*Avengers Fan-fiction by Kemurikat*

Such Fragile Creatures: Act 08 - Period of Adjustment, Part 2

Travel by Bifrost was nearly instantaneous as Thor, his brother Loki, The Warriors Three and Lady Sif, all with full battle armaments, sped past the span of space from Asgard into the realm of the Jotnar. The instant their feet touched the northernmost region of Jotunheim's frozen surface, the oppressive weight of an unseen force enveloped them as they each pivoted in place, staring with great uncertainty at the vast, rime-incrusted wasteland and at each other.

"We shouldn't be here," Hogun warned.

Though he had secretly visited Jotunheim's northern hemisphere before, Loki agreed with Hogun. His heart thudded nervously in his chest, wondering if the Frost King would betray him in front of the others. He was, after all, a traitor in every sense of the word. Not only had he disregarded the Treaty that prohibited any Asgardian from crossing into Jotunheim's northern kingdom, he also brokered a deal with Laufey, King of the Frost Giants, sharing his knowledge of a secret path into Asgard - unseen by its Gatekeeper - that led straight to the All-Father's heavily guarded Vault. In return, he only asked that however many frost-etins chose to infiltrate Asgard, would do so on the day of Thor's Coronation.

"Let's move," Thor said impatiently, ignoring his companions' wary stares and the shakes of their heads.

Jotunheim's Frost Giant kingdom was as eerie and desolate as the stories described, their small war-party venturing slowly and cautiously along the frigid terrain toward the partially standing throne hall within King Laufey's eroding citadel. Much of the barren grayish-blue surface was battle-torn, the cracked and craggy landscape a constant reminder of the magnitude of the destruction the war with Asgard had wrought. They walked a main path that threaded through the frost-etins' former stronghold with its once tall, proud structures now crumbling in ruin.

The howling, icy wind seeped through their protective cloaks and Fandral - the most outspoken of their group against Thor's foolishness - tugged at his thick, silver-fox cloak, securing it tightly around his shoulders.

"Where are they?" Sif spoke, breaking the silence. She'd been carefully scanning their surroundings for any sign of movement and didn't like how well the frost-etins remained concealed from them.

"Hiding. As cowards always do," Thor replied, his voice filled with contempt.

The main path ended in a rough, circular cul-de-sac filled with torn pillars that in the distant past appeared to have served as the throne hall's receiving area for 'guests' to the kingdom.

"You've come a long way to die, Asgardians," King Laufey's deep, haunting voice spoke slowly as it echoed throughout the once great throne hall.

"I am Thor Odinson," the All-Father's firstborn declared proudly.

"We know who you are," King Laufey replied, sounding unconcerned.

"How did your people get into Asgard?" Thor demanded loudly, not wasting any time and angered by King Laufey's indifference to their presence.

In the shadows, seated upon his high throne, the Frost King observed them patiently and quietly with his unfathomable red gaze, Loki marveling at the giant's stillness in the face of impeding conflict.

There was a tense pause as King Laufey softly snickered, glancing at their war-party and at each of their faces before settling on the irate features of the All-Father's firstborn.

"The House of Odin is full of traitors," the Frost King answered with a knowing smile as Loki held his breath.

"Do not dishonor my Father's name with your lies!" Thor shouted back defensively, furious that King Laufey had the blatant audacity to speak such words in his presence.

Instantly, the calm indifference on King Laufey's face changed to a furious scowl as he stood to his full height above them.

"Your father is a murderer and a thief!" the Frost King argued back, his red gaze settling pointedly on Loki. Yes, above all, a wretched thief.

As he stared back, matching King Laufey's glare, Loki swallowed hard reflexively. There was a strange underlying sorrow in the Frost King's red eyes that persisted with his every visit. Why? He was so preoccupied with his own thoughts that he barely heard the rest of the Frost King's loudly spoken words.

"...have you come here? To make peace?" King Laufey spat back, staring angrily at Odin's firstborn. "You long for battle, you crave it."

Thor's fury boiled inside him at the Frost King's sneering face.

"You're nothing but a boy, trying to prove himself a man."

At these words, several dozen, towering, frost-etin warriors emerged from their camouflaged posts and slowly surrounded their war-party. Volstagg spun around quickly, brandishing his battle-axe as Fandral beside him placed a steady hand on the hilt of his sword. Sif was on high alert, noting the position of every frost-etin within her field of vision.

"This 'boy' has grown tired of your mockery," Thor continued as the frost-etins around them began to manifest their individual weapons. Some formed clubs of ice on their hands with menacing spikes while others wielded jagged, icy blades.

Damn it, Thor, Loki mentally screamed at him, stubbornly believing that his brother wasn't stupid enough to start a full-scale war with Jotunheim.

He was wrong. This had gone too far!

"Thor...stop...and think," Loki implored carefully. Knowing he was ruthlessly responsible for the entire mess they were in, he seized a final chance to persuade his brother to abandon the catastrophic course on which they were headed. "Look around you...we're outnumbered."

"Know your place, Brother," Thor hissed, jerking his arm away from Loki's grasp.

Sighing inwardly, Loki realized that his brother was passed all reason.

The frost-etins had suffered greatly, having lost much of their clan-mates and their kingdom to the great battle against Odin. Not the least of which was the theft of a holy relic that now sat on prominent display in Asgard's weapons Vault under constant heavy guard.

"You know not what your actions will unleash," King Laufey advised, not entirely in favor of another full-scale war with Asgard. "I do."

There it was again. The mournful red gaze of the Frost King that was focused on him. Loki stared back warily, debating whether he should question King Laufey about it...that is...if their little war-party managed to survive their untimely visit.

"Go now, while I still allow it."

They were words that Loki was more than glad to hear. The day would end without unnecessary bloodshed, their war-party returning home unharmed, and Thor would then have to face the furious judgement of the All-Father. All he ever wanted was for Odin to realize that his brother wasn't fit to be the ruler of Asgard. That Odin's doting and misplaced favoritism produced a vain, arrogant and selfish son. As a result, perhaps Odin's careful attention would turn in his direction from now on.

A bulky-looking frost giant sentry strode forward in protest, showing his displeasure of King Laufey's decision that permitted the Asgardians to leave.

"We will accept...your most gracious offer," Loki said steadily and smoothy, secretly bursting with gratitude and immense relief. He then felt Thor's eyes boring sharply through his skull. He'd surely have to face his brother's wrath first before their father arrived, if the deliberate jab of Thor's elbow to his chest was any indication. "Come on, Brother," he insisted as he turned away, hearing the low, dissatisfied grunt of the frost-etin sentry. He hoped that their departure would occur without incident.

"Run back home, little princess," the sentry taunted out loud.

"Damn," Loki exclaimed with finality. His wish for a peaceful outcome was now lost. They'd have to fight their way home. He only hoped that his message had reached the All-Father and aid would come for them in time.

He heard Fandral's soft sigh of resignation.

This is not how I envisioned it, Loki mentally scolded himself in frustration. Damn it all! Starting a war with Jotunheim was never my intention!

The loud bash of Thor's hammer to the sentry's jaw sent the frost-etin flying off into the distance, the giant's body ramming headfirst into a wall.

"Next?" was Thor's arrogant retort as he slammed his hammer into a second opponent nearby. Then a third...and a fourth.

Their little war-party fought valiantly, each of them holding their own against the onslaught of relentless frost giants. Loki kept a practiced eye on each of his comrades in case any of them needed assistance. He watched as Hogun released the deadly, poisoned spikes of his club and Sif had merged her twin swords to form her double-bladed lance. It wasn't long before Fandral's exuberant laughter filled the area as he parried gleefully with their enemies and Volstagg's mighty battle axe cleaved limbs off of bodies.

Using throwing knives infused with greenish bolts of lethal magical energy, Loki did his best to dissolve and disarm the frost-etin army's weaponry from a distance, rendering their attackers helpless or off-balance. He wasn't fond of hand-to-hand conflicts and left the slashing, grappling and thumping to Thor, Sif and The Warriors Three.

From his high vantage point, King Laufey witnessed in dismay the growing number of slain frost giants. They had thrived in numbers over the peaceful centuries since the Treaty, and the impending war may diminish them again, a thought that made the current skirmish harder to bear.

"At least make it a challenge for me," Thor provoked loudly.

By the Nine Waves, Thor, haven't you done enough? Loki thought angrily.

The Frost King turned his head sharply in the direction of an oncoming rush of frost-etin warriors in response to Thor's scorn, many of whom sought revenge for slain kin during the Great War. Some of the more gifted ones also ran forward, one warrior summoning an ice wave that knocked the Asgardian called Hogun violently off his feet.

A massive, muscled frost-etin released a deep, thundering battle cry, the warrior stomping determinedly toward Thor who answered the challenge with a roar of his own.

From the periphery of his vision, Loki saw a streak of red as it was flung back, landing near Sif's feet. Thor had found a worthy opponent.

"That's more like it," Loki heard his brother say approvingly.

Mjollnir sang as Thor heaved it toward the mountainous mass, the enchanted hammer smashing easily through the frost giant's skull, its speed dramatically slowing in midair on its own before ricocheting back to the hand of its owner.

A few feet away, Sif was having some difficulty as Hogun, who was nearest to her, came to her aid with one of his daggers.

The most beneficial bit of magic Loki devised for use in battle was his ability to conjure mirror images of himself at will to confuse his enemies. Each mirror image functioned as an independent being - which Thor and his companions still considered 'disturbing' - thus making him a very formidable and valuable asset to any war-party.

[Loki's doubles were most often sent out as scouts or spies to survey ahead. If the double got killed, its essence simply merged back into its host, adding whatever knowledge it gained during the period it roamed free. When Loki had first developed the spell, he was just as disturbed about their realism, and with practiced patience, taught himself to endure his doppelgängers' memories once they returned to him - especially the parts where he gets repeatedly killed - a major factor to why he (largely) doesn't fear death.]

Wanting to conserve his strength - since he had no idea how long or how many of the frost-etins they needed to kill for them to get home - the Trickster limited himself to one mirror image.

An echoing bellow filled the area and Loki's head whipped around to see an enraged frost giant barreling single-mindedly toward him. Backing away, he realized too late that he had trapped himself against the edge of a cliff with no hope of escape. With nowhere to run, he stood his ground and faced his death. Head held high, he calmly leveled his eyes at his opponent till the last possible second. As the frost-etin leapt at him...the giant grasped nothing but air and fell to his death, Loki's intangible form glowing briefly with a yellowish-green haze.

Peeking at his doppelgänger from behind a ruined pillar, Loki smiled, dissipating his double with a flick of his fingers. Feeling adventurous, he moved away from his companions to the fringes of the fray where there were far less opponents, wanting to personally extend a gracious gesture to minimize King Laufey's losses. After all, the Frost King had admirably delivered on his promise and sent eager kin to their deaths to disrupt his brother's coronation. If he could somehow seek another audience with King Laufey, there was a good chance of stopping this madness.

Elsewhere, the battle raged on, Sif burying her double-bladed lance into a giant's chest and pivoting to deflect an icy mass of spikes, each one thudding rapidly against her shield. Behind her, Volstagg yelled out in pain, the skin on his right arm blackened by the extreme cold of a frost-etin's grasp which hurt and sizzled like a burn.

"Don't let them touch you!" Volstagg warned his companions after knocking down his opponent with a well-placed head-butt.

Momentarily distracted from her battle-lust, Sif quickly took stock of their war-party. Thor was in his own happy little world, hitting giant after giant with his mighty Mjollnir. Hogun was inching his way to the injured Volstagg while Fandral was grinning from ear to ear, the silvery blade of his rapier slicing through enemies as he danced around them.

Sif gasped when she saw that someone was missing.

Where was Loki?

Battling his way toward King Laufey's throne proved more difficult than he thought as Loki rushed a towering sentry, the green-glowing blade in his right hand poised to strike. Perhaps it was his insatiable, morbid curiosity that made him foolishly stab rather than throw his blade at that particular moment...his fears answered when the sentry's hand locked itself around his left arm, the frost-etin seeing through his ruse of feigning to hit with one hand but using the other to deal the killing blow.

His magic-infused blade had pierced the giant deeply in the ribs, but even as the towering sentry fell to his knees, the grip on his left arm hadn't slackened. In a heady mixture of fear and fascination, Loki watched as his protective armor crumbled away like fragile glass from the giant's deadly frozen touch.

