Helping Jane with her research was not a perfectly simple task.

At least a dozen times that day, Thor berated himself for not paying more attention to his physics tutors, though it had seemed at the time that these lessons had no practical application for him.

After thinking hard for a long while, Thor managed to recall the formula he'd been forced to learn in his youth for calculating the Bifröst's velocity—thanks to the ridiculous mnemonic device Loki had come up with to help him remember for their test—but even after he had written it down for her, there was a problem. The Allspeak, it seemed, had some limitations: mathematical symbols for which there was no direct Midgardian translation. He and Jane spent several hours just trying to speak the same language on paper, which was frustrating to them both.

Worst of all, however, Thor was not certain Jane even trusted that he could help her. She listened to him intently, but with a frown that seemed to say, I want to believe you, I want you to be the answer, but I'm just not sure.

Finally, in the late afternoon, Darcy burst into the laboratory and interrupted their collaboration.

"Jane, how many times do I have to remind you to eat and to feed people at normal times of the day?" she demanded.

"Oh, right," said Jane, running a hand distractedly through her hair as she continued to flip through pages of her notebook.

After some more wheedling, Darcy managed to drag Jane—and with them, Thor—to an eating establishment in the village. It was a quaint place that sold a delightful hot drink Jane called coffee, which made Thor feel brighter and more energetic. Unfortunately, it was apparently not the Midgardian custom to toss one's goblet in an expression of approval, which resulted in some momentary awkwardness with the barmaid.

After that, Thor devoured his meal—a combination of beef and bread that, Darcy informed him, was inexplicably named a hamburger—in silence, not wishing to offend his hosts with behavior they might misinterpret.

At the bar across the room, two men were talking loudly, boasting and laughing at one another—not unlike any other tavern scene Thor had witnessed in Asgard, which made him smile. But it was impossible not to catch pieces of their conversation.

"…we even hitched it up to Stan's pickup, and it still didn't budge an inch. Can you believe that?"

"How come people are saying it fell from space?"

"Sitting in a big old crater in the desert, where else could it've come from?"

"What is it, then? A satellite?"

"A piece of one, maybe. It looks like a big piece of metal with a handle sticking out."

The fork slipped from Thor's numb fingers and clattered to the table, making Jane and Darcy look at him questioningly.

"The object that they have found," he explained in a low voice, "it is not what they think it is. It will never move for them, or anyone."

"Do you know what it is, then?" Darcy asked.

Thor tried to go back to his meal, but his appetite was suddenly fading. "It no longer matters," he said dully. "It's but a useless hunk of uru metal now."

Darcy grinned. "Is it your spaceship?"

"Darcy, for the last time, this isn't The X-Files," Jane groaned, leveling a glare at her. It sounded as if this was a continuation of an earlier argument they had had.

"I'm telling you, if he came through a wormhole, he could totally be an alien."

"I did not arrive here in a ship," Thor told them. "The 'satellite' was once a weapon—my weapon—but it will do no harm anymore. It is dormant, and will remain so."

Jane and Darcy exchanged glances, but said nothing.

A part of Thor rankled to think of strangers putting their unworthy hands on Mjolnir—but then, was he truly any different? That birthright, that identity was no longer his, he was no longer a fit companion for the hammer, and in any case, he had used it to slaughter Jotuns for sport. The thought of reclaiming it sickened him.

No, Thor could not touch Mjolnir again. He was too ashamed to wield it.

As he was ushered into an antechamber of the fortress of Utgard, Loki wished for the umpteenth time that the Jotun emissaries could have come to him instead. But since Asgard was the offending party, custom dictated that Loki must be the one to approach them with offers of reparation.

The room made Loki feel like a small child, with its vaulted ceiling from which icicles hung like stalactites, to the massive octagonal stone pillars that supported it. Because it was snowing so heavily outside, the only light came from the eerie blue flames in the braziers along the walls, which created shadows that swayed and flickered.

Loki had to summon every ounce of bravado he could just to keep his frame from shuddering.

For Odin's sakes, you are a king, not a boy! Get a hold of yourself.

