Ever After

It was another beautiful day in Valhalla. Actually, there weren’t any not beautiful days in Valhalla. Even when it rained—no storms in the afterlife—it was beautiful, with water gently caressing hair and exposed skin, leaves, plants, and animals. And after the rain, with raindrops glistening in the sun and the fresh smell of spring in the air…

This wasn’t one of the sporadic, beautiful rainy days, and it wasn’t right after a shower. It was one of those sunny, fragrant, beautiful days in Valhalla that she should’ve been fed up with by now, after spending who-knows-how-many centuries here, but Dr. Jane Foster didn’t feel fed up. She felt serene, at peace, and content. Not truly happy; she hasn’t been truly happy since landing here, since the man she loved was unreachable to her from this specific dimension—and yes, she’s tried, oh, how she’s tried, especially when she felt he was being an idiot—but she was content.

She kept herself busy with her research (funny, how equipment she needed magically appeared whenever she needed it—she suspected either Odin or Frigga or both had a hand in the phenomenon), spending girl time with Sif and Brunn (Brunnhilde, formerly known as Val or King Valkyrie), who had arrived in Valhalla a who-knows-what-time ago, separately and grouchy for getting themselves killed, playing chess with Frigga in the evenings (there’s only so much one can eat at an all-you-can-eat buffet), discussing astronomy with Heimdall, philosophy with Odin, practicing self-defense with the Warriors Three, and learning dirty fighting and sneaky tactics from Loki.

Who would’ve thought that one day she’d consider her former lover’s sometimes homicidal adopted brother a close friend? They often didn’t see eye to eye, especially when he started on one of his megalomaniac, psychotic monologues, but their mutual affection (dare she call it love on his side) for his adoptive parents and their mutual love for his brother bound them together and, coupled with the others from Thor’s inner circle, created a dysfunctional yet strangely functional family.

She was surprised by how easily everybody accepted her presence. From the moment she appeared and Heimdall escorted her into the Great Hall, everyone treated her like she belonged, like she was family. She could understand Frigga; Jane used to date her son; besides, the former Queen of Asgard was simply a nice, warm, and welcoming person. If she squinted, she could even understand the perspective of the others; she’d died protecting Thor, the children of New Asgard, and quite possibly the universe.

It was Odin’s ready acceptance that baffled her. That baffled her still. After the frosty reception he’d given her when she’d come to Asgard for help in getting rid of the Aether, when he’d first wanted to boot her out of the kingdom and later stuffed her in jail, she’d gotten the impression he didn’t like her, yet when Heimdall had escorted her into the Great Hall, Odin had been first to great her and escort her to the head table where she’d been sitting on his right ever since.

Who knew all it took for Odin Allfather to accept you was to pick up a magic hammer and die in battle due to cancer and magical-weapon radiation poisoning?

Jane chuckled at the often-recurring thought as she fiddled with the settings of the spectro-magnetron in front of her. For something she’d built herself using magically-appeared and probably magically-manufactured components in a probably magically-constructed laboratory in the middle of a paradise-like landscape with absolutely no access to any sort of instruction manuals or the Internet (she briefly wondered whether they still used the Internet on Earth), it worked surprisingly well.

For someone who’s lived (is it still considered a life if she’s actually dead but residing in paradise?) for as long as she had, there was still so much to learn. That had been her biggest fear at the start. How would she spend the time in paradise? She’s never been one to twiddle her thumbs, sit idly, or, god forbid, knit, or do needlepoint. So she’d been pretty apprehensive at first, wondering if it was possible for a dead person to die again, but this time of boredom.

Her fears had quickly abated, though, when she’d found out that quite a few of the formidable warriors strolling, laughing, fighting, eating, and drinking around Valhalla also dabbled in sciences. Natural, social, and formal. Her wasn’t the only laboratory in the vast, seemingly never-ending landscape of Valhalla, and when she grew tired of fiddling in her lab all alone, she could always join a colleague in his or hers or strike up a conversation on even the most obscure aspects of sociology or psychology. Strange yet incredibly fascinating.

