Chapter 135:
– Haru –
I kicked in the door of my own restaurant with perhaps more enthusiasm than strictly necessary.
"I'M BACK, EVERYONE!"
The familiar scent of the Fox Hole hit me—cooking spices and that indefinable something that made this place feel like home no matter which dimension I'd just stumbled in from. The warm lighting, the worn wooden bar counter, the eclectic collection of booths and tables that had hosted everything from Viking warriors to space marines to literal gods.
I always missed this place whenever I went out on adventures longer than a couple hours.
My shadow clone was behind the bar, mid-pour on what looked like a whiskey neat for one of the nord regulars. The moment our eyes met, I felt the familiar tug of chakra returning to its source, and then—
The clone popped.
"Fuck—"
A full day's worth of memories slammed into my skull like a freight train made of customer complaints and drink orders. I staggered slightly, one hand coming up to press against my temple as images and sensations flooded through my consciousness. Serving lunch to a group of Fairy Tail mages who'd wandered in looking shell-shocked. Breaking up a near-fight between a drunk Nord and an equally drunk Krogan. Explaining to some Quarians for the third time that no, we didn't have any dextro-amino acid compatible dishes yet but I was working on it. Cleaning up after Kunou and her friends had turned one of the larger booths into some kind of arts and crafts explosion.
And that was only a couple memories. It was a full 24 hours that I was gone. Actually longer.
The migraine faded just as quickly as my supernatural constitution processed the neural overload.
"Note to self," I muttered, shaking my head to clear the last of the fog. "Don't leave shadow clones running for more than twelve hours. The memory dump is brutal."
Behind me, I heard three sets of footsteps crossing the threshold as my newest companions entered the Fox Hole for the first time.
Hela stopped just inside the doorway, her green eyes sweeping the interior with an expression I couldn't quite read. Her black armor seemed to drink in the warm lighting, making her pale skin glow by contrast. "It's... smaller than I expected," she said finally, and there was something almost disappointed in her tone.
I opened my mouth to defend my establishment's honor, but she continued before I could get a word out.
"But cozy," she added, and the way her lips curved suggested she meant it as a genuine compliment. "It has character. I can see why you'd want to return to it."
Frigga entered next, and I watched her reaction with considerably more interest. The Vanir goddess had stopped just inside the threshold, her blue eyes wide and unfocused in a way that told me she was seeing something beyond the physical.
"The magic here..." she breathed, one hand coming up to press against her chest. "Haru, this is... I don't have words for what this is."
"It's just a restaurant," I said, though I knew that wasn't entirely true.
"No." Frigga shook her head slowly, still looking around with that distant expression. "No, this is something far more. The magical density in the air alone surpasses the royal palace of Asgard by orders of magnitude. The way the different energies interact, the dimensional anchoring, the sheer... weight of it all." She turned to look at me, and there was genuine awe in her gaze. "Even as a Vanir goddess who has studied seiðr for over a millennium, I cannot fully comprehend what I'm sensing. It's like standing at the confluence of a thousand rivers, all flowing in different directions, somehow held together by..."
She trailed off, clearly struggling to articulate something that defied her considerable expertise.
"By what?" I prompted.
"By you, I think." Frigga's voice was soft with wonder. "This place is saturated with your essence. Your will. It's not just a building—it's an extension of yourself, isn't it? A territory in the truest sense of the word."
"That would be Ranni's work," I said. "She's the goddess who created the Fox Hole's dimensional connections."
Frigga was still looking around with that wonder-struck expression, her fingers trailing along the bar counter like she was trying to read its history through touch. "Would it be... would you mind if I studied this place?" She glanced at me almost shyly. "I know we've only just arrived, and there's so much I don't understand about this world yet, but the magic here is—it's extraordinary, Haru. It could take me decades to unravel even a fraction of its secrets."
This woman—this goddess—had spent a thousand years as Odin's puppet, her memories rewritten, her true nature suppressed, her brilliant magical mind reduced to performing parlor tricks for an ungrateful husband. And now, barely a day after breaking free, she was already looking for something to challenge her.
"You can study whatever you want," I told her, and I meant it. "For as long as you want. This is your home now too, if you want it to be." I paused, then added with a grin, "At least until Odin comes looking for revenge. Then we can take a break from magical research to beat his ass together."
"How eloquently put," Hela said, her tone dry as desert sand, but when I glanced at her, she was smiling.
Sif was the last to enter, and her reaction was considerably less philosophical than Frigga's. The Goddess of War stepped through the doorway with the cautious alertness of a soldier entering unfamiliar territory, her dark eyes scanning for threats even though her body language said she didn't expect to find any.
"This is truly your base of operations?" she asked, her tone hovering somewhere between skeptical and impressed. "It seems... humble. For a prince."
"I'm not really the ostentatious type," I said. "Besides, the food's good and the company's better. What more does anyone need?"
Sif opened her mouth to respond—probably something about proper fortifications or defensive positioning, knowing her—but whatever she'd been about to say died in her throat.