Yet it had been like this when he had accompanied Thor to Jotunheim a few days ago. Loki had stared death in the face countless times on their myriad adventures, had seen battles and fought monsters of all sorts, but it was Jotunheim that filled him with a quiet dread he couldn't explain. It was as if the snow and the wind whispered hatefully to him, as if every awful night terror he'd had as a boy were made tangible in this place.

He was thankful to be meeting today with Laufey's sons instead of the king himself. The prospect of speaking to Laufey again made Loki's blood run cold.

Still, standing across from two fully-grown Frost Giants—towering at almost twice Loki's height, their weathered blue faces and blood-red eyes fixed on him with stony expressions—was intimidating. The eldest, Helblindi, made an unexpected pretense at civility, offering Loki a seat. Feeling it would be rather undignified to sit in a chair so tall that his feet would not reach the floor, Loki declined.

"Prince Thor acted without the knowledge or consent of the All-Father," Loki assured them. "Therefore, I entreat you to regard this as a rogue incident, rather than a political—"

"Incident? Is that your euphemism for this bloodbath?" the smaller Jotun interrupted in a cutting tone.

"Peace, Byleistr," the older giant cautioned.

"How can you be calm? Their crown prince is an arrogant, ruthless brat with no concern for the wellbeing of others, and—"

Although Loki often expressed such sentiments himself, it was still always galling to hear others criticizing his brother. He dug his nails into his palms to prevent himself from saying anything foolish.

"If you are incapable of civil diplomacy, I will send you out of the room, brother," Helblindi said in an undertone.

Byleistr pressed his lips together sullenly and said nothing; Helblindi's expression as he turned back to Loki was apologetic.

"I was present when the unfortunate…skirmish broke out," the older giant said. "I saw how eager Prince Thor was for battle. But I also witnessed how you tried to ease the tensions before anything could begin, King of Asgard, so I know that you, too, have some experience reigning in a more impulsive brother."

Byleistr scowled at Helblindi, but said nothing.

It nettled Loki, being compared to a Frost Giant—and some of the disgust must have shown on his face, for Helblindi dropped his gaze to the floor—but it was startling, too, to realize that their race had recognizable family dynamics, or at least some monstrous facsimile of them. He had always imagined them as brutes without strong emotional ties to one another.

"My…my point is, King of Asgard, I do not believe you wish for war any more than we do," Helblindi said gravely.

The eldest son of Laufey is no warmongering fool, I will give him that much, Loki thought.

He took a deep breath and smoothed his expression into a polite mask. "Then I believe we can reach some sort of mutually agreeable arrangement. Though I'm sure no material gains could atone for your, er, tragic losses"—it was a struggle to keep a note of sarcasm out of his voice—"Asgard is willing to offer restitution for the ill-advised actions of its crown prince, as a gesture of goodwill."

Byleistr raised an eyebrow skeptically, but Helblindi listened with no perceptible reaction.

"I presume gold is not of much use in your realm," Loki continued, his eyes wandering around the barren room; "perhaps grain would be a more suitable payment? Livestock?"

As Helblindi and Byleistr glanced at each other, Loki knew he had judged correctly.

"Let us discuss an amount, then," Helblindi said. "I am certain we can persuade our father."

Loki spent the remainder of the day making arrangements for exporting the wergild comprised of flocks of sheep and sacks of grain. He congratulated himself on his own cleverness—of course, appealing to primitive needs would sway such primitive creatures, and now he had solidified stronger relations with Jotunheim than Asgard had seen since the Great War. The Frost Giants might take their help grudgingly, but they would crawl to the Æsir in gratitude now, as beneficent saviors in time of famine—it was a more effective method of control than any show of force could have been.

That evening, he went to his father's bedside to recount the day's events, and to assure him that Jotunheim was no longer an immediate threat. Odin still slept under his golden web of regenerative magic, but it was said that he could continue to see and hear what was around him, even in this state, so Loki thought it appropriate to keep him informed. Perhaps he was showing off his good work a little.

Frigga listened to his report without comment—she had not left Odin's side since he retired to this room. Loki was not even certain she was paying much attention, because her eyes were far away as he spoke.

