She usually wasn't this clumsy, but it had been a damned long day what with most of Manhattan being turned to rubble, and everyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. running on the last of their adrenaline. After Agent Romanov had passed the thing to her, Special Technician Cynara Sigyn knew it was she was lucky she hadn't gouged an eye out tripping as she did on the way out of the battle area; the point on the damned staff had been sharp enough to slash through her lab coat and Kevlar battle uniform. Luckily the only injury she suffered when she stumbled with the staff was a small cut, right between her breasts.

Cynara Sigyn dryly snickered to herself; it wasn't the first prick she'd had there, although it had been a while. Checking the wound discreetly, she saw it was barely a scratch, and she felt like an idiot for having it happen in the first place. A little disinfectant when she got off-duty; that would take care of any problems, she decided.

No doctors, thank you.

It took fifteen minutes to pack the Asgardian staff away in the stasis field box, secure it and add it to the invoice of salvaged material to be taken to the helicarrier. There were still several other high priority items left, and Cynara sighed, turning to the next piece of alien technology that needed to be handled, and hoping she might be able to clock out sometime, say, before the month ended.

Shaggy-haired Cynara Jane Sigyn stood five ten in her bare feet. She'd participated in roller derby, like her mother before her, and balanced that with a healthy love for archeology and technology. When she'd first graduated from Stanford six years ago she'd hoped to land a job with some prestigious museum, or barring that do fieldwork sponsored by her alma mater. What she didn't expect was to be recruited into S.H.I.E.L.D.

But S.H.I.E.L.D. had come calling in the form of Agent Phil Coulson, who assured her that her skill set would be well used and compensated if she'd join them. Cynara was cynical of course—since when had any branch of law enforcement needed an expert on runes and burial sites?—but Coulson had corrected her on all counts. S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't law enforcement per se; they were Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division, and would she at least sign a security waiver to take a tour of the facilities?

She did.

She joined up before the tour was over.

Coulson didn't have to say much; the facilities dazzled her, and the rest of the package—benefits, investments, retirement—all of it appealed to Cynara's sense of purpose. At the very least she'd be able to stay on the cutting edge of applied tech to her field, and the chance to tour the world instead of staying in one spot sounded good too.

So she moved her way up from the lowest tech position, finding her leadership abilities and competitive edge helped the climb. Instead of being a member of a research and analysis team Cynara now had her own office and lab (tiny), with two underlings—well one full-time anyway—doing the menial stuff. Then two years ago the big man—Fury himself—had given her the directive to focus on Nordic mythology, particularly the pantheon and their personalities.

Then she'd met Thor. THAT had been a mind-blower. He'd been everything the legends had purported, and even though Cynara wasn't hot for blonds, he wasn't difficult to look at, oh no. He'd granted her several interviews, and finding first-hand confirmation of what was generally known about Norse mythology made her giddy. Thor for his part seemed pleased to have someone who at the very least could pronounce 'Yggdrasil' correctly among other things. He gave her what help he could with rune translation, and between them they developed a rapport that Cynara was pleased to have, even if he did tease her about her name.

"You must never meet my brother," Thor told her once. "If the wheel of history turns true, then he will steal you from another and make you his bride, Cynara Sigyn."

"But I'm not a god," she'd reminded him. "And I don't see your egotistical brother stooping so low as to choose a mere human over all the babes in Asgard."

Thor had looked slightly melancholy and she remembered a little too late how rumor had it he himself had the hots for Doctor Foster. She tried to apologize, but Thor had merely given her a small smile. "Loki may have a black heart but he has one nonetheless; take care, Cynara."

But she didn't believe in fate; life on Earth didn't work the way it did elsewhere in the universe, not by a long shot. Sure there were parallels, but as far as she was concerned, Theoric Simon was the only man for her. They'd been engaged for the last year, and as soon as he got his security clearance they'd be off to Vegas for a blazing weekend of sex, slot machines, and room service.

Theo was brilliant and adorable, and knew more about Snorri Sturluson's work than anyone else on the planet. If Fury hadn't given her the Nordic directive Cynara knew she'd never have met Theo. Theo even looked a little like Sturluson, who according to the one woodcut seemed to have been a shaggy panda back in the day. Still, Theo made her happy, and she knew she'd make him happy, if S.H.I.E.L.D. would give her enough leave to get married.

