How many times did you wake up alone, just as reluctant to get up but for a different reason. And how many times did you go to bed the same way? That was harder. Trying not to think about him when you had no one to distract you.

Thor isn’t just a distraction. He’s the first thing you think of. Not Steve, not anymore.

“I’m painfully happy too,” he grumbles in your ear.

You wince. You thought he was sleeping. His arm is slung across you and his large leg hooked around one of yours. He nuzzles your cheek as he nuzzles closer.

“Do we have to get up?” He rumbles.

“Not yet,” you keep your eyes closed. He tucks his hand under your side as he clings to you.

“Good, for I don’t think you could get me off you.”

You chuckle. He hums as his hand slowly drifts down, fingertips pressing into your flesh. His touch sends a shiver through you as his breath dampens your cheek. You’re naked beneath the twisted blankets. You never thought of this kind of comfort. Of not wanting to hide from someone.

He traces the crease between your thigh and pelvis. You moan as he tickles the curly hairs along your cunt. You run your hand down his arm and lean your head against him.

You open your legs as his teases between your lips. He exhales against your temple as he glides up and down your cunt. He swirls around your clit and your thighs clench. You murmur and push your head down into the pillow.

You tilt your pelvis, welcoming him. He dips his finger into you, then a second. He growls and kisses along your cheek and hair as he pushes the heel of his hand against your clit. He rocks his grip steadily, until you’re squirming and squealing.

Your body contorts as you cum. Your head lolls and your spine curves. You shake in ecstasy as he eases you through your climax.

He shifts slowly and brings himself over you. He splits your legs with his knees as he holds his body over yours. He leans on one arm and guides his tip up the inside of your thigh. He sinks into you inch by inch. 

You sigh and frame his face between your hands. You kiss him as he bottoms out. You nibble his lip as he thrusts. You hook your legs around his and drag your hands down his thick neck. He snarls down at you as you spread your fingers across his chest and let your eyes rove over the perfection of his body.

“You’re not real,” you say.

His lip twitches and he smirks. “All real, all yours,” he rasps as he pumps into you. “Good luck getting rid of me.”

You giggle and pull him back down to your mouth. Your bodies move in tandem, in a desperate rhythm, eager to find comfort in each other. He brings you over the edge again and you cry out shamelessly. It isn’t long before he’s spent as well.

He drops down on you. His full weight makes you claustrophobic, but only for a moment. You stay like that until you ache. You tap his arm gently.

“I need to… go,” you utter shyly.

He chuckles. “Go where?”

“You know,” you squeak.

“Mm, not too far,” he warns.

He slides out of you reluctantly and flops onto his back. Your insides clench at the sudden hollowness. You sit up and brace yourself before you stand.

You go to the bathroom to relieve the hot pressure. That’s better. You finish up and go back out. Thor’s not in the bed.

You didn’t hear him. You frown. How can such a big man be so sneaky?

You grab your robe and your phone and head downstairs. As you do, your phone flashes. You have several missed messages from Sam. Again. And that one email you’ve been avoiding.

Thor’s in the kitchen. You enter behind him and watch his muscular back. You shiver. You don’t know how he can stand it in just his boxers. You suppose it’s normal for locals.

“Coffee or tea?” He offers.

“Coffee, please,” you rub your eyes.

“Wonderful,” he says as he sets up the press. “Then I will make you a proper Norwegian breakfast. You don’t mind if I run out quickly? It wouldn’t be right without smoked salmon.”

“You don’t have to do all that,” you protest.

“Yes, I do. Because I want to.” He insists. “So let me.”

You sigh softly. “You’re going to get tired of me sooner or later.”

“Never,” he avows. “Now, don’t you come over here trying to help me. You aren’t to lift a finger. And if I catch you…” He arches a brow. “I will make certain you don’t leave that bed all day.”

“Oh?” You grin. “Is that a promise?”

💕

You finally call Sam back. Thor’s in the shower so you should have enough time to assure him you’re okay. No more storms.

You let the phone dial out and he picks up in a scuffle of fabric and huffing. He’s sweating as he centres the lens on himself. He grins.

“Hey, girlie, you’ve been dodging me again.”

“No. I was… sleeping.”

“And then what?” He challenges. “Too busy for me, huh?” He sits down and wipes his face with a towel. “Or avoiding me.”

“No, why would I…”

“I know you got it too,” he goads.

You purse your lips and look away. You shrug.

“Yeah, and… I mean, it’s not a surprise.”

“I know you haven’t replied yet either,” he points his finger at the camera.

“I haven’t had the chance.”

“Uh huh,” he clucks. “You don’t wanna know how I know?”

“No.”

“Because he told me.” He tilts his head. “Looks like your BFF might have just clued in that you’re gone.”

You huff. “Sam.”

“Well… are you coming? I kinda gotta know if I’m stuck with Mr. Mopey Pants by myself.”

You scratch your forehead. “It’s kinda… soon. Three months away.”

“Oh, yeah. I gotta say I was surprised since they haven’t been able to agree on anything.” He scoffs. “Actually… you don’t think it’s because… you’re there?”

You shake your head. “Well, I’m not due back for another what, eight months? Sure is convenient.”

“But Steve wants you there. How long have we known each other? I know he’s stupid but you know he does.” Sam argues.

“Maybe he does but Peggy… she doesn’t.”

“Ah, come on. Peggy just happens to be with Steve. I’m sure she doesn’t actually hate you–”

“She does, Sam. She told me as much the day I left. In the bathroom. It was… eye opening but exactly what I needed.” You hunch down. “Sam, you’ll always be my friend but I think this is the end for me and Steve. I… what I did all those years, hanging off him, that was unfair.” You rub your neck. “I wasn’t the victim. I did it to myself.”

Sam’s quiet. You are too.

“Well, glad to finally get some honesty out of you,” he sits up. “So, you gonna tell me what you’ve been doing over there.”

“Working.”

“Working. Sure. I will get it out of you–”

“I was thinking,” Thor’s booming voice startles you. “I might go up and get Thunder. We could take her to that puppy cafe–”

“Thor, uh, oh!” Your eyes round at the screen as he comes into frame in only a towel. “Shit!”

You slam your thumb against the red button and hang up. You stand and face Thor. “Sure, that sounds great.”

“I interrupted?” He drawls.

“It was just my friend Sam checking in. We were done anyway.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to. In fact, I’d have liked to meet him. You speak so highly of him.”

“Maybe next time,” you smile sheepishly. Your phone shakes in your hand. You can hear it buzzing.

He looks down. “Are you sure that isn’t him?”

You stare at him. Blond hair damp and slightly wavy. The towel is low on his hips, the vee of his torso making you a bit dizzy. You have to keep from staring at him because you still can’t believe he’s really real.

“Ummmm,” you check your phone. “I’ll just be a second.”

“Are you hiding me?” He challenges.

“No, I just think… you might like to have a shirt on when you meet him.” You rebuff.

“Ah, yes, perhaps,” he looks down. “But I’m not very shy.”

“I know,” you chuckle. “I’ll be right back.”

“Alright, I will be patient.” He resigns glumly.

You scurry away and answer the phone, rushing up the stairs. You’re not lying to Thor, you’re just being cautious. Besides, you want to keep the old and new apart for just a little longer.

“Hi. Sam.” You say sharply.

“Spill. Now.” Sam snips.

“What? I don’t know–”

“No, no. I saw him. Alllll of him.” He insists. “Looks about six foot five, at least two-fifty–”

“Sam,” you squeal. “Please.”

He cackles. “Why the hell are you hiding that!? He’s like an actual viking. Wait, no, what’s there God over there or whatever?”

“Sam, stop.”

“I knew you were lying!” He boasts.

“I wasn’t lying, I just wasn’t telling you–”

“Oh ho ho. That’s fucking amazing. I knew you were getting some.” He wiggles excitedly. “Is it big? Thick?”

“Sam!”

“Don’t worry, I got nothing to be jealous of. Trust me,” he winks.

“Oh my god!” You smack your forehead. “Please stop.”

“If you told me, I wouldn’t be like this but you asked for this.”

“Please, Sam,” you plead. “You’re not going to… tell?”

“Who? Bucky?” He snorts. “Guy can’t figure out it’s raining when his shoes are soaked through.”

“Sam,” you chide anon.

“Him? No.” His face falls. “No, you enjoy that big hunk of Norwegian beef cake.”

You exhale and cringe. “It’s just… it’s new and… he’s…” you try to find the words. “He’s really hot.”

He chortles madly. “Damn right!”

“Like really hot,” you press your palm to your hot cheek.

“Okay, now you’re getting a bit cocky,” he warns playfully. “Well, you know, if you don’t wanna come home… maybe I’ll just have to come drag you back. And no hiding behind the viking.”

💕

It’s hard to go back to normal. Or even just the usual. Hard to focus as Thor sits outside the site with Thunder, taunting you with just his presence. Each minute is torture as you can’t wait to get home and just be together.

The more time you spend with him, the more realisation crashes down on you. All those years with Steve were never like this. They were never calm, never cozy. You were always performing, always dreaming. With Thor, you can just be there, just in the moment, doing absolutely nothing, and entirely content.

Yet so much weighs on you. This won’t last forever. You can’t let yourself fall too fast or too deep. It’s doomed from the start and of course it is. All you can do is make the most of the time you have.

“I’m so tired,” you yawn as you drive down the mountain road.

Thor struggles to keep Thunder from hopping onto the dash. “If only we had the energy of this mighty goddess.” He muses.

“Mm, I envy her.”

“Oh, don’t be too jealous. You may sit in my lap as soon as we are off the mountain,” he teases.

“Hah,” you snort dryly. “Very cute.”

“Don’t act as if you don’t long for it,” he goads.

“Maybe,” you mutter. “I think I just want to lay down.”

“Under me? Or on top me?” He asks.

You slow and look over at him. He smirks coyly. You roll your eyes.

“Ah, I only kid. Allow me to do all the work. I’ll have your dinner cooked and a hot bath ready.” He avows.

“You don’t have to do all that.”

“And maybe a massage,” he ignores your protests. “Help get out those kinks. The way you hunch over your work, it isn’t good for the neck.”

“I know,” you mutter. “Alright… that all sounds lovely. I’ll let you spoil me.”

“Thank you, my queen,” he reaches over to rest his hand on your seat and pets your hair. “That’s all I ever ask of you.”

You giggle and keep driving. Those little moments you’ll hang onto forever. You try not to think about what you’ll miss in the future. Too long you spent concerned with what could and would happen.

You pull up to your house and slam on the break harder than you mean to. Two figures sit on your steps, suitcases by the railing. Sam pops his head up and waves, nudging Bucky who nearly falls over. You stare, dumbfounded.

“Uhhhhh….” You drone dumbly.

Thor tilts his head, “looks like you have visitors.” Thunder wiggles and turns to yap at your unexpected guests.

You grab onto his hand and let him guide you on. As you come to top of the incline your legs are burning from the effort. You rub your thigh and gently slip your hand free to soothe the other. 

“You could’ve warned me...” you chide playfully. 

“Have faith in me,” he drawls as he takes his knapsack from beside the stone with his clothes. “Hmm.” 

He pulls a quilt from inside and unfurls it. He lays it over the ground. He beckons to you as he sits on the patchwork. You near and he stretches out with a groan. You can’t help but admire the breadth of his long limbs and the corded muscle forged from head to toe. 

