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Seeing the same things he did, Jane began to speak again, this time individually addressing each one still at the ready among the SHIELD agents. Nearest her, Dr. Selvig was treated to a soft "please, Erik, stop. If I thought he was going to hurt you again, I would kill him myself." The physicist stared deep into the eyes of the girl he'd helped raise before shaking his head as he lowered his gun, still eyeing Loki where he remained kneeling on the ground. The antsy god had better cover from bullets when his head was level with the main body masses of those currently protecting him.

"Natasha, come on," Jane called out to the redhead. "I suspect there are people with Thor who really, really don't want to see what you're about to do."

Loki's eyes widened as he caught what he thought was a reference to Sigyn. But how did Jane know that he was even married? Had Thor thought to tell her? Loki had gotten the impression that the crown prince didn't like to talk about his disowned little brother.

"Oh, really?" the Asian agent's aim shifted slightly as she spoke, changing who a bullet would hit.

Sigyn.

Loki scrambled to his feet, desperately looking around for his staff in the same second that Agent Romanoff reached out and grasped the other woman's wrist, shaking her head slightly. Asgardian hearing alone picked up the redhead's, "Not even he deserves that sort of pain, May."

"Turn about is fair play," the woman, May, said tersely. Natasha just stared at her, and it wasn't until Agent Coulson moved and put his hand on May's shoulder that the Asian dropped her gun into Coulson's outstretched hand while informing Agent Romanoff, "Pregnancy is turning you soft."

"Pregnancy?" Thor repeated, not relaxing but trying to appear as such while attempting to change the subject. "I did not hear of this news before I returned to Asgard. Congratulations, Lady Natasha, Agent Barton."

That was when Thor looked up into the rafters, to the man that Loki had been motionlessly searching for but hadn't been able to find. Agent Barton was squatting on a beam high above their heads, and Loki – searching the corners of the room to see if he might be able to feel a remaining thread of the magic that had been forced into the agent's body – hadn't thought to "poke" upwards.

He did so now, just to check for the possibility of magic, and was unsurprised in the end to feel nothing at all from his magic. If indeed any remained somewhere in Barton – which he doubted – it was of the Chitauri variety to begin with, and was thus no longer available to Loki's senses. But there had been an unsuspected magic signature in the room, Loki recalled, which he had at the exact moment he'd felt it been too preoccupied to truly pay attention to.

Now he directed his magic back onto the far edge of the group of SHIELD agents, curious as to whom he might find the weak magic signature belonged to. The thread in his mind plunged into the one man in the unrecognizable trio that stood at the back. It wasn't his, as Loki had suspected it wouldn't be, judging by the man's wheelchair. This unknown signature contained blood from someone born on an entirely different planet besides Midgard, and Midgardians were the weakest of the races known to the Nine Realms. This man was a Midgardian, and thus not the owner of the magic signature. Neither was the woman who stood behind him, gripping the handles of his chair. So it must be the other woman, Loki surmised, probing for – and momentarily connecting to – a strand of the woman's magic.

The woman – still practically an infant when one compared her number of years to his own – seemed to be in her early twenties, had brunette hair, brown eyes, and a complexion that didn't lend itself to any one race of people from any particular realm. He probed carefully at her magic, the fact that she had a magic signature at all making her many times more interesting than she would otherwise be to him.

What struck him first about her signature was how very weak it was. Magic, properly harnessed – as was the case when one was born with an inclination towards it, as he had been, or paternity well-versed in it, which must be her case – became a nearly physical part of one's mind, and tended to occupy a small, almost subconscious hovel in said mind until such time as it was needed. Loki had the capability of being able to envision where in one's mind that hovel was located, and had found that its location – whether farther back amongst the cobwebs of infantile memories or at the fore among the oft-used knowledge of one's own personality – indicated how often the magic was used. By those indicators, Loki dared to believe that this girl's magic had never been used, if she even knew that she possessed it at all.

Then why is she here? he wondered. Who is she? How had Agent Coulson got his hands on her, let alone convinced her to join his little band of misfits?

Only… they weren't such misfits as he would've liked to believe, he realized, looking around at them from his still reasonably safe position surrounded by his travelling companions. There were good scientists here, and even better potential SHIELD agents. But where exactly did this young woman fit into the equation? Who was she?

His magic's precarious connection with hers slipped away, and he tried to reconnect the strands once again, getting only one fleeting realization before the connection was lost and he was left without enough energy to try for a third linking.

It took more from him than most realized to control his magic so thoroughly and in these surroundings he'd been a fool to employ it so uselessly. Only when he swayed on his feet with sudden fatigue did he resist the urge to try again, for the impression that he'd just gotten was an extremely riveting one.

Cold. Her subconscious was cold… and not in the emotional sense of the word. He realized it as being like his own "magic hovel" – which he now knew was that of a Jotun. This unknown brunette was a Jotun underneath a longstanding cosmetic spell and she most likely didn't even realize it.

He realized something in that moment though, a sudden flash of insight, and even if his own fatigue wouldn't have sent him to his knees, that combined with this abrupt knowledge of who she was had him doing just that as blackness fell upon him.

After he crumpled to the floor but before he lost consciousness, he was left with just enough time to mumble, "Oh, Hel…"

This is the end of this story, but the sequel "Rebuilding Family," shouldn't be too long in coming. Reviews would make my day if you feel so inclined. Thanks for your support on this story; it's been great!:)