Because two beautiful redheaded fox-girls were rising from a booth in the corner, and both of them were smiling at me like I'd just made their entire day.
Kushina and Naruko Uzumaki. Mother and daughter. Both gorgeous beyond reason, both possessed of that particular combination of fierce independence and devastating sensuality that seemed to run in their bloodline. Their nine crimson tails swayed behind them in perfect synchronization, and I felt my heart do something complicated in my chest at the sight of them.
They were both wearing casual clothes—Kushina in a flowing red dress that clung to her curves in ways that should have been illegal, Naruko in shorts and a tank top that showed off her athletic figure. Both of them had their fox ears perked forward attentively, and both of them were looking at me with expressions of pure, undiluted happiness.
"Haru!"
Naruko's voice was bright with joy, and then she was just... gone. One moment she was across the restaurant, the next she was in my arms, her lips pressed against mine in a kiss that was equal parts greeting and claim. Her nine red tails wrapped around my waist and tangled with my golden ones, and I could feel her entire body vibrating with excitement as she pressed herself against me.
I kissed her back automatically, my hands finding her hips and pulling her closer. She tasted like ramen and sunshine and home, and for a moment I forgot about everything else—the Asgardian goddesses behind me, the chaos of the past few days, all of it dissolved into the simple pleasure of holding this woman.
Behind me, I heard Sif make a small sound of surprise. "Such speed," she murmured, and there was grudging respect in her voice. "I didn't even see her move."
Naruko broke the kiss with a soft, satisfied sound, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling. She grinned up at me, her fangs catching the light, and I felt my chest tighten with affection for this ridiculous kunoichi. Then her gaze shifted past my shoulder, and her expression transformed from delighted to suspicious in the span of a heartbeat.
"Three at once, Haru?" she asked, her tone shifting into something distinctly unimpressed. Her ears flattened slightly, and one of her tails unwound from mine to gesture accusingly at the trio of goddesses behind me. "Really? You were gone for like two days!"
I held both hands up in the universal gesture of surrender, my own ears going flat against my skull. "Hey, in my defense, I only slept with two of them!" The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them, and I immediately realized that this was perhaps not the most diplomatic response I could have offered.
"And yet," Naruko said sweetly, her eyes narrowing, "I can totally see the brunette in the armor pouting at your words."
I turned to look at Sif, who had indeed adopted an expression that could only be described as a pout—lower lip slightly extended, brow furrowed, arms crossed over her chest in a way that pushed her impressive assets together rather distractingly.
"My name is Sif," she said stiffly, drawing herself up to her full height. "And I do not pout like some soft maiden. I am a Goddess of War, and I—"
"You're definitely pouting," Naruko interrupted flatly.
"I am expressing dignified displeasure at being excluded from—" Sif stopped herself, her face flushing red as she realized what she'd been about to admit. "That is to say, I am simply... I was merely..."
"Pouting," Hela supplied helpfully, a smirk playing at her lips. "You were pouting, Sif. It's quite endearing, actually. Very maiden-like."
"I WILL HAVE YOU KNOW—"
Kushina chose that moment to make her entrance, and I watched as the older Uzumaki woman sauntered over with the kind of languid grace that made every step look like a seduction in progress. Her long red hair swayed behind her, her nine tails moved in hypnotic patterns, and her violet eyes were warm with amusement as she took in the scene.
"Hello there," she said, her voice smooth as silk. She stopped beside Naruko, one arm sliding around her daughter's waist in a casual display of familial affection, and offered the Asgardian goddesses a smile that was equal parts welcoming and warning. "I'm Kushina Uzumaki, and this is my daughter Naruko. We're both Haru's women."
The possessive emphasis on that last word was subtle but unmistakable.
"And we're both carrying his children as well," Kushina continued, one hand coming to rest on her still-flat stomach in a gesture that was somehow both tender and territorial. "So if you three are going to be permanent additions around here, we'll need to get you set up as part of the group chat. Although..." She tilted her head, studying Hela and Frigga with obvious curiosity. "My daughter is considerably better than me with working the cell phones. Technology from this world still confuses me sometimes."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Hela and Frigga were both staring at Kushina with expressions of pure, unadulterated shock. Their mouths had fallen open in nearly identical displays of disbelief, and I watched as the information processed through their minds in real-time.
"You're..." Frigga started, her voice faint.
"Both..." Hela continued, equally stunned.
"Pregnant?" they finished together, the word coming out in stereo.
Kushina's smile widened, showing just a hint of fang. "Mmhmm. About six weeks along now, according to the medical ninja who examined us. Twins run in the Uzumaki family, so there's a decent chance we might be looking at multiples." She patted her stomach affectionately. "Haru's been very... thorough."
I felt my face heat up as both Asgardian goddesses turned to look at me with expressions that were difficult to read. Hela's shock was slowly transforming into something that looked almost like competitive interest, while Frigga's seemed to be shifting toward thoughtful calculation.
