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Asgard, King's Palace.
Jane Foster sat on the edge of the bed, fingers sketching in the air.
Before her, a holographic star-map slowly rotated—data she'd re-calibrated from Asgard's Star-Chart while bedridden, a fresh model of the Convergence.
"The gravity parameter here is off…" Jane chewed her lip, brow knit, light-pen stabbing through the projection. "If Nine-Realm overlap is the baseline, Midgard's constant should drift 0.03 %, but this curve is smooth."
"Still working?"
Thor stepped in, a basket of Golden Apples in hand.
Jane looked up; worry melted into softness.
"Thor, I have to go back." She killed the map and stood, movement easy; the Aether's weakness was gone.
"Back where—Earth?" Thor set the basket down, frown forming. "Your body only just mended; Asgard's energy hasn't burned the last traces."
"I'm fine—look." Jane hopped twice, flexing a slim but lively arm. "And my paper's due in three days! Three! I need to log the Convergence data—Nobel-level discovery!"
Thor sighed, defeated.
"mortals and their quests…" He shook his head, fond smile tugging. "Very well—if you insist."
Just then the hall doors swept open.
Sif strode in, blade still wet; she'd clearly come from some unlucky Rebel.
"Thor, Heimdall has news," she said, brisk. "About the Escapee."
"Escapee?" Jane asked, curious.
"Lorelei, a Siren." Sif's face darkened. "Six centuries ago she enthralled the Nine Realms' men with her voice. During the Dark-Elf raid she slipped the Dungeons."
"Heimdall sighted her?" Thor's manner turned grave.
"Yes—on Midgard." Sif glanced at Jane. "She used a Secret Passage Loki left. Right now she's in Las Vegas, enjoying her 'queen' life."
"Damn." Thor's fists clenched. "Midgard men can't resist her. Left unchecked she'll turn the realm upside-down."
"So I came to take leave of Odin." Sif sheathed her sword. "I'll haul her back—it's my duty."
"No."
Thor lifted a hand, cutting her short.
"I will go."
Sif blinked, then arched a brow, amusement glinting between old friends.
"You?" Sif folded her arms, gaze flicking between Thor and Jane. "Certain, Thor? If I recall, six hundred years ago you nearly hurled mjolnir into the void for that Siren."
Jane's radar pinged; she narrowed her eyes. "Six hundred years? Nearly threw the hammer?"
"A-hem!"
Thor coughed hard, a blush rising. Flustered, he dodged Jane's stare and glared at Sif.
"Ancient history! I was young—foolish!"
"Oh?" Sif sneered. "Lorelei's charm targets a man's weakest mind. Sure the present you can withstand an 'ex-level' temptation?"
"She is not my ex!" Thor barked, voice echoing. "And I'm immune to her wiles now!"
He slipped an arm around Jane's shoulders, staking claim.
"My heart is spoken for. Lorelei's voice now grates on me like… like Heimdall's chipped sword on shield."
The sudden declaration made Jane flush; her budding jealousy vanished.
"Moreover," Thor said solemn, "Jane returns to Earth; I must escort her. I'll bag the Siren en route—two birds, one stone."
Sif rolled her eyes, a flicker of loneliness passing unseen.
"Fine, great prince." She turned away. "Since you insist—so be it. Just don't expect me to fish you out."
"I won't need fishing." Thor hoisted Mjolnir, testing its weight. "This time I'll show her: Thor doesn't eat old grass."
…Over the Atlantic.
Tony Stark, bag of dried blueberries in hand, popped them one by one.
"Jarvis, fix the damn autopilot. That turbulence nearly dumped my coffee in my lap."
"Sir, that swerve avoided civilian radar below," Jarvis replied, unruffled.
Inside the cabin, tension was nil; the mood felt like a spring outing.
"Seriously, Tony," Hawkeye Barton drawled, reclined, eyes half-closed in bliss.
"Your new jet has massage seats? Planning to turn this into a flying spa?"
"Stark Industries wellness program, Barton."
"Fighting's hard enough—why punish our butts? If I'm sore en route to a punch-up, my aim suffers."
He glanced across at Bruce Banner and Natasha Romanoff.
Bruce was buried in a brick-thick Quantum Field Theory tome while Natasha murmured beside him, their knees almost touching.
"Hey, Doc," Tony cracked a soda, eyes sparkling. "You've stared at that same page twenty minutes. Tough equation—or distracting view?"
Bruce flushed, snapping the book shut. "I was thinking, Tony—about the Scepter's energy wavelength."
"Sure, Tony," Natasha lifted her gaze, gentle smile showing. Instead of sparring, she crossed her legs openly. "We're debating classical music. Bruce finds Beethoven weightier than Mozart—and I agree."
"Ooh—classical," Tony drawled, winking at Barton. "Hear that, Fat-bird? That's flirting at altitude. You only talk tractor maintenance with Laura."
"Hey—that's romance too!" Barton shot back.
Laughter rippled through the cabin.
Since the Avengers had drifted apart, this long-lost team ease felt like a reunion.