This is going to hurt, Loki thought in the split second when the skin of his left arm was laid bare and vulnerable...but rather than the searing pain he expected from the burning cold, his eyes widened in abject horror when the Asgardian flesh of his left arm slowly turned blue. In an additional shock, not only was it turning blue, the distinctly raised geometrical patterns that were etched on every frost-etin's body began to appear on his own arm as well!

Utterly speechless, Loki gazed back helplessly at the equally appalled face of his supposed enemy, the sentry's bright red eyes staring back at him in accusation as the words, 'You are one of us!' screamed deafeningly in his mind.

NO!

With a mental roar of defiance and anguish, the blade in Loki's right hand found its mark, stabbing the sentry in the chest and killing the giant instantly.

Far above him, concealed in the shadows, King Laufey sneered triumphantly.

"The old fool can hide you cleverly all he wants...but in the end...you will always be my son," he whispered.

Breathing heavily, Loki observed the frost-etin blue of his left arm as it slowly faded, overrun by the familiar warm, pale flesh of his Asgardian skin. His eyes flitted nervously around him, relieved that the rest of the war-party was too far away to have seen what just transpired. He also realized that during his distracted state, no frost giants had come to attack him. Instead, he was largely ignored as they all ran past him to battle Thor and his friends. Distraught and confused, he went to rejoin his companions, vowing to confront Odin about the truth of what exactly in Helheim was happening!

Intercepting a frost-etin on his way to Fandral, Loki saw that his friend's laughter was silenced by the loss of his blade, thrown out of reach by his opponent. Hardly daunted by his predicament, Fandral backed away from the advancing giant and courageously darted forward, sliding easily between his opponent's legs. In one fluid motion, he stopped near his fallen blade, retrieved it with his left hand and turned around, slicing away the menacing weapon that was his opponent's arm and fatally skewering the giant's head like a grape. Fandral was a swordsman of great skill and although he favored his right hand in battle, he was deadlier with his left.

Unknown to Fandral, his opponent in his dying breath had transformed his severed hand into a phalanx of long, sharp spikes, effectively spearing him when he turned around and he cried out in pain. Immediately, Loki defended him by killing a nearby frost-etin who was ready to take advantage of Fandral's injury, intending to extend the rest of the spikes and running him through like a pincushion.

Playtime's over, Loki thought ominously.

"Thor!" Sif shouted urgently, needing to pry Thor's attention away from his battle-lust while Volstagg and Hogun ran to quickly help Fandral, unceremoniously removing him from the ice spear that had pierced through his body.

"We. Must. Go!" Loki proclaimed with authority. He may be forced to lead the rest of them home if Thor refused to cooperate.

"Then go!" Thor replied callously, still in the grip of his battle-lust, seemingly unconcerned for his friends as he flung Mjollnir away from him, the enchanted hammer cutting down every frost-etin warrior in its path.

Wincing, King Laufey grew angrier as he witnessed the ongoing murder of his kinfolk. From his vantage point, he strode forward with a whispered incantation, rousing an ancient monster from its dormancy, one of the few remaining guardians-beasts of their fallen citadel.

Jolted by the presence of primordial magic, Loki gasped, stopping to stare at a colossal creature emerging from a block of ice that was dangerously too close to Sif and the Warriors Three.

As Thor obstinately thrashed every frost-etin within his reach, Volstagg took the injured Fandral and slung him over his shoulder. They needed to make a hasty retreat before the colossal beast completely freed itself from its frozen cocoon.

"Run!" Volstagg bellowed in Thor's direction, knowing his cry would be ignored. Odin's eldest son was too preoccupied seeking his glory in battle as he twirled Mjollnir rapidly, using it to repel an oncoming legion of frost giant warriors.

"Thor!" Loki called desperately one last time, lagging behind as he ran, looking back to see a speck of red amidst a gathering multitude of glacial blue figures, the fallen citadel's guardian-beast nearly free of its confines.

Not heeding his war-party's logical retreat, Thor lost himself in the visceral nature of combat, his chest swelling with pride at what he was accomplishing. Odin would see with his own eyes that he was a valiant warrior on the battlefield, proving himself a worthy successor to sit upon Asgard's throne.

A blaring growl boomed across the bleak, frigid tundra, announcing the freedom of the colossal guardian-beast from its alcove as it promptly gave chase.

Looking up from his draped position over Volstagg's shoulder, Fandral stared with apprehension at the charging monstrosity as it bounded tenaciously toward them, his eyes spying Thor from a distance, still stubbornly fighting his way past surges of incensed frost-giants.

The guardian-beast's thundering footfalls collapsed the terrain around it, the colossal creature reaching Sif and the Warriors Three, its barbed tail barely missing the fleeing Aesir.

Near King Laufey's former throne hall, just before the sheer number of attackers threatened to overwhelm him, Thor called forth a powerful bolt of lightning from the sky that merged with Mjollnir which he held high over his head. He then swung down and struck the ice at his feet, causing a ground-shattering quake that tossed the entire legion of charging frost-etins away from him, the upheaval spreading outward like the force of a wave.

As more of the terrain disappeared around Thor's retreating war-party, the guardian-beast fell victim to the eroding landscape, sinking out of view down a fissure in its path. In a moment of relief, Fandral laughed with delight.

"Heimdall! Open the bridge!" Volstagg commanded frantically when their tiny group halted abruptly near the edge of a gaping, bottomless chasm with nowhere left to run.

Suddenly, without warning, a massive clawed limb pawed its way up from the edge of the chasm, the colossal guardian-beast's upper body looming forebodingly over the startled Aesir. Though far away, from within the citadel, Thor knew that his brother and his friends were in danger. Wasting no time, he spun Mjollnir and took to the air.

Brother, where are you? Loki mentally cried out in consternation, wondering if Thor was lost to them. Bracing himself, he built up his magic, ready to protect them with the strongest physical shield he could conjure hoping that the spell would succeed in delaying their deaths long enough for help to reach them.

"Stay close to me and brace yourselves," Loki said loudly as he, Sif and the Warriors Three backed away cautiously from under the monster's impressive shadow; Sif gasping in reaction when the guardian-beast pulled itself up to its full height on its hind legs.

Just as the colossal creature was ready to attack and Loki was on the verge of manifesting his magical shield, a streak of red flew into the creature's toothy maw and interrupted it mid-roar; Thor bursting out the back of the guardian-beast's enormous skull, jerking it backward.

There was a moment of tense silence as the beast sighed its last and fell to the ground, the ragged hole past its open jaws clearly visible, its carcass sliding off the edge of the cliff and into the bottomless chasm. Thor landed heroically in front of them and turned around with an arrogant grin...but his smile faded when he saw the innumerable hordes of frost giant warriors that surrounded them, King Laufey himself at the forefront.

For the first time since Thor set foot on Jotenheim with his little war-party consisting of his brother and his friends...his bearded face showed heavy concern, perhaps even worry.

Oh, excellent! Some sense has finally dawned on him, Loki thought sarcastically. A bit late for it, Brother, now that we're all about to die. He glared at Thor for maybe the last time.

I may have wished for an honorable death in battle...but I never envisioned it quite like this, Sif thought to herself, standing beside Loki.

From above, the situation looked dire as a vast sea of frost giants sprinted en masse toward six Aesir that were trapped at the edge of a gaping, bottomless chasm...and just when they believed they were doomed to be torn to shreds, a bright, shimmering light shone down, encircling them protectively from the heavens.

Heralded by the grand, multicolored gleam of Bifrost, Odin the All-Father came forth astride his eight-legged steed Sleipnir wearing full golden battle-armor and wielding his magical spear, Gungnir, as he held it aloft over his head.

"Father! We'll finish them together!" Thor cried jubilantly, knowing victory was theirs.

Behind him, Loki's face was solemn.

"Silence," Odin hissed back menacingly.

Stunned by the rebuke, Thor's elation turned to confusion and hurt.

Easily the tallest and most powerful of the frost giants, the icy ground beneath King Laufey's feet churned, lifting him up to where Odin's steed stood, shifting restlessly. The Frost King's bright, red eyes regarded the Aesir ruler for a moment before his lips moved with a subtle smile.

"All-Father...you look weary," King Laufey stated with some surprise. Odin was looking uncharacteristically haggard upon his saddle.

"Laufey, end this now," Odin requested.

"Your boy sought this out," the Frost King contested.

Thor's companions all shifted their eyes in unison toward his blond head.

"You're right. These are the actions of a boy," Odin said in his eldest son's defense. "Treat them as such." The Frost King looked displeased. "You and I can end this. Here. Now. Before there's further bloodshed."

"We are beyond diplomacy now, All-Father," the Frost King replied evenly, demanding weregild (equal compensation) for his slain kinfolk, his blood boiling with the need to punish the sole instigator: Odin's eldest son, Thor. "He'll get what he came for...war...and death."

"So be it," Odin said grimly with a nod.

Clenching his right fist tightly at his side, the Frost King formed a jagged ice dagger with the intent of plunging it into Odin's healthy left eye.

With a war-cry and a gesture of his spear, the All-Father repelled the Jotun's threat to strike as the surge of power sent the Frost Kingdom's ruler flying backwards a good distance away, the great giant snagging a rock that barely stopped his body from traveling further.

Again, the heavens above them opened up as the bright light of Bifrost enveloped the small group of Aesir, claiming them for a swift return to their rightful realm.

Below, King Laufey silently brooded, staring fixedly up at the dark expanse of sky over Jotunheim where the Asgardian invaders had made their escape, the aurora of Bifrost faintly lingering in dull wisps.

Loki sat up sharply with a gasp, his skin and sheets damp with sweat as he greedy inhaled air, his hands flying to his throat. With trembling fingers, he felt the tightness around his neck, fearing that someone had tried to choke him to death while he slept.

The digital clock on his nightstand table told him that it was barely dawn, his room completely dimmed by the thick curtain covering the glass wall that lead to his balcony.

He'd slept for barely three hours after they'd returned from their trip to Carmel.

Getting up unsteadily, he stumbled to his en-suite bathroom and straight to the sink where he peeled off his shirt, splashing cold water on his face and neck.

Ah, that's better, Loki thought thankfully as he briskly dried his wet skin with a soft towel that hung nearby. What he wanted was a quick shower but it meant making noise at such an early hour and he had no desire to wake the humans that shared the dwelling.

Unwilling to go back to sleep, Loki threw his damp clothes into a hamper and changed into a pair of loose, lightweight, low-rise lounge shorts. Padding back to his bed, he glanced at a white paper bag with rope handles on the carpeted floor next to it. Bending down to retrieve the large bag, he drew back the thick curtain that covered his glass sliding door. He took the paper bag outside to his room's balcony where he made himself comfortable on a chaise lounge as he tore away the packaging of his new computer.

Sorting through the product's documentation, he read the Quick Startup booklet and followed the instructions, easily plugging his aluminum laptop to the outlet in his room to charge its internal power source. Needing to wait for the gadget to charge, Loki settled into the lounge with the Owner's Manual and reached the last page in a short amount of time.

When he saw that his computer's battery was only at 25%, he frowned and walked over to his balcony's stone balustrade and leaned against it, resting his chin on his crossed forearms as he thought back to last night's dinner.

Meeting Jane Foster so unexpectedly had left him vulnerable and he'd barely managed to compose himself in her presence. Unintentionally, his fumbling provoked her companion's displeasure, causing a man named Tony Stark to glower at him for most of the evening. He then spent the majority of dinner dodging relentless questions from the red-haired woman, Natalie Rushman, whose clandestine glances at Mars hadn't escaped his noticed. Despite the awkward moments, he found the reserved nature of the golden-haired Steve Rogers pleasant company along with a blonde who sat beside him named Pepper Potts. A young woman, Darcy Lewis seemed a bit high strung, nervously babbling in reaction to everything in the room, whereas Bryn and a young female named Savannah were practically inseparable. As for Alvis and his spouse Marius, they were expert conversationalists and spent the occasion chatting with everyone.

It had been difficult for him to speak to Jane Foster alone without Tony Stark hovering nearby but once he saw an opportunity, he seized it, his sly and eloquent tongue first apologizing for his initial uncomfortable behavior. Soon, he'd charmed her enough for a long conversation. The woman told him - gushed was more accurate - about her being an 'astrophysicist' as she presented a basic summary of her current research within her area of expertise. Before her companion Tony Stark interrupted them and took her away, she'd given him a business card with her current contact information and a link to her 'website.'

