place where they could be alone in the dark, and he'd promptly been forgotten.

The tendency to get so wrapped up in her work that she forgot people – not to mention eating and sleeping – was hardly a newly discovered flaw. It had caused fights between her and Don. Totally unfair ones, though. Don worked a crazy schedule at the hospital, often putting in extra hours to follow up on a complicated case, search through medical texts, or wait for lab results to come back rather than handing them off to another doctor who might have barely passed chemistry, as Don put it, substituting whatever subject fit the situation. And when he had a rare two entire days off in a row…

"I was thinking…," he said, words muffled by her hair.

"Stop thinking."

"I bet I could get us one of those cabins up on Lake Cachuma. It's off-season…mid-week…shouldn't cost too much," he continued, each phrase punctuated with a press of lips to her neck.

"Sounds nice," Jane mumbled, barely listening.

"Okay. Don't move."

Jane watched, brain not quite caught up yet, as Don disentangled himself and sprinted over to her laptop. She groaned when he slid into the chair in front of it and wiggled his finger over the touchpad. He knew she didn't like him using her laptop; too many times he'd managed to accidentally – or just carelessly – close tabs she wasn't done with or even unsaved documents. "Don, come on…"

"I know, I know. Sorry. This'll just take a sec. And I didn't close any of your tabs."

Jane sat up and pulled her sweater back on. It wasn't worth another argument. "I'm going to make some hot chocolate. Want some?"

"Yes!"

"Okay." It was a lot of enthusiasm for a cup of hot chocolate, but, whatever.

"This place looks perfect. Eighty dollars midweek off-season, and there's a bathroom and a kitchenette and a firepit. Camping for people who are partial to indoor plumbing and civilization in general. Hey, bring me my wallet, will you?"

Hand on the kitchen cabinet, Jane paused to reconstruct what Don had been saying. "Are you talking about tomorrow night?"

"Yeah. It'll be fun. Nice little getaway, just you and me. Get in a little hiking, a little kayaking, a little wine-tasting…recreate some magic?"

"I can't. I've got a slot over at the Palomar tomorrow night. Wrong direction."

"You didn't tell me that."

"Sure I did." Hadn't she? Maybe she hadn't. Or maybe she'd told him when his head was over a medical journal and he'd nodded without actually listening.

"So get another slot."

"It's not that easy. Since I finished my degree I don't have any official affiliation with Caltech anymore, remember? And I don't have any affiliation anywhere else, either. Do you know how long it took me to get this slot? Which just happens to come with a perfect weather forecast?"

"Jane, give me a break, you make your own schedule, you can do whatever you want, whenever you want. You know how rare it is for the hospital to give me two consecutive days off."

"I know. But this is the Hale Telescope. Did I mention that part? The Hale, Don. The world's most important telescope for a hundred and fifty years? They don't give out slots to random members of the public. I can't just reschedule—"

"Yes, you can. I'm the one who can't, because I'm the one who has an actual job."

And there it was. Again. "Self-employed doesn't mean I don't have a job."

"It means nobody's paying you whether you drive out to Palomar or not, so it does mean you can reschedule. I can't."

"Look, why don't we drive up there the next day? We can spend Thursday night there."

"Because I'd have to leave at three in the morning to make it to my shift on Friday! Jane, you're being unreasonable. Just reschedule. Even if it takes a while to get another slot, it's not like the telescope's going anywhere. Hasn't moved in a hundred and fifty years, has it? Pretty sure the stars will still be there, too."

"How many times do we have to talk about this? My work is just as important to me as yours is to you."

Don had rolled his eyes. He'd actually rolled his eyes. Somehow they'd lasted for a whole four more months after that. Something about being called a "selfish bitch" had made her realize that she was struggling to save a relationship that she was way better off ending.

But who's bitter? Jane asked herself, rolling her eyes. She hadn't thought much about Don in ages, and couldn't quite remember how she'd wound up thinking about him now.

Oh.

Fights, and how they hadn't always been Don's fault, even if it was easier to think about the ones that mostly were.

Being a bad date.

Thor hadn't seemed to mind, Jane reminded herself again. He hadn't made any demands on her, and she hadn't made any demands on him. That was partly due to circumstance, partly because Jane wasn't sure what her demands would be if she made any. Now that the war was over and Thor wouldn't be stuck on Asgard, their relationship could grow. Thor seemed to want that, and Jane did, too. But she'd squandered an opportunity that night in ignoring the man by her side. Opportunities might still be hard to come by.