"I didn't realize you were quite so... prolific," Hela said carefully, her green eyes studying me with new appreciation. "A harem is one thing, but actual children?"
"It wasn't exactly planned," I admitted, rubbing the back of my neck awkwardly. "Things just kind of... happened. At the same time…"
"In our defense," Naruko chimed in, still pressed against my side with her tails wrapped around mine, "Haru is really, really good in bed. Like, 'forget about birth control because your brain stops working' good."
Frigga and Hela both nodded in agreement with Naruko's words.
"ANYWAY," I interrupted loudly. "Introductions! Yes! Hela, Frigga, Sif—these are Naruko and Kushina Uzumaki. They're kunoichi from a ninja village in another dimension. Very powerful, very deadly, very pregnant with my offspring."
Kushina and Naruko both nodded at the three women. But I could see the groups sizing each other up plain as day.
I cleared my throat and continued. "Naruko, Kushina—these are Hela, Goddess of Death and rightful Queen of Asgard. Frigga, Vanir Goddess of the Hunt and Magic. and Sif, Goddess of War. They're all from the same dimension but different circumstances, and they're going to be staying with us for... a while."
"Indefinitely," Hela said firmly. "Until I reclaim my throne and execute my father, at minimum."
"Right. That." I ran a hand through my hair, suddenly very aware of how complicated my life had become. "So, uh, welcome to the Fox Hole? I hope everyone can get along?"
Naruko studied the three Asgardian women with the sharp, assessing gaze of a trained kunoichi. Her playful demeanor had faded slightly, replaced by something more calculating. "The dark-haired one in black armor," she said slowly, her eyes fixed on Hela. "She's dangerous. Really dangerous. I can feel her power from here, and it's..." She paused, searching for words. "Heavy. Like standing next to a mountain that's about to fall on you."
Hela's lips curved into a smile that was all teeth. "How perceptive. I like her already."
"The blonde is powerful too," Kushina continued for her daughter, turning her attention to Frigga. "But it's clear that you haven't fought in a long time. Your stance is regal, but civilian.
Frigga, to her credit, didn't deny it. She simply offered a serene smile that somehow managed to be both innocent and impressed. "Indeed, but I hope to reclaim my natural status soon enough."
"And the brunette warrior..." Naruko's gaze shifted to Sif, who straightened under the scrutiny. "She's the weakest of the three, but she's got good instincts. Solid foundation. Could be really strong with proper training."
"I am not the weakest," Sif protested, her cheeks flushing with indignation. "I am a Goddess of War! I have fought in countless battles across the Nine Realms! I—"
"Got one-shotted by a Frost Giant king, according to what Haru told us on the way here," Hela interrupted casually. "And before that, you couldn't even land a hit on a child with my old hammer. I literally stopped using that toy because it wasn't powerful enough for me once I grew up."
"Hm, I wonder if the hammer as a crutch is why Thor hasn't gotten much stronger in hundreds of years despite how often he gets into fights?" Frigga said outloud, but it was clear she was pondering to herself.
"Well it was nice meeting you all, but we both left steaming bowls of ramen at our table, and Uzumaki women never leave their ramen bowls uneaten." Kushina hooked her arm through her daughter's and steered them both back toward their booth in the corner. Their nine tails each swayed in synchronized patterns as they walked, and I caught Kushina shooting one last appraising look at Hela and Frigga over her shoulder.
The message was clear. We're watching you.
Hela, apparently unbothered by the territorial display she'd just witnessed, claimed a stool at the bar with the casual grace of someone who'd once commanded armies. She crossed her legs, propped one elbow on the counter, and fixed me with those luminous green eyes.
"I like them," she announced. "The redheads. They have fire."
"They have something," I muttered, moving behind the bar and automatically checking the tap lines. The familiar routine helped settle my nerves—testing the pressure on the mead keg, making sure the sake was at the right temperature, confirming my shadow clone hadn't somehow burned down the kitchen during its extended shift. I had all its memories and knew it didn't but I still liked to check.
And I still much preferred using Shadow Clones instead of separating one of my tails and hoping it doesn't develop a taste for sentient freedom and try to rebel. Yes, that has happened to Kitsune in the past, and it's why I never liked making clones with my tails.
But everything looked fine. Better than fine, actually. The clone had apparently reorganized my spice rack alphabetically, which was either helpful or annoying depending on how you looked at it.
"So this is where you spend your days," Hela continued, her gaze roaming the interior with renewed interest now that the immediate drama had passed. "Cooking food. Serving drinks. Playing host to beings from across the cosmos." She tilted her head, dark hair spilling over one armored shoulder. "It's very... domestic. For a Demon Lord?"
"I'm a chef first," I reminded her, pulling out a glass and filling it with water. I slid it across the bar toward her without being asked—she'd spent a thousand years in a realm with nothing to drink. Hydration was probably still a novelty. "The Demon Lord thing is more of a side gig."
