Sif sat, clearly bored upon the throne, cradling her chin in the palm of her hand as she listened to the third complaint in as many hours about the Jötnar who had come to Asgard for the Yule celebration that was about to be underway. It was only a handful, and thus far they hadn't even been out wandering around the city, but the general reaction to hearing about them was the same. 

"They are honored guests. If you cannot find it possible to welcome them, then I'm afraid that I cannot find it possible to welcome you." The threat in her voice was clear, and before he could respond, another voice cut him off.

"Eira!" 

Sif sat up as her toddler came barreling through the crowd, a giant cookie in each hand, and the biggest, chocolate-covered grin imaginable. Her nurse came close behind, but the little blonde girl was already climbing the dais. Sif rose, her tunic clinging to the growing bump that was to be Eira's half-sibling, and met her daughter halfway down, scooping her into her arms. 

"Such the little trouble maker." She laughed, making her way down to meet the nurse. "Where did you get those, hmmm?"

"I told her that she could have one, my Queen, but these are two and three." 

Sif gave the little girl a stern look. "Maybe we should take these two to your father and uncle. What do you think?"

"Mama!" Eira protested, and Sif shook her head as she walked past the complaining merchant.

10: Neck Kiss

Midgard had changed a lot since Sif had last bothered to spend any time there, though she doubted that better dwellings and greater sanitation could do too much to make mortals, as a whole, more pleasant company. Regardless, Thor was there, choosing to remain even after his memories had been returned to him, and she--no matter how hard she found his devotion to Midgard to understand--missed him. 

Midgard was a vast realm, and having never visited the region Thor currently lived, Sif relied on Heimdall to drop her off near enough to his home to walk from there, knowing that in the future she would be able to travel as she chose using her sword. Once the Bifrost let her down, she followed the directions her brother had given her, and sought out the 'townhouse' her Prince occupied. 

There had been no doubt that it would be bad news that awaited her in the Observatory. Heimdall only ever called on her if there was something dire. Yet even knowing that, he caught her completely off guard when he explained what it was that had compelled him to summon her. 

Thor was not himself, he'd said. So entirely not himself that his mortal lover was terrified, slipping away when Thor had been distracted, and was now holed up in Stark Tower, afraid of when he would come looking for her. The counterpart to the great warrior, Hulk, was keeping watch over her, staying nearby as he was the only one capable of holding his own against Thor if he came. 

That August wild Heliotropes and Indigo Bushes cropped up around the circle of still etched earth in the middle of the New Mexico desert. The month before there had been Mariposa Lilies, and the month before that a shock of Evening Primrose, blooming the color of snow among the rusty earth. Desert flowers were not wholly uncommon. If anything, in her time spent in New Mexico, Jane Foster discovered more color in the desert than she had back in Willowdale or London.

But the constant flourish of blooms around that particular circle proved to be more strange than not and she couldn't help but wonder if it had anything to do with the energy that had sank into the desert from when that circle had been connected to the Bifrost.

Magic, a voice said in the back of her mind, made many impossible things possible. Why not this? Even when no rain came these flowers would remain vibrant, and when it did finally storm there was no washing away of the etched otherworldly designs on the ground. Not even the constant ebb and flow of gusting winds moved the design and Jane was obsessed.

Not because of who it reminded her of (though, undoubtedly, she still harbored secret thoughts of the man she had ran over with her god damn van once before, just not as often anymore) but of what it reminded her of: the truth behind her theories.

The truth behind her father's theories.

It was late afternoon and late August and Jane was sitting cross legged on top of her van with a gallon of water between her thighs and a journal balanced on her knee. She was drawing pictures of the flowers and absently jotting down notes beside them, as if recording their presence was going to make a sudden breakthrough for her research.

And then the clouds parted and the sky opened up, as if a great mouth was parting, exposing the desert to a sudden gust of wind and fury.