After a few moments of pensive silence, however, she asked him suddenly, "What were they like, the sons of Laufey?"

He frowned, disconcerted by the question: it was almost as if she knew the strange dread those creatures filled him with.

"The eldest, I believe, wishes for an alliance, but the younger seems…less inclined to diplomacy." His wry smile made it clear that this was an understatement.

Frigga nodded thoughtfully. "I am glad that this situation has been an opportunity for benefit to both realms. You did well, my son."

As satisfied as he was with the outcome of his first real political challenge, he was mostly relieved that he would not have to face another pair of those gleaming red eyes anytime soon.

"Well, I am relieved that all this nonsense is finished," Loki sighed, resting his head on his hands. "This has been a great deal of fuss over just a few dead monsters—and we all know what a great tragedy that is."

"Loki, that kind of talk is beneath you."

Her sharp tone made him look up—Frigga's face was pale, her hands clenched on the silk coverlet of Odin's bed, as if he had said something deeply upsetting to her.

"Forgive me if that was crude," Loki said slowly, confused. "I know you have great compassion even for the basest of creatures, Mother, but—"

"I am perfectly serious," said Frigga. "I don't want to hear you saying such things again. Not in front of me."

Tentatively, he reached over and took her hand. "I'm sorry if I offended you, Mother. Truly."

He felt a swell of relief when she placed her other hand over his and smiled faintly at him—he was forgiven, then.

"I know this is hard for you to understand, because we have been at war with Jotunheim since before you were born," she said softly, "but things were not always this way. I pray things are about to change."

The way she spoke, it was as if there was some undisclosed sorrow in her heart, some pain she would not share with him—for the first time since Loki was a child, he felt conscious of some barrier between them. It was unfair to resent her for her secrets, however, when he was keeping one from her as well. Thor's banishment is my fault—partly my fault, he wanted to say. Now will you unburden your mind, Mother?

But instead, he bid her goodnight and left her, for he had one last errand tonight.

When Loki entered the Bifröst Observatory, Heimdall's back was to him, standing stately and vigilant: Loki's stealth, as usual, was useless, for it seemed he was expected.

"My prince," the guardian greeted him, without taking his luminescent eyes from the stars. Heimdall had an inexplicable way of never seeming surprised at anything—even when Loki was just a boy sneaking into the Observatory for a glimpse of the universe, he was never fooled any of the prince's disguises or diversions.

Loki chose to ignore Heimdall's epithet, though he bristled at it, because he was tired of correcting people. No one could see him as a king.

He stood beside Heimdall and watched the swirling nebulae with him; he recognized some of the constellations from his childhood, when he and Thor would make up fables about the constellations. That long strip of stars, that seemed to writhe across the sky like a gigantic snake, they had called Jormungand, the mighty serpent that could wrap itself around the world and put its tail in its mouth. Loki had invented all sorts of creatures like that, and Thor would create heroic foes for them.

It was a silly memory to make Loki's eyes sting. Surely he did not miss the great oaf already—was he not enjoying the peace and quiet of Thor's absence?

"How does he fare?" he asked in the most offhand tone he could manage. "The All-Mother refuses to leave the king's side, yet she frets for her firstborn, so I wish to set her mind at ease."

Heimdall's lips twitched as he glanced sidelong at Loki. "Of course, my prince. You may assure the queen that Prince Thor has found friends on Midgard, who have given him food and shelter."

"Ah." Loki kept his voice light and pleasant with some difficulty. "Well, she will be relieved to hear that."

"And your mother may also wish to know," Heimdall added, turning towards him at last, "that, although he accepts his exile as gracefully as he can, Prince Thor longs for his family."

Heimdall's knowing smirk made Loki color somewhat. He kept silent watch with the gatekeeper's for some minutes, trying to imagine what it was that it was that Heimdall could see.

Is Thor thinking of me at all?

It was late. Thor crept outside, trying not to wake his hosts, hoping that the cool night air would help to clear his troubled mind. But he soon realized that he was not alone. Jane Foster was sitting in a canvas chair, curled up underneath a thin jacket, her face turned up toward the stars. At Thor's approach, she sat up in a more dignified posture.