Don had an important job; Jane had never argued with that. And in any particular moment when a human life was at stake, and Don was there to save that life, Jane wouldn't even argue with his job being more important. But that didn't mean hers was unimportant. That it didn't matter. And not just to her, but to humanity writ large. Physics was the study of space and time. Matter. Reality. Astrophysics just focused that study on space. More concretely, it had led to technological advances that made a real difference in people's lives.

Thor was a king, though. As far as jobs went, a pretty important one. She couldn't blame Thor for having a job that often had to come first. She'd never blamed Don for it, not even once it was clear that Don wasn't going to grant her the same curtesy, the same respect. Thor respected her work, she knew. He was disappointed when she turned down the invitation to Asgard that he extended to her in Tromso, but he didn't push. He didn't try to make her feel guilty, or to belittle her work. He really was an amazing guy.

It had all seemed simpler in Puente Antiguo, when he was just a guy. A strange guy, sure, but Jane wasn't put off by strange; she knew that to a lot of people she was the strange one. A mysterious guy, but that didn't bother her either; she liked mysteries. A hot guy, she thought, laughing at herself a little. A breathtakingly hot guy, like somebody who stepped right out of a magazine and in front of her Pinzgauer. Not only that, though, because those things were just on the surface. Someone she'd made a real connection with, even though she barely knew him. Someone who had been there for her when the flame burning inside her that kept her work alive despite the constant struggle seemed to have been snuffed out with SHIELD's confiscation of her work; someone who had managed to encourage her in the face of that setback, and even to make her laugh. There on the rooftop of Smith Motors, drowning in Thor's eyes, physical attraction had started to grow into something more.

That bright warm smile, the most amazing set of abs she'd ever seen in real life, the way his V-lines disappeared into those jeans, and that emergence from a dust cloud in armor and cape, a real-life hero prying open the jaws of death and rising up, all the swagger and confidence but absent the earlier condescension. A man who'd once been literally worshiped as a god, striding straight toward her, flying her outside of town, steeling himself to deal with the threat who had just wreaked havoc on Puente Antiguo. She acted on the impulse to kiss him without hesitation; he kissed back and left her breathless, then was swept up in a rush of rainbow-tinged energy back into space, back to Asgard. The glorious pinnacle of the three most incredible days Jane had ever experienced.

Now, as she logged more and more time in "space," it seemed less a whirlwind fantasy and more…ordinary certainly wasn't the right word, but less exotic, less mysterious. And Thor wasn't just a weird guy with perfectly chiseled abs, not even just a hero emerging from the dust. He was a king, and not a fantasy version of one, but a real one, with a long list of serious responsibilities. Did kings ever get two consecutive days off? The feast had still been a work event for him, even if he'd hoped they would slip away from it together, maybe to his bedroom.

Jane's steps faltered, slowing to a halt for a few seconds before she resumed her stroll back to the palace as it clicked, why that moment had seemed so jarring, so full of awkwardness. Thor had been talking about resources stretched too thin, and then about Loki, while tossing out orders for someone to get her a hangover cure. Then suddenly he was telling her that he wanted her. By the time she started wrapping her pounding head around that, he was moving on to something else. Apologizing. Still trying to catch up, she'd first thought he was apologizing for coming on to her. Then Bragi showed up, and it was Thor who seemed to almost forget that she was there. In the middle of everything else, that sudden moment of tenderness and the stirrings of desire when he looked at her and touched her the way he did had left her feeling whiplashed.

And that strange unresolved place they'd left it at, Jane knew, was where it was going to stay for now. Because no matter what she decided she did or didn't want, what she was or wasn't ready for, stealing away to Thor's rooms for a few moments of passion right after Loki dealt out his vengeance and right before she returned to the Pole wasn't in the cards. Thor knew that as well as she did. He'd said what he could to share his feelings – indirectly but clearly enough – in the only time he'd had available for it. She really should have found a way to share hers as well; the fact that she didn't do so had only added to the awkwardness. Of course, that would have required her to have first figured out those feelings.