Hela accepted the water with a small nod of acknowledgment, and I watched her take a long drink. Her throat worked as she swallowed, and something about the simple pleasure on her face—the way her eyes fluttered closed for just a moment—made my chest tight.
She was still relearning how to enjoy things. Basic things. Water. Food. Company.
Frigga and Sif were about to sit next to Hela when we all heard the front door open.
I looked up to see an unexpected trio entering my establishment.
Loki came first, and for a moment I almost didn't recognize him. Gone was the ridiculous horned helmet and the ostentatious Asgardian armor. In its place, he wore a simple charcoal suit that could have come from any high-end tailor—well-fitted, surprisingly normal-looking. He looked like a venture capitalist. Or a particularly stylish funeral director.
Behind him came Jane Foster and Darcy Lewis.
The moment Loki's eyes found Frigga standing with Sif, his entire demeanor transformed. "Mother! I am so delighted you are alright!" He ran up and hugged her.
Frigga made a soft sound—something between a laugh and a sob—and pulled him closer. "I'm here," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "I'm safe. I'm more than safe, actually—I'm better than I've been in centuries. It's a long story," Frigga said gently, one hand coming up to cup Loki's cheek. "And I promise I'll explain everything. But first—what happened after your brother and I escaped through the Bifrost? Where have you been?"
"Tis only been a single night and half a day after that. I have been staying with—" His eyes cut toward me, and his lip curled slightly. "—the fox man's mother. In her palace."
I raised an eyebrow at him from behind the bar. "Fox man?"
He was still gonna call me that, wasn't he?
"It pains me greatly to admit," Loki continued through gritted teeth, "that it is, in fact, an actual palace. And that he is, apparently, a genuine prince. Of an entire supernatural faction." The words seemed to physically hurt him to say. "The accommodations were... acceptable. The hospitality was... adequate. The view was..." He paused, struggling. "...impressive."
I couldn't help the smirk that spread across my face. "High praise coming from Asgardian royalty."
Loki's glare could have curdled milk. "Don't let it go to your head, fox."
"Wouldn't dream of it, reindeer games."
For a moment we just stared at each other, neither willing to break first. Then Loki let out a huff of what might have been reluctant amusement and turned his attention back to his mother.
"I spent most of my time learning about this strange alternate reality the little fox girl dragged us into," he continued. "It's fascinating, actually—the cosmological differences, the parallel evolution of certain mythological concepts, the way magic operates under slightly different rules." His expression shifted into something almost academic. "Did you know that in this world, my counterpart is Odin's brother rather than his son? The narrative structure is completely different, though certain thematic elements remain—"
At the mention of Odin, three things happened simultaneously.
Frigga flinched like she'd been struck.
Hela's hand tightened around her water glass hard enough that I heard the material creak.
And Sif made a low sound of disgust in the back of her throat.
Loki, to his credit, caught on immediately. His eyes darted between the three women, taking in their reactions with the sharp perception of someone who'd survived centuries of Asgardian court politics by reading the room better than anyone else.
"...Never mind," he said carefully. "We can discuss interdimensional mythology later. Much later. Possibly never," he squeaked out at the end.
An awkward silence descended. I busied myself wiping down a section of bar that was already clean, just to have something to do with my hands.
Frigga was the one who broke it, visibly pulling herself together with the kind of steel-spined composure that came from a millennium of practice. "Where is Thor?" she asked. "Is he safe? Is he here in Haru's homeworld?"
"Ah." Loki's expression shifted into something that might have been amusement, or might have been exasperation, or might have been some complicated Asgardian emotion that didn't have a direct translation. "Thor is... fine. Physically, at least. Mentally, he's been having something of a crisis."
"A crisis?" Frigga's brow furrowed with motherly concern. "What kind of crisis?"
"The hammer kind." Loki waved a hand dismissively. "He's been attempting to lift Mjolnir over and over to no success. Each failure has sent him into progressively deeper spirals of self-recrimination and dramatic monologuing about worthiness and honor and the meaning of true strength."
I thought about Kunou casually picking up that hammer like it weighed nothing, renaming it "Sparkling Lightning-Chan," and then getting bored with it. The mental image of Thor—massive, muscular Thor—repeatedly failing to budge a weapon that my little sister had treated like a moderately interesting toy was... something.
"The real problem," Loki continued, "is that Thor has convinced himself he cannot be a 'proper Norse warrior' without his divine power. He's been moping. Extensively." The God of Mischief's tone made it clear exactly how much patience he had for his brother's moping. "Yesterday, some of the other warriors in this establishment—large, bearded men with truly impressive alcohol tolerances—told him that if he wanted to 'man up,' he should stop whining and start proving himself through deeds rather than divine gifts."
"The Companions," I supplied, recognizing the description immediately. "Nord warriors from Skyrim. They're regulars here."