Walking back inside, Loki searched his pant pockets for Jane Foster's business card and found it, smiling triumphantly as he stared at the printed words on the little rectangular piece of textured paper. Now that he'd found Thor's woman, he could plan a way to meet her again, alone. He would then interrogate the female mortal to learn how she'd miraculously transformed Thor from a pompously arrogant, self-centered fool to a sickeningly humble, self-sacrificing hero!

However, if he chose to capture Jane instead, it would force Heimdall to tell Thor of his whereabouts, immediately pushing his brother to beg the All-Father to send him to Midgard. With Jane as his hostage, he could compel Thor to do certain tasks for him, the most important being the recovery of his Aesir armor, and from there, the return of his lost immortality.

Though it's a very appealing thought, it would be foolish of me to carry it out, Loki reasoned to himself with a snicker. Jane as my hostage would surely earn me Thor's wrath, and in my current mortal state, I would be powerless to defend myself. A less reckless and delicate manner is wiser.

Perhaps a better way would present itself once he'd learned more about how the humans functioned and interacted with each other in their day-to-day environment. Something he would observe soon enough when Monday approached. Alvis and Marius had promised him employment in their commercial establishment conveniently located at the base of the building they lived in - which was gratefully only an elevator ride away. Having recently been the unfortunate passenger with Bryn as a driver made him reluctant to learn how to operate a vehicle but it was a valuable necessity nonetheless. He would eventually need to learn how to drive if he wanted to further explore the world he was forcibly trapped in...just not at the moment.

Irritated that his computer was still unusable, Loki looked around the room to find something to occupy his time while he waited. Glancing at his television and its remote, he was curious to try it out but knew that doing so would be much too noisy.

Creeping silently out of his room and into the main living room, he randomly took books off the tall, narrow, dark-stained wooden shelves that were on either side of a large, wall-mounted LCD screen. With five fairly thick novels in his arms, Loki strolled back into his room and out to his balcony where he sat back down on the comfortable cushions of his chaise lounge, flipping pages to the first chapter of a book he'd chosen from the top of the stack.

"Dinner last night was a blast," Darcy began after she'd halfway eaten her cheesy vegetable omelet, feeling more awake. An excited Stark had practically dragged them all out of bed to start the day; the addition of Captain Rogers bringing a definite air of mystery and intrigue to the mansion's social atmosphere.

"It's amazing those club owners didn't publish a book. If last night was just a hint, sounds like they have a ton of interesting stories to tell," Jane said, sipping her hot cup of Chai tea with an extra frothy skim-milk topping. The press had already documented some of Stark's more notorious parties which she'd openly dissected with Darcy, Bryn Seaver and Savannah Swane, having spent most of last night chatting with them.

"Frankly, I'm surprised too," Stark replied with a shrug. "Not that I'd ever encourage them but it's nice to know there are still decent people out there I can trust." He clears his throat. "God knows I've put Alvi and Mars through hell with the way I acted not too long ago...I don't even remember half my visits to the Bourgeoisie or how trashed the place might've gotten. Alvi refuses to tell me and Pepper won't either."

"Speaking of night clubs, Bryn told us she works as a bartender and as a dancer," Darcy said with admiration, flicking crumbs off her pastel colored, Victoria Secret Tee-jama. "She must stagger her schedule, otherwise, she'd be too trashed to function."

"Isn't Bryn a bit young to be working in such a...well, rather questionable profession?" Steve Rogers stated as delicately as he could. He and Pepper had enjoyed the time they spent talking to Bryn last night and he felt protective of her.

"You do what you have to do to survive," Jane replied flatly in Bryn's defense. "At least women these days get more chances to be independent, and if life hadn't dealt her a major turd, she'd be on the opposite side of the country right now graduating from Harvard Medical."

Their table grew silent under the canopy of Jane's irritation. Somehow, Pepper was able to coax Bryn into telling them about the tragedy that happened to her. Though she'd omitted details, the loss of her parents was undeniably great and everyone felt a good measure of sympathy for her.

"Jane, tell me something. That anemic looking guy with the black hair last night? I can't believe you gave him your business card," Tony said as he cleared his throat, trying to lighten the overall mood by abruptly changing topic. Munching on a slice of toasted whole grain bread generously topped with organic marmalade, he leaned back on a well-cushioned love-seat in a light-grey cotton shirt and grey-plaid Diesel pajama pants. His eyes gazed fondly at the woman seated to his right, her tangled dark-blonde hair loosely pinned on her head with a large pink clip.

Tony Stark sat beside Jane Foster on a wrought aluminum Venetian patio set, his other house-guests, Captain Steve Rogers and Darcy Lewis, sat across from them at a rectangular table, the pair sharing a love-seat of their own. The four enjoyed a catered breakfast feast under the warm morning Malibu sunshine on a curved veranda - an extension of the sculpted mansion's spacious kitchen - with a panoramic, seaside view of the surrounding area.

"Adam was a nice guy, Tony. He even made a point of apologizing for the way he reacted when we were first introduced. Turns out, he was just shocked coz I was the spitting image of someone else," Jane explained with a shrug. She briefly tugged on her unbuttoned baby-blue cardigan that slid off her shoulder which matched her slim-fitted, spaghetti-strap tank top and boxer shorts printed with dozens of little silver butterflies. "Plus, he seems well-educated, and my God, the way he speaks…"

Stark snapped her a barely disguised look of jealously that made her giggle.

"Oh yeah, I could listen to that guy's voice for hours. Easy on the eyes too," Darcy added with a grin, reaching for another strip of crunchy bacon from a pile on a square plate. "He's kind of exotic-looking too...like a male Snow White." Jane laughed out loud. "Did Adam hand you his business card? Ten-seconds flat that guy can get an agent in Hollywood. Hell, I'll be his agent."

Rogers chuckled softly as he worked on his third helping of triple-stacked pancakes smothered with butter and syrup, refilling his glass from a round pitcher of milk.

"I'll bet he's the runaway lead actor of some British Shakespearean troupe," Jane joked, savoring a forkful of her fruit-covered Belgian waffle. "Since we don't follow British Theatre, he can travel around California incognito."

"Nuh-uh. More like Adam's a relative of the British Royal Family gone AWOL and Scotland Yard's beside themselves tracking him down," Darcy said with mock seriousness. "Ooooh, quick! We should go check out the tabloid missing persons lists."

"What are you two talking about?" Stark blurted out, looking both annoyed and confused.

"You're listening to official girl-talk," Darcy said nonchalantly, looking at Stark with a raised eyebrow. "What? You've never heard genuine girl-talk before?"

"Not this version," Stark answered flatly and muttered, "all I hear is nonsense." When Jane and Darcy stared at him somewhat indignantly, he added, "Uh...the disadvantage of an only child?" When he caught Rogers trying to hide a smile, he responded, "Don't tell me you understand what they're talking about?"

"No need to get all bent out of shape over it," Rogers replied. "Adam's a man of mystery and girls like that." He shrugged, looking boyish handsomely in a snugly fitted white T-shirt and striped pajamas. "It's nice to know that some things haven't changed."

"Speaking of girls, I noticed you and Pepper spent a lot of time together last night," Stark singsonged, impishly wagging his eyebrows. "I think Cupid's arrow hit its mark."

"Tony, give it a rest," Jane spoke, rolling her eyes. "Obviously, they had a good time at dinner, so let's just leave it at that."

"I can't help it, he makes it too easy," Stark remarked with a laugh, assuming the role of the stereotypically bothersome 'big brother' and ignoring the fact that Roger's wasn't smiling anymore. "Besides, it's a healthy start. Let bygones be bygones and move forward."

The sharp ringing of pure silverware on premium handcrafted ceramics drew their attention as Rogers's fork dropped to his plate.

"Excuse me, I seem to have lost my appetite," Rogers said stiffly with a frown as he stood abruptly to his feet, bounding easily out of the love-seat he shared with Darcy and strode angrily into the mansion.

"Hey!" Jane admonished, swatting Stark's arm with the back of her left hand.

"What the hell?" Stark said in confusion, his eyes glancing at the empty space beside Darcy.

"Insensitive much?" Lewis mumbled, glaring at him before following after Rogers.

"'Let bygones be bygones and move forward?' The guy lost everything and then some, not to mention the love of his life, Tony. You can't expect him to just forget it all, can you?" Jane replied in disbelief. "You try waking up one day after seventy years passes by without you and see how you feel!"

Inside the mansion, Darcy searched for the whereabouts of Rogers and eventually found him trying to destroy a black punching bag in Stark's fully equipped personal gym. Leaning quietly against the thick padding of the navy-blue Everlast professional training stage set in the center of the open room, Darcy watched as Rogers took his frustration and anger out on the bag, noting that another one dangled freely from a chain in the ceiling beside him. The black bag being demolished was fastened in place by two thick chains, the one through the floor slackening to accommodate his harder punches.

"I'm surprised that thing can stand up to you at all," Darcy commented softly after long minutes of silent observation.

"Stark had this specially designed for me," Rogers replied, stopping to wipe his damp face with a white towel. "The bag's been reinforced with layers of Kevlar fabric and the chain's attached to a suspension mechanism underneath the floor. A regular punching bag would've been dust by now."

"No doubt there," she agreed and cautioned to ask, "...um, you feeling better?"

"A bit," he answered with a shrug. He walked over to a long, low side table with shelves and metal drawers in a corner of the room and poured himself some water. Gazing out the transparent wall behind it, two pivoting panes of thick Plexiglass served as doors that led out of the gym to a small veranda that overlooked the northern end of Santa Monica Bay and the expanse of the Pacific Ocean. There were five, cushioned, metal lounge chairs with wood panelling that sat facing the landscape.

Helping herself to a red apple in a metal bowl beside the refreshment tray, Darcy took a generous bite and sat herself on one of two, red, cushioned bench-blocks beside the side table.

"I'm like the last person on Earth you should talk to about matters of the heart and all that...but I'm here if you just wanna vent," she offered. Knowing that her own grandmother was the former great love of the Captain America gave her a measure of responsibility toward him.

Rogers seemed hesitant for a moment, then sat himself down on the bench beside hers, elbows resting on his knees as he bent over and closed his eyes, his fists kneading his forehead.

"I don't speak for Tony but I'll apologize for him anyway," Darcy said, taking another bite of her apple. "Guess it's true what they say about geniuses, they can't be good at everything and especially fall short in the social skills department."

"Yeah," Rogers said reservedly. His eyes remained closed as he listened to the steady bites and chews that Darcy made with her apple, his mind warring with the idea of finding 'closure.'

"I think..." Rogers began hesitantly. He felt Darcy shift in her seat to look at him. "I think...that maybe I'd like to visit your father...and hear some stories about Peg...your Granny Marge...if it's not too much trouble?"

"Really? Hey, no, no! It's no trouble at all," Darcy said excitedly. "Um...when would you - "

"Soon as we can make the trip?" Rogers replied, sitting up straight with a small smile. "I really need to get outta here for a while." The thought of seeing Stark's face, for the moment, made his blood boil.

"Uh, okay," Darcy said and stood up quickly. "I'll, um, I'll go call my dad right now."

He chuckled when he heard a sharp squeak that echoed down the curved stone stairwell that led out of the gym.

Outside on the Stark mansion's kitchen veranda, a grey cloud hung over the formerly pleasant morning breakfast that was intended to complement last night's dinner.

"Shit, I really screwed up," Tony Stark lamented, looking genuinely chagrined.

"It's not me that needs the apology," Jane replied, crossing her arms.

"You're right, I should go find him and - "

"Jane, Jane, Jane!" Darcy called out as she ran frantically toward them.

"What happened?" Stark demanded, thinking the worst, as he and Jane stood to their feet.

"I can't find my cellphone!" Darcy complained with a whine.

"Calm down, Dare. What going on?" Jane said slowly.

"Steve wants to go visit my dad," Darcy explained after she took a deep breath.

"Huh? Why?" Jane and Stark both replied, confused.

"Well, first, Steve made it clear that he doesn't want to see Tony's face for a few days," Darcy stated, glowering at him. "...and second, I think he feels..." She turned to Jane. "Maybe moving on isn't something he wants to do...but it's something he needs to do?"

The trio stood silently in place for a few moments.

"I can get a plane prepped and ready," Stark extended, trying to repair the damage he caused. "Just name the place and time."

"Gotta call my dad first. After I shoved off to college, my parents moved to St. Albans, Vermont to be closer to my dad's sister, my Aunt Mary, who lives in Montreal." She then added, "Damn. Dad'll never believe who's coming over for dinner," Darcy grinned impishly.