The short notice on this trip meant that she hadn't had much time to think about her own expectations from the visit. Thus far, she'd avoided thinking too hard about their relationship in general, not when things were on pause between them due to circumstances beyond their control. Thor, maybe, had thought about it more than she had. But last night's revelation had disrupted everyone's plans. Everyone's thoughts, including hers, were naturally more on Loki now. She was going to have to start thinking more about her relationship with Thor, though. He had taken her by surprise this morning. With the war over and her long winter at the Pole at about the halfway point, she – they – needed to start thinking about how they were going to make this work.

For the first time she allowed herself to tack on a quiet if they could make it work.

If someone wanted to have a fling, after all, Thor would be an amazing fling. That sat uncomfortably, though. Jane wasn't looking for a fling. She already cared too much about Thor for that. Maybe the first thing to do was to find out how much they both wanted to make it work. If they both wanted it enough, then they would find a way past the distance, Thor's obligations, and the massive difference in their lifespans. Reaching that level of commitment was going to take time, time they just hadn't had. That would have to be the first step, then. Find the time. Make the time. Once she left the Pole in November, things would surely have settled down on Asgard. The repercussions of the war would still be there, but they would have processes in place to deal with them; Thor's personal involvement surely wouldn't be needed to the extent it was now. Already he'd carved out time for her, yesterday and the day before, time he didn't really have but he made anyway. After the Pole, it would be easier for both of them to set aside the time they needed, and they would figure things out together.

Satisfied – even relieved – to have worked through all that, Jane's dawdling pace picked up. She'd already left the bridge behind and now started paying more attention to what was going on around her, Asgardians going about their daily lives. Two teen girls, she noticed, were paused on the side of the road, whispering and glancing furtively her way. It didn't bother Jane; if someone from another planet was strolling down her streets, she would have stopped and stared, too. Actually, she corrected herself, I would go up and introduce myself. She started over toward the girls with a wave. Their eyes went wide, and one took the other by the hand and hurried away, dragging the other with her.

Not exactly the reaction I was going for. She didn't try to stop the girls, though. The incident reminded her of how much of an outsider she was here, and that in turn reminded her that there was another Odinson she was going to have to figure out her relationship with. She hoped he still planned on coming back to the Pole with her tonight to get the things he'd left behind, but after that, she had no idea when she would see him again. She couldn't accept that. She'd missed him a lot even for those few days after he'd gone back to Asgard. Despite all the stress and even the fear he'd caused her earlier on, he'd become an integral part of her South Pole life, and his absence left a gaping hole in it. Loki treasured his freedom, she knew, and she certainly had no more right to make demands on him than she did on Thor, but she was going to have to make sure he understood that he couldn't go fifty years between visits. Maybe he would agree to some kind of plan, and not leave things with a vague "see you again someday." Loki's "someday" might be after she was dead of old age.

It was a disturbing thought, and one she'd studiously avoided thus far with regard to Thor, as well.

Luckily, she had a good excuse not to dwell on it now, too, because Jolgeir was waiting for her near the palace entrance she'd been using.

"What am I keeping you from?" Jane asked after they'd exchanged greetings. "You must have more important things to do than playing tour guide."

"More important than playing tour guide to the king's personal guest? I'm not sure there's anything more important in all the realm, my lady."

Jane chuckled. She still felt like the same person, and being thought of as "the king's girlfriend" – what Jolgeir was thinking even if he didn't put it in exactly those words – was surreal, no matter how many times she stood near Thor and felt the eyes of all of Asgard on her.

"I'm glad of your presence for my own selfish reasons, I admit. I'm used to working, to serving the throne. But I can no longer perform the duties of an Einherjar. During the war, extra hands were needed everywhere…so to speak. As soon as I began to recover, I had no lack of duties. I took on many tasks that no one else could spare the time for."

"Like going to New York to meet with Tony Stark."

"Yes, exactly like that. His Majesty asked me to assume that duty to help Tony understand what form of supplies was best suited for delivery to our army in its camps. It was Geirmund's idea that I go, actually. He was the one managing that trade. What I shall do now that the war is over, and once you've departed, I don't know."

"Maybe some time off would be a good thing."

"Perhaps," he said with a shrug. "I don't think idleness will sit well on me. I'm sure it will all be fine, though."

