Asgard. The Golden Palace.
Jane Foster sat at the edge of the bed, fingers sketching symbols through empty air.
Before her, a holographic star map rotated slowly—an astronomical convergence model she had recalibrated using Asgard's celestial observatory while bored on the sickbed.
"The gravitational parameters here are wrong…" Jane bit her lip, brows knitted in concentration. The light pen passed straight through the projection. "If the Nine Realms overlap theory holds, Midgard's gravitational constant should deviate by at least 0.03%. But these values are… perfectly smooth."
"Still working?"
Thor walked in, carrying a basket of shimmering golden fruit.
Jane looked up, the anxiety in her eyes instantly melting into warmth.
"Thor, I have to go back." She shut down the star map and rose to her feet. Her movements were light and steady—the weakness once caused by the Aether was completely gone.
"Go back where? Earth?" Thor set the basket on the table, frowning. "Your body has only just recovered. Asgard's energy hasn't fully purged the lingering effects yet."
"I'm fine. Really. Look." Jane hopped in place twice, then flexed her slender but energetic arms. "And my paper deadline is in three days. Three days! I have to go back and enter the convergence data. This is Nobel-level material!"
Thor stared at her, then sighed helplessly.
"Mortal ambitions…" He shook his head, though a doting smile tugged at his lips. "Very well. If you insist."
Just then, the doors to the chamber swung open.
Lady Sif strode in at full pace, sword still stained with fresh blood—clearly she had just returned from dealing with some unfortunate rebel.
"Thor, Heimdall has a sighting," Sif said coolly, straight to the point. "About the escaped prisoner."
"Escaped prisoner?" Jane asked curiously.
"Lorelei. An Asgardian Enchantress." Sif's expression darkened. "Six hundred years ago she bewitched half the men of the Nine Realms with her voice. She escaped during the Dark Elf invasion."
"Heimdall has located her?" Thor's face hardened.
"Yes. On Midgard." Sif glanced at Jane. "She used one of Loki's hidden passages. Right now, she's in Las Vegas, enjoying her life as a 'queen.'"
"Damn it." Thor clenched his fist. "Men of Midgard can't resist her sorcery. If we don't stop her, she'll tear that world apart."
"So I'm taking leave from Father," Sif sheathed her sword. "I'll bring her back. It's my duty."
"No."
Thor suddenly raised a hand, stopping her.
"I'll go."
Sif froze, then lifted one brow, amusement flickering in her eyes as she glanced between Thor and Jane.
"You?" Arms crossed, she smirked. "Are you sure, Thor? If I remember correctly, six hundred years ago you nearly hurled Mjolnir into the void because of that Enchantress."
Jane's radar activated instantly.
"Six hundred years ago?" she narrowed her eyes at Thor. "Almost threw your hammer away?"
"Cough—cough!"
Thor coughed violently, a faint blush blooming across his cheeks. He awkwardly avoided Jane's gaze and shot Sif a glare.
"That was ancient history! I was young! Foolish!"
"Oh, really?" Sif snorted. "Lorelei's magic targets the weaknesses of the male mind. You sure present-day you can resist a temptation on the level of an 'ex from hell'?"
"She is NOT my ex!" Thor boomed, voice echoing through the hall. "And I'm immune to her sorcery now!"
He wrapped an arm around Jane's shoulders, declaring his resolve.
"My heart already belongs elsewhere. Lorelei's voice to me now is nothing more than… than Heimdall scraping his ugly sword against a shield."
Jane blushed at the sudden confession, her jealousy dissolving at once.
"And besides," Thor said solemnly, "Jane is returning to Earth. I must escort her. Capturing the Enchantress along the way—two birds, one hammer."
Sif rolled her eyes, though a trace of loneliness flashed in them.
"Very well, Crown Prince." She turned away. "Since you insist, go ahead. But don't expect me to come rescue you."
"I won't need rescuing." Thor confidently lifted Mjolnir and weighed it in his hand. "This time, she'll learn one thing clearly."
"The God of Thunder does not eat from the same grass twice."
…
High above the Atlantic Ocean.
Tony Stark tossed blueberry after blueberry into his mouth.
"JARVIS, fix that damn autopilot. When we hit that turbulence earlier my coffee almost baptized my pants."
"Sir, the maneuver was necessary to avoid civilian radar coverage," JARVIS replied calmly.
Inside the cabin, there wasn't the slightest tension—more like a spring outing.
"Seriously, Tony," Clint Barton lounged in his seat, eyes half-closed in pleasure. "Your new jet seats have massage functions? Planning to turn this into a flying spa?"
"This is Stark Industries' commitment to employee well-being, Barton."
"Combat's exhausting enough. Why abuse your own ass?" Tony shrugged. "And if my back hurts on the way to punching bad guys, it affects my aim."
He turned toward Bruce Banner and Natasha Romanoff sitting opposite.
Banner was holding a book thick as a brick—Quantum Field Theory—while Natasha leaned close, whispering beside him. Their knees nearly touched.
"Hey, Doctor." Tony cracked open a soda, eyes gleaming with gossip. "You've been staring at the same page for twenty minutes. Tough equations? Or is… the scenery beside you a bit distracting?"
Banner flushed crimson and snapped the book shut. "I was thinking, Tony. About… about the staff's energy wavelength."
"Alright, Stark," Natasha looked up with a soft, amused smile. Instead of sparring as usual, she calmly crossed her legs. "We were discussing classical music. Bruce thinks Beethoven has more power than Mozart. I agree."
"Ohhh—classical music." Tony dragged the words out, winking at Barton. "Hear that, Hawkeye? That's advanced-level flirting. All you talk about with Laura is tractor maintenance."
"Hey! That's romantic too!" Barton protested.
Laughter filled the cabin.
Ever since the Avengers had fractured and gone their separate ways, this rare sense of reunion felt strangely comforting.
This mission no longer felt like war.
It felt like old friends going on a trip together.
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