By the time his computer's wretched power source had reached its full charge, the humans with whom Loki shared his current dwelling began to stir. First to awaken was Bryn, who'd dragged herself to her bathroom to refresh herself and began rummaging for breakfast in the kitchen. Mars and Alvi followed about half-an-hour later, the three of them lively chatting away.

Sighing, Loki knew that his absence would surely bring any one of them knocking on his door, interrupting what he needed to do on his new computer.

This will have to wait till later tonight, Loki said to himself as he unplugged his laptop and placed it on his bedside table. True to his prediction, he heard someone approaching his door as he headed straight for his en suite bathroom and started the shower.

Outside, Bryn paused when she heard the faint sound of water running.

Oh...guess I don't need to bug him then, she thought to herself, turning around with a tiny smile and a blush on her face when she recalled the last time she decided to sneak into Adam's room. Though the temptation to see him naked again was deliciously enticing, she'd rather not stamp the word 'Pervert' on her forehead or get another lecture from Adam about her 'unladylike' behavior.

"Adam's in the shower," Bryn announced and rolled her eyes when Alvi and Mars exchanged mischievous glances. "Hey, be my guest. I'm think his door's unlocked."

"Oh, really?" Mars replied, narrowing his eyes. "You sound too sure of yourself."

"Done the deed now, have you?" Alvi teased and laughed when Bryn looked away with a blush. "Bravo, darling. Didn't know you had it in you."

"In your dreams, Alvi," Bryn bit back, knowing she'd already given herself away. Having a poker face wasn't one of her strong points.

"How was it? Was it everything you'd hoped to see?" Mars grinned.

"You guys really wanna know?" Bryn said, leaning forward. When both her eager guardians moved closer, she added, "Nah, not telling," and laughed when they groaned in disappointment.

"Quite a fuss we have here," Adam said suddenly, startling the three of them.

"Morning, you," Bryn greeted, wondering how Adam had gotten showered and dressed so fast. "Whatcha want for breakfast?"

"More appropriately, I should be asking what you require," he corrected with a smile.

"Right," Bryn muttered. She had hoped in vain that Adam had forgotten about his pledge of 'slavery' to her. "Adam…"

"Bryn, it's absolutely no bother, I assure you," he said with amusement.

"I'm making French Toast, any takers?" Alvi offered, saving Bryn from being further flustered.

"Me!" Bryn said excitedly, welcoming the interruption. "Chocolate sprinkles, please."

"I'll make the strawberry compote," Mars volunteered, checking the fruit pantry.

"Add blueberries to mine, love?" Alvi requested as he began cutting thick slices from a large loaf of homemade Challah bread.

When Adam offered to help, Alvis immediately called him over and gave him instructions. Soon, their gourmet French Toast breakfast was ready and everyone savored the portions on their plates, their dark-haired guest praising the wonderful flavor of the dish with delight.

"Is something the matter, Bryn?" Adam asked, having caught her repeatedly glancing at her watch.

"My landlord, Raoul's coming back from Brazil," Bryn said with a frown, not looking forward to dealing with him. "I'm paid up till next month but he's gonna go ape-shit when he finds out I completely bailed on him. I signed a contract that says I'm supposed to give him sixty days notice before totally moving out. He's gonna end up keeping my deposit and probably demand that I keep paying rent till he finds a new tenant."

"Don't waste your time on Raoul, dearie, I can handle him. I just need to make a few calls and I can find him a new tenant in no time," Mars said. "That boy's all bark and no bite."

"Thanks, Mars, but I have to tell him in person, regardless," Bryn said with a sigh.

"I shall accompany you there," Adam said, leaving no room for discussion.

"Fine," Bryn grumbled, "but keep your mouth shut and don't try arguing with him, it'll make things worse, okay?"

"I promise to be merely an observer for the entire exchange," Adam said with sincerity and placed a hand over his heart in emphasis. She couldn't hide a small smile in reaction.

"Excuse me a moment," Alvis said when he swiftly ran to answer his cell phone to a custom caller ringtone of Pink's 'Get This Party Started.' "This is Alvis. What can I do for you, Mister Stark?"

At the sound of that name, Mars and Bryn turned their heads in Alvi's direction, attentively eavesdropping on the one-sided conversation.

"How many guests will be attending?" Alvis inquired. "Oh, I see. A more intimate setting can be arranged then. We can sequester the VIP area...that won't be a problem, however, I can't guarantee that other people in the club will...very well, we'll play it by ear. I'll see you in two weeks then, Mister...if you insist. See you in two weeks, Tony. Same to you." He ended the call, staring at his phone in somewhat of a daze.

"Well, love? Don't keep it to yourself," Mars prodded.

"It seems...Tony Stark wishes to stop by the club in two weeks," Alvis answered. "He'll be bringing a few friends he said need 'unwinding.'"

"Shit," Bryn muttered, not exactly looking forward to baring it all onstage, especially to high profile people she'd personally met...and the memory of Steve Rogers's Big Brother disapproval brought back some of her old stage fright.

"I can ask one of the other girls to dance that night, if you wish," Alvis said, noting Bryn's discomfort.

"Like I'd give Jessica the pleasure of watching me chicken out? No way in hell," Bryn declared adamantly. "Just need to find my game-face and off I go."

"We can add dramatic lingerie under your costume so you're not completely naked," Mars suggested. "Something with crystal studding…"

"We'll hash it out after I get back from Raoul's," Bryn said, staking a final bite of her French Toast before tugging Adam out the door.

"That went well, I think," Darcy snickered, ending the long distance call. As she predicted, her dad thought she was pulling a prank! Captain Super Soldier was smiling in amusement as he sat beside her on a lounger in the Stark mansion's kitchen veranda.

"There's no need to rush them," Rogers said. "We can give them a few days to - "

"Nope, we're good to go," Darcy insisted, giving him a thumbs up. "They want us over for dinner, pronto. Besides, my dad's excited to meet you."

"I really don't mean to put your parents in such a tight spot," Rogers said.

"Hey, it's not everyday they get the Captain America in their living room," Darcy replied. "Besides, mom and I get to finally sort through Granny Marge's things. Dad misses her the most and he didn't want any of her stuff removed till he felt ready. You're being there finally gets things going."

"Everything set?" Jane asked as she strolled onto the veranda with Stark beside her.

"Jet's prepped at LAX and the chopper's here within the next ten minutes," Tony said, glancing at Rogers who turned away. "You both have everything you need?"

"Yup, we're all set," Darcy replied, knowing Rogers was still angry with Stark.

"I'll be waiting at the helipad," Rogers said curtly as he stood and strode through the kitchen toward the mansion's front door, a cylindrical military duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

"Tony, just give him space," Jane reminded, placing a hand on Stark's arm when he moved forward after Rogers and Darcy. "Wait till they get back from Vermont." When he nodded quietly, she smiled back, pleased that he seemed increasingly more agreeable to her suggestions.

Following Rogers out to the mansion's helipad, Darcy stood quietly nearby and decided to wait for several long minutes before breaking their companionable silence.

"Y'know, you don't have to push yourself to - "

"It's okay…" Rogers said softly. "I can't keep...living in the past anymore. No amount of regret or wishing things were different won't change what's been done."

"Chopper's here," Darcy said cheerfully, trying to lighten the heavy sadness in the air. "My mom and dad can't wait to meet you."

Jane and Tony soon joined them to wave goodbye as the helicopter lifted off and yawed to follow a direct flight path to Stark's private hanger in LAX where a personal Hondajet - in red, gold and silver colors - sat waiting to shuttle them to Franklin County State Airport.

"I swear, Raz, I cannot get enough of this place," Clint Barton said excitedly as he and a friend walked out of DeLessio Market & Bakery, their food containers of special biodegradable material were stacked high inside large, reusable bags. "Damn, I wanted to buy everything in there."

"Pace yourself. You're in San Francisco for a few days, right?" Orazio 'Raz' Alioto replied with a laugh. "Unless you're planning to take off to Vegas early."

"Nah. I'm in no rush. My equipment prep's all done. Just need to show up," Barton grinned.

The pair hopped into a matte-black, fully customized off-road Jeep with a retractable soft-top that Alioto designed personally, one of the many hobbies he'd adopted after being honorably discharged from active military service.

"I see you've kept yourself busy," Barton chuckled, noting the curious stares their jeep received from pedestrians. "Body armor, recovery gear, engine snorkel, steel wheels, nitrogen suspension...just add oscillating blades and severed heads on pikes to the hood, and hey, we've rolled out of a Mad Max movie."

"Made this thing to defend against tourists," Raz joked as he carefully pulled out of his parked spot and onto Market Street. "Cause this city sure as hell's got enough of them," he griped, hoping to reach Van Ness Avenue with little to no hassle through the downtown pandemonium.

As the jeep inched its way along, Barton caught sight of a young, attractive brunette in a lime-green, short-sleeved top and jeans, her long hair tied back in a pony tail. She was about to jaywalk across the street with her companion: a tall, pale-skinned, dark-haired man who, as first impressions went, made him irrationally uncomfortable.

"Hey, whoa!" Barton warned from the passenger's seat, their jeep slamming to a stop just inches away from hitting them. The brunette had darted forward, her companion bravely shielding her from harm's way with his own body. Also, the dark-haired man had a pair of shockingly intense green eyes that glared menacingly at him.

"Yo, Malibu Barbie, are you begging to get killed?" Raz shouted angrily, completely focused on the startled brunette in front of him.

"Let's go, Bryn," the brunette's male companion urged before she could argue as he ushered them quickly across the street, the two of them blending instantly with the crowded sidewalk.

Grumbling expletives, Raz stomped on the gas, barely avoiding another group of people recklessly cutting through oncoming traffic.

Brows furrowed in concentration, Barton stood up off his seat as he scanned for the brunette and her companion in a flurry of faces...but the pair had evaded his keen eyesight. Beside him, Raz continued to curse at pedestrians who insisted on playing Duck Duck Goose with moving vehicles.

"The fuck's wrong with these people?" Raz bellowed out in annoyance, scowling when someone gave him the middle finger salute. He blared his horn in protest. "Fucking tourists."

"Some kind of parade?" Barton guessed as he caught sight of a tightly packed group of men and women wearing costumes several yards ahead of them.

"There's always some shit happening here," Raz replied, eager to leave the chaos of Market Street. When he noticed his friend remained standing, he added, "Something wrong?"

"Huh? No, it's nothing," Barton said and sat down.

"I've got the paperwork for the tournament back at the restaurant," Raz said, relieved that their Jeep now cruised down Van Ness Avenue. He'd then cut across Bay Street, taking Taylor straight to Fisherman's Wharf. "You sure you're okay staying at the Travelodge? I got a guest room at the restaurant."

"Touched by the offer, Razzmatazz, as always," Barton replied and shook his head. "Can't. You know why."

"Dunno, I'm starting to think you're getting paranoid," Raz teased.

"In my line of work? It's a requirement," Barton said. "So, you heard from Elvira?"

"Yeah, saw him recently. He came over for a favor. Wanted ID photos for this weirdo he introduced me to. Wanna know the best part? The weirdo's living with him."

"That kinky sunnovabitch," Barton laughed.

"Fuck, no, it's nothing like that," Raz paused then made a face. "Least I hope not," he muttered and immediately purged his head free of all thoughts on the subject. "Anyway, the weirdest part is, when I met the guy...I dunno how else to describe it...he didn't feel right. Gave me the fucking creeps."

"Go on."

"First impression: guy's totally harmless. Elvis introduces him as Adam Laoki from Iceland...but he spoke British English like a Royal," Raz said, shrugging. "The guy was soft-spoken, intelligent...bit of a pretty-boy." Barton raised a brow in reaction. "Tall, slim, maybe six-one, six-two. Shoulder-length black hair; inky black. His complexion? Smooth-as-fuck skin. Girl smooth." He laughed. "He's even got shaped eyebrows like a movie star. Also, immaculate posture, and the way he moves, graceful, like he took ballet or some shit."

"I think you're in love," Barton snickered.

"By the way, did I mention that I watched Adam Laoki do two consecutive MFDCs? First target was at thirty, the second at sixty yards. The guy struck gold on both 2D targets with a single draw using my recurve." (MFDC = M*F* Dead Center)

"Kiss my ass. You're fulla shit."

"Really? I'm fulla shit, huh?" Raz remarked, supremely pleased with himself that he'd gotten Barton's undivided attention. "Before I formally invited him to shoot the target range...this Adam Laoki guy, with one shot, fucking pinwheels the 'I' in the America sign for my weapons collection with a priceless Viking archery set from the fucking ninth century!"

