Perhaps it was a good thing after all, that Tony had arranged his so called "Melee in Midgaard."

It gave an easy distraction for the uneasiness that had arisen this morning and the ghosts it brought with it.

As I stood at one edge of the ring, I tried to read the expression on Thor's face.

His brows were furrowed, but not in anger, for his jaw was not set, and there was a heaviness that hung in his eyes.

Anthony stood beside him, lightly punching him in the arm every now and then.

"Lady Sif, are you alright?" Captain Rogers asked.

I started at his voice.

"My apologies, my mind must have been with the Vanir."

"Excuse me, who?" He asked, bewildered.

"Er, hm." I thought about it for a moment. "I believe you call them fairies?"

"Oh, of course." Rogers sighed with a bemused nod.

A bell rang, Tony jumped to the middle of the ring and the crowd fell silent.

"Welcome, ladies and gentleman-"

I let Anthony's voice drone on unheard.

Doctor Foster had knocked me off-center, as loathe as I was to admit it, and my mind was becoming murky. The reality of the woman, the confirmation that the events of the past few years were not, in fact, simply in my head, was beginning to drudge up the memories of even more raw and unsettling experiences.

There was something that had changed in the set of Thor's shoulders, and I could sense that the unspoken void between us had begun to grow, as it had after his banishment and The Fall.

I had managed to crush the hollow feeling in my stomach, my nights were no longer plagued with dreams and terrors, but now it was starting to creep back into my bones.

The hurt.

The ache.

And then the bell rang again.

Anger filled the hollow, blood rushed to my ears.

Thor was no longer Thor.

He was just another body.

Just another body.

He roared into action and I dodged easily.

I tumbled under his arm and swiped out at his knees with my left leg.

He moved to avoid my swing and countered with one of his own.

It had been like this for what felt like eternity.

The push-pull, back and forth, never truly gaining an advantage over the other.

For all of Thor's muscle bound torque, I had the same willow-limbed dexterity.

I took my opportunity, struck a blow to his stomach under his arm and ducked away before his counter swing could catch me.

Thor rolled his body to accommodate the impact and grappled me, an arm around my waist and one around my neck, yanking my feet off of the ground.

My memory flashed to life and a jolt of panic shot through my veins.

I trashed, swinging my weight backwards, aiming to hit a joint of either his knees or hips, and sent Thor reeling.

It went back and forth for what might've been seconds or minutes, my perception grew dimmer as the fight wore on.

I dully registered the roars and hum of the crowd surrounding us, but it was drowned out by the sounds of laboured breathing and pounding pulses.

Sweat dropped from my brow and tinged my lips with salt.

It was time to end this before my mind became truly frayed.

Up, down, slide, swing.

It was one that my brother taught me, and so old I had used it the first day I ever sparred.

Up, down, slide, swing.

"Lady Sif." The instructor called.

I stood, my mouth dry, and stepped into the ring drawn in chalk on the armory floor. This would be the first match that any members of our rank would hold. This was the first day our rank had even entered the academy.

"Odinson." His voice rang out again.

Two boys stepped forward, looking like night and day. The first was broad and tall, fair-haired like me, with smiling blue eyes. The second was willowy and pale, with hair the color of ink.

"Not you, your brother."

The shorter of the two stepped back against the wall, while the taller advanced into the ring.

"Teacher, you should give my brother this chance." He said into the teacher's ear.

"Do as I told you." The instructor said with finality.

I shook my shoulders out to the stifled laughter behind me.

Let them think what they will, I was not about to cede the spot I had battled to gain.

"To your marks."

The boy and I stood square to each other.

"Commence." He said almost lazily. He quite obviously did not expect much from this first trial of his new recruits.

Up, down, slide, swing.

And like I had done then, I landed an uppercut to Thor's jaw, and a haymaker in quick succession to his gut. I slid to the outside and inhaled sharply.

Now came the swing.

I grabbed Thor's left thigh with both of my hands and contorted my whole body to crash against his opposite knee.

He fell like a downed tree.

I scrambled to disengage my legs from under his bulk and stuttered to my feet.

It wasn't precisely the most condoned method, but I had ignored Anthony's rules when he gave them, so I truly did not care.

I wanted this to be over.

It was no longer a distraction but a trap I had set in my own head.

Lie as I might to myself, I knew my shallow gasps for air were not all from exertion.

There were flashes in my mind, of green and gold and the flash of white from a sneering mouth.

Thor came to his feet and shook his head dazedly.

There was pain in his eyes, and confusion.

Two rattling breaths were taken and we began sparring in earnest again.

My exertion began to wear at my muscles and my swings became more and more haphazard, my defense becoming more of a matter of chance and sheer luck than actual anticipation.

Soon we stood face to face, chests heaving.

The hurt was still etched on his face.

And I knew for all of my efforts it was etched on mine as well.

My head began to swim.

"Sifmer?" Thor said quietly.

It was an affection from my childhood.

It meant gleaming, shining, all adjectives that I no longer was.

Every inch ached like a hinge covered in rust and my heart felt like it was tainted with rot.

He was still there, in spite of everything, silver tongue and all.

In my mind, in my bones.

I wanted all of him, every inch, every putrefied memory gone.

I stood rigid, pleading with my eyes for him to make all of it to go away.

To make it disappear.

"Leave." I heard Thor say lowly.

"What's wrong-" Anthony began to ask.

"LEAVE!" Thor bellowed, as a pair of scarred arms enveloped my shoulders and pulled me to an armor-plated chest.

I only opened my eyes once I had heard the gymnasium door close for the last time.

"You must think I'm a fool." I muttered thickly.

It had been months, nay a year, since Thor had dragged him home in chains and I was still prone to break at the slightest nudge from the past.I was no longer what I once was, the scars were no longer simply on the surface. My mind deceived me, betrayed me, at every turn.

It was not the way for a warrior to be, it was not the stoic, steady face needed in battle.

I was a wreck.

Calloused thumbs smoothed over my cheekbones, made my eyes meet his.

"You are never a fool."