You get to your knees and lower yourself onto your side. You nestle into him and rest your chin on his shoulder. His warmth seeps into you. As ever, he undeterred by this land that has you so undone. He is a part of it and just as disorienting. 

“Thank you,” you murmur. 

He sighs and reaches to pet your head. “For...?” 

“For bringing me here. It’s beautiful.” You smile. 

“It pales in comparison--” 

You poke him gently with your knuckle. “Don’t be cheesy.” 

He chortles and it rumbles through you. He carefully moves his arm down to snake around you, his fingertips tickling along your spine.  He tilts his head to look down at you. 

“You are beautiful,” he insists. “And I won’t ever stop saying so.” 

You chuckle. You can’t imagine what you look like after a swim in the frigid Norwegian lake. He shifts and turns his body to you. You raise your head as you move flush to him. You run your hand over his chest. 

“You don’t have to try so hard now,” you tease. “You got me.” 

“Try? I will always try for you,” he leans in slowly as his hand trails along your thigh. His arm curls under your head and he presses his lips to yours. You hum and push your fingertips into the hard muscle of his chest. 

You moan around his tongue as you let him in. A new heat sparks in you. Every time you kiss, every time you touch, it like you’ve never done so before. It’s exciting and intoxicating. You forget everything but him and that moment. 

He urges you onto your back as he drags his touch up your side and along your arm. Goosebumps rise on your skin as he traces up to your neck. He frames your face as he deepens his kiss, growling as he drinks you in. 

His lips slip along your check. He pecks along your soft skin to your throat as he guides your chin up. You shudder as his beard grazes your neck and he nips at you lightly. You giggle at the ticklish sensation of his tending. 

His hand crawls down patiently. You can feel his diligence. How he wants to sop up every second, every touch. He brushes down your chest and cups the swell of flesh. He kneads and swirls his thumb around your nipple. You gasp and grip his shoulder as your core plucks tightly. 

He nuzzles you and brushes his nose along your jawline. He finds your mouth again as he toys with your chest. You tremble and run your hand along his shoulder. The feel of him adds to the thrumming bloom inside you. 

His fingertips dance lower and he flutters along your stomach. He draws circles into your skin and squeezes the cushion of your hip. He rolls his thumb into your flesh and growls into your mouth. 

He lightly flicks his finger along your pelvis and you squeak. You bring your hand to your chest and caress the thick hair. You want him. Bad. 

You open your legs in a wordless welcome. His fingers drift down your folds and you arch your back as he delves between. His fingertips glide over you and twirls around your clit. You twitch and dig your nails into him. 

You turn your head and exhale with a whine. He snarls and once more descends, leaving a trail of kisses along your neck. As he reaches your chest, he pauses to dote on your tits, purring as he nips and sucks at you. 

You pet his head as you bask in the competing sensations of his mouth and touch. You quiver and push your heels into the quilt, moaning mindlessly as you close your eyes. His fingers slip down to your entrance and back up. He continues to toy with your clit as your thighs shake. 

You drag your hand from under him and grip his bicep. You look down at him as his blond hair drapes across your chest. He is intent as he cozens you easily. His fingers flick faster and faster. 

You drop your head down and drone. You’ve never felt like this. Never had a man try like this. Most men are running a race, but Thor is patiently toeing the finish line. 

Your orgasm springs loose suddenly. You squeal and push your thighs against his hand as you buck uncontrollably. Fiery ripples course over you, scattering your nerves completely. You heave and push on his shoulder as he laps up your delight. 

“Thor,” you moan. 

He purrs and wipes his lips up your chest. He lifts his head and looks at you, a glimmer in his icy blue eyes. You pout, speechless as the intensity of his gaze smothers you. He moves deliberately, rising on his knees and angling around to your pelvis. 

He bends over you before you can stop him. He hangs his head over your pelvis and his breaths dampens your skin. He kisses your folds then dips his tongue between them. You gasp again and press your hand to his back. 

He tickles your entrance as he teases you with his tongue. Once more he pinpoints on your clit, flicking his tongue, sealing his lips, sucking. He seals his mouth around his bud and uses the tip of his tongue to torture you. You spasm and slap him helplessly. 

You cum again. Your lashes flutter and your eyes nearly roll out of your head. Your hand slips down his back and you brush down his thigh. You slip your hand under his stomach and your fingertips graze his hard length. He flinches. 

You wrap your fingers around him and he groans. You stroke him as he pushes his fingers against your entrance. You pump him tip to bases and he growls again. He slips a finger inside you and you squeak. As you bring your hand up again, he inches inside of you. 

As you work him, he sinks in deeper and deeper. He pushes in to his knuckle and you squirm. You move your hand faster and he adds a second finger. It’s like a game of chicken as you taunt each other with more and more. 

He snarls and shudders, recoiling suddenly. He sits back on his heels and catches your hand. He squeezes and winces as he stills you. 

“Stop, stop, stop,” he begs. 

“I--- I’m sorry,” you breathe as you lift your head and push yourself up with your other elbow. “Did I hurt you?” 

“No, no, anything but,” he huffs. “It’s only... I don’t want to... yet. Not yet. I want to enjoy this.” He squeezes your grip a little tighter before he releases you. He hangs his head and looks down at himself, his stomach clenching visibly. 

He exhales deeply. He lifts his head and runs a hand down your thigh. He pushes it away from the other and moves between your legs. He brings his hands to frame your hips. He bites his lower lips and purrs. 

“You are perfect,” he gazes down at your cunt and slowly lets his eyes crawl up your body. “Every part of you.” 

He lifts himself on his knees and falls over you. He holds himself up, hands planted on either side of your head, and he lowers himself to kiss your lips. You open to him again and he hungrily accepts. He slips an arm under your neck carefully and the other beneath your back. 

He lifts you without detaching from you. He brings you over his lap, his dick trapped between your bodies, flush to your pelvis. He groans and hooks his hand up to the back of your head. He parts from your mouth. 

“Ready?” He asks, his nose brushing yours. 

You nod and snake your hand down to grab him. You stare into his eyes as you straddle him and lift your pelvis. You angle his dick under you and line him up with your entrance. You kiss him again, pressing your lips desperately to his as you let him in. 

You pull away and gasp. You grip his shoulder as you teethe your lip. You lean your forehead on his and moan as you sink further. He groans as he fills you slowly. As he reaches his limit, you whine and curl your fingers around the muscles above his shoulders. 

“You alright?” He asks as you sit still, adjusting to him. 

You nod and peck his lips. “Yeah,” you rasp. “Please.” 

He frames your hips again and rocks you. You moan and follow his motion. You pick up a tempo, tilting on your own strength as your walls throb around him. 

He scoops a hand under your ass as his other hooks up your back. He grips the back of your neck as you hang your head back. He buries his face in your tits, sloppily kissing them as you ride him. Your bodies work in tandem, without thought, without doubt. 

You loop your arm around his neck and bury your other in his hair. You lift yourself up and down his length, making each ascent longer as his groans follow tempo. You can’t get enough of his voice. Of his pleasure. That you are making him that way is enthralling. 

He drags his hand back to brace your hip. He shoves you down sharply and tilts his head back. He looks up at you and snarls. “You are toying with me.” 

You smile and kiss him again. 

“I’m enjoying... this,” you exhale. 

He chuckles and suddenly you’re falling backward. He puts you on your back and pushes into you until you writhe. You keep your legs around him as you brush your hands along his thick neck. You moan and arch your spine. 

He drags himself out of you to his tip then plunges back in. You squeal and he does it again. He bows his head to watch himself. You look too, the sight of him thrusting into you makes your stomach knot. 

“Thor,” you rasp. 

He purrs your name and keeps going. Your hands trail down to his biceps as he holds himself over you. You squeeze his taut muscles as he tilts into you, over and over. His chest flexes and his stomach tightens with each thrust. The sight of him, of both of you, has you wild. 

He lifts a hand and slips it between your bodies. He rolls his middle finger over your clit. He plays with you as his rhythm picks up. He pushes in deep, slides back, and ruts in again. You throw your arms up and hug your head as your climax crashes down on you.  

As you cry out, your voice dissipates into the sudden roar of thunder outside the cave. A furor of rain thrashes against the stone as a gale creeps through the crags. The storm unleashes outside as if to match the tumult within. 

Thor doesn’t falter. The tension in him winds tighter and tighter as he pumps into you. He bends to kiss your neck as his voice unravels beneath the whistling winds. He falls down on his elbow and pushes your thighs against his side as he smears his lips up over yours. 

He kisses you as he quakes. Then, all at once, he pulls out of you. He rubs himself between your folds and against your pelvis as he cums. The hot ribbons string over you, up your hip bones and long your stomach. His tempo slows but does not still as he groans weakly. 

He’s still moving as he tosses his hair back and looks down at you. He thrusts slowly against your slick skin. 

“I don’t want to stop,” he drawls. 

“Me either,” you grin. 

⛈️

The rain patters through the haze of your afterglow. Thor’s warmth enshrines you as he has you cocooned up in the blanket with him. You listen to the downpour as it sprays through the open cave below and stirs the water. 

“You’re awake,” he grumbles into your hair. 

“You weren’t.” You caress his knuckle softly. “You snore.” 

“Ah, I didn’t warn you,” he laughs. 

“I don’t mind.” You assure him. “It’s just...” you squeeze his wrist then turn yourself in his embrace to face him. “You told me we had time before the storm.” 

His cheeks dimple and his eyes stray. “I did tell you that.” 

“You lied,” you accuse. 

“I didn’t. I made a poor estimate. We had time... depending on what we got up to.” 

You shake your head and chuckle. “I’m not mad.” 

“Oh, but if you were...” he pulls you closer, “I could atone for it. Over and over.” 

He kisses you. You linger in it. Cling to it.  This won’t be forever. You have to this cave eventually. 

You draw away and hide your face in the crook of his neck. You slip your arms around him. He nuzzles your hair. 

You do your best to wipe off as much as the mud as you can. It’s all over; your neck, under your nails, all over your face. If you’d known what a mess you were when you came in, your mortification would’ve been double. 

You emerge into the quiet din of the house. Now that your heart isn’t racing, that the storm is only a howling thrum outside the walls, you can really take it in. The door frames are carved with columns of runes. Some you recognize, some you don’t. The corners are emblazoned with the same sigil you found at the site. 

There is care put into this home. Not just from its current residents, but from generations. You come back out to the entry way and pause to take in the family photo framed in silver. Frigga is younger and free of crutches. The gold in her hair is bolder, too. 

She’s there with her husband, his hands on the shoulders of two boys. You know Thor by the puppy dog smile on the kid’s face. He stands a head higher than the other. A slender and sullen black-haired boy, staring through the lens. 

You follow the frames into the next room. A sitting room with large windows looking out on the furor of the storm. The panes rattle as the rain streak the other side. There are more pictures. Some paintings, even etchings pressed into canvas. A warrior with a lion skin over his shoulders, a king in a thorny crown, and a gentle woman with an ewer and a lamb. 

“I should’ve known,” Thor startles you. “I always tell mother this place is like a museum.” 

You turn to him. Your heart flutters. Keep your cool. 

He’s dry too. He wears a flannel of his own. About the same size as yours but it fits him much better. The top two buttons are undone and you try not to notice the hint of his chest hair. He’s drawn his blond locks behind his head and his palour has evened out. 

“Dinner’s in here.” He points over his shoulder with his thumb. 