Had Barton been driving, he would've unintentionally caused a devastating pile up since his foot would have instantly slammed on the jeep's brakes in response to what he heard.

"Impossible," Barton said loudly in disbelief as he stared at his friend. "Nobody can shoot like that." Other than me, anyway. "Seriously? Three ADCs using three totally different bows?" With one bow too old to even fathom! (ADC = Absolute Dead Center)

"Well, the weirdo did it, okay? Elvis and I saw the whole thing with our own eyes," Raz shouted back. It had left him upset and a bit shaken when he recalled what happened during his encounter with Werner's Weirdo. Now that he'd vented the entire incident to Barton, meeting Adam Laoki again was inevitable. Not only that...he deliberately withheld the fact that his preliminary search into Adam's past came up blank. It was like the guy didn't exist! Who the fuck was Laoki and why was Werner so eager to help him?

Currently in deep thought as he sat in the jeep's passenger seat, Barton took his phone, firing off a text message to a mutual friend: 'Hey, Elvira. Gotta talk to you. Call me.'

Neither he nor Raz spoke another word to each other till their jeep arrived at their destination.

"Can you believe that asshole?" Bryn fumed, locking her borrowed Acura MDX with its key fob till it beeped as it sat in a public parking lot. They were a block away from her old basement apartment and she wanted a slow walk to gather her thoughts before facing her former landlord, Raoul Ramirez. "It was a red light and that jeep saw us coming! Would it have killed those guys to wait?"

"Under the circumstances, Bryn, I believe that jeep would've killed us," Adam pointed out.

"They were looking right at us," Bryn argued and sighed. "Forget it."

After several footsteps in complete silence, Adam remarked, "Why are you so...reluctant to speak to this Raoul?"

"Raoul's what I call a major 'drama queen.' He even acts like some wannabe gangster - it's ridiculous," she replied in annoyance.

"There's no need to worry. The crux of the matter is that you no longer wish to live there. Unless the contract you signed explicitly states that he can withhold your deposit for leaving or force you to pay more, then an apology for your sudden and unexpected departure is enough," he explicated. When Bryn stared at him with widened eyes, he added, "However, should Raoul decide to put up a fuss," he smiled faintly, "then simply ignore him."

With a look of awe, Bryn said, "How do you do that?"

"Do what?" Adam asked, puzzled.

"That thing you do where you make everything sound so easy," she said with a laugh.

"Isn't it?" he countered and noted that Bryn's steps faltered, her mouth slightly agape.

"Let's go," she said with a shake to her head, tugging Adam's arm along out of habit.

They sat at a booth in a corded-off area on the second floor of Alioto's seafood restaurant in Fisherman's Wharf. Though Barton enjoyed the good food and the company of an old friend, his thoughts kept looping back to Raz's earlier story of 'Werner's Weirdo'...including his bizarre encounter with of a pair of phenomenally freaky green eyes on the streets of downtown San Francisco.

"You okay there?" Raz asked with concern. "You're spacing out on me."

"Shit, man, I'm sorry," Barton frowned, wondering why Alvis hadn't contacted him yet. "I can't seem to shake off that thing you told me about earlier."

"If you're dwelling on it, that can't be good," Raz said, shoveling a big portion of stew from their dishes of steaming take-out into his mouth.

The loud clattering of a vibrating smartphone on their table made both men curse.

"Speaking of," Barton muttered as he grabbed his phone to answer it. "You sure took your sweet-ass time getting back to me, Elvira. Uh-huh. Excuses, excuses. Yeah, well, I hear you're starting to slip old man." When Raz began to pointedly shake his head, he raised his hand, signaling his friend to keep calm. "Since when have you make a habit out of taking in street rats...and crazy ones, for crying out loud?" A pause. "Did he now?" A longer pause as his brows crunched together. "Huh. So, can I meet the sunnovabitch before I head out to Vegas? I'd like to see what he can really do for myself." He laughed. "He's not gonna disappear, I promise. You and Raz can even be his chaperones, if it makes you happy." His eyebrows rose up his forehead. "Tuesday afternoon's good. See you then." After he hung up, he tossed his phone on the table and scratched his head.

Chuckling, Raz said, "Typical Werner, right? Guy keeps you guessing."

"That's why I like him," Barton grinned. "Coz retirement just made him a lot more interesting." His face turned reflective. "That bastard was one helluva soldier." Then he chuckled. "I don't think he took the 'old man' comment too well though."

The two friends laughed out loud.

"He's gonna shoot us both on sight for that one," Raz grinned. "Where we meeting him?"

"Elvira's bringing the guy over to where I'm staying at the Travelodge," Barton explained with a shrug.

"I'm not bullshitting you about that Laoki guy," Raz said. "You'll know what I'm talking about when you meet him."

Barton grinned. "Looking forward to it."

She took a deep breath when her landlord's car, a 2-door sparkle-orange Cadillac CTS-V Coupe, sat parked on the driveway of her former address.

Bryn was not looking forward to seeing Raoul Ramirez.

"Shit," she muttered, her legs refusing to move.

"You appear like someone marching to their death," Adam chuckled.

"Good description since I might as well be," Bryn lamented and groaned. "Screw it, I'm chickening out. Let's go."

"'Chickening out'?" Adam repeated with raised eyebrows.

"Slang for 'I'm being a complete coward' and calling it quits," Bryn declared, already pulling them in the opposite direction.

"Bryn, wait…"

"No. I don't think I can emotionally handle an epic chew-out right now," she argued.

"Bryn. Stop."

She reluctantly turned to look at Adam when he gently grasped her shoulders.

"There's nothing to fear," Adam said and gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. "I shall be by your side. You will not be facing this man alone."

At that precise moment, Bryn was incredibly tempted to physically melt into him, the warmth of Adam's stare sending happy chills dancing across her skin.

Smiling slightly, she nodded slowly and took a few deep breaths, both of them resuming their measured trek toward her former basement apartment.

Though every step she took felt heavier, Adam's right hand - that was deliciously stroking her back as she walked - kept her moving.

Hours away, in the town of St. Albans in Vermont, Darcy Lewis quickly shut the door that led to a specially prepared guest-room in her parent's home and leaned against it with an exasperated sigh. Dinner at the Lewis household had never been so eventful. To Darcy's embarrassment, she witnessed both her parents as they acted clumsily, gushing like teenagers the minute Steve Rogers passed through the front door.

"Okay, I am so, so, sorry about that," Darcy said with a blush. "I swear, I was like this close," she gestured with her fingers, "to disowning them. My own parents!"

Chuckling, Steve Rogers sat down with a bounce on the bed behind him, the soft mattress covered with a quilted duvet boldly colored in red, white and blue. At a glance, the entire room was rearranged and themed to suit Rogers's legendary reputation as Captain America. Despite the awkwardness at dinner, he was delighted to have been invited to spend a few days in the Lewis home. Not only was he miles away from Tony Stark, his being here gave him the opportunity to be closer to the memory of his beloved Peggy.

"Didn't know your folks were such big fans," Rogers replied with amusement.

"Well, neither did I," Darcy said, her lips curling in mild distaste at the guest-room's kitschy decor. "You can blame my Granny Marge for their over-enthusiasm. When she got sick and had to stay in the hospital, she...uh...talked a lot about Captain America and his self-sacrifice during the war."

Walking toward an old metal trunk in a corner of the room, Darcy knelt down and pulled off a vintage cloth banner draped over it, one of many that were used during Rogers's USO morale campaigns. The custom aluminum luggage trunk was a faded dark green, the exterior marred by numerous scratches and dents. Obviously, the trunk itself was used quite thoroughly by its owner. From where he sat, Rogers visually assessed its dimensions: 43 inches wide, 25 inches high and 23 inches deep. He recognized the trunk's design which was popular during the 30s and 40s and was made to function as a portable wardrobe, the trunk halved into two equal parts. Three, sturdy, evenly spaced latches secured it and a large lock hung from the main latch in the middle.

"For a long time, we all thought that the stuff Granny Marge told us about were just stories she heard during her service in the British military," Darcy added. "You can imagine our shock when we got this." Her hand rested on the old trunk and her fingers drifted to the large lock. "We found this thing when my dad decided that he wanted to sell the old house where he grew up. He was totally against renting it out and kept the place around for a few years like some kind of shrine. When I was ready for college, he figured Granny Marge would've wanted to fund my education, so we cleaned the place out and found this trunk buried in the basement under a pile of my Grandpa's tools," she explained, staring at it. She then felt Rogers move off the bed to stand behind her.

"Why is it still locked?" Rogers asked curiously. He fully expected that such a treasure of Peggy's would've been thoroughly investigated by members of her own family.

"Because of this."

Using her thumbs, Darcy manipulated specific rivets on the upper half of the trunk, a sharp click revealing a cleverly hidden drawer seamlessly integrated under one of the trunk's metal bands.

"My dad and I were ready to cut the lock when I suddenly had this epiphany." Her voice sounded distant and her face was sad. "For the longest time, I never understood why Granny Marge made me memorize these words: three in apart, two in down, one in up. She even had this little song so I'd always remember. She never told me what the words were for...only that I'd know when to use them and what they meant when the time was right. The weirdest part is...over the years, I totally forgot about those words...until I stared at this trunk." Her fingers touched the rivets that had slightly shifted on her late grandmother's metal luggage. "...and just like that...I knew what the words meant...and what I had to do."

"Must've been a very important secret," Rogers said carefully. "What did you find?"

"I think it's better if you take a look."

Moving to sit cross-legged beside her, Rogers pulled out the trunk's slim, secret drawer and inside it was a dusty 12 x 12 inch leather-bound book. On the front cover wa window where a sepia-tone group photograph was carefully centered showing several women posing in skirted military uniforms. Among the women stood a young Peggy Carter.

"I think it's an old scrapbook Granny Marge made before she moved to America," Darcy said softly.

Taking slow, deep breaths, Steve Rogers flipped to the first page and he gasped slightly when he saw the neatly pasted picture.

It was a photograph of himself wearing an army boot camp training uniform in his original body. He stood at attention and looked like a high school freshman compared to the other candidates.

"Oh, boy…" Steve muttered breathlessly as he stared at the photo. "I've almost forgotten what I used to look like."

"We didn't make the connection at first, we just thought they were random photos…" Darcy said. She and Rogers shifted on the hardwood floor, their backs leaning against the old metal trunk as they sat close together. "When we finally realized what we were looking at...we totally freaked out."

"I can see why…" Rogers replied as he continued to turn the pages. The photos were painstakingly arranged in chronological order, and based on the variety, the images were gathered from different sources. Some were large enough to cover an entire page, others were collages and newspaper clippings were tacked in as an afterthought.

"How'd you even get recruited looking like that?" Darcy asked. "No offense."

"I didn't," Rogers admitted. "I applied to every recruitment office I could find and the results were always the same. I failed the medicals." He gazed nostalgically at the photo of an older, bearded man with round spectacles in a dark-brown wool suit who always stood apart but was ever present in the background. The former Nazi scientist, Dr. Abraham Erskine. The man largely responsible for turning him into a superhero.

The next page held a large photograph taken by someone from a high vantage point that overlooked the central gallery where Rogers was born as Captain America. From the time stamp and serial numbers printed on the picture's lower right-hand corner, it was easy to guess that Peggy had managed to smuggle out an official, classified file for her personal use.

"It's like a modern Frankenstein movie set," Darcy remarked. "Well, modern for the 1940s, anyway." Her eyes traveled along the many instrumentation panels and settled on a strange metal capsule that was placed in the center of a circular gallery.

The next few pages were a collage of Rogers being strapped down to the metal capsule, the initial injection phase of Erskine's serum, the capsule closing around him and of Howard Stark busy at a control panel, the metal capsule emitting a bright light from within. Remarkably, Peggy Carter had collected priceless pictorial evidence of his Super Soldier transformation.

"It must've been awful."

"I was absolutely terrified but I still had the stones to crack jokes," Rogers confessed with a soft chuckle. "It was the biggest gamble I'd ever taken, and with my own life no less...but I had nothing more to lose. Even after the first set of needles went through my skin - God, it hurt like hell - I'd convinced myself that it would all work out. That come what may, I'd endure." He paused, looking reflective. "I can't even begin to describe how that procedure felt...but it's like every cell in my body went supernova," he raised his hands and clenched them into fists. "I held on for as long as I could before I passed out...and for a split second, I thought I was gonna die." He unclenched his fists and laid them on the scrapbook perched on his lap. "When I came to...I so dizzy and disoriented that I almost forgot where I was. Then I saw Peggy smiling, and all at once, everyone began cheering." He smiled slightly. "That's when I knew the experiment worked."