"Yes, them." Loki nodded. "They suggested Thor join their... what did they call it? 'Adventuring group.' Apparently they hunt monsters and explore dangerous ruins in a land called Skyrim, and they believe Thor would benefit from the experience of earning glory through mortal struggle rather than godly might."
"And Thor agreed to this?" Frigga's voice had gone slightly high with concern.
"Thor was three tankards of mead into what I can only describe as a masculinity crisis," Loki said dryly. "He would have agreed to wrestle a dragon naked if someone had suggested it might restore his sense of self-worth."
Frigga turned to look at me, and the worry in her blue eyes made something protective stir in my chest. "Haru," she said, and there was genuine fear beneath the composed exterior. "Would Thor be safe in this Skyrim without his godly powers? He's mortal now, or close enough—he could be killed by things that would have been trivial threats before."
I considered the question seriously. Skyrim was dangerous. The wilderness was full of wolves and bears and sabercats and giants. The dungeons were infested with draugr and vampires and worse. Even the roads weren't safe, with bandits and wildlife and the occasional dragon attack.
"Not really," I admitted honestly, because Frigga deserved the truth. "Skyrim's a rough place even for people who grew up there. But—" I held up a hand to forestall her rising panic. "—I can make sure he always has a shield-brother or shield-sister looking out for him when he goes on quests. The Companions take care of their own, and I can ask Aela to keep a special eye on him."
Frigga's shoulders relaxed slightly, though worry still lingered in her expression. "Aela?"
"My girlfriend," I said. "She's a senior member of the Companions. One of the best warriors in Skyrim, actually. She'll make sure Thor doesn't get himself killed doing something stupid. My best friend Agnar and his wife Serena also live in the city of Whiterun, and I'm sure I can get them to help him out too if he needs it."
"Thor does have a talent for doing stupid things," Loki muttered.
"I would appreciate that," she said softly to me. "More than I can express. He may be a fool sometimes, but he's still my son." Frigga turned back to Loki and Sif, the latter of whom had been standing silently through the entire exchange with an expression of increasing discomfort. Most of it was directed at Loki. "We need to talk," she said, and her voice had taken on the tone of a mother who would not be argued with. "The three of us. Privately."
Sif's discomfort immediately ratcheted up several notches. "My Queen, I don't think—"
"It's not a request, Sif." Frigga's voice was gentle but implacable. "There are things that need to be said. Mind control spells that need to be undone…" She glanced at Loki and he flinched at her pointed stare. In fact, Loki went very still.
Frigga walked toward a booth without looking back, clearly expecting them to follow. After a moment's hesitation, Loki did—his expression had gone carefully blank, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands had curled into fists at his sides.
Sif turned and followed Frigga and Loki to the corner booth. I watched the three of them settle in—Frigga in the middle—before she waved her hand and created some privacy wards to block out all conversation.
Which left me with Jane Foster and Darcy Lewis, who had been standing awkwardly nearby throughout the entire dramatic reunion, clearly unsure of when or how to insert themselves into the conversation.
Now, with the Asgardians occupied, they marched right up to the bar with matching expressions of determination—though "determination" looked very different on each of them.
Jane's version involved a cute glare that made her look like an irritated kitten trying to be intimidating. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her foot was tapping against the floor, and her entire body language screamed "I have questions and you WILL answer them."
Darcy's version involved a dreamy smile and slightly unfocused eyes that suggested she was still mentally somewhere else entirely.
"You," Jane said, jabbing a finger in my direction, "have so much explaining to do."
Well, she was certainly one of the most unique humans I'd ever met. Usually regular people are too nervous to make demands with no fear like that. I could see what Thor liked about her, even if it wasn't mutual after he royally blew it.
"What do you want to know?"
"Everything!" Jane's voice pitched higher with frustration. "I'm an astrophysicist, Haru! I've spent my entire career studying the theoretical possibility of Einstein-Rosen bridges, and now I find out there are beings that can just—" she made a frustrated gesture that encompassed the entire restaurant, "—casually create doors to other dimensions? Do you have any idea how that makes me feel about my life's work?"
"Validated?" I offered.
"OBSOLETE!"
Hela snorted from her spot at the bar. "I like this one too. She has passion."
"Heh, you're little brother, Thor, tried to score with her and blew it…"
Hela had a delighted grin on her lips after hearing that. "Tell me everything!"
"Ew no! I don't want to think about that guy anymore!" Jane then whirled toward the Goddess of Death, apparently only now registering her presence even though Hela was sitting there the entire time. "Who are you supposed to be—"
"Hela, Goddess of Death, rightful Queen of Asgard, et cetera." Hela waved a dismissive hand.
Jane's mouth opened and closed several times, no sound emerging.
"Haru, your mom's house is so freaking nice!" Darcy cut in randomly and said to me. She had drifted over to lean against the bar next to Hela, her posture loose and relaxed in a way that Jane was not. "Like, seriously nice. Usually when you think 'palace' you think 'cold stone and uncomfortable chairs,' you know? But Yasaka's place had heated tatami floors and these amazing gardens and—"
"Darcy," Jane interrupted, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Focus."