-oo00oo-

She knew she was dreaming. The woozy feel to her surroundings told her that. A flat desolate place, with what looked like hot springs everywhere. Montana? Cynara wondered. She'd never been to Montana. Maybe it was Yellowstone.

Walking further, she thought she heard something, felt a slight tremor to the ground but it didn't worry her much. Cynara rubbed the little cut between her breasts and wandered on, humming to herself. It wasn't a very interesting dream, she thought, and moved around a boulder only to see a naked man stretched out on the ground.

NOW it was more interesting, she decided. Holy cow, what a body! Long and lean and very pale, but muscles like cords. Cynara felt a shiver through her own frame, and a very faint wariness at the back of her thoughts. Something about this seemed . . . weird.

She moved closer, looking at the man, letting her gaze sweep along his legs to his dark silky groin. Ohmy. Definitely hung, and he wasn't even aroused. Nice flat stomach, long pecs and a great set of shoulders . . .

'Who are you?' the voice spoke in her head, puzzled and soft. Cynara gazed at the man's face and thought about it for a moment.

'I'm me,' she let him know. 'Do you need . . . clothes?' it seemed stupid to ask, and it would be a shame to cover up that body, but Cynara felt it was kind to ask.

'I do not need them; I am perfect,' the man told her in a mild voice. 'I do not remember choosing you.'

That hurt. Cynara scowled. The man stared at her, and she realized he was tied up. With pink cords.

Bondage? Whoa.

More tingles ran through her, compounded when he flicked his tongue out and touched his upper lip before speaking in her head again. 'I wish to see you naked,' he ordered.

Cynara looked down, but she was still in clothes.

The man pouted. 'Most unfair.'

'It wouldn't be right,' Cynara admitted as a flash of guilt surged through her. 'I have someone.'

'And?' the man asked, not getting the point.

'Theoric wouldn't like it,' Cynara admitted. All of a sudden a long glittering teardrop of green popped out of nowhere over the man's face and splashed down onto it. He drew in a deep breath, his body convulsing, tendons pulling tightly against the pink ropes holding him.

The ground rumbled, and Cynara jumped over the man, floating down on his other side. She leaned over the man and watched as the green slime dribbled down his angular face and onto the ground.

A momentary expression of desolate pain etched his features, and it was so pitifully melancholy that Cynara reached down to cup one cheek, feeling a flush of pity for him. 'I'm sorry.'

'You are the only one on this plane of existance who is,' he told her bleakly. 'Go, dream of other things.'

She wanted to help him, but he shook his head, and right before the next glittering drop fell, he smiled at her. The heat of desire played on his mouth and the spark in his dark eyes sent a wave of pleasure rolling through her . . .

Cynara woke up in the last throes of her orgasm, red-faced and quivering, feeling completely nonplussed at the oddness of the experience. It had been years since she'd had an erotic dream strong enough to—years. She sighed and rolled over, trying not to blush and feeling a giggle start to well up inside her.

Losing it. She was glad Theo was still in Boston and not around at the moment; she didn't think he'd appreciate hearing about her S and M trip to Yellowstone, especially the nice little nightcap at the end. A few minutes later she was just on the edge of falling asleep when the fleeting thought occurred to her that the man on the ground looked familiar.

His face anyway.

Something about . . . Stuttgart.

-oo00oo-

A week later, Cynara found her paperwork had expanded exponentially, and to top it off, the Director wanted her to sit on the debriefing. THE debriefing, with all the top agents. She wasn't sure why; nothing that had happened over Manhattan had involved mythology to any degree she could see, but you didn't say no to Nick Fury, so she went.

On the way she passed Coulson's empty office and needed a long moment to compose herself before she walked on.

He'd been a great guy; the one who'd recruited her, who occasionally stopped by to see how things were going. The one who got her access to see Mjölnir first-hand after they'd found it, and understood exactly how she felt about seeing proof of a superhero.

God she was going to miss Phil.

The conference wasn't as big as she thought it was going to be. Cynara had assumed that officials from the city and reps from the rest of the world would be there, but no, it was just a handful of S.H.I.E.L.D. people like herself. She settled in the back and listened while Fury talked about the Avengers, and about future threats to Earth.