“Right, uh... thanks,” you cross the room, your soles brushing over the fur rug as you pass behind the tall backed sofa. 

“Lapskaus. It’s stew,” he explains as he beckons you into the next room. “Traditional. The people who built these foundations would likely have come up with the recipe. Though, perhaps, a few ingredients differ since then.” 

You enter the next room. A large square table sits centerpiece to the space. It’s low to the floor and rather than chairs, there are embroidered cushions all around it. At the far end, there’s a hearth built into the wall, glowing warmth across the room.  

A vast tapestry covers one wall and shows scenes of boar hunts and long boats sailing over curled waves.  shelf displays a case of military medals and small trinkets of varying tarnish. He is right. It’s like the past is woven right into the present. 

“This is a nice house.” 

“Eh, the house is fine,” he guides you to the table and offers his hand. “If only you could see the land. That is the true prize.” 

You take his hand as he helps you sit on a cushion. You thank him meekly as you let go. You might have hurt yourself otherwise. You shift as you try to find a comfortable position. 

“I’ll be back.” He says. 

He strides around and disappears through another doorway. Heavy thunking comes from behind you. You look over your shoulder as Frigga enters, a broad man behind her, his arms slightly out as if to catch her. 

“I told you, dear, I am not too old to carry you,” the man chides. 

“I tire of being coddled,” Frigga insists. Her green eyes sparkle at you. “Ah, I see Thor got you settled darling.” You go to stand and she tuts. “Stay, stay. Odin, do not be rude.” 

The man steps out from behind her. He sports a long white mane and thick beard with a single streak of black down his chin. He nods at you. 

“You are the dirt collector,” he grins. “I’m Odin. I spawned the one who’s been pestering you.” 

“Odi,” Frigga reproaches. 

“Eh, I know my son,” he chortles and follows her. He helps her down onto a cushion then puts her crutches against the wall. “He is much like my dear wife. He goes off on adventures.” 

“It was a false step,” Frigga counters. “I have strong bones.” 

“Not strong enough,” he lowers himself beside her with a grunt. He reaches for a tall-necked bottle and flips back the metal clasps on the cap. “Honeywine?” He offers. 

“Oh, I don’t know...” 

“Please, it goes well with storms,” Frigga coaxes. “I’d have some but I can’t with the meds the doctor scripted. I’d hate for it to go to waste.” 

Thor enters behind them. “Mother, father,” He carries a large pot with thick walls and a heavy lid. “The Lapskaus.” 

“The rolls,” Frigga reminds. 

“I will go back for them.” He assures and plunks down the pot on the thick wooden plank in the center of the table. 

“Ah, so helpful... finally,” Frigga chirps. 

“Mother.” Thor frowns. 

“I’m just admiring my son. I raised you well... after your father messed you up.” 

“Eh?” Odin pours the wine and offers you a glass. “Me?” 

They laugh. You smile sheepishly. Thor sends you a look and shakes his head before he reluctantly leaves again. 

You accept the glass of wine and thank Odin. You look between the couple as your nerves swirl. You can’t help but envy their comfort with each other. It’s what you always wanted, just with the wrong person. You think... 

Thor comes back with dark rye rolls in a basket. He puts them next to the pot. He comes around and sits next to you, hitting his knee on the edge of the table. 

“I once fit better,” he chortles as he rubs his leg. 

“Eh, did you ever fit well, you lump?” Odin teases. 

“Father,” Thor drones. 

“So, have you found anything in the dirt?” Odin asks, a small gesture in his son’s direction. 

Thor lifts the lid of the pot and ladles out a bowl for his mother, then you. You meet his father’s gaze, nearly shying away at his bright blue eyes. They are like Thor’s, though a bit glassier. 

“Oh, um... something. I’ve been trying to get this medallion free. The second one I’ve found.” You glance over at Thor. “Um, your son helped me identify some rune beads.” 

“Like pennies. Everywhere,” Odin snorts. “It is a good activity to keep the young ones busy. You teach them to carve and have them carve the stones.” 

“You said they were sacred,” Thor mutters. 

“Oh yes, they gave me a sacred silence from your chittering,” he barks back. He returns his attention to you. “You’re from New York. City woman. You must be bored.” 

“Uh... no. I--” 

“If you’re running through this storm, I’d say you must be bored or mad. Maybe both,” he chuckles. 

You blanch. Frigga touches his arm. 

“Oh, dear, do let her eat in peace. She doesn’t need you interrogating her.” 

Odin huffs, “mm, yes, dear.” He fills his bowl himself and pulls it closer. He flinches and leans back to see under the table. “Ah, the rat’s come for crumbs.” 

“Thunder,” Thor snaps his fingers. You hear skittering before the chihuahua pops her head out over Thor’s lap. “She’s done barking at the storm, then.” 

“One day she’ll get it,” Odin says dryly. 

Thor picks apart a roll and offers a piece to the dog. She takes it eagerly. You watch her gobble it up. 

“Always bringing in strays,” Odin remarks. You look at him again. He smirks. 

“Be nice” Frigga pokes him. “Don’t listen to him. He said the same to me when I told him I was pregnant with our first.” 

“Well, you brought in a whole rabble, didn’t you?” Odin clucks. 

“I had help,” Frigga scoffs. “Please, dig in, darling. You’ll have to let me know how you like the stew.” 

“Oh, um, of course. Thanks.” You stir your spoon in the bowl. “It smells great. Nice to have something home-cooked.” 

“If you like it, I’ll show you how to make it.” She offers. “The rain will be around for a while.” 

You nod and taste the stew. It’s hearty and soothing. You only realise how hungry you are then. Your stomach grumbles loudly as it squeezes. You hum. 

“It’s delicious,” you say. 

“And the wine,” Odin reminds you. “Do try it.” He looks at his son pointedly. “You’re going to need it.” 

⛈️

You offer to help clean up after dinner but you’re swiftly denied. You’re starting to see that here, hospitality is taken very seriously. You don’t mind so much. You’re exhausted from the sleepless nights and your battle with the elements. 

You sit in the front room by the window, watching rivulets on the glass. You glance over at the sudden clunk. Frigga growls at her crutch as she leans on it awkwardly. 

“Dear,” she looks behind her. “I’m feeling a bit sleepy from the pills. Would you help me?” 

Odin is quick onto his feet. His agility surprises you. In an instant, he has his arm around her back. “Of course, dear. You may lean on me.” 

She smiles softly at him then her eyes flit to you. “Darling, we will talk more in the morning. For now, I must rest. Oh, if only you could see me without this darned cast.” 

You give an empathetic frown. “Good night. I hope you feel better.” 

“Night, dear,” Odin replies for her as he ushers her to the door. 

You turn back to the window. The rain has slowed but it’s steady. You can’t see much through the dense night. 

“It is nicer in daylight.” Thor startles you. 

You flinch and sit up. You turn your back to the window and hang your legs over the side of the bench. “I’m sure.” 

He takes a deep breath as he prowls the far side of the room. He lowers his chin thoughtfully and hooks his fingers into his jeans pockets. He slowly looks up.  

“I should’ve brought you up sooner. I should’ve... asked,” he drawls. 

“Well, I’m always busy, aren’t I? My friend Sam hates that bout me.” You chuckle. 

“Maybe you wouldn’t need to stay busy if I’d asked.” He chews on his thoughts for a moment. “I didn’t mean to abandon you so suddenly. It was raining for so long and you didn’t come. I figured the weather, which, understandable. I was called away suddenly for business. Some things cannot be done in an email.” He shakes his head. “Fool I am, I didn’t even have the courage to get your number.” 

“I didn’t ask either,” you shrug. 

You search the room as he remains quiet. Thunder sleeps in a fluffy bed in the corner. She’s entirely content, oblivious to the rising tension. 

He slowly crosses the room. He leans on the wall at the end of the bench. He’s watching you. 

“Well, I’d like to start being very honest. As much as I enjoy watching you talk to bones and down in the dirt, I want more than that. I think it was being away, thinking of you, just a few days was torture.” His voice is gritty. “I spent so long working to build a business, putting on false smiles, saying what people wanted to hear.” He exhales and shifts to sit beside you. “I will say what I want now. What I want, is right beside me.” 

Your chest hammers and your cheeks burn. You keep your face hidden as you stare at the wall in disbelief. You don’t know how to react. You don’t know what to say. You rehearsed this scene a million times but never with him. You dreamt of this confession. Are you ready for this? 

The wind whistles and the window panes shake. Your ears are hot and your eyes glossy. You swipe away the fear. 

“Say what you want,” he whispers. “Please just say anything.” 

You turn your head slowly. His hand is right next to yours on the bench. You feel his warmth radiating from him. 

You’re sitting here, worn out from the dig, washed out from the storm, wearing borrowed clothes, an utter mess. Imperfect. All those things that always disqualified you are bare to him. 

You look up and meet his eyes. You drag your hand over his and curl your fingers underneath. “This is what I want. I think...” you swallow. “I think this is what I came for.” 

He smiles and a small laugh scratches in his throat, “quite a far ways to travel. I thought you New Yorkers preferred delivery.” 

“Shut up,” you lean towards him as you whisper. 

He meets your lips with a grin on his. He brings his other hand up to cradle your jaw, his long fingers framing your face perfectly. His presses his mouth firm to yours and flicks his tongue out. You open up to him, tilting your head up as you clasp onto his thick forearm. His need flows into you like fire, flames engulfing you until you can’t breathe. 

A crash and a flash pushes you away from him. You cry out and catch the screech in your palm. You look out as the sky darkens once more. You blink and look at him. He watches you with a smile. You giggle behind your hand. 

Before he can say a word, a shadow jumps up between you. Thunder yaps at the window as she stands against it. Thor reaches to pet her. 

“Oh, you beast,” he scratches behind her ear as she keeps going. “She will protect us from the storm.” 

“My parents know I can handle a storm. Thought they might doubt if I can handle such a beautiful woman.” He chuckles. You poke him playfully. 

“I’ll have to go back today. My friends will be worried if I don’t call. And I need to check the site.” You sniff. You’re not entirely eager to do any of it. 

“Yes, I foresaw that but can you work in the mud?” He asks as he brings you up to the porch. 

“Sure can, not that it’s any fun.” You sigh. “No, I’ll just need to make sure it’s in tact. I’ll probably need to wait for it to dry out a bit.” 

“Ah, so you won’t be too busy?” He prompts as he stops you at the door. 

“Busy-ish. Why?” You face him. He looks down at you and grins. 

“I do need to go to town. I thought...” He shrugs and looks around. “I haven’t exactly taken you on a proper date. If my mother knew--” 

The door opens as if he summoned her at the very mention. Frigga leans on her crutch as she peers through, her other hand on the door. She smiles. 

“There you are!” She chimes. “We thought you stole our son away to America.” 

“Oh no. No, I wouldn’t,” you turn to her. “We just--” 

“Got lost,” Thor fills in. “Mother, you know how the storms are.” 

“Uh huh. I know how you love to get lost in them.” She chides and backs up. “You two look as if you were caught right in the eye of it.” 

“Mother,” he grumbles. 

“Oh yes, you look worn out,” she tuts as she beckons you inside. There’s a glint in her voice, a suggestion that makes you blush. “Do you know, when he was a child. He had us searching for him for days in one of the storms. All because his father said he couldn’t play outside. Oh, he showed us, didn’t he?” 