"I am focused!" Darcy protested. "I'm focused on the important things. Like the fact that I got a literal royal massage from a gorgeous catgirl this morning and it might have awakened some feelings I never knew I had…"
There was a moment of silence after that comment and Jane just huffed in embarrassment.
Whatever conversation Frigga was having with Loki and Sif behind those privacy wards, it wasn't going well.
I couldn't hear a word, of course—Frigga's seidr was too skilled for that—but I didn't need to. Body language told the whole story. Through the shimmering barrier, I watched Loki go progressively paler. His hands were moving in sharp, defensive gestures. At one point, he actually pressed himself back against the booth like he was trying to phase through the leather.
Sif, meanwhile, had gone rigid as a statue carved from barely contained fury. Her jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscles jumping even from across the restaurant. Her hands were white-knuckled fists on the table, and every few seconds her entire body would twitch like she was physically restraining herself from lunging across the booth and strangling Loki with her bare hands.
Frigga sat between them, calm as still water, and somehow that made the whole scene more terrifying. She wasn't raising her voice—I could tell that much from her measured gestures, the steady movement of her lips. She was simply... explaining. Laying out facts. Probably detailing exactly what Loki had done to Sif's mind over the years, spell by spell, manipulation by manipulation.
"Should we... do something?" Jane asked uncertainly, her eyes still fixed on the booth.
"Nope," I said, popping the 'p' for emphasis. "Family matters. Best to let them work it out."
Darcy observed. "The brunette warrior lady. She's got crazy eyes right now. Like, full-on 'I will end you' crazy eyes."
"Sif has been under Loki's mind control for centuries," I explained, keeping my voice low even though the privacy ward meant they couldn't hear us anyway. "She's just now finding out about it. I'd say her crazy eyes are pretty justified."
Jane's expression shifted from concern to something darker. "Mind control? Like... actual mind control? Making her do things against her will?"
"More like subtle influence. Nudging her emotions, amplifying certain feelings, suppressing others." I shrugged, though the gesture felt inadequate for the weight of what I was describing. "From what Frigga told me, Loki's been using it on most of Asgard for years. Including his own brother."
"That's..." Jane trailed off, struggling to find words strong enough.
"Fucked up," Darcy supplied helpfully. "The phrase you're looking for is 'completely fucked up.'"
"Yeah," Jane agreed quietly. "That."
The privacy ward flickered and dissolved.
Sif was on her feet before the magical shimmer had fully faded, her chair scraping back with a screech that made half the restaurant turn to look. Her face was flushed with rage, her dark eyes blazing with the kind of cold fury that preceded truly spectacular acts of violence.
"I will have my revenge for this, Loki Odinson," she snarled, and her voice carried across the entire Fox Hole with the ringing clarity of a declaration of war. "Mark my words—the moment I retrieve my blade, I will sever your manhood and feed it to a bilgesnipe!"
Several patrons who'd been minding their own business suddenly found reasons to study their drinks very intently.
"Now, Sif," Loki started, his voice pitched higher than usual, "let's not be hasty—"
"HASTY?" Sif's laugh was sharp enough to cut glass. "You manipulated my mind for CENTURIES! You made me hate myself, doubt myself, believe I was less than I am! You twisted my feelings until I couldn't tell what was real anymore!" She took a step toward him, and Loki actually flinched back. "Hasty would have been killing you the moment I learned the truth. What I'm promising is PATIENT. I'm going to take my TIME with your punishment!"
She spun on her heel and stormed toward the front door, her bare feet slapping against the wooden floor with each furious step. She'd left her sword on the ship when we'd arrived—something about it being rude to bring a weapon into a foreign royal's domain on a first visit.
I'd told her it was fine, that my restaurant wasn't exactly formal, but Sif was a woman who took her own pride and personal code seriously if nothing else. Right now, I suspected she was regretting that decision immensely.
The door slammed behind her hard enough to rattle the frame.
Loki stood frozen for a moment, his face cycling through several shades of pale before settling on a sickly greenish-white. Then he turned to me with an expression of desperate hope.
"Fox—Haru," he corrected himself hastily, apparently deciding this wasn't the moment for antagonistic nicknames. "Is there perhaps a back entrance to this establishment? One that doesn't require me to pass by the extremely angry goddess who just threatened to castrate me?"
I considered the question. There was, in fact, a back door.
I also found Loki's current predicament absolutely hilarious. "Nope," I lied cheerfully. "Front door's the only way out. Sorry."
Loki's eye twitched. "You're lying."
"Prove it."
"I am the God of Lies! I can literally sense when—" He stopped himself, took a deep breath, and visibly forced his expression into something approaching calm dignity.
"Good luck with that," I said, not bothering to hide my grin.
Frigga had risen from the booth as well, though her movements were considerably more composed than either of her companions. She caught my eye and offered a small, tired smile that somehow conveyed both gratitude and exhaustion in equal measure.
