Psych the Avengers Out

Bargains and Heartbeats

He drops to one knee at her feet.

Skulls leer at him from the walls and bones click as minions shift in anticipation, murmuring to themselves at the daring of this fallen god. The blood stained cobblestones beneath his foot reflect the watery light of the underground rivers that swim through this domain. He can see the moth-eaten rags that flow from the bottom of her dress to cover her thin, bony body. He dares not look up, not until she addresses him.

Finally, after an eternity of kneeling, head bowed before her throne, the goddess gives a laugh that sounds like husks of desiccated paper scuttling through a graveyard. "You really must be desperate to beg from me," she cackles, her laugh rasping from a too dry throat. He dares not look up, knowing that everything he does will affect what happens next.

"Are you willing to seal the deal in blood?" she asks, and he can feel her lean forward above him, intrigued.

"Yes," he says with as strong of a voice as he can muster.

She laughs again, throaty and low. "I have not been so amused by the folly of gods and men for a long time. So it shall be." She rises from her throne and a bone hand cups his chin, pulling him up so that he has to meet the cruel eyes in the dark face. Her fingers of her other hand curl around his wrist with a surprising amount of strength for one so thin. She whips out a bone-handled knife and cuts a line into his forearm, letting his blood well and drip onto the floor.

"So it is done," whispers Hel with a wicked gleam in her eye.

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She opens her eyes.

Stars. Space. Infinity.

As the cosmos unfurls around her, she sees a shape take form in front of her. The body of a woman hovers in the empty space between them, see-through, the stars adorning the hazy outlines of a dress, sprinkled into the vague waves of tumbling hair like pearls. Beautiful starlit eyes look at her, regarding her with inquisitiveness and caring.

Fingers form in front of her face and the woman gently places a hand on her forehead. She registers the touch as something phantasmal, a sensation that should be physical contact but is something much more without the actual physical presence. The outline of the woman strengthens and then she realizes who she is looking at.

Sigyn of Vanaheim bows her head in recognition and smiles at Jay.

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It's...it's been three days.

Give it more time. We have to be sure.

Don't do that. Don't place hope where there is none. She's not coming back to us by some magical Asgardian byway. Face the facts, Jaycee Strong is dead.

Silence.

