Radioactive | Bucky Barnes

THOR 2: CHAPTER FOUR

They couldn't make it to dinner just yet, and Rhiley wasn't about to explain the meaning of hangry to Sif in the middle of Asgard's palace.

"Come," Sif said. "There's someone you should properly meet."

"Let me guess," Rhiley groaned as she stood, dragging herself upright. "More impossibly tall Asgardians who look like they walked out of a shampoo commercial?"

Sif only smirked and led her across the training grounds toward a stone table surrounded by warriors. The air smelled like roasted meat and something so strong it could melt paint.

Volstagg, Hogun, and Fandral turned as they approached.

"Lady Rhiley!" Volstagg boomed, nearly toppling his mug as he shot to his feet, beard quivering with delight. "I remember you! You tried to throw a shoe at the Destroyer!"

"It was a perfect shoe," Rhiley deadpanned.

Fandral swept her an exaggerated bow. "A rare pleasure. I feared Midgard had swallowed you whole."

"Almost," Rhiley said with a grin. "But I'm slippery when I want to be."

Hogun only gave her a quiet nod, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. Rhiley liked him immediately.

"This time," Sif said, with a spark of mischief, "proper introductions. Volstagg, Hogun, Fandral—the Warriors Three."

Rhiley crossed her arms. "That name sounds like something cooked up by marketing. Please tell me you have a theme song."

"If we don't," Fandral said smoothly, "we certainly deserve one."

Volstagg roared with laughter. "A theme song! I like her."

"Everyone does," Sif said dryly.

"Except Odin," Rhiley muttered. Sif nearly choked on her drink.

They settled at the table, laughter bubbling between them. Stories flew—some true, some wildly exaggerated. For the first time in weeks, Rhiley felt the heaviness in her chest ease.

"You've lived longer than most mortals," Fandral remarked, studying her.

"Being frozen in ice helps with that," she said lightly.

"What was it like to wake in a world not your own?" Volstagg asked.

"Jarring." She thought of Phil, of Tony. "But I had people I trusted. Eventually."

Fandral's grin turned sly. "I've also heard of your... conversation with Odin. The Lady who told the King he had no balls! That tale will echo through our halls for centuries."

Rhiley dropped her head into her hand. "I don't have a filter. Never have."

Sif pointed at her. "The shock collar incident."

Rhiley shrugged. "Hey, I like my shocks consensual. Sue me."

"Midgardian idioms are baffling," Volstagg muttered.

"She's flirting with Sif," Fandral clarified.

Before Rhiley could fire back, a shrill alarm split the air. The golden glow of Asgard dimmed as guards thundered past in organized chaos.

"What now?" Rhiley asked.

Sif's jaw tightened. "The dungeons."

They ran.

By the time they arrived, Thor already stood at the heart of the chaos, commanding the rioting prisoners. "Return to your cells, and no further harm will come to you," he warned.

"Will you be alright?" Sif asked Rhiley quickly, her eyes searching. She knew more of Rhiley's wounds than most.

Rhiley forced a smile. "I'm always okay."

Sif nodded once before disappearing into the fray, blades flashing.

Rhiley joined Thor's side. "Pretty sure polite negotiations aren't gonna cut it."

As if to prove her point, a prisoner lunged. Thor caught him by the collar and tossed him like a rag doll. "Very well. They no longer have my word."

Another attacker charged Rhiley. Without lifting a finger, she blasted him into the bars.

From a shadowed cell came a lazy drawl. "Ah. The Phoenix."

Rhiley's stomach dropped. "Shit." Her eyes landed on Loki, lounging on his cot like this was mildly entertaining. "Damn jump scare."

"Behind you," Loki said casually.

Without turning, she flung another prisoner into the wall.

"You look dreadful," Loki remarked.

"You look like a corpse who drinks overpriced wine," she shot back.

"I missed you."

"I missed flipping you off." She did so cheerfully.

"Rhiley!" Sif called down the corridor. "We must go!"

Rhiley gave Loki a final deadpan look, then sprinted after her.

The battle spilled into the streets. Smoke and sparks tore through Asgard's perfect sky. Thor's hammer cracked the ground, lightning arcing. At his side, Rhiley moved like a storm—but her movements weren't as sharp as usual.

Thor noticed. "You are not fighting as you should," he called, cutting down another wave.

"I'm still fighting," she snapped, forcing another burst of power from her chest. "That should count."

"You are injured."

She didn't answer. But when she faltered and dropped to one knee, clutching her ribs, Thor was there—catching the blow meant for her.

"You were wounded before today," he said lowly, his hand steady on her shoulder.

"I've been worse." She tried to shrug it off, but pain twisted her expression.

"You were meant to be healing."

"I was. Then your dungeons exploded. Somebody had to stop you from getting stabbed in the back."

"You should have stayed in the palace."

"You should've warned me, Asgard isn't half as peaceful as you all brag about."

Thor gave a short laugh despite himself, though concern lingered in his eyes. He saw her then—not just a warrior, not just the Phoenix—but someone who kept standing back up when she shouldn't have to.

"You should not have had to fight today," he said. "And yet, you still do."

"I'm not good at sitting still."

"When this is done," Thor promised, "you will rest. No alarms. No wars. No stealing you from your world. On my honor."

"Good," she said, managing a weak smile. "Because I'm picking the wine."

Another wave charged. Thor raised Mjolnir. Rhiley lifted her hands.

"Together?" he asked.

"Always," she said.

And the two of them dove back into the storm.