"Thank you for your patience," she said, drifting over to join Hela at the bar. "That conversation was... overdue. By several centuries, at minimum."
I decided this was an excellent moment to change the subject. "Hey," I said, turning to Jane and Darcy, who had been watching the whole exchange with expressions ranging from horrified fascination (Jane) to delighted entertainment (Darcy). "You two want to see the spaceship we used to get here from Asgard?"
Jane's head snapped toward me so fast I was genuinely concerned about whiplash. "Spaceship?" she repeated, her voice jumping an octave. "You have a spaceship? An actual, functional spacecraft capable of interstellar travel!?"
"Technically, yeah. It's parked outside…" And by parked, I mean just sitting in the sand.
"Outside," Jane said slowly, like she was trying to process the concept. "You parked a spaceship. Outside. In the New Mexico desert?"
"Where else would I park it?" I tiled my head playfully at her.
Darcy was already sliding off her stool, her earlier dreamy expression replaced by genuine excitement. "Fuck yeah we want to see it! Jane, come on, spaceship! Actual spaceship! This is like every sci-fi movie I've ever watched coming true at once!"
"The scientific implications alone—" Jane was muttering, following Darcy toward the door with the slightly dazed expression of someone whose worldview was being aggressively renovated. "Faster-than-light travel, or is it some form of dimensional folding?"
I let her rambling fade into background noise as I turned back to Hela.
"We'll be right back," I told her, already reaching for a bottle of proper mead—the good stuff, imported from Skyrim.
Hela's eyes lit up as I slid the tankard across the bar. She wrapped both hands around it almost reverently, lifting it to her nose and inhaling deeply. The expression that crossed her face was something close to religious ecstasy. "Mead," she breathed. "Proper mead. Do you have any idea how long it's been since I've tasted—" She cut herself off, apparently deciding that words were inadequate, and took a long, deep drink. When she lowered the tankard, her eyes were slightly wet. "It's good," she said. "It's really, really good."
"I know," I said gently. "Take your time. We'll be back in a few minutes."
She nodded, already raising the tankard for another drink, and I left her to her reunion with alcohol.
The front door of the Fox Hole opened onto the New Mexico desert—dry heat and endless blue sky and the kind of stark, beautiful emptiness that made you feel very small and very temporary. The sun was past its peak but still intense, and I squinted against the glare as I stepped outside with Jane and Darcy trailing behind me.
The Asgardian ship was right where we'd left it, resting on the cracked desert floor about fifty yards from the floating door that was my restaurant's entrance in this dimension—at least until we find a spot for the proper building to settle permanently.
What was immediately apparent was the cluster of unconscious bodies scattered around its base.
Men in black suits—at least a dozen of them—lay crumpled in various poses of defeat across the sand. Some were clearly out cold, sprawled flat on their backs with their limbs at awkward angles. Others were groaning weakly, curled into fetal positions and clutching at various injured body parts. One guy was draped over a nearby boulder like someone had thrown him there, which, knowing Sif, was probably exactly what had happened.
And standing in the middle of the carnage radiating smug satisfaction was Sif herself. She turned at the sound of our approach, her dark hair whipping in the desert breeze, and offered me what I could only describe as a proud smile. "These men—the same ones who arrested my companions yesterday—were attempting to steal our vessel!"
I looked at the groaning pile of highly trained government operatives, then back at Sif, then at the completely undamaged ship behind her.
"I can see that," I said. "Good work."
Sif's smile widened, showing teeth. "They were not particularly skilled. I almost felt guilty for the ease of their defeat." She paused, considering. "Almost."
"Wait, wait, wait." Darcy had stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes fixed on the ship with an expression of dawning disappointment. "That's the spaceship? The wooden boat thing?"
"It's an Asgardian Royal Skiff," Sif said, a note of offense creeping into her voice. "One of the finest vessels in the fleet!"
"It's made of wood," Darcy said flatly.
"Enchanted wood!" Sif nodded.
"It has a sail!" Darcy pointed.
"For atmospheric maneuvering." Sif pointed out the obvious.
But was it obvious…?
Darcy turned to me with an expression that clearly said 'seriously?' "Haru. Buddy. When you said 'spaceship,' I was picturing something with, like, chrome and blinking lights and maybe a cool AI with a sexy voice. Not..." She gestured helplessly at the longship. "Not a prop from a History Channel documentary."
"To be fair," I said, unable to keep the amusement out of my voice, "I never specified what kind of spaceship. And it did get us here from Asgard in a few hours. Through multiple black holes."
"Black holes," Jane repeated, her disappointment apparently overridden by scientific curiosity. She was already moving toward the ship, her eyes tracking over every detail with the intensity of someone mentally cataloging everything for later analysis. "You traveled through black holes!? IN THIS PIECE OF SHIT?"
"HEY!" Sif grumbled at the insult to her people's vessel.