Thor lets you go and ushers you in ahead of him. You enter and stay on the mat, your boots still wet and dirty. 

“It was... I was young. Impetuous. And I proved to you I was perfectly fine playing outside,” he counters as he unties his boots. 

“Oh, you were a babbling mess when we found you.” She harrumphs. “Always my baby boy.” She squeezes his shoulder and hums.  

He looks up at her. “Yes, I am.” 

“You take care of him,” she turns her green eyes on you. You flinch. “Yes, I mean it.” She bends to kiss his golden hair as he wrestles his laces. “I love you, baby boy.” 

She stands and rights herself on the crutch. She puts her hand to her chest and looks at you again. You smile nervously. 

She thumps away with her single crutch. Thor puts his boots aside. You sit to take off your own. 

“Thor. She knows.” 

“Of course she does. I wasn’t subtle before.” 

“No, she knows what we did out there,” you whisper. 

He laughs. “Well, it is a part of these things.” 

“I guess but...” 

“I said we could stay out there longer. Do it a few more times.” He winks. 

“Stop," you swat his hand. 

“Oh, I don’t think I can,” he drawls. 

You laugh and shake your head. “You’re going to have to. At least in front of other people.” 

“No promises,” he slings his arm over your shoulders. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. In more ways than one.” 

You poke his ribs playfully. “Not even for one second,” you tut. 

❤️ 

It’s hard to go. Not just because of Thor, but because of everything. His family, his home. It makes you miss yours so much more. 

He walks you back down to the site. He talks a lot before you can tear yourself away. Kisses you even more. 

“Call me,” you say. 

“Or you me.” He suggests. 

You drive away. His reluctance feeds into yours. As you come up to the house with the blue siding, you idle in the car before you shut it off. You just want to turn around and stay there forever. Maybe if it wasn’t for the grant money... 

Of course, there’s everything else. Sam and Bucky. Steve. Your parents. It’s just that for the first time in your life, you feel like you found something meant just for you. Not something to long for, to hope for. But really, truly yours. 

Someone where you’re wanted. Someone who wants you. 

You drag yourself inside. You change into your pajamas. No more borrowed clothes. Your old college tee and some loose pajama pants. You cling to the hem of shirt and stare at the hole under the fading logo. 

The smell of your dorm clouds in your nose, the drone of the Top 10 countdown in the background, the feel of paper under your fingertips and the too thin mattress under you. Steve’s eyes shine as he laughs. You laugh too and yet you can’t really see him. He’s all blurry in your mind. 

You exhale and traipse into the bedroom. You sprawl out on the bed and yawn. You let your phone lay on beside your pillow and close your eyes. This is worse than jetlag. It’s a fatigue you don’t know how to cure. 

Your phone vibrates. You groan and reach for it. It’s Sam. You think of ignoring him but he must think that’s what you’ve been doing these last few days. You answer. 

“Hey, Sam,” you hold the phone above you. 

“Oh, is this what you’ve been doing? Laying in the dark hiding from me?” He challenges. 

You scoff. “No.” You sit up and jostle around. You pull the chain on the lamp beside the bed. “I have been stranded on a mountain.” 

“Stranded?” He wonders. 

“You should’ve checked the weather. It stormed. For days.” You say. “I’m just happy to be home. And alive.” 

“Me too,” he agrees. He stares at the screen. He squints. “There’s something else.” 

“Sam. It was a big storm,” you shrug. 

You’re not the best liar. You aren’t really lying, you’re just not telling him everything. You’re not entirely sure why. You don’t want to ruin it. Or maybe if you speak it out loud, it will go away. Yet how long did you not say what you felt out loud. Where did that get you? 

You’re quiet as you flick Sam into the corner of the phone and flip through the apps. You don’t want him to see right through you. 

“You seem pretty relaxed for just surviving the storm of the century,” he mutters. 

You scroll through Insta. You can’t look at him. Even when he’s teeny tiny in the corner. 

“Maybe she got struck. I heard that can rewire your whole system.” Bucky’s voice comes from off-screen. 

“Is that what happened to you? Explains a lot,” Sam chirps. 

“Bucky’s there?” You smile. “Let me say hi.” 

“What? I’m not interesting enough for you?” Sam challenges. 

“You are very interesting, Sam. I just miss him.” 

“Why?” Sam huffs and turns the phone. 

Bucky waves as he leans forward. “Hey. How’s Norway?” 

“Amazing,” you answer without thinking. “It’s… pretty. The landscape. Everything.”

“Mhmm.” Sam hums and turns you back to him. “You’re not telling us something. I can tell.”

“Sam. What am I going to keep from you? The crow bones or the broken medallions I dig up every day,” you challenge. 

You flick your thumb down. The page stops; People You May Know. It’s Peggy. Her profile pic is her and Steve. At some event with lots of flowers. You imagine there’s a lot of those. They look perfectly happy. Without you.

“Hey? Yo? Did this thing cut out?” Sam calls your name.

You snap back and blink at him. “S-sorry, I–”

“What are you looking at?” Sam asks.

“Nothing.” You clear your throat. “What about things there? Are you guys having fun?”

“Sure,” Sam replies as Bucky answers, “no.”

You chuckle. “Oh?”

“He’s just mad about the suit,” Sam snickers.

“Suit?” You wonder.

Bucky grunts.

“For the wedding. Peggy wants this horrible tan theme. It’s awful. Washes old blue eyes out. Doesn’t it, Buck?”

“Don’t call me that,” Bucky growls.

“He wants black. She’s not budging but neither is he. I said if he wants to be the flower girl, he might be able to get away with something darker. Maybe a purple so dark it looks black.”

“You’re not funny.” Bucky sighs.

“I’m hilarious,” Sam insists. “Trust me when I say you’re not missing out on anything here. It’s all… wedding stuff.” He says those two words carefully.  “Boring.”

“Oh, it sounds horrible.” You chuckle.

“It is,” Bucky intones.

You snort as Sam grins. As you go silent, he tilts the phone. “Look. I’m telling you. Don’t worry about us. Whatever it is you found there. Enjoy it.” He takes a breath. “Fair warning; the invites go live tomorrow.”

You nod. “Thanks.”

“Ah. No biggie. I only called for days to tell you,” he says. “Anyway, I’ll let you recover from the storm. Next time you get lost in one, send me a text.”

❤️

Your pocket vibrates again. You smile at the cashier as you ignore it and pay. You thank her in Norwegian, or your best attempt at it, and take your paper bag. You cradle it in one arm as you head for the door. Your phone starts again.

You answer without looking.

“Hi. I’m out right now.” You say.

“Oh, apologies,” The deep timbre surprises you. You nearly trip.

“Thor? I thought– I thought you were Sam. What’s going on?”

“Nothing, truly. I suppose I was hoping to intrude upon you. Are you terribly busy, then?” He asks.

“No. Just taking my groceries home.”

“Important things,” he says. “And after?”

You bite your cheek. You saw him yesterday when you went up to the site. With the fence between you. He had Thunder and they watched you dig. The rain and the wind did quite the number on the lot.

“Nothing.” You answer cautiously.

“So you would be free? For a date?” He ponders.

You smile as you walk down the pavement. “I guess I could cancel my plans. That crossword puzzle can wait.”

“Dinner?” He says. “Candlelight. Wine. Dessert…”

The way he says the last word makes you tingle. You have to keep from giggling. It’s so exciting and yet you’re so nervous. Why did it have to take you so long to find this? Did you waste all your time? Not just on Steve but those half-hearted flings that just fizzled out, if they ever had any fire to begin with.

“Sounds great. Perfect.” You breathe.

“I’ll be at yours around six?”

“Six,” you confirm, smiling dumbly as you walk along.

❤️

You almost didn’t pack a dress. You didn’t think you’d need it. It’s nothing special. A merlot colour with a bit of ruching. You didn’t bring any heels so the gold flats will have to do.

Hair and makeup. You fumble around as you get ready. You don’t really wear more than mascara and some moisturizer to the site. Mostly just SPF. Thor knows what you look like. Why are you doing all this?

You’re done. You think. You put your things in a purse and pace around the entry way. Now you’re really anxious. You shouldn’t be. Not after all that’s happened. Yet, you are. And that feeds into your nerves, like a snake swallowing its tail. If you’re nervous that means it’s special and it can be ruined.

There’s a knock at the door. You trip over your own toes and collide with the door. You take a breath and steady yourself. You open it. You hope he didn’t hear that.

You open the door and smile at Thor. Your breath rushes out of you as you see him. His hair is half drawn back, combed neatly, not a strand out of place. His beard looks softer and his cheeks tinge with rosy pink. He wears a green-blue button up and a dark blue jacket. He’s done up but not too much.

“You look–” You say at the same time. You both stop and laugh. You fall into a thick silence.

He offers his arm. “Shall we?”

You accept. You step out and he waits patiently for you to lock the door. He walks you down the steps as you hook your arm through his.

“Where are we going?” You ask.

“It’s a surprise.” He keeps going.

You pass the fish place and the cafe. Then the grocer. You haven’t seen anywhere around here that you’d dress up for.

He stops you by an archway with a Norwegian word wrought in iron. He takes you through as you shiver. It’s a park?

Ahead, there’s a glow, flickering softly. You let him lead you. You trust him. Maybe you shouldn’t, but you do.

He takes you to a gazebo and patiently guides you up the steps. Inside, there are candles lit around a picnic blanket. Across it, there are covered dishes awaiting you, two stemmed glasses, and a bottle of wine. You gasp.

“I know it isn’t a fancy restaurant. I’m sure in New York–” He begins.

“Are you kidding me? This is awesome,” you say. You turn to him and grip his arm. “Thor, it’s perfect. So perfect.”

The dampness seeps into the house. You brew tea and drink as you listen to the patter. The black tea is too acidic. It makes you think of Thor and his sweet herbs. Perhaps you should ask how you can order some yourself. 

The next day is no different. Or the next. Three days of rain before it relents. It's as if the sky is in mourning of the fleeting summer. 

You drive up to the sight. A glimmer of deja vu flickers in your skull; the sort that comes with breaking routine. Your tires sink into the mud as you pull into the site. One of the panels is crooked from the storm. You fix it before you get settled in. 

It isn't easy to focus. Not as you survey the fallout of the rains and mark up the charts. 

The air is still wet, your boots sticking, and a steady trickle from the mountain wall into a stone below needles at your nerves. You make yourself get down and work. It's the first time since you got there that you really don't want to do it. 

The day passes in hues of grey. As the sky turns to slate, you pack up. You split open the wrapped on a protein bar and eat silently in the driver seat before you depart. 

Thor didn't come. Well, he probably has better things to do. He said his mother was injured, she needs him. And he has Thunder. It's for the best that she isn't running around in the mud. 

The townhouse is dark as you pull in. You check your phone. You have a single message from Sam. He's taking Bucky to a movie. It'll be a quiet night. 

You eat half a tuna sandwich and put the rest away. You cozy up on the couch. The bed feels too big for just you. The TV glows over you as you drift in and out of sleep. 

The morning isn't much brighter than the night. The clouds are pillowy above as you come out with a travel mug and your boxes lunch. The drive is slow and monotonous. You don't think of turning on music until halfway up. 

The site is the same as it was. You go on and continue the same tedious picking and dusting and wiggling. You find the husk of a horn fashioned into a water skin. You lay it aside and note it's key features in the site journal. 

