He finds that she has read every book on her people's tales of the Aesir that she can get her hands on in his brother's absence. She devours these books with the overwhelming desire for knowledge that he recognizes in himself. It is a pity, he can't help telling her, that all these books she has spent so much money on are utterly, laughably, pathetically wrong.

She screams.

He means her no harm, he informs her, his arms spread wide, his eyes glinting with mirth; he merely wants to talk, not torture her until she is a mindless husk. Whether this is true, he doesn't know himself. But it is a start, even if the aside about torture does not entirely reassure her.

He offers to correct these stories, and she, in her unrelenting urge to understand, agrees, even though the hatred and distrust blaze in every look she sends his way. He brushes these looks off like so many crumbs.

Her fascination gets the better of her, however, and she demands answers to every question with the urgency of a child. As for him? He drinks this fascination in, for he has to come realize that any attention, even from ants, temporarily relieves the pain that he knows better than an old friend.

She never asks about Thor anymore, he notices. Instead, she asks for tales about him, a curiosity he feeds with hidden delight. Even if it is done merely to appease him, he does not mistake the warm light in her eyes. She trusts him. This knowledge nestles in his heart, but he tells himself it's only because he appreciates the irony. And because he comes to realize that he wants to see that light in her eyes for all of eternity, he stops deluding himself and forms a plan, which involves Midgardian cooking shows. Jane does wonder why he has a sudden fascination with Martha Stewart, but he dismisses it as one of his whims, with an easy smile. Gazing at him doubtfully—she really is adorable—she goes back to reading the stars. Later that day, he bakes her the best apple pie she has ever tasted. By this time, she is panicking, even as she is drawn to the pie with irresistible force.

Since when does he cook? She asks.

Since he met her, he replies.

That sort of cheesiness won't work on her.

Because, he goes on, with the utterly abysmal state of affairs in her kitchen, she has taught him the importance of self-sufficiency. She scowls. He hides a grin.

Doesn't he want some?

No, of course not. It's all for her.

For the past few months, with surprisingly little persuasion, she has been allowing him to perform spells on her. It is the closest she will ever get to magic, and he only gives her harmless ones, because, again, she trusts him. This time, she is wrong to.

With eagerness that makes him feel only a guilty, she stretches out her hand and lets him draw blood. This is nothing new to her. When he knifes his own arm and mingles his blood with hers, however, she snatches her hand back and demands to know what he's doing.

Only a temporary linking spell that allows them to communicate over long distances, employed by Asgardian soldiers who don't mind magic so much. If she's at all uncomfortable, they can try something else.

Satisfied, she gives her hand back. She even repeats back, in clumsy Asgardian, the words he puts in her mouth. Next, he writes a faint rune on her wrist, then on his. When the runes fade, he tells her, so will the spell. They will test it tomorrow.

Except he does not show up tomorrow, or the day after that, and the rune is still there. And Jane feels amazing, in a bad way, an inhuman way. She was wrong about him, she feels. Her sense of dread is only magnified when a red-clad figure shows up in the middle of a thunderstorm and nearly breaks her house trying to get in.

Thor is in a state of panic, grabbing her wrist and babbling about his brother allowing Heimdall to see her for the past few days. When he sees the mark, he stills.

"Oh, Jane," he breathes. "You're married."

"I—WHAT?"

"It's an old spell, but still effective. Loki—Loki has married you. Some of Idunn's apples were also missing—did he feed you those too?"

"No—" she starts, but she remembers the apple pie, and of course, he knew that she was far too savvy about mythology by then to just accept random apples from him. She has been so stupid.

Her curses can be heard in a mile-wide radius. Somewhere in the black galaxy, Loki smirks.

After fifty years, she forgives him, but fifty years is worth the wait, for he has Jane's adoration and boundless attention at last. At least in theory.