"Forgive me, I did not wish to disturb you," Thor murmured. "Has my presence displaced you from your lodgings?"

"No, no, I just couldn't sleep," she assured him. "I come out here a lot when I've got stuff on my mind. It helps me think."

Thor looked at the sky with her, but he knew it wouldn't bring him the same comfort it did her. Asgard was billions of light-years from here, and logically he knew none of the stars in this sky was home—yet the pinpricks of light seemed to beckon him. He swallowed back the lump in his throat.

But Jane continued, "Sometimes when I get stuck on a problem, or when Darcy's driving me crazy, I sit out here for a minute to remind myself why I'm doing this in the first place. Why it's all worth it."

Her brown eyes shone with wonder as she gazed upward. She shivered a little in the night air, so Thor took the blanket from his shoulders and draped it over her.

"So, what about you? Why can't you sleep?" she asked. "It's the bed, isn't it? I'm sorry, it's so uncomfortable I know—"

"Not at all. The only discomfort was the unrest in my own mind."

She shifted in her seat to focus her attention on him now. "Do you…I mean, if you don't want to talk about whatever you're running away from, I understand. You don't even know me. But sometimes that actually helps, so if you want to, I don't mind."

Thor smiled weakly. "Your offer is most kind, Jane Foster. I simply would not know where to begin."

"You said your dad kicked you out of the house, right?"

"That is an apt way of describing it, yes."

"And now you're homesick?"

Thor bowed his head. "I've no right to be. My father's act was just, after what I…" His face crumpled. He could not force the words out.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to—" Jane began.

"No, it's alright. You have given me shelter, and you deserve to know the kind of man you are giving refuge to." He smiled halfheartedly. "Where I come from, it is customary for guests to repay their hosts by entertaining them with stories. But I'm afraid my own story is one that sickens me to tell."

There was a moment of awkward silence. Jane bit her lip, as if uncertain whether to prod him or let it go.

"Earlier you said you had a brother," she said hesitantly. She probably thought this was a change of subject to a more palatable one.

"His name is Loki," Thor said softly.

She must have heard the pain in his voice. "And now you're in a fight or something?"

"No. At least, I have no wish to be. He…doesn't know that I have wronged him, but I fear keeping him ignorant of it is even worse."

Jane shrugged. "I don't have any siblings myself, so I don't know what that's like," she said. "But I never had a very close relationship with my mom. She and my dad got divorced when I was a kid, so I didn't see much of her except every other weekend. A lot of things went unsaid between us—we barely even talked when I was in college—and I regretted that later. So personally, I think it would be better to tell him what's wrong, even if it's hard, because that's when you can start to fix things between you."

Thor sighed, considering this. "Alas, I cannot. It involves a family secret which is not mine to divulge. I feel it is unwise to keep it, but my father has his reasons, and I cannot disobey him."

"Hmm. Well then, I'm sorry, but I don't have any other answers for you."

They sat together in silence for a moment.

Shaking his head sadly, Thor said, "So many things I thought I understood—so many things I took for granted as truth—now I find I've had it all wrong. And I don't really know anything at all."

Jane chewed on her bottom lip. "Well…I don't know your situation, or you, very well. But I think maybe it's not such a bad thing to admit what you don't understand. That's the first step to actually learning something new."

Thor searched her face curiously. Jane was a mortal woman—her lifespan was like that of a mayfly next to his own—so how could she have had the time to become wise? He was accustomed to thinking of Midgardians almost as children—simpler, more vulnerable creatures that need guidance and protection. He never thought a mortal had any help to give him.

"You are not what I expected at all from your people," he admitted. "You see things more clearly than I do, Jane Foster."

She blushed a little, but then she shook her head. "You talk like we're a different species or something," she laughed.

Thor said nothing. Jane already thought him strange enough, and it seemed Midgard was completely unaware of the eight other realms. Instead, he moved closer to her shivering form so that she could benefit from his warmth, and returned his gaze to the stars.