Another day gone. No Thor. You drive home with the music off. 

Sam calls as you stare at the other half of the tuna sandwich. You tap the phone and put him on speaker. 

"Hey, toots, how's it going?" He chimes. 

"Toots?" You echo dully. 

He laughs. "Alright, not that one either. Well... How's things?" 

"Eh, fine." You answer through a yawn. "You?" 

"Same old." He answers. "You sound... Tired." 

"I am." 

"You work too hard." 

"Not really. It stormed. Three days," you mutter. "I just don't sleep." 

He sighs, "you should. Try not to think too much." 

You nod. He's right but you're not thinking of who he assumes. Not as much as you were. 

"Trust me, I'm trying," you scoff. 

"Sam, what's going on there?" 

"Like I said... Not much." 

You're quiet. You sniff. "Did they choose a date?" 

"I'm sure they're still arguing over it," he chuckles. "Look, you really shouldn't worry about it. Thank your stars you took off." 

"I didn't..." 

"Not how I meant it," he assures. "I only mean... Weddings suck. They're stupid. Everyone is so concerned about every little thing and it's all they ever talk about." He clucks. "The only thing I care about is getting my drink tickets and dancing to Madonna." 

You snort. "Wow, you're starting to sound like Bucky." 

"Take that back," he snaps. 

You laugh. He does too. 

"I'm ready to come over and hide with you," he scoffs. "For real. When they finally choose, I hope it's not too far out. I got a life of my own." 

"Nah, don't come here. The weather's awful." You say. "Try Aruba. And send photos. I'm starting to forget what sunlight looks like." 

"You're right. I need to work on my tan." He kids. 

⛈️

Day three. Alone. A month ago you may not have noticed. In fact, you would've enjoyed it. 

The mountain is quiet. Desolate. Just you, dirt, and death. The medallion you try to free from a block of impacted clay was crafted by someone long gone. A gift for a loved one or a prized possession. Once it was more than a cracked disc in the ground. Now it is the only thing left to remind the world of who was there. 

The afternoon wears on with an ominous hue. Your mind matches the grey quilt of clouds above. Your eyes stray to that patch of dirt where Thor spread his blanket and invited you to eat. 

It must've been you. It's always you. You're not interesting enough. Not sophisticated enough. You're just you and nothing more. Nothing special. 

You really are dumb. You let that little glimmer bloom. That what if. 

You stand up. You pack up and put your things in the car. You sit in the driver's seat and stare up the mountain. A black cloud hides the peak in a furious swirl. You grip the wheel but don't start the engine. 

You waited around for fifteen years. You let yourself be dragged on Steve's coat tails. You hoped and hoped and nothing ever happened. 

You're done watching. Done waiting. 

You get out of the car. Don't do this. Turn around. Get in. Go back. 

You stomp past the fences and towards the rock face. You curve around the path, pebbles scattering beneath your boots. The moisture in the air clings to your arms. 

You march along the curve trail until you're out of breath. You stop, hands on your hips, and spin around. What are you thinking? You don't know where you're going. You have no idea where Thor lives or how far up to go. 

You only know his name, that he has a dog, and he owns a business selling organic berries or something. That's nothing. That's crazy that you're here. 

You take a step and stop as it seems to echo. You lean back on your heel and glance around. 

A white bristle flits into the brush along the ledge to your left. Was that a tail? Shit. Shit. Okay. Don't turn your back. But where do you go? 

It came from ahead of you. Go back. They must be like coyotes. Or not. Wolves are a very different breed. 

You walk backwards. What were you thinking? This was so stupid? 

You nearly shriek as the sky cracks. Lightning flashes over you and reverberates behind the clouds. Rain falls in large droplets, splattering on your jacket and pelting into the stones. 

You hope that scared the beast. You look around warily. Your soles slip on the loose rocks. The downpour thickens to sheets and turns the dirt to mud. You slip and scramble to keep from falling. 

You shield your eyes, trying to see through the rain as it slakes over you. You're soaked in seconds. You need to get back to the car. 

You take a step and another flicker of lightning colours the world. You trip and hit your knees. You slide towards the edge of the pass. You roll over and dig your hands into the muck. 

Still, you slowly slip backwards. You kick your toes, searching for a catch. Thunder shakes the earth and the sky deepens to near black. 

This can't be how it happens. You made a stupid decision and now-- 

Something latches onto your wrists. You cry out as you squint as the dark shadow above you. You can barely make out the crest of a hooded figure. 

"Get up!" Thor booms through the tempest. 

You plant your feet as he lifts you from the muck. He yanks you away from the precipice and drags you toward the rock wall. Another flash lights the way as he latches onto the side of the mountain and pounds a foot into the ground. 

Darkness floods back in and he hauls you onward. The mud thins and turns to a river. You slip again. Thor keeps you from falling onto your stomach. He turns and wrenches you off the ground. 

He slings you over his shoulder and curls an arm around you. He turns and battles up the mountain, the storm raging on around you. You cling to him as you whimper. 

He gets to even ground and barrels forward. The winds whip and the rain thrashes. His feet stomp up onto something hard and a long creaks beckons him inward. 

He's breathless as he slams the door and blocks out nature's fury. His shoulders slump and he staggers around. He bends and lets you down gently onto a stool in the corner, just behind the door. 

He stands pulls back his hood. The looses ends of his hair are wet as they hang down the front of his coat. His face is pale but for his cheeks which are red at the bone from excess. 

"What were you doing our there?" He asks. 

You wipe your face with shaky hands. "I..." You begin and gulp. You bat your wet lashes and drop your arms. You lean into the wall. "I was looking for you." 

He exhales and looks at you. He nods. Your heart flips. You were wrong. Again. 

"I meant to leave a note but then I thought it would be washed away." He sniffs and wipes the flecks of rain from his beard. "I returned today and I did think to come down and warn you but... I didn't." 

You slouch and cover your face. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I... I... Think I... I didn't mean to..." 

"Thor? Is Bjorn okay?" A woman's voice wafts through. Your chest sinks. Oh no. Is he... Is that... 

"Yes, mother. That old ox is still in his pen." Thor drones. 

A wave of relief washes over you. It doesn't mean too much but it's better than what you thought. You uncover your face as a woman enters on a pair of crutches, her blonde hair fighting to break free from her hair clip as the moisture curls the ends. 

"Oh?" She sets the ends of the crutches steady and gapes at you. 

"Mother," he clears his throat. "This is the archaeologist. From down the way. She got lost in the rain." 

The woman's cheek dimples and she glances at her son. "Ahhh. I... You never mentioned... Well I assumed... Hm." 

You look between them dumbly. You would run out if the storm wasn't battering at the walls. Thor blanches. 

"Mother..." 

"Oh but look at her. She is soaked to the bone. She'll catch cold. She can't be used to these Norwegian winds." She tuts. "Well, didn't I raise you right? She'll need dry clothes. And tea." She declares. "I'd do it myself but she's be waiting til dawn, wouldn't she?" She gestures with a crutch to her cast. 

"Yes, of course, mother." He unzips his jacket. "Forgive me," he looks at you. "Do take your boots off and come in." 

"Yes, we were about to tuck into supper. More than enough for you, darling." The woman smiles. 

You nod again. You don't know what to say. You're doubly embarrassed. For being caught on the storm, then caught by Thor, and now his mother. 

He leaves his tall rubber boots on the mat and you bend to untie yours. He brushes by you and disappears through a doorway. You slip off your boots and push them aside. 

"Sorry, I've brought all this mud in--" 

"Oh, never worry," she cooes. "My son didn't tell me much of you. He only mentioned there was digging. I'm not sure what he's said of me. I'm Frigga." 

You give your name and purse your lips nervously. Slowly stand and unzip your jacket. It's heavy with rain water. 

"Hang it on the coat rack, darling," she says. 

"Thanks." You do exactly that. 

"My, you are rather younger than I imagined." 

"Oh?" You face her again. 

"It is a rather old-fashioned sort of work, isn't it?" She says. 

"Um, yeah, sorta." 

"Oh, to think you were out there in that..." She looks at the window as lightning whitens the panes. "Do you get very many storms back home? I'm afraid I only ever went to New York on the sunnier days." 

"Rain. Snow. But... Not like this," you say. 

"Must be terribly frightening if you aren't used to it." 

"A little. I... I should've headed back sooner." You peek at the door. "I didn't mean to impose." 

"Not to fret. You're here now and not unwelcome. We don't have many visitors," she says. Her warm smile lessens your displacement. "We... Oh I should go fetch my husband." 

"Right, uh..." 

Thor returns before you can stutter through your aimless response. You're almost thankful as you really don't know what to say. Frigga clunks towards him with her crutches. 

"I'm off to get your father. Will you make sure our guest is at home?" She shifts and keeps her left crutch steady as she touches his arm. 

"Yes, mother," he sidles out of her way. "You need help?" 

"Darling, I am getting better with these things," she assures and clomps past him. 

He turns to you and raises the armful of clothes in his arm; a mix of plaid and floral. You stay as you are, hesitant to go much further. He nears and offers the dry clothes. 

"There's a rest room the way I came. Right through to the left," he directs. "I'll get that tea on." 

You reach for the clothes, curling your fingers around the fabric. "Thor," you say before he can let go. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude." 

His brows draw together and he shakes his head. "Intrude? Never. It is only I hadn't yet built up my courage." He keeps his hands on the flannel and his thumbs brush your knuckles. "I always knew women to be much braver." 

You stare at him. Does he mean what you think? He stares back. 

You're waiting on each other yet basking in that moment of limbo. That sacred hope of what could be. You're too afraid to move fast and live with another what could have been. 

He draws away and smirks. 

The night before was filled with similar chiding from your friend. Sam is as persistent as ever. He always has a new account of his antics with Bucky and never forgets to tell you to take a break. You can’t stop though. You know if you do, you’ll have to think about everything you’re denying. 

The time away has given you time to breathe but it’s suffocated you in new ways. Along with that weight on your chest that has a name, there’s another you can’t quite understand. The one that sees you spending your spare hours alone and your working hours longing for anything but. You’re desperate to get out but terrified of the very same. 

When he arrives that day, you’re ready to give up. The tension in the air is giving you a headache and the dampness makes your skin feel sticky. You just feel gross. 

“Ah, I didn’t think you’d brave the weather today,” he muses as Thunder hops around his feet. You don’t look up, in a mood as grim as the sky. “You’d do well to stay in tomorrow. Trust me.” 

He’s always right about the weather. It must be the familiarity and yet it’s almost eerie how accurate he is. You might take his advice. You don’t like being wet and you’re starting to go cross-eyed from the hours and hours of concentration. 

Thunder yipes as you use your gloves to brush away clumps of dirt. Thor’s footsteps mulch patches of grass that sparsely carpet the dirt. He hums as his shadows looms in your peripheral. 

“Yes, my darling, I believe you’ve found the perfect spot,” he praises. 

You look over curiously. What is he talking about? You only notice then that he has more than the tiny dog with him. He has a basket on his elbow and a blanket under his arm. You sit up and watch him place down the former and shake out the latter.  

He spreads the blanket over the dirt and Thunder jumps onto it, rolling around on the fabric, digging her nose into the patched quilt as she wiggles across it. You clap off your hands and watch him as he gets down to his knees and flips open one side of the basket. He lays out several containers and two thermos’; one is the very same he brought you tea in.  