The distant growl of an engine cut through the desert silence. I had a pretty good guess who was coming to visit.
A Black SUV rolled to a stop about twenty feet away, and the driver's door opened with a soft click. Agent Phil Coulson stepped out. There were shadows under his eyes that hadn't been there before. Poor guy needed more sleep.
His gaze swept across the scene. Coulson let out a long, weary sigh that seemed to come from somewhere deep in his soul.
"Hello again, Haru," he said, and his voice was so tired it almost made me feel guilty.
"Hey there, Coulson!" I offered him a friendly wave, trying to project an aura of casual innocence that probably wasn't very convincing given the circumstances. "How's it going?"
"Fine." The word came out flat, completely devoid of enthusiasm. "I only got chewed out by the leaders of the free world multiple times when they found out I became the first man to set foot on an alien planet." He paused, something flickering in his eyes that might have been dark humor or might have been exhaustion-induced delirium. "Apparently there are protocols for that kind of thing. Protocols I didn't follow because I was too busy being teleported to Asgard without warning by your little sister…"
"Right on..." I said, my tails drooping slightly with awkward guilt. Because yeah, that whole situation had kind of been my fault since I didn't stop her. Or at least adjacent to my fault. Kunou had been the one to drag Coulson into interdimensional shenanigans, but she was my little sister, which made me at least partially responsible for her chaos. "That, uh... that sounds rough, man. Sorry about that."
Coulson's expression didn't change, but something in his posture suggested he appreciated the acknowledgment, even if it didn't actually help with anything. He took a few steps closer, his shoes crunching against the dry desert floor, and his gaze lingered on the unconscious agents scattered around the ship.
"I think I already know the answer," he said slowly, that same dry tone threading through his words, "but you're not here to invade the planet, are you?"
"Definitely not," I assured him.
"And the..." He gestured vaguely at the scattered unconscious agents, one of whom had started making soft whimpering sounds. "Why are a bunch of my guys all beat up?"
Before I could answer, Jane stepped forward with the righteous fury of a scientist who'd been wronged. "Your thieves," she said, jabbing a finger in Coulson's direction, "were trying to steal Haru's spaceship! Just like you stole all my equipment! My research! Years of data that you just—just took!"
"You can have it all back," Coulson interrupted, holding up both hands in a placating gesture. "All of it. Every piece of equipment, every hard drive, every sticky note with incomprehensible equations scribbled on it. I'll have it delivered to your lab by tomorrow morning."
The transformation in Jane's demeanor was immediate and slightly terrifying. Her scowl melted into a brilliant smile that made her whole face light up, and before I fully registered what was happening, she'd grabbed my arm and was hugging it against her modest chest! "Really? All of it?" She was practically bouncing on her heels while grabbing me unconsciously. "Even the prototype scanner? The one your people said was 'too advanced to leave in civilian hands'?"
"Even the prototype scanner," Coulson confirmed, and I caught the faintest flicker of amusement beneath his exhausted professionalism.
I don't think Jane even realized she was still clinging to my arm. Her grip had tightened during her excitement, pressing my bicep against the soft curve of her chest in a way that was probably completely innocent on her part but was definitely registering on my end. My tails swayed uncertainly behind me as I debated whether to say something or just... let it happen.
Darcy, standing a few feet away, caught my eye and waggled her eyebrows suggestively. I elected to ignore her.
Coulson's attention shifted to Sif. He straightened his rumpled tie—a futile gesture given the coffee stain—and adopted what I recognized as his 'diplomatic face.'
"Ma'am," he said, inclining his head slightly in what might have been respect or might have been simple self-preservation. "I'd like to apologize if my men caused you any trouble. Sometimes new recruits can get a bit... overzealous." He glanced at the nearest unconscious body—a young guy with a split lip and what was going to be a spectacular black eye. "Maybe it's the desert heat getting to them."
Sif shrugged with the casual ease of a warrior who'd fought in actual wars and found this minor skirmish barely worth mentioning. "No harm done," she said magnanimously. "Your men need more training, even for mortals. Their formation was sloppy, their attacks were predictable, and they telegraphed every strike like they wanted me to see them coming."
Coulson nodded slowly, clearly filing this information away for later. "I'll pass that feedback along to our training division."
"Also," Sif continued, her brow furrowing slightly as she recalled another detail, "they need to come up with a better battle cry. They all just kept yelling 'Hail Hydra' over and over again when I bested them." She tilted her head, genuinely puzzled. "Is that supposed to be intimidating? Because it wasn't. It was mostly just confusing."
The desert went very, very quiet.
Coulson had gone completely still. Not the stillness of someone processing information, but the rigid, locked-joint stillness of someone whose entire worldview had just been upended by a single casual comment. His face had drained of color so quickly I was genuinely concerned he might pass out.
"What…?" The word came out strangled, barely above a whisper.
Sif blinked at him, clearly confused by his reaction. "What?" she repeated innocently.
XXX
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