Interesting, but Cynara still wasn't quite sure what her connection was until Fury threw out the name of Thor's brother, and made it clear that although they'd defeated him once, he was the sort of galactic pain in the ass who'd probably try again. She tried not to squirm through this part of the speech but it was difficult because she'd made the connection now of face and name from her dream.

Loki.

The realization that she'd seen the God of Mischief himself buck-assed naked—or at least fantasized it—left Cynara feeling very uncomfortable. He'd been responsible for single-handedly demolishing the majority of a city borough, and was clearly nobody to mess with, dream or not.

On the other hand, if she admitted she'd dreamed about him, Fury might insist she get scanned and prodded and tested for God knew what sort of trace or bug or what have you. Cynara had no intentions of going through that thank you very much. It was hard enough to get the blood test done for the license, and she'd seen some of the fancy machines the doctors for S.H.I.E.L.D. had on hand.

And anyway, it didn't qualify as a sighting did it? A dream?

An . . . orgasmic dream?

She kept her mouth shut.

The landscape was still desolate, and Cynara accepted it wasn't Yellowstone. She moved forward, knowing full well that while the first time visiting here might have been a fluke, a second time was a bit more serious. She tried to walk slowly and kept her eyes down, but it didn't change things.

He was still sprawled out in all his bare glory, looking completely unperturbed. As Cynara moved closer, he raised his head and eyed her. 'You have returned. Good.'

'I don't think I should be here,' Cynara told him, working hard to look him in the face, and not let her gaze wander anywhere else.

His smile was lazy and confident with just a hint of naughty boy in it. 'And I think you should. We are *meant* to be. If anyone knows that, you do.'

A drop of green goo began to materialize above his face, and Cynara flinched. She knelt at his side to cup her hands under it, but his voice stopped her. 'NO. It will kill you. Catch it in something other than your flesh.'

She looked about and as happens in dreams, found the right thing. A small stone bowl, shallow and colorless. Cynara picked it up and held it under the thickening drop. It fell into the basin with a hiss like steam, and Cynara felt the bowl grow heavy in her hand.

'Shit,' she muttered, realizing the dilemma.

He laughed softly. 'Yes.'

'You could at least say thank you,' Cynara told him.

'Why? This is but a second's reprieve in an eon of torture. You will wake very soon and I will still be here, night after night,' he replied lightly.

'Look, I . . . don't want you to suffer,' Cynara admitted, realizing it was true. Nobody should be tied up and have venom dripped on them for eternity. Not even Loki.

He looked at her intently, as if truly seeing her for the first time, and smiled once more. 'You have feelings for me—as you should.'

Cynara scowled. 'I could just walk away.'

'But you will not. You are dreaming of me,' came his reply, 'just as I am dreaming of you. What greater proof do you require that destiny links us?'

Before she could reply, another hissing drop of venom began to build, and Cynara shifted the bowl to catch it. She leaned over him, and felt him blow a teasing breath up against her chest, cool and erotic. She shivered, caught between arousal and anger, both moods deeper here in her unconscious mind. 'Stop!'

'But we are both so enjoying your conflict.'

'Just tell me how to free you," Cynara managed between gritted teeth. The bowl was nearly full and getting heavier.

"Freeing me will not free you,' he pointed out. 'You do know that.'

Another drop began to form, and Cynara focused on it instead of Loki's solemn face. 'Just TELL me!'

'Let it fall.'

'Let it . . ."

'Fall,' he repeated impatiently. 'In due course my agonized contortions will free me. Of course my sanity will suffer and my wrath will rise, but my revenge will not fall on you, my destined bride.'

Cynara carefully pulled the bowl away and stood with it uncertainly. 'I'm engaged to someone else.' It felt weird to say, but she had to.

'And I have had trysts . . . mostly with Angrboða,' Loki shrugged as best he could in his bonds. 'That reminds me; I owe her child support.'

Cynara made a face. '*Child* support? You sired a wolf, a serpent and the first Goth!'

'Wild oats. You and I will use protection.' He arched an eyebrow at her, and even though he was tied up and stark naked, Cynara fought the urge to laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all.

She stepped back, still balancing the bowl in her hands. 'When you free yourself, will Ragnarök begin?' The drop began to lengthen, and Cynara thrust the basin under it, trying to watch it and Loki's face under it at the same time.

"I cannot stop it from happening, but time is not the same for you and I," he pointed out. 'Let the poison fall, my Sigyn.'