“I thought you could use a nice lunch before the weather turns,” he stands and nears the fence, “summer doesn’t last long here. You may as well enjoy it.” 

“Lunch?” You utter. 

“Brunch?” He suggest coyly. “Surely you can take a break. You are only human, you need to eat.” 

“You...” you lean to see around him, “you brought me lunch?” 

“I know it isn’t the most elaborate picnic but I thought it might be a pleasant surprise. I must confess I’ve been rather bored these days,” he admits, “so?” 

“Thor, that’s so... sweet,” you frown, “but...” 

“Work, work, work. Surely they can’t expect you to work yourself to the bone, pardon the pun,” he insists, “it will only be a bit.” 

“Yes, but...” you leave the sentence to hang. You don’t have a good excuse. You don’t know. It just makes you nervous. It’s a whole lot of effort for just you.  

“Oh, I don’t mind if you would rather stay over there. Only mean more for, eh, Thunder?” He asks the canine tramping around the blanket. “More than happy to sit here and enjoy my jelly cookies and hot coffee. 

“Coffee?” Your brows raise. 

“Freshly brewed. Promise, There’s nothing pickled. Though I don’t mind a nice herring,” he grins. 

Thunder bounces over and barks at you. She stands on her hind legs as she paws at the barrier between you. Now, how can you deny her? 

You stand and shed your gloves. You carry them over to the table beneath the tent and grab a wet wipe from the back. You come back under the open sky as you wipe your hands. 

“Sorry about all the dirt,” you scoff as you cross the dirt. 

“I don’t mind,” he assures you. He pulls apart the panels of the fence to let you through. It isn’t something you could ever forget but you can’t help but be stricken again by his sheer size. 

You bend to pet Thunder as she gets between your feet. She licks your fingers and you giggle. She’s cute. 

“Go on, pick her up,” Thor goads, “she loves it.” 

You scoop up the dog and stand. She squirms as she wags her tail incessantly. She swipes your chin with her tongue and you scrunch up your face. You carry her to the blanket and look over the spread. A leafy salad, pasta salad, sandwiches, cookies... There’s so much. Your protein bars and peanut butter and jelly can’t compare. 

“Oh gosh, this... a lot.” 

“Is it? Isn’t too much. We’re friends, yes?” 

“Friends?” You face him as you pet Thunder’s soft head. 

“Perhaps it is rather one-sided. You are obligated to be here, I just sort of haunt this place,” he chuckles. 

“No, no, friends,” you smile, “that sounds about right.” 

You turn away and lower yourself onto the blanket, sure to keep your boots off of it, as you hide your face. There’s a tinge of disappointment. You hear a far off echo in your head. How many times did Steve say the same; we’re friends, just friends, you’re such a good friend. Well, that’s all this is. No need to be so sensitive. 

“Do you ever take time off?” He asks as he gets to his knees. 

You look at him as you put Thunder down. He barely keeps her from chomping down on a rye crust. He lifts her easily and she kicks her legs. 

“Eh, you beast,” he points a finger at her snout, “be good.” 

He sets her back on her paws and she obeys. He tells her to sit and she does so. Her eyes continue to hungrily rove over the food. How can he resist them? 

“Like you said, the weather won’t last. Should get done what I can before the ground gets cold.” 

“Ah, yes, that is a concern,” he tuts, “how would you deal with that?” 

“Heat lamps, tiger torch... jackhammer if I really need but I’d have to put in a request for that...” you hadn’t thought too much into the inevitability of winter.  

“Ah, that’s...” he smirks, “I’m sorry but the idea of you with a jackhammer,” he snorts. 

“Hey,” you pout. 

“It isn’t to be mean but... you’re so gentle. When you dig, you’re so delicate about it.” 

“Am I?” You wonder. 

“Mm, is it a bit weird to say so?” He wonders aloud. “Yes, you are very precise, very cautious.” He takes out a set of plates and offers you one, “please, help yourself.” 

“It must be boring watching. Really, I’m the one digging and it gets dull,” you accept and pluck out one of the sandwiches. Salmon, you think. 

“You make it interesting,” he muses. “You talk to the bones.” 

“I talk to the bones?” You repeat, “what?” 

“Yes, I suppose you’re not aware of it. But your lips move when you’re focused. As if you’re chatting up the dirt,” he chuckles, “sometimes a few words do slip out.” 

“They do?” You blanch before you can help yourself to the salad. 

“You don’t say much. Usually something about the dishes, I’m not too sure.” 

“You never mentioned,” you look away shyly. 

“It’s... cute,” he shrugs. 

“You mean crazy,” you shake your head. 

“I say what I mean,” he counters. “No use in not. We can’t be happy if we’re not honest, not least of all with ourselves.” 

You’re quiet as you turn your attention to your plate. His words feel sharp despite his placid tone. You know it’s only because they’re true, especially for you. If you’d just accepted everything sooner, if you hadn’t been so dumb, if you hadn’t been so emotional, it would never have gotten so bad. No, if you’d just been honest. 

“I hope... I hope that didn’t come off wrong,” he says. 

“No, no, I’m... this all looks so good and I’m starving,” you assure him as you sit back with your plate. “Thank you again. This is... great.” 

“Well, I was thinking, you must miss your friends. I might be a paltry substitute but I thought i might fill that gap, even just for an hour.” 

“It’s really...” your eyes tingle but you push away the tinge of sadness, “it’s really nice.” 

“So tell me,” he scoops up salad onto his plate, “tell me about home.” 

“I...” you begin, surprised by the prompt. “It’s just home. New York. It’s busy and loud. Not like here.” 

“No, not that. Your friends. I want to know all about them. If I’m ever going to come up standards, I’ve got to know the competition.” 

You laugh. He speaks as if he needs to impress you. It’s nice to be somewhere where no one knows you’re not that special. You take a bite of the sandwich and chew, thinking out your question.  

You swallow, “well, my friend Sam, he calls every night to bitch at me. He’s great. Supportive but pushy. He likes to terrorise Bucky. He’s the strong and silent type, you know? Grumpy to boot but they’re... they’re awesome.” You smile without thinking, “before I left, they took me to this cocktail bar...” you blow out between your lips and roll your eyes, “real girly stuff.” 

“Ooh, cocktails. I’ve been known to indulge. I love finding new recipes.” 

“Really?” 

“Oh, yes, I love the sweet ones. I’ve only just perfected my blueberry basil concoction. I’m afraid I can’t share the secret ingredient unfortunately.” 

“Blueberry?” You ponder the flavour, “sounds yummy.” 

“Perhaps one day you can try it,” he suggest. 

“Maybe,” you say evasively. “Anyway, yeah, Sam and Bucky are... characters.” 

“They sound like it. How’d you meet?” 

“Oh, it’s boring. What about you?” 

“It’s not my turn,” he deflects, “tell me.” 

You don’t know why he cares. It’s as confounding as everything else about him. You still don’t get why he’s here watching you sit in the dirt. It sounds as grueling as watching a golfing tournament, in your opinion. Yet here he is, a man who looks like that, staring at you in your mud-stained khakis. 

“College. We met through a mutual friend,” you explain vaguely. 

“Ah, so you’ve been friends for some time. Yes, I see, I’ve got a lot of catching up to do,” he hums thoughtfully as he toys with the braid that hangs loose by his face, the rest of his hair twisted back as always. 

“Steve,” you say without thinking, your eyes drifting off into the distance, “he was my best friend. We met in art history. We spent almost every day together. Studying, whatever. He was more of a partier than me but... fifteen years, more than, and we saw each other...” You choke on your words and scoff darkly, “sorry, that’s... I’m homesick, I think.” 

You bat away the glaze in your eyes and focus on your food. You take a few bites as he sits quietly. Thunder stands up cautiously and crosses the blanket. She settles against your leg, leaning her head on your thigh. It’s comforting. 

“Yes, I think I would be very homesick as well. I lived in the city for a while but mother and father, they need me. And I love this mountain. It’s home. There was nothing in Oslo for me. I can work from here.” 

“Work? What exactly do you do?” You ask, happy to divert from your own painful past. “Oo, are you like a farmer? Or a shepherd. There must be sheep up here or something.” 

He laughs, “there are some sheep, yes, but those are protected by the government. We’ve not much of a choice where they settle. No, I’m not so savvy as all that.” 

“Hm, you... oh, what could do you here?” You look around, “on a mountain... oh, tours? Do you give tours?” 

He laughs, “it’s not a bad idea, but no. I’m a business owner.” 

“A business. You must sell fitness or something.” 

“Must I?” He narrows his eyes, “and what else do you assume about me?” 

“Oh, it’s only you’re so...” you cringe as you eke out the word, “big?” 

“Genetics,” he affirms, “not that but close, in a matter of looking at it. You recall that tea I brought you, with the cloudberry?” 

“Uh, yeah, it was sweet. Yummy.” 

“I’m happy you enjoyed it,” he smiles proudly, “I make superblends. All Nordic ingredients. There is a demand for wellness and organic products. I found the right niche and I’ve not done too badly.” 

“Must not if you can live all the way up here,” you remark. 

“Yes, but... it’s a reason I moved back. Business is a lonely venture. Now I’ve got it all figured out, I have my managers and my business plan, I break even, I realise how much I put to the side,” he mulls his sandwich and takes a glum bite. It’s the first time you’ve seen him anything but bright and beaming, “I feel like I’ve fallen behind. Like I’m playing catch up.” 

His words sink in and storm inside of you. You crunch on the crisp lettuce and gulp. You wipe your mouth with a napkin and clear your throat. 

“I know exactly what you mean,” you say breathily. 

“Do you? You’re out here, on an adventure all you’re own, how brave,” his voice is wistful and his gray blue eyes reminds you of the clouds above. 

“Yes, I know,” you say, “better than you. Trust me.” 

You smile, a bittersweet tug in your cheeks, and he stares back at you. Your eyes cling to each other and you feel as if the world is moving around you. He smiles and a glimmer of something unfurls in your chest. You make yourself look away. 

“Well,” you push the salad around your plate, “what about you? You must have friends, aside from the girl in the dirt.” 

He hums and scrapes up a bite of the pasta salad. He takes his time chewing before he answers. You scratch Thunder’s nose as she sniffs at your plate. 

“Yes, if you ever come to sample my cocktails, you might meet a few,” he coaxes, “I think you’d get along. Hogan and Vol, and Fandy. All good company. Sif’s not around so often when my brother’s around but he’s as fleeting as the sun.” He tuts, “I would call Loki a friend as well but he does scowl at the very thought.” 

“Loki?” 

The man at the fish place, Frederik, knows your name. His wife, Inga too. When you walk in the door, they put your order to fry before you even get to the counter. They’re friendly and warm. It’s nice to have some smiling faces when you can hardly muster the same.  

They like to ask you about New York; they’re finally planning a big trip to America after twenty-five years together. They remind you of Marigold and her bakery. You long for one of her eclairs and her chatty demeanour. Just another thing to miss. 

As you sit down at a table near the window to eat in, your phone goes off. You answer as you read Sam’s name across the screen. He’s the only one you’ve talked to in the last month. Nearly two now. August is close. 

“Yo, yo, girly pop,” he sings from the other end. 

“Girly pop? Sam,” you chide as you hover a thick cut fry before your mouth. 

“Chicky poo, nope. Girly pop, nope. I’ll get there,” he teases, “finally got a hold of you.” 

“Uh, yeah, the site is far. No signal,” you shrug and take a bite. 