The last photo of the event was just before the explosion.

"In the middle of everyone congratulating one another, there was loud bang. It rained glass and debris," Rogers narrated with a faraway gaze. "The observation lounge overlooking the gallery was engulfed in flames and people took cover wherever they could. Then there was gunfire. Next thing I knew, someone was hurt and Peggy was shooting at a man who was trying to escape with a stolen sample of the Super Soldier serum." He closed his eyes and swallowed, recalling Dr. Erskine's final moments. "Then this incredible rage took over and I reacted on impulse. In my bare feet, I bolted out of the bunker and chased down the goon on my own steam like a wild man." He turned his head and regarded Darcy who was listening intently. "For the first time in my life...my body did exactly what I wanted it to...and more." He smiled, his face filled with boyish glee. "I was leaping over cars, charging past oncoming traffic, smashing through windows, dodging bullets...at the time it seemed perfectly normal. I was so completely focused on catching this guy."

"So, did you get him?" Darcy asked eagerly.

"I caught him," Rogers nodded. "Cornered the goon at a pier but he smashed the last remaining sample of Erskine's serum. Then the twit bumped himself off with a cyanide pill." He frowned with distaste at the memory.

"You definitely got a crash course on how to use your new body," Darcy smiled.

"Yeah, once the adrenaline wore off, I got a chance to process just how much I'd changed," Rogers replied. "Unfortunately, Dr. Erskine took the secret of his perfected formula to his grave."

"Just as well, I guess," Darcy said with a shrug. "I don't even wanna imagine what would've happened if that serum got delivered to the bad guys."

"I guess…" Rogers muttered sadly as he stared at the photo on the final page of the scrapbook. It was a group picture taken by one of Howard Stark's associates, of him, Peggy and Howard Stark posing briefly before they boarded his private plane that took them behind enemy lines during his first real mission as a military soldier. He was determined to rescue his friend, James 'Bucky' Barnes, and the rest of the 107th division who were being held captive inside an enemy weapons plant. There was a heaviness in his chest when he thought of Bucky.

"My parents told me that you're welcome to have anything you want from this trunk; especially that scrapbook," Darcy informed Rogers. "It's only fair since you knew her way before we did."

"I appreciate that," Steve said warmly. He stood up, set aside the large scrapbook and bent over to examine the trunk. "Ready to see what's inside it?"

"Are you?" Darcy countered.

"I think that went rather well," Adam spoke as he and Bryn strolled toward their parked vehicle. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"I should've videoed that entire conversation," Bryn replied, shaking her head. "Coz Mars and Alvi won't believe me even if I tell them."

"Why is that?"

"Because Raoul never agrees to anything much less on the first try," Bryn stated in amazement as they approached Alvi's MDX.

"The man seemed agreeable enough," Adam said with a shrug.

"Nothing ever fazes you, does it?" Bryn said with a laugh. They boarded the MDX, clicking their seat-belts into place. "Raoul was a complete stranger to you but you handled him like you've known him for years!"

"I have a knack for diplomacy," Adam said with a grin as Bryn guided the MDX away from the parking lot and onto the street.

"Diplomacy? You were outright flirting with him!" she blurted out, mentally cursing her runaway mouth. Too late now. "Not that Raoul minded in the least."

"A skilled negotiator employs whatever is necessary to satisfy both parties," Adam explained. "After speaking to Raoul, it was easy to guess the best method of persuasion."

"A little more persuasion and the two of you would've gone on a date," Bryn laughed.

"When it comes to the art of seduction, Bryn, the allure you project to ensnare both a man and a woman," Adam stated with a mischievous smile, "is quite similar."

With a slight gape, Bryn watched as Adam smiled back at her nonchalantly and she muttered, "I seriously doubt it's that easy."

There was a long period of silence as Bryn continued to drive at a relaxed pace, mentally mulling over Adam's 'revelation' on seduction, and wondered if he was messing with her personal sensibilities. For the moment, she chose to tackle the topic later.

"General Manager? You haven't even set foot inside the club yet!" Bryn giggled out loud, recalling Adam's antics. She wondered how Alvi and Mars would react to Adam's report of his performance toward her former landlord. "You sounded so convincing you almost had me believing it."

"I'm glad you approve," Adam replied, looking pleased. "What's important is that Raoul believed my claim thus preventing him from ever intimidating you financially in the future." He winked. "Although...I did gather much of my performance from an episode entitled 'Criminal Minds' which I saw on Alvi's large television."

"I should go," Darcy said softly when she saw the grief stricken look on Steve Roger's face.

"No, please, stay," Rogers insisted. "She's your grandmother." He took a deep, steady breath. "Besides, I could use the company."

"Okay," Darcy said with a slight smile as they both knelt down to examine her Granny Marge's secret trunk. Also, it amazed her how easily it was for Rogers to bare-handedly pry apart a huge padlock!

"Here goes," Rogers said after tilting the heavy trunk to its proper right-side-up position. He even placed a beach towel underneath the trunk to protect the guest room's hardwood floor.

Sliding apart into two equal halves, the trunk was designed to mimic a portable wardrobe. The left side was a small closet with various hangers and accessories to keep garments flat, a small wooden toiletry case attached below. On the right half was a series of eight drawers that progressively increased in height, the top being the smallest.

They began with the miniature closet. Rogers detached the toiletry case which Darcy immediately opened. Inside were perfectly preserved hygiene products, some were commercially popular during the 40s and others were issued by the military.

As Darcy browsed the items inside the toiletry kit, Rogers slowly and reverently removed the neatly hung garments that once belonged to Peggy Carter: two coats, three complete sets of uniforms, and at the very back...the stunning red dress that he now realized she'd worn just for him. Swallowing back a thick lump in his throat, he lovingly laid the dress down on the guest bed beside Peggy's uniforms.

"Wow, that dress is...no wonder you fell in love with her," Darcy said, astonished that her Granny Marge had ever worn something so bold and so vibrant.

"Red was Peggy's favorite color," Rogers replied, "and it really suited her."

"Not the way we knew her," Darcy said. "She hardly wore lipstick but when she did it was never red, and she always wore blue, so we assumed it was her favorite." She saw Rogers's mournful expression. "I guess this trunk was her way of..." Crapity-crap-alooza. She stopped abruptly, fearing she'd already said too much. "Anyway, I wonder what's in these - whoa!"

In an attempt to derail a depressing topic, Darcy opened the top drawer of her grandmother's old trunk and found something she hadn't expected. Blushing, she shut the drawer with a sharp tap.

"What's wrong?" Rogers asked, concerned.

"Nothing!" Darcy said quickly, her face beet red. "I think you better go through this top one by yourself later." When she opened the second drawer, she sighed with relief that the contents weren't so revealing. There was definitely a limit to how much she wanted to know about her own grandmother.

It hadn't taken them much longer to completely empty the trunk - except for the mysterious top drawer - as Darcy and Rogers stared at an assorted pile of clothing and footwear.

"How much did your grandmother tell you about her service in the military?" Rogers asked Darcy when he saw her admiring Peggy Carter's old uniform.

"Not much. She told us she was part of the reserve forces."

"Peggy Carter was more than that. She was a Special Forces Agent for British Intelligence," Rogers corrected. "She was confident, hard as nails, courageous and she was one helluva an officer." He regarded Darcy fondly. "I can see many of her good qualities in you."

"Yeah, well, I'm what you call a work-in-progress," she replied, blushing again. "Thanks for the compliment though." She stood up and headed for the door. "Listen, I should get going. I think it's better if you go through that drawer without me." She opened the door and was halfway out before she turned and said, "Good night."

"Good night," Rogers replied with a warm smile before Darcy shut the door.

Slightly apprehensive about what he would find, Rogers drew in a deep breath and opened the mystery drawer. Sure enough, he immediately blushed when he saw the items that were inside: a large assortment of lingerie...some of them shockingly racy.

A short mental debate and Rogers decided that it was best to let Darcy's mother tackle the drawer's very personal contents. Just as he was shutting it, the hem of a camisole shifted, uncovering a series of bold, printed letters.

Reaching into the drawer, Rogers pulled free a blue and red chevroned airmail envelope with several postmarks from 1955, sent from somewhere in New York and stamped repeatedly with the words 'Return to Sender' in red ink.

The letter was addressed to him.

Wasting no time, Rogers moved to sit under the bright lamplight next to his bed, his back leaning against the bed-frame. His fingers began to tremble as he carefully opened the fifty-six-year-old letter, the paper aged to a dull brown. Heart beating rapidly, his skin broke into a cold sweat the minute he'd loosened the envelope's flap from its weakened adhesive seal, and he stared nervously at the handwritten message that was neatly folded inside.

He felt paralyzed. Against his better judgement, he'd requested Jarvis, Stark's supercomputer to provide him with a narrative of Margaret Carter's life. She came from a distinguished family whose father was a decorated General in the British Army. As an only child, her father's notoriety given her many opportunities that were rare for females of her generation, especially advancement within the military. She began her career as an Air Force Nurse, her hard work earning her a position in the S.A.S. (Special Air Service) namely British Special Forces. From there she was transferred to the S.S.R.

After he was officially declared MIA, Peggy continued her work with the S.S.R. (Strategic Scientific Reserve) for four years until she retired from active service. She then returned to university and brushed up on Business and Economics, minoring in Science and Architecture. In 1952, she moved to New York where she immediately landed a highly successful career as a project coordinator.

He'd spent nearly twenty minutes conjuring excuses on why he shouldn't read the letter, but Rogers eventually relented. With a deep, shaky breath, he unfolded the pages and began to read Peggy's strong, flowing cursive.

x - x - x

August 15, 1955

To My Dearest Steve,

I'm hoping against hope that this letter somehow finds you.

Yes, I know how mad this seems but I've stubbornly cherished the fantasy that you've miraculously survived the crash with the help of your new body. There were so many things that I wanted to tell you in the short time that we'd known each other...and I thought I'd take the time to tell you now.

From the moment I first met you, I knew you were different. A little naive and idealistic, perhaps, but your heart was always in the right place. Dr. Erskine knew this and so did I. Of course, it took some time, but Colonel Phillips eventually saw the value in you, both as a man and as a soldier.

...Oh, God, I miss you so much!

The first month after you disappeared was the hardest to bare. I couldn't sleep, I hardly ate, I dove into my work like a madwoman hoping it distracted me long enough from dwelling on thoughts of you. Strangely enough, the one person who helped me through this difficult ordeal was Howard Stark.

No. We were never romantically involved. We stayed in touch and he was a good friend. He was the one who suggested a change of scenery.

So, one day, I did just that.

I returned to school to pursue other interests, and I admit, living the life of a civilian made me miss the regimented environment of serving in the military.

When I graduated, I stared at a map of the world and wondered where to go. After all, starting a new life was a monumental decision.

When Howard suggested New York City, I was very hesitant. (My first two choices were either Switzerland or Monaco.) America's so far removed from what I knew...but perhaps that's what led me to ultimately choose that road.

I sold my home in Winchester and moved to New York where I was offered an entry level position at Holten, Merrill & Rawn Architecture. Unfortunately, my past credentials were meaningless. All they saw was a female foreigner. It could have been a daunting obstacle but I merely saw it as another challenge. When my coworkers and especially my bosses realized that I wasn't easily intimidated, they began to respect me.

You're probably wondering why I hadn't asked Howard for help? Though he offered to take care of me professionally and financially, I politely declined. It was my chance for a new beginning and I wasn't inclined to cheat my way past the struggle.

I lived one day at a time, worked hard at the firm, familiarized myself with the city I lived in and took vacation days off to tour the rest of America. Every so often Howard came to visit me and we talked over dinner. He remained a consultant for the S.S.R. and he felt personally obligated to inform me of whatever progress they'd made to try and find you. He then kept me appraised on their agenda...despite my insistence that it was truly none of my business anymore...but he heedlessly rambled on. The man could be insufferable sometimes.

In spite of New York's internationally acclaimed night life, I wasn't much of a party girl. Mingling with crowds in bars and nightclubs held a certain distaste for me, but I went occasionally to pass the time.

Eventually, I settled into a comfortable rhythm. I found joy in my new career, made new friends and called New York my home…

...until my comfortable rhythm was disrupted by someone I worked with.