Jane had spent most of her time with Jolgeir wrapped up in herself and the beauty, and grandiosity, and occasionally the strangeness of Asgard, taking in golden buildings and bathtub controls and visitors from other planets and enormous tapestries. At his side, instead of looking directly at him. His tone had been as affable as ever, but now that they were standing still, talking face-to-face in midday sunlight, she caught the tension in his expression, the way his eyes darted away from hers. The dumb joke she'd been about to make died away.

"You should talk to Thor. He's relied on you so much, and he obviously trusts you. If he knows you want to keep working, I'm sure he'll have more things for you to do than you'll have time for."

"Perhaps," Jolgeir said with a perfectly polite smile that Jane already recognized wasn't quite genuine. "But I don't mean to keep you. What would you like to do now? Where may I next escort you?"

Jane barely registered the questions. At the feast last night Jolgeir had talked a little about the work he'd done before and after his injuries, and he'd sounded different about it then. Something had changed, and between last night and today, Jane knew of precisely one major development. "Why did Loki want you to stay last night? If you don't mind my asking."

"I don't mind. I'm certain it's because I'm the one who arrested him for murdering Baldur. Finnulfur was one of the magistrates at the trial. There were five, because of the nature of that particular trial, but I believe Finnulfur was the only one of them present last night. He wanted those who were involved to witness whatever was going to happen with Geirmund."

"Oh," Jane said, all she could manage for several long seconds. "I guess you're feeling the same responsibility as everyone else who believed he was guilty, then."

"I'm sorry for my part in it," he said with a nod.

"What did you think, back then? Was it so easy to believe he could have killed his brother, on purpose?"

Jolgeir looked uncomfortable as he thought it over for a while before responding. "I don't really remember. It was shocking, but the whole episode was shocking. Mine was not to decide if he was guilty. I tried hard not to dwell on any personal opinions. I was part of the investigation. I was to gather evidence and identify a suspect. When the evidence pointed to Loki, I had no doubts in the correctness of my actions when I arrested him. Even so, I've always felt some faint shadow of guilt about it. You know I was one of his guards before he reached adulthood. I was close to him. Thought of him…as a nephew, perhaps. Or a cousin. Even afterward, I admired him for rising above what happened, for picking up the pieces, resuming his life with dignity and honor. A lesser man would never have recovered. But you don't forget something like that, even if you don't speak of it. And he wasn't my family. He was my prince, and I was one of many Einherjar. Not just one of many – the one who arrested him for his brother's murder. Which he was innocent of, we now know. We've never been close again."

"Maybe it's Loki you should talk to, then. When we were at the South Pole and he mentioned you…it was after you recognized him when he went to Asgard, when you were blind. He told me he admired you. I mean, that he admires you. Maybe he doesn't hold it against you as much as you think he does."

"Perhaps, perhaps not. I'm sure I'm not at the forefront of his mind either way. And no matter what anyone else thinks…I hold it against me."

"There's plenty of guilt to go around. Nobody won in any of this," Jane said. Baldur lost his life, Loki suffered for a crime he didn't commit, his family grieved, and it went beyond family to his friends and acquaintances who must have all been shocked and confused and torn apart by conflicted feelings, and now everyone was steeping in guilt; even Loki couldn't quite let go of his guilt.

"Geirmund did. For a long time. Perhaps he felt guilt, too, but he made a good life for himself. Married, had a child, served the throne in a way that would have made any Asgardian proud. That's my fault. I should have discovered Geirmund. I swore I wouldn't rest until I had arrested Baldur's killer. I arrested Loki. And then I rested for a thousand years."

Jane swallowed heavily. She had no idea what to say. She didn't know what if anything Jolgeir might have missed, whether continued investigation might indeed have turned up another suspect, or whether Geirmund – a complete stranger to Baldur – had been entirely untraceable.

In the end, Jane decided she would try to see Loki. Jolgeir readily agreed to help her find him, but she couldn't convince Jolgeir to join her.

/


Long chapter and it's way past my bedtime, so keeping this bit brief.

In Ch. 206, Jane does seek out Loki, and, let's all say it unison now: They talk.

Excerpt:

"Now that we're both comfortable, why don't you tell me why you really sought me out."

"I wanted to see how you were doing. I wasn't making that up," Jane said, cringing internally at the defensiveness she heard in her voice.

"I didn't say you were. I simply know you well enough to know there's more."