“I know, I'm just needy,” he kids. “So, you hitting the spa? Summer’s going fast.” 

“Not yet,” you swallow. “Sam, there’s a lot of work here and it’s just me. The only help I get is from a local student volunteer and they do three hours a week.” 

“Oof, why does your work sound so boring?” He groans 

“Hey!” 

“Well, I mean, digging up dirt all day, tell me you’re not going mad. You making friends? No one to cool, I hope. I’m still your number one guy.” 

“Not really. It’s tough. Long hours. I don’t know,” you stare out the window as you toy with the bamboo fork.  

“If you were going to hide all day in a hovel, you could’ve stayed in New York,” he sighs. 

“Sam, I’m trying. Really. It’s... It’s going to take some time.” 

“Right,” he agrees grimly. “Time. A year is not that long.”  

You hum and lean back in the chair. You’re not as hungry as you were. You close up the container and stand. 

“I know, alright?” You sniff as you tidy the table and grab your food, “but this isn’t a vacation.” 

“It’s also not a missionary trip,” he retorts. “I’m not tryna be a dick here, I’m helping. You need this.” 

You push out into the street and cluck. Silence. You don’t know what to say. He’s right and just like ever day, the conversation is the same. Over and over. It’s going to drive you crazy. 

“More sunlight this time of year, good for work--” 

“No more work talk,” he interjects, “if you don’t got anything fun going on, I'll just have to make you jealous. Some good old fashioned FOMO. Hm, me and Bucky went to Jersey.” 

“Jersey? Why?” You take the bait, happy for the distraction. 

“Oh, yeah, I told him there was a vintage bike for sale there.” 

“You told him that but...” 

“There wasn’t. I just wanted to see him interact with the locals. The old ladies love him but the men... well, I think he might have a warrant out now.” 

“No, Sam, what the hell?” You exclaim as you stroll along. “Are you trying to get him killed?” 

“Hey, I got his back. Just like I got yours. It was just a prank.” 

“Wait, Sam, where exactly did you take him in Jersey?” 

“Some cribbage club, I don’t know. I saw a page for it online. Thought he’d fit in--” 

“They were old?” 

“They match his energy,” he snorts. 

You can’t help but laugh. It feels good. Just that little bit of home. Your amusement is dampened as your heart sinks. You really were so stupid. You didn’t see what you had all around you; Bucky, Sam, more than just Steve. Now it’s all behind you and going back won’t be the same as before. 

💟

There’s tension in the air. It’s going to rain. You suspect your day will be cut short by the gathering clouds but your persist. No use in running. Again. 

The last time you left in fear of a storm, it waited until the next day. So you sit, boots set in the dirty, hunched over as you carefully trace out the strange lump. It’s more than sediment. Bone but not a skeleton. Likely animal and bent into some tool. You have to be delicate. It’s not like the movies, you can’t just dig your hand in and rip it out. 

Your earbud drones as a retro R&B playlist keeps your mind at focus. You wipe your forehead with the back of your glove, feeling the flecks of dirt cling to your skin. You ignore it and press on. Just a little more, a little more. 

It’s bigger than you expect. Just as you think it might come free, you find it goes further down. You can make out the jagged break and the hide wrapping at it’s base. A spear of some sort.  

You roll your shoulders out and put your tools down on the open role. You peel of the gloves and reach for the tall insulated bottle of water. You gulp, your throat cooling nicely at the flow. You cap the bottle and clear your throat, listening to the silence of the mountain. 

Yet it isn’t quiet. You glance around at the subtle scratching, a strange tapping across the ground. It could be vermin. It’s not unusual to disturb a nest of one thing or another on a dig but they usually leave early on. 

You put the bottle down and shove your hand back into a glove. A puffy breath comes over the scratching. Several breaths in quick succession, as if there’s something sniff. You keep your other glove in your grip and stand. Your legs are so cramped that your steps are stiff and stunted. 

As you search for the source, there’s a yipe and a fuzzy shape catches your eye. You tilt your head, thoroughly confused at the barking beast. You’re not certain that chihuahuas are native to Norway. At least, you wouldn’t assume so. 

The ashy blond dog has longer fur along its ears and chest and a white bolt down its chest. You can tell it isn’t wild despite its behaviour as it is finely groomed and wears a bright red collar. You approach the fence as it hops, stopping only to try to dig beneath with its dirtied paws. 

“Hi, buddy,” you near the eager dog, “how’d you get up here?” 

You stop just across from the dog and poke your fingers through the fence. It stops, you think a ‘he’, and sniffs your fingers. His cold nose tickles you and you wiggle until you can pet his head. The little thunderbolt emblem on hiss collar peeks through his mane. There might be some information there. 

“Thunder!” The booming voice sounds like the very thing it decries, “Thunder, you pest, where’re you off too?” 

There’s a crunching of soil and rock along the mountain pass as the dog growls and barks again, turning to face the skewing of a towering shadow. You watch in shock at the approach. You didn’t think there was life so far up. That or someone has chosen a rather treacherous hiking trail. 

The dog, you assume ‘Thunder’, bounces back and forth in anticipation of his own, calling to him with his pitchy yaps. The man appears around the jagged rock and you feel the air knocked from your chest. You slowly reach to take out your earbud and tuck it in a pocket.

Wow. You blink to make sure it’s real. To be certain this isn’t some trick of the mind or this ancient land. Maybe the gods are real here. 

He’s tall and broad and handsome. His canvas jacket does little to conceal his muscular build as his jeans are snug to his thick thighs. You think he’s even bigger than Steve. You wince at the reminder of the man but it quickly flits away. You can’t ignore the man before you with his golden tresses twisted back into a low bun, stray strands wisping forward to frame his stony jaw and stormy blue eyes. 

You stand gaping through the fence as the man flinches in fright. His gaze meet yours and his cheeks tinge pink as he gives a crooked grin, “ah, Thunder, my darling, you’ve found a friend.” 

He whistles and the dog lunges forward. He picks up the chihuahua, their size difference almost comical as he cradles him in one arm. You can’t think of a thing to say. You can barely think.  

You snap your mouth shut and clear your throat. Work. That’s what you should be doing. 

“Hello,” the man nears the other side of the fence before you can move away, “I’ve been wondering what this is all about. The signs...” he points with his thumb over his shoulder. 

“Oh, uh,” you peer around as if lost. You sort of are. “A dig. Er. Grant,” you stammer out. You take a breath and still your mind, “I work with an archeological society in New York. We’ve been sponsored by your national board to exhume this site.” 

“Ah, yes, makes sense,” he lowers his brows thoughtfully as the dog squirms in his hold, yiping and biting at his sleeve. “Forgive me, she is rather uncouth.” He raises the dog higher and she wiggles in his arm. You see it now, definitely a pampered girl. “This is Thunder. She lives up to her namesake, eh?” 

“Uh, yeah,” you give a brittle smile, unsure. 

“Thor,” he dips his chin down, “I live just up the pass.” 

“You do?” You wonder curiously. “All the way up here?” 

“Oh yes, if you saw the old haunt, you might just want to dig that up too,” he jokes. “We usually go up the pass, towards the river.” 

“The river?” 

“Yes, you mustn’t stray far from here,” he remarks as he raises a hand to lean on the fence, only to nearly tip the unanchored grating. “Oooh, apologies,” he rights himself with a laugh, “anyhow, it is nice to see a new face around here. Better to have a name for it.” 

“Right, uh,” you offer your name and giggle nervously, “it’s just me on-site, guess I forget my manners.” 

“Not to worry. As the resident mountain man, my etiquette does lack,” he winces as Thunder chomps on his thumb knuckle, “eh, you monster, alright.” He holds her up and she pokes her nose through the fence, “she loves new people. Not so keen on the old.” 

“She's cute,” you scratch her nose and she licks your fingers. “Not exactly a native species.” 

“Who knows where she came from? Found the little dragon in the woods. Suppose someone left her there. She was covered in mud, so small I though she was a bloody toad,” he muses as he brings her back against his chest and rocks her, “it was only her thunderous barks which told me otherwise, isn’t that right, darling?” 

He makes a kissy noise at her and her fluffy tail wags wildly against him. You smile more genuinely. It is nice to have another living thing around after digging up the broken and dead for so long. 

“So you’re from New York?” He asks abruptly, his blue eyes rolling over you like a tide. 

“Yeah,” you utter breathily, “yes, New York.” 

“You’ve been here a while?” 

“Couple months,” you shift and twist your glove. 

“Wonderful, and you’ve done much exploring? You must live in town.” 

“About three hours,” you point towards the gravelly road, “haven’t had much time for sightseeing but I found a good fish shop.” 

“A shop? That’s no good. We catch our own fish, fry ‘em up over the pit,” he says, “that’s the way we do it up here.” 

You nod, “sounds fun. Well, er,” you turn halfway and look around, your eyes skimming up to the cloudy sky, “I should probably hustle. Looks like rain.” 

“That it does but it won’t be ‘til midnight,” he assures. 

“You think it’ll hold out?” 

“I know so,” he affirms and lingers by the fence, trying to see past you, “what exactly are you uncovering over there?” 

“Not much so far,” you pull on your loose glove. 

“You must know what this place was. A raider’s camp.” 

“Is that so?” 

“Mm, yes, the raiders would camp upon the pass away from those who might come ashore, then go off themselves to find a coast to reap,” he explains. 

“And how do you know all that?” You ask as you tramp back to your place in the dirt. 

“Suppose some of my ancestors camped here with them,” he offers casually, “for so long as we’ve been up here. Once the viking scamps settled, they had to find a home somewhere. Some fellow named Agmundr or another built a stone house further up.” 

“Admundr? Family?” You prompt. 

“Distant,” he assures, “been some time and that stone house is now a foundation.” 

You get down to your knees as you grab your brush and peek over at him, “thanks for the information. I’ll have to add it to the land report. Have them crosscheck in the archives.” 

“Not at all. You won’t find it all on your paper, you know? We carry or history on our tongues here.” 

“Sure,” you say as you bend over the spearhead and start again. 

“You don’t mind if I watch? I always did love history and I’ve never seen a proper dig before.” 

“Not much going on, I’m afraid,” you shrug, “but if you want.” 

“Thunder will have a tantrum if I go,” he chuckles, “she likes you.” 

“Hm,” you scoff, “she is very outspoken.” 

You set your eyes on your task but can’t shake the awareness of your audience. It’s not too unusual. There were a few digs you did early on in the heart of the city and people loved to ogle you. This is different. Just the two of you. A stranger even. Friendly as he is, you’re happy for the fence, even if it is rather flimsy. 

The driver is all to helpful as he comes around you take the handle from you and swiftly plants the bag on its wheels. It’s everything you have that isn’t bundled up into storage or sacrificed to the dumpster. You thank the man and swallow a belch. 

“Have a safe trip, miss,” the driver nods and turns to slap Sam’s arm, “and you, sir.” 

Sam salutes the man and pushes away from the cab, your carry-on slung from his shoulder. The two of you clumsily lift the bag over the curb. You look up at the airport as the roar of jet engines cuts through the dusky air. 

“I feel like I’m drunker,” Sam snickers. 

“Uh huh, me too,” you murmur. Two hours on his couch was barely enough. If anything, it’s just set your vision askew. “They’re not gonna let me board if – hiccup—I'm blasted.” 

“Don’t worry, we can get water,” he blathers and yanks your bag onto its wheels, “off to the land of vikings! Skol!” 