And keeping her mind busy prevented it from dwelling too much on what-ifs and could’ve-beens. That’s what the nights were for…Dreams, yearning, and missing him so much it hurt.

Jane shook her head to get rid of the maudlin thoughts; she’d have plenty of time come nightfall for those when it struck.

It didn’t start as an ache or a dull pain; it went immediately to excruciating agony, as if she were being split in two. Her cancer had hurt toward the end; chemo had done a number on her pain threshold, but it had been nothing compared to what she felt now. There was no pain in Valhalla; every nick from a weapon healed almost immediately; a stubbed toe didn’t even register, so to feel like there were talons inside her clawing to get out, it was out of the norm.

Her vision went gray as another wave of pain hit, sending her onto her knees from where she curled into a fetal position, keening and wailing, unable to relax her clenching throat long enough to actually scream.

And then, as suddenly as it came, the pain was gone.

“Jane!” A familiar voice. But with a touch of panic, She’s never heard panic in his voice before. It was weird. “By Odin, Jane, what happened?!”

Still keeping her eyes tightly shut, just in case, she felt Loki’s hands on her, frantically checking for injuries.

“Are you all right?! What happened?!” A shake. “Jane! Answer me!”

“By the gods, what happened?!” Sif’s voice joined the yelling questions. "Brunn, get in here; she’s in trouble.”

“Am not,” Jane finally managed to say, the sound more akin to a croak than to her own voice. She chanced opening one eye, and when nothing happened—no blinding light or searing pain—she opened the other one as well. “I’m fine.”

Brunn crossed her arms over her chest, cocking a knee. “Yes, that’s quite obvious with you curled up on the floor.”

Jane smacked Loki’s hands, still searching for injuries, away. “Shoo, I’m fine.”

The look he gave her would’ve been a scowl on anyone else’s face. “Then what were you doing on the floor? Whimpering.”

She lifted herself into a sitting position, glaring at the three Asgardians, as they were all poised to help if she needed it. “I wasn’t whimpering,” she snapped. “It just took me by surprise.”

“What?” all three asked at the same time.

She shrugged. “The pain.” She felt nothing now; maybe she imagined it all.

“The pain?” Loki cocked his head. “What pain?”

She sighed. How to explain it when, in Valhalla, there was no pain? “I don’t know. It just came on suddenly, a tearing sensation, like someone ripped me open with a sharp—” She frowned. It hadn’t felt like it was sharp. “No, dull weapon.” She pursed her lips, her mind analyzing the sensation. “Rusty. Old. Rarely used.”

“But you’re fine now?” Sif asked, and the three of them examining her for any sign of blood or injury.

“Maybe I imagined it?”

“Or maybe it was someone else’s pain,” Brunn mused. “It’s not unheard of, such a connection. It’s unheard of here, mind you, but otherwise…” A shrug. “Not so much. Familial and blood connections, the ones forged in battle…” She rolled her eyes and made a strange face, as if the topic was distasteful to her. “Kindred souls, kindred spirits, soul-mates—different cultures have different definitions and explanations, but you get the gist.”

“Have you experienced anything like this before?” Sif asked as she and Loki helped her to her feet.

“No, I—” But she had. A long time ago, before she’d grabbed Mjölnir and donned her Mighty Thor persona for the last time, she’d felt him struggle. And later, throughout the years, she occasionally felt his pain, her chest constricting at the distant feeling of heartbreak and loss…

Sif yelped as her nails sank into her exposed skin, while Loki suffered through the temporary mutilation in his usual stoic fashion.

“Thor!” Jane gasped. “It’s Thor.” It ended on a stifled sob, swallowed up by the roar of a thousand voices down the valley as a horn sounded.

Brunn turned her head toward the cacophony. “Seems someone important has arrived.”