His name is David Lewis. He transferred to the firm and immediately began to make his mark. Worst of all, I'd caught his eye.

I thought he'd given up asking me out for a date after I constantly refused him, but he was persistent, I'll give him that.

After nearly a year and a half...I conceded to a date with him.

x - x

...I always found the nights so very long…

I think of you often, especially at night. I wonder where you are and what you're doing. If you're appreciating your new life as much as I'm slowly growing accustomed to mine.

Oh, how I wish we had more time!

Why weren't we granted more time?

I would've liked to have had more memories of you...of us, in my mind.

x - x

I write to you now in the hope that you'll forgive me.

I was prepared to wait for you till I was old and grey...and I still do...but now I do it in secret.

I know this isn't fair at all to David...I know it's selfish but…

I can't stop loving you.

I will always love you, please, remember that.

The part of me that refuses to let you go is the only thing that keeps me...sane.

It's a contradiction but it's the best description of how I am now, of how I will always be.

I will always be yours, my love.

Allow me now to live...for both of us.

Yours Forever,

Peggy Carter

x - x - x

His fingers numb and shaking, a heartbroken Rogers silently wept for the great love he had lost and for a life that might have been as the handwritten pages gently drifted to the floor.

In the Aesir realm of Asgard, the hall of Bilskirnir towered majestically within the walled citadel. Boasting 640 rooms, its high-ceilinged, airy interior and open windows were a welcoming sight to all who visited or dwelt within it. Just as it was the main living space for Odin's sons, it was also designed, if needed, to house the overflow of Einherjar from Valhalla.

Walking briskly out of the gentle summer rain, Lady Sif expertly navigated her way through the hall's main corridors. She past the many guest quarters, Loki's main bedchamber, and up a winding staircase to the hall's owner. When she found the door wide open, she stepped inside.

"Thor? What are you doing?" Sif asked, suspicion plain on her face. She drew nearer and watched the All-Father's eldest as he made adjustments to his enchanted battle armor.

"What it looks like," Thor answered simply. "It would take too long a wait for Bifrost to heal itself. I must find another way into Midgard."

"Then I shall come with you," Sif replied with a stubborn set to her jaw.

"Do as you wish," Thor sighed after a momentary pause.

Resting on a table beside the pedestal for his battle armor, he glanced at his winged helm, a set of golden bracers and a special golden belt, Mengingjardar, that Odin had presented together with his mighty hammer, Mjollnir.

"Be warned that the road I seek is immensely perilous...or so Heimdall has hinted."

"Heimdall?" Sif said in shock. "It was he that told you of - ?"

"More like whispered," Thor interrupted calmly, chuckling when Sif slapped a hand over her mouth. "I leave at nightfall."

"Thor...your father…"

"May try to stop me if he wishes," Thor replied. "...but I intend to set foot on Midgard by then."

"You weren't planning to leave without us, were you?" Fandral the Dashing asked suddenly.

Thoroughly startled, Thor and Sif turned to stare at him.

Casually leaning against the entranceway to Thor's master bedchamber, the golden-haired swordsman smiled impishly. Beside him, Hogun the Grim stood rigidly with crossed arms and Volstagg the Voluminous peeked through the doorway, his hand waving cheerfully.

"My friends, forgive me, but I had every intention of going alone," Thor stated.

"Did you truly think any of us would let you do something that foolish?" Fandral countered with a quirk of his lip.

"Neither would Heimdall, I suspect," Sif said. "He may have already told your father where you're going."

"Where are we going?" Volstagg asked curiously.

"I'm to meet Heimdall tonight at the edge of Bifrost with full provisions and armaments for the journey," Thor imparted. "He promised to tell me of my route once I've arrived."

"Then we have much to do," Hogun spoke slowly.

Sighing inwardly, Thor knew that no amount of arguing would dissuade his friends from coming with him.

Later that day, as the sun sank below the Asgardian horizon and the night deepened, a small traveling party quietly left the protective walls of the Aesir citadel on foot, the group rendezvousing at the slowly regenerating edge of the Bifrost bridge where Heimdall stood waiting.

"Am I to assume that your companions have joined you without your consent?" Heimdall said, one brow raised high in emphasis as he surveyed the additional faces behind Odin's eldest son.

"They've chosen to come with me despite my disapproval," Thor replied, frowning slightly, earning him a playful slap on the back from a grinning Volstagg.

"A final warning then," Heimdall's deep baritone remarked, "that alternate ways into Midgard have only been attempted by a few skilled adventurers who were fortunate enough to survive."

"Sounds exciting," Fandral interrupted, clearing his throat apologetically when the Golden Gatekeeper's gaze shifted sharply to him.

"Tell us the way," Thor said impatiently, his urgency entirely fueled by emotion.

"The only other direct way into Midgard is through a portal hidden somewhere in Muspellheim."

An anxious hush blanketed Thor and his friends.

Though Asgardians were taught the basic topographical layout of every one of the Nine Worlds, they were also warned of the dangers. Certain worlds were commonly avoided unless one sought an untimely death at the hands of its feral denizens and appointments weren't necessarily a guarantee for safe passage.

Ljossalfheim (Land of the Ljossalfar/Light Elves) and Nidavellir (Land of the Duergar/Dwarves) were open to travel with some precaution. The Alfar and Duergar were known for cleverly exacting heavy tolls, if for any reason, they disliked their guests. The exception was Vanaheim, a realm that was widely known to welcome travelers of all kinds from the Nine Worlds and beyond. As long as visitors politely behaved themselves and adhered to the strict rules of Vanir hospitality, it was possible to stay for longer periods, some to the point of asking for permanent residency.

In addition to the obvious travel ban to specific parts of Jotunheim, worlds that even the curious refrained from exploring were the oppressively hot and charred grounds of Muspellheim; the long, lethal evenings of Svartalfheim (Land of the Dökkálfar/Dark Elves); the foggy, bitter cold of Niflheim, and the Land of the Dead, Helheim.

"Thick, black smoke covers much of Muspellheim's lands and the skies above it," Hogun mentioned first, "making it difficult to tell night from day."

"I heard that the smoke is deadly poisonous in some areas too," Volstagg added with a nod. "More importantly, there's the everlasting heat from the many endlessly erupting volcanoes and lava flows. We'd be wise to bring a large supply of water."

"The Burning Land?" Sif exclaimed in apprehension. "How in Mimir's Well are we to find this portal? No detailed map of Muspellheim exists and there's a good chance we may all be lost or fall into a deadly trap made by the fire-etins while trying to navigate that flaming ash-pit!"

"There is one who lives there that knows of the portal's whereabouts...if you can persuade him to guide you there," Heimdall explained plainly with a small, mocking smile.

"Surt the Black," Thor answered correctly, "the Lord of Muspellheim."

"Rather insurmountable odds, wouldn't you agree?" Fandral mused out loud, twirling the tip of his mustache and looking thoughtful rather than discouraged.

"Daunting, yes, but with the proper aid," interrupted a warm, feminine voice, "success is within your grasp."

"Lady Freya!" Thor and his friends cried out in unison, gaping in surprise as she instantly revealed herself in their midst. She wore a long, shimmering grey cloak over a simple pale-green traveling gown, her wavy, ankle-length, sun-kissed hair was gathered and braided in an intricate pattern. Stalks of wheat and wildflowers were interspersed between the strands.

Heimdall inclined his head in greeting, unfazed by her sudden appearance.

"You will help us?" Thor asked eagerly, a hint of desperation in his voice.

"My brother sails for Vanaheim tonight once our father returns," Freya informed them. "Frey has offered to take you all on his voyage home."

"Glad tidings indeed," Thor said with relief, clasping Freya's hands in gratitude.

"Come, let us hasten to Noatun. Adjustments to your provisions must be made," Freya replied, leading the way.

"A swift journey to you and your companions, Odinson," Heimdall said before turning away to resume his watch at the edge of the slowly regenerating Bifrost.

Thor glanced in gratitude to Asgard's Gatekeeper as he and his friends departed, following closely behind Lady Freya who subtlety created a mystical conduit to her father's hall. In the blink of an eye, Bifrost's rainbow-lit pathway faded and they were treading the sandy coastline outside the walled citadel into a small bay where dozens of ships of various sizes were anchored.

Just ahead was Noatun, a great, arched structure with architectural aspects that alluded mainly to the craft of shipbuilding. Wide, open windows lined the top of the hall, allowing the sea breezes to constantly blow through and every manner of sea bird flew freely inside, roosting in flocks on the roof beams above. (Out of respect for their host, the birds never left droppings inside.)

In a courtyard beside the main structure was a lovely walled garden filled with lush flora, many not native to Asgard, and it was a place that Sigyn, Njord's foster daughter, favored very much. Mingled with the saltwater air was the scent of many varieties of rosemary, Njord's favorite herb, that bloomed and covered the hills around his hall.

Leaving their weapons and supply bags near the entrance, Thor and his friends were led through Noatun's corridors.

As the Vanir Sea-King of ships and sailing, the interior of Njord's hall was decorated to reflect that role. Curtains and tapestries were made from fish netting, bows of ships made up every hearth, sideboards were turned into tables, as were keels, wheels and masts - every piece of furniture was carved or constructed from the wood of salvaged sunken ships or decommissioned ones. During the day, Njord and the Vanir folk that populated the hall (along with a few, rare highborn Alfar) busied themselves with ship building, woodcarving or net-mending done specifically for the Asgardian locals. (Noatun was built to mirror Njord's homeland hall in Vanaheim which housed a similar business but with no customer preferences.)

At a long table where a dinner feast of seafood, vegetables and fruit were laid out, sat Frey and a smiling Sigyn, both happily conversing with Skirnir, an Alf who was both a loyal friend and right hand to the Vanir fertility god, Frey. Attending to them were a middle-aged Alfar couple, Byggvir and Beyla, Frey's personal servants who were always at his side.

Like his twin sister, Frey was tall with Spring-green eyes, endowed with a face and body that was extremely and irresistibly attractive. He wore his long, wavy blond hair loosely, the thick strands falling halfway down his back. The upper portion was braided to keep it in place and away from his eyes, the strands equally interlaced with wheat and small blossoms.

"Brother," Freya greeted with a delighted smile as she walked toward him.

After the twin siblings embraced each other warmly, she and Sigyn exchanged pecks on the cheek and forehead while the Alf, Skirnir, dipped low to kiss Freya's hand as she curtsied back.

"Forgive our intrusion," Thor said courteously as he and his friends' arrival had interrupted their host's dinner. Although, in the back of his mind, he had the distinct feeling they were expected.

"Thor, Lady Sif, Warriors Three, welcome to Noatun, our father's hall," Frey greeted with open arms and a wide, bright smile. "Come, join us for dinner while we await our father's arrival."

"Our humble gratitude for your hospitality at this late hour," Thor said formally as he and his companions sat down at the table. They were promptly served tankards of strong beer.

"Please, help yourselves," Frey insisted, and with a knowing smile, added, "the food will give you strength for the travel ahead."

Does everyone in Asgard know my intendments? Thor thought irritably since he had originally prepared to go on his voyage alone.

As if sensing Thor's vexation, Freya touched his arm in reassurance.

"Your father is unaware of your departure tonight, though he will be greatly displeased to discover your absence," Freya said softly. "By then, we will ensure that you and your friends are well within Muspellheim's borders."

"'We'?" Thor replied with a brow raised. He surveyed the faces around him at the table in accusation. "Have you all known my plans from the beginning?"

Clearing his throat, Fandral replied truthfully, "Not all of us."

Frey, Freya and Sigyn exchanged loaded glances. If the Alf, Skirnir, knew anything about what was happening, he gave no indication.

"I've been mindful of your urgent reason for returning to Midgard," Freya confessed, "since the day you allowed Sigyn and I to share your grief."

"I'm told it's love that drives your quest," Frey grinned playfully, noting the brief frown on Sif's face. "She must be quite a woman for you to brave such a dangerous crossing."

"She is," Thor replied with sincerity and failed to see Sif's crestfallen gaze. "Jane Foster is a woman unlike any I have ever met. Though mortal, her strength of will and her generous heart surpasses that of her fragile form...and she moves me in a way I..." He faltered, looking uncomfortable, as if he'd spoken impulsively of things best kept to himself.

"Say no more," Frey said jubilantly, clapping Thor loudly on the back. "A toast, then, to the stirrings of love within your chest and may the Guardians of the Four Directions reveal the ideal way to whom you seek."