“Skol?” You follow him in a clamour. 

“It’s what they say, isn’t it?” He chuckles, “I saw it on a show or whatever.” 

“I... yeah, usually while they drink, not stumbling drunk,” you rebuff. 

“Sound pretty sober to me with all that whining,” he rebukes. 

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes and follow him through the automatic doors. 

He veers off and you follow him in confusion, glancing back at the check-in counter. He stops before a bright vending machine and feels around in his pocket. He taps his card and focuses intently on pressing the button. 

“Waterrrrr,” he drones and leans on the machine to reach through the slot. 

He hands it over and you unscrew the cap. You chug half the bottle and let out an obnoxious belch. You cover your mouth in embarrassment and offer him the rest. He finishes it off and you linger by the machine as you let the cool flow settle in. 

“Feel any better?” He asks. 

“A little. I’ll have a coffee on the plane.” 

“Nah, you should sleep.” 

“Maybe,” you take out your phone and tap the side button. Nothing. 

“Anything from Mr. Carter?” Sam asks. 

“No,” you black the screen and shrug. “Come on, I gotta check my bag.” 

“You should check that boy,” he blathers as he stands straight and once more yanks the bag after you, “tell him what’s what.” 

“Sam, he’s busy--” 

“He’s your best friend! At least, he likes to say so then do nothing.” 

“Quit,” you beg him, “this is hard enough.” 

“This is what you need--” 

“I know!” You throw your hands up and face him as you come up before the counter. “I know. Okay. I’m stupid and---” you shake your head and let the truth sink back into the depths of your soul. You face the clerk and sigh, “I’m sorry, I’m here to check my bag.” 

You pull out your wallet and slide your passport across the counter. You show your boarding pass and pay for the extra weight. Your bid a safe journey and carry on with only the smaller bag still on Sam’s shoulder. 

Wordlessly, you sit in a row of seats. You look up at the clock. You’ll have to go to the boarding area sooner than later. He won’t be able to come with you. 

“Sam, I’m sorry. I just... is it that obvious?” You croak. 

He puts his hand on your back and rubs it gently. It’s soothing. The tension trickles down your sides and seeps out. It feels good to admit it aloud yet mortifying just the same. 

“No, I just sense these things. I know Steve, I know you, and I know he doesn’t deserve you. Even as just friends.” 

“Ugh,” you put your head in your hands, “I am so stupid.” 

“No, you’re not. You’re human. It stinks. Our brains, our hearts, they aren’t logical, as much as we like to pretend,” he huffs, “trust me. We’ve all been there and if we haven’t, we’ll get our turn.” 

“Yeah, I guess,” you sit up as your eyes glisten, “I just... he said he’d be here. I thought I’d at least get that--” 

Your name echoes through the airy space and you wince. Right on cue, just before you can collapse completely. You turn as Steve rushes toward you. He wears jeans and grey sweatshirt. He remembered! 

You stand as Sam sighs. You smile, only halfway before you see the figure trailing behind him. Peggy looks less than excited to be there. Her sleepy lashes flutter as her wave hair is pinned back in a messy chignon, still elegant despite the carelessness. She wears a dark green trench over a silver satin nightie. She must’ve rushed out with him. 

“Hey,” Steve nears, “sorry I couldn’t make it for drinks, but I couldn’t miss take-off.” 

“Mmm, they don’t have any afternoon flights,” Peggy mutters. 

“They do but landing doesn’t line up with the train,” you shrug and glance at her briefly. Her glare darts back at you. You wonder if that work dinner was so impromptu after all. 

“Are you excited?” Steve drops into the seat next to you. 

“Uh, yeah, nervous,” you smile as the weight lightens from your chest. He came. Maybe Sam is wrong. Maybe friends isn’t that bad. 

“It’s going to be great. You have to send me updates, oh, and I’ll be sure to send you all the wedding news!” He grins, “I still can’t believe you’re going to be so far away.” 

“It’s a good opportunity,” Peggy intones as she sits on his other side, resting her hand on his forearm, “in her line of work, I’m sure they don’t come often.” 

You press your lips tight and look down, “yeah, not really.” 

“She can get out. Make new friends. Some girl friends, maybe,” Peggy remarks. 

“I’m sure she’ll make all the friends,” Sam interjects, “I hear there isn’t much sunlight over there, she’ll be a breath of fresh air for those grumpy vikings.” 

“Mm, yes,” Peggy grumbles as she trails her hand down to Steve’s. “Too bad you won’t make the engagement party.” 

“Or the wedding,” Steve adds. 

“Well, we’ve a full wedding party as it is,” she shrugs. “There’ll be lots of pictures.” 

“Right, yeah, I’m sorry to miss it all,” you frown. “I...” you sit back and nearly choke, “I’m gonna hit the bathroom.” 

You stand as Sam puffs out heavily and to your surprise, Peggy swiftly gets to her feet, suddenly very awake. Your soberness is setting in along with a pulsing headache. You really don’t want to deal with her. If you knew he’d bring her, you’d have told Steve to stay home. 

“I’ll come with you. I’m splitting at the seams,” she trills. 

“Alright,” you agree with a tint of uncertainty. 

She twirls and you walk parallel to her towards the bathroom signs. You chalk it up to the feminine habit. It isn’t unusual to visit the toilets in pairs, even without much kinship between you. It does however spoil your attempt at respite. You less so want to empty your bladder than clear your mind. 

You don’t say a word as you enter the bathroom. You go into a stall and she does the same. Your mind clogs your biology and you have to sit and focus before you can get a flow going. By the time you’re trickling into the bowl, she’s done. A toilet flushes and you hear her unlatch the door and approach the sinks. 

She’s in heels, even at this hour. The sink sprays out water and you listen to her hum as she washes her hands. You finish up and flush, coming out meekly to use the sink next to her. You focus on the simple task as she watches you in the mirror. 

Sensing her gaze, you look up and pull your hands out from under the censor-activated faucet. You meet her eyes and nearly wince at the steely intensity. You stand straight and move past her to retrieve some paper towel. 

“This is a wise decision,” she says, “well-needed.” 

You look at her again as you dry your hands, “thanks.” 

“Oh, I’m not congratulating you. About time you got some sense,” she sneers. 

You wince and crumple up the towel. You drop it in the bin and cross your arms, “okay, well...” 

“It’s better you’re not here for any of it. He doesn’t need the distraction.” 

You chew the inside of your lip as venom drips from her voice. You’re still slightly tipsy and too tired to process this. You have no response. 

“The distance will help you get over it. Finally,” she snips, “you know, I thought it was almost endearing at first then it just became pathetic.” 

You swallow. You’re humiliated that even she could see right through you. You can hardly blame her for her spite. After all, she’s his fiancée, not you. 

“He thinks it’s silly. He laughs.” 

You flinch then. Hard. Your chest rents and your stomach boils. 

“He knows. It’s obvious. I mean, it’s convenient, isn’t it? You’ll do anything for him and really it was rather helpful. Took a lot off my plate and his but it’s time for all of us to grow up. I will be his wife and he doesn’t need some girl to measure out his laundry detergent or remind him to eat.” 

You blink and look away. You cross your arms and push your shoulders up, “got it.” 

“So why don’t you go ahead and just put him on mute now?” 

“Peggy,” you whisper. 

“We’re getting married. You know you can’t stop it, that’s why you’re running away. So end it.” 

“You don’t have to be cruel,” you mutter. 

“I could be horrid. I could have been for all these years. I believe I’ve had remarkable restraint with you,” she points a manicured nail at you, “you should be thanking me for having the grace to do this in private.” 

Your lip trembles and your cheeks tug painfully. You nod and turn away, “don’t worry, Peg, you won’t hear from me. He won’t either.” You make your way to the door, “I wish you both the best.” 

“Mm, I pray you find some clarity and perhaps some maturity along the way,” she retorts as she follows you, heels clicking loudly across the tile, “perhaps you might find someone too. Someone you deserve.” 

Her last words sting. The derision is pungent enough to make your nose crinkle. Someone you deserve... because you could never ever be good enough for Steve Rogers. 

💟

You don’t look back as you go through the gate. You can’t. It’s too painful. The tears have receded but the pain is only deeper. Peggy’s words reverberate in your head, nipping at your ears as your nape burns hotter and hotter. 

She’s right. Sam too. This is overdue. It’s exactly what you need to do. You know it. It’s the reason you chose this. That moment when you were faced with being the eternal wobbly third wheel, you made up your mind. It’s over. That part of your life is behind you, but you don’t know that you’ll ever stop feeling this way. 

It’s hard to settle in your seat, even knowing you have ten hours of flying ahead of you. Disembarking alone will be another hour at least, then finding the train station, another few hours... It’s a lot of time to think and you just can’t stop. 

You don’t take the book out of your bag or touch the screen in front of you. Instead, you sit, slumped down in your seat, eyes drifting back and forth, as you wallow in your self-pity. You stay like that through the flight. You decline the mid-flight meal and the snack cart. You don’t even get up to use the bathroom. 

You close your eyes and float away into memory. You can feel the scene around you. You can smell the stale air freshener forgotten on the shelf above the desk and hear the muffled thrum of music through the walls. You sit on the bed, your textbook open in your lap and your laptop open by your leg. Steve’s on the other end, phone in hand, texting as his golden hair flops forward over his head. 

He’s younger. That rosiness still kisses his cheeks as subtle freckles speckle his pale skin. Yet he’s just a well-built as ever. Broad shoulders, chiseled jaw, long legs. He’s the very picture that should appear next to ‘hunk’ in the dictionary. Every girl’s dream. Your dream. 

“Huh,” he chuckles and drops his phone, “this girl in my history class wants to meet up.” 

Your heart plucks and you force a smile, “a girl? Meet up?” 

“Oh, yeah, she lets me copy off her pop quiz every lecture. Guess I kinda owe her.” 

“Wow,” you utter, the only noise you can eke out. Owes her? Funny, you did his laundry last week and helped him print out his term paper... what do you get? 

“Yeah, so uh, do you think you could send me a copy of your notes?” He pushes himself to the edge of the bed. “I probably won’t be back tonight.” 

“Right,” you nod and hide your embarrassment at the insinuation. 

“You can crash here if you wanna. Long way across campus at night,” he shrugs casually as he grabs his varsity jacket. 

“No, I’ll... I’ll just go now,” you get off the bed and close up your books. 

“Probably a good idea. Just in case she wants to come back here,” he chuckles, “see ya in poli sci?” 

“Sure,” you keep your chin down. “See ya.” 

Your eyelids lift as you come out of the dazed memory.  

New York is gone. Steve is gone. You’re all alone. You’ve left it all behind but that home was never a home. It was all a farce you built on a childish hope. You’re done lying to yourself. It was never going to be. You didn’t miss any chance at all. You just wasted your own time. 

You just languish there in the airplane seat. It’s still hard to believe it’s all real. It isn’t until the wheels bounce and hit the tarmac that it fully sinks in. 

You’re not doing that again. You’re better off alone. You have to be, right? You don’t really know. You don’t even know yourself. You just know the girl who only wanted to be what he needed. 

But what do you need? What do you want? Can you figure it out? Is there anything in this land for you that you couldn’t find in New York? 

At least you’ll have lots of time to figure that out. Intimate hours with yourself to dwell and cringe and regret. Time to think, time to move on, time to cut him out.