Jane grabbed Loki’s arm with both hands. There were a gazillion ways to get to the gates. She could walk, run, take her e-Bike (e standing for energy, which she learned how to harness, not that she was bragging), grab a horse, catch a ride with one of the local dragons, reclusive creatures…but Loki could get her there the fastest.

He might not be able to travel between realms anymore or seek out fissures between them, but he could teleport blinkingly fast through Valhalla. She knew she wasn’t the only one occasionally requesting his transporting services, but she was probably the only one who did it without qualms or hesitation.

As if reading her mind, Loki rolled his eyes slightly. “It’s probably not him; I doubt he’s done playing the hero, but…Loki Inc. at your service, my lady.”

And in a blink, they were gone.

In the next, they were stuck in a body jam (no traffic in Valhalla!). And thanks to her being the size of a shrimp, she couldn’t see anything.

“Do you see anything?” she heard Brunn ask, which meant she and Sif had tagged along for the ride.

“Just muscles,” Sif answered with an appreciative tone.

Brunn sighed. “Not very helpful. Can you get us closer?”

“Well, if you want to risk an accidental merge with some of the muscles…”

“Never mind.”

Jane rolled her eyes. They weren’t helping, and the roar of voices was starting to give her a headache. It was funny, really. After all this time spent pain-free in Valhalla, this particular day was proving to be quite a doozy, first with what happened in her lab, now with the headache…And she was stalling.

Screw it.

Steeling herself, she cleared her throat. “Excuse me.”

She was a shrimp; her voice barely reached her own ears in the cacophony in front of her, yet apparently they all heard her. Granted, she was the only one with an American accent around, but still, they weren’t supposed to—

Suddenly, it all went quiet as the sea of hulking bodies parted in front of her…

And there he was. Thor Odinson. The love of her life. And, well, afterlife as well.

Jane’s heart flipped itself over, dropped into her stomach, jumped into her throat before settling itself once again where it belonged, only beating much too fast.

He looked good. He looked the same as he had the day she died in his arms. In one word: gorgeous. Instead of his godly armor, he was dressed in the flowing uniform of Valhalla: light-grey loose pants and a tunic that didn’t stand a chance of being loose. Not on that body. His long, blond hair was tied at the back of his head, with only a few whisps framing his face, his blue eyes tender as he gazed down at his mother as Frigga clutched at his hands, tears flowing down her cheeks.

Then, as if sensing something—her?—he straightened, turned his head, and met her eyes. His gaze turned piercing, he laser-focused on her, and his barely-there smile vanished. Her heart thumped in her chest.

What a strange tableau they must’ve made, staring at each other across the vastness of empty space between them. Not a blade of grass moved, not a bird chirped, and no one said a word. Or maybe she just didn’t hear anything beyond the thudding of her heart as time stood still.

His gaze traveled from her face down to her toes and back to her face, and she felt it like a caress. Then he sighed her name, soft and reverent, and Jane’s body went into motion.

She crossed the empty space between them at a run and threw herself into his waiting arms. He caught her effortlessly, but before she could tell him how much she missed him, his fingers were buried in her hair and his lips were on hers. Uncaring of their audience, she closed her eyes, opened her mouth to his plundering kiss, curled one leg around his thigh, plunged her fingers into his hair, and poured everything she felt into her returning kiss.

The pain of their separation and of the years missing him, the joy of having him with her, the sadness because him being in Valhalla with her meant the Universe had one less protector, the absolute elation of feeling his strong arms once more around her, the relief…

For the first time since disintegrating into golden dust in Eternity, Jane Foster once again let herself feel. Everything.

He slowly, reluctantly broke the kiss, his eyes roaming her face, his fingers playing with her hair. “Jane,” he breathed, his eyes filled with a myriad of emotions. Happiness, sadness, grief, pain, joy, lust, and so much love—she felt herself drowning in it.

She smiled and eagerly leaned forward for another kiss. “Welcome home...”

The End