Everyone raised their tankards of strong, honeyed beer high above their heads, saluting Thor in unison and each took a sip of the fine Vanir brew that was Frey's personal supply.

"I am grateful to you all for your help," Thor replied humbly.

"Thank us after you've set foot in Midgard and kissed your woman," Frey said with a wink.

Their journey momentarily forgotten, Thor and his friends yielded to their Vanir hosts, filling their bellies with the abundance of food and strong beer. When dinner was finished, everyone present began to discuss or present options for an ideal route into the World of Fire.

"How is it possible that a portal to Midgard is allowed to exist in Muspellheim?" Hogun asked, puzzled. Though he'd been with Thor, Lady Sif and the Warriors Three on many grand adventures throughout the Nine Worlds, Midgard, the world of mortals, was largely ignored. "Are not Midgard's borders heavily protected by Jormundgand, the Great Serpent, The Living World-barrier? Only Bifrost has been known to pass through it."

"As Lord of the Burning Land and oldest of the living Jotnar in existence, only Surt the Black can answer that question," Skirnir remarked, "however, I highly doubt he'll feel inclined to tell you or anyone else."

"Once we are anchored in Vanaheim, we will need to find the quickest route through Jotunheim," Sif interjected, returning to the subject of their journey to accompany Thor. "Our presence there is most unwelcome."

"I wonder how that was caused?" Volstagg teased, staring at Thor who fidgeted in acknowledgment. "It would be preferable to avoid setting foot in Jotenheim altogether. Further provoking the Jotnar would be very unwise."

"Agreed," Fandral replied concisely, emptying the beer in his silver tankard and Noatun's Vanir servants instantly poured him a refill.

"A foray into Jotnar territory won't be necessary," Freya divulged to Thor and his friends' surprise. "Though rarely used, we have a way into Muspellheim from our homeland."

"For the expediency of trade and diplomatic visits, a bridge between the Burning Land and Vanaheim was established long ago. For security and seclusion, the portal is located in a sacred grove near my matrimonial home in the Barri Woods," Frey explained. "Members of my family are allowed to use it unconditionally while the rest require explicit permission. As we speak, our father has already sent word to Surt the Black of your impending arrival."

"I see," Thor said softly, taken aback by the amount of aid he was unexpectedly receiving. Accustomed to traveling solely by Bifrost - something that all the Aesir were distinctly taught and instructed to use - it was quite a revelation to learn of other direct pathways between the worlds. He then wondered how many of these lesser known routes Loki had known of and had traveled personally.

At the thought of his brother, Thor's face fell, a look that many noted and politely ignored, save Freya, who gave his arm a sympathetic squeeze.

"There is, however, a slight condition to your passage to Muspellheim," Frey mentioned casually, gaining Thor and his friends' full attention.

"I knew this was too good to be true," Fandral muttered and sighed, draining his second tanker of the flavorful amber liquid. Certain types of Vanaheim beer were highly sought after in Asgard, but it was a rare pleasure and privilege to partake of Frey's personal, exclusive brew.

"The condition is that I join you on your journey to Midgard," Sigyn spoke clearly, her tone leaving no room for refusal.

"Only the women in my family know the incantation to open the portal to Muspellheim. Since I cannot come with you, the responsibility falls to Sigyn," Freya replied smoothly before Thor could protest. "Take heed, Thor, our little sister's well-educated and exceptionally skilled in the mystical arts. She will be of great use to you and your friends, and she is not to be underestimated."

Thor's friends stayed silent when Freya's gaze glared imperiously at them, as if daring them to dispute her words. Thor, however, was customarily outspoken.

"I do not doubt Sigyn's skill. I know that she has been well trained, both by you, Freya and her Alfar teachers," Thor began, "but our journey is no place for a child."

"I am no longer a child!" Sigyn protested hotly. "Why can you not see that?"

"Thor," Freya spoke firmly. "Sigyn's reasons for coming with you are her own. You will need her help on your quest to Midgard. There will be no further dispute of this matter."

Both Freya and Thor stood their ground as they stared fiercely at each other, neither willing to bend their stubborn opinion on the subject of Sigyn's conditional admittance to their traveling party.

"Ah! Father's home!" Frey exclaimed with relief, interrupting the dark exchange of emotion between Odin's eldest and his twin sister.

"Odinson, Warriors Three," Njord greeted his guests before smiling brightly and embracing his twin children and foster daughter. His face then turned serious as he addressed Thor, "I trust everyone is ready to depart? Expediency is needed if you all desire to evade detection." Those concerned understood the gravity of his words. "Thor," he began, when he saw the reluctance in eyes of Odin's eldest. "A swift and successful journey to you and your companions." He glanced affectionately at Sigyn who nodded solemnly. "Take good care of her, Odinson. She will be of great help to you in your quest."

Inwardly sighing, Thor knew that his objections were futile. If Njord had given Sigyn his blessing to depart with them...he had no recourse but to accept.

"I promise to return Sigyn to you unharmed," Thor vowed and exchanged a strict affirmation by solidly grasping the Vanic King's forearm.

"I expect that you will," Njord smiled and spared another glance toward his foster daughter. "May you both find what you're searching for."

Aboard Skidbladnir, Frey's enchanted ship, Thor and his traveling companions took stock of their provisions and rested. Crossing into Vanaheim was quick and efficient since Noatun, Njord's Aesir hall, was strategically built on a shore opposite his homeland dwelling; having calculated the closest possible route for his hostage-family's scheduled homecomings.

On a rocky outcrop of the largest northern bay in Vanaheim stood Njord's hall: a tall, white, arched building. Below, a small fleet of ships were anchored, the area constantly ablaze with activity. Being the celebrated agricultural basket of the Nine Worlds guaranteed a steady flow of trade from Vanaheim's ports.

Just after dawn, Skidbladnir glided gently to its designated golden moorings where a group of Vanir folk had gathered, ready and waiting to welcome them ashore. The group swarmed Frey's enchanted ship with systematic efficiency, unloading its entire cargo in mere moments. Once its storage holds were emptied, the enchanted ship reverted to the size of a toy which Frey could then easily carry around with him.

Because of the urgency of Thor's quest, Frey delayed his customary stop to his father's hall and immediately escorted the small traveling party on a selection of their finest Alfar-bred steeds to his matrimonial cottage in the Barri woods.

Located on the eastern shore nearest Jotunheim, the Barri woods was the largest stretch of magical golden-leaved trees in Vanaheim. Here, the trees were the tallest, their likeness not found anywhere else on the fertile continent, and if asked about them, the local folk would declare that the stock was indeed of Jotnar origin, traded or gifted to them by their etin neighbors. The trees' unique characteristics were highly pronounced, especially in the winter when the entire woods stayed bright and golden, permanently untouched by frost. It was currently late summer in Vanaheim and the Barri Woods was seen as a stark patch of gold against lush green growth, and only in the autumn season were the golden leaves complementary to the surrounding forests.

On route to the exclusive portal to Muspellheim was Frey's hall, more fondly called by the locals as 'Frey's Place' and it was a sanctuary he shared with his Jotun life-mate, Gerda. Skirnir, along with Frey's personal servants, Beyla and Byggvir rode ahead of them to alert Frey's household of his arrival. Soon enough, Thor and his party came upon a wide grove and in the middle was a structure that appeared to be made entirely of intricately woven patterns of golden corn. Beside the large cottage was a heavily warded, high-walled area that protected Gerda's private garden of herbs, flowers and vegetables that visitors were only allowed to see with her explicit permission.

As they dismounted near the entrance to Frey's Place, Gerda emerged to greet her husband. She was tall, pale-skinned with dark eyes in a head held high and had long, elaborately braided tresses that hung past her knees; her hair with a rich, dark color similar to freshly turned earth. On her ample but strong body, she wore a loose, concealing dress in a warm but subdued rusty red. At first glance, one would wonder how such a simple, frigidly composed woman had captured the heart of the rambunctious and devastatingly attractive Vanir fertility god...but to those who knew her intimately, Gerda was much more than her reserved nature, possessing a fiery passion that rivaled her husband's.

Frey bounded happily and excitedly from his rune-charmed horse, Blodighofi, more than eager to reunite with his life-mate whose company he'd longed for. However, rather than toppling his beloved to the ground and ravishing her with kisses, he stopped short. Reigning in his enthusiasm, he greeted Gerda publicly with more of a quiet formality, the couple exchanging a chaste but loving embrace. Next in line to greet Gerda was Sigyn, who openly flung her arms around the etin woman with a beaming smile, while Thor, Sif and the Warriors Three inclined their heads stiffly in salutation. Although there was no animosity between them, Gerda was wary of all who dwelt in Asgard, having been taught from birth that they were never to be trusted.

"I must hasten to send Thor and his companions through the portal," Frey informed Gerda. "They are expected." He then took her hands in his and said, "Will you accompany me there, beloved?"

"Yes, I shall come with you," Gerda said with a nod and added quietly. "I have missed you, Golden One."

Proudly grinning from ear to ear, Frey whistled for his horse and hoisted Gerda by the waist to sit snugly between his legs on the large saddle. After instructing his personal servants to prepare a reunion feast for him and his life-mate, he departed with Skirnir and Thor's traveling party toward the mystical passage to Muspellheim.

As they rode the short distance to their destination, Thor couldn't help but glance repeatedly at the enigmatic Gerda, the earth-giantess who had captured Frey's heart. He remembered his own opposition to their marriage and realized with deep regret, how foolishly he had acted. Ironically, he now faced a parallel dilemma: he'd fallen in love with a mortal. His own choice of a potential life-mate was just as difficult and 'mismatched' as theirs.

Heavily protected by powerful wards was the sacred grove where the portal was hidden. Sigyn was the first to dismount, and using an incantation taught to her by Freya, she permitted them safe passage into the grove, while Skirnir stayed behind, preferring to tend to the horses.

As they approached the exact spot of the portal, an area of about three feet around it was dry and ashen, a final warning to whoever was foolish enough to brave the lesser known pathway.

"Frey, I owe your family a debt of gratitude for your generosity," Thor said solemnly, clasping the radiant man's arm tightly.

"As I've told you before, thank my family after you've found and kissed your woman," Frey replied with a laugh.

"Till we meet again," Thor said with a smile.

The small traveling party was instructed by Sigyn to stand in a circle facing outward in the center of the darkened ground.

"Odinson."

Everyone was startled, including Frey, when Gerda had spoken. Her voice seemed to pierce the air around them.

"Do you love this mortal?" Gerda asked. There was genuine curiosity in her eyes.

The Warriors Three and Sif were tense when Thor stayed silent as he regarded Gerda with a steady gaze.

"Yes," Thor answered and his eyes never wavered. "With all my heart."

At those words, Sif bit her tongue till it bled. Though her outward appearance gave no indication, she endured the pain of her beating heart as it slowly tore itself to pieces within her chest.

"Brace yourselves," Sigyn warned. "This won't be pleasant."

Thor locked eyes with Gerda till he, Sigyn and his friends disappeared into the portal.

to be continued

Author's Note:

***Please return from time to time to 'Warriors & Magic Wielders' for Loki and Thor flashbacks in Asgard. (Story found in Thor section.)***

The S.S.R. (Strategic Scientific Reserve) later morphs into S.H.I.E.L.D.

Sadly, Frey and Gerda's union was filled with ugly objection and outrage, mainly from those who dwelt in Asgard and Ljossalfheim.

I'm sure some of you have noticed that I've made a major change. It suddenly occurred to me that Loki's human name was too blatantly obvious (duh) when he introduces himself, so I decided to tweak his surname to 'Laoki' rather than the previously written 'Loki'. (my long-time readers will attest to this) I feel rather embarrassed for not considering that fact sooner. ^_^;

Speaking of the Avengers...I've decided to transfer this story over from Thor to the Avengers category since I think it's more appropriate.

(I blame the steadily increasing role of the fledgling Avengers team in my story.)

What do you guys think of the story's new home? I think the Thor category is better suited to stories that directly relate or concentrate mostly on Asgard, Thor and Loki which this story (I think) is increasingly deviating from. The Avengers are taking more of an active role - surprisingly unintentional but it became inevitable. (^_^;)

To my faithful readers, I'm curious to know what you guys think! Drop me a line stating your opinion on whether this story is better suited to the Thor or Avengers Category from what you've read so far.

Please forgive my long absence between updates and THANK YOU EVERYONE for all your comments and reviews!

I extend my heartfelt gratitude to everyone's continued support of this story!

Let Chaos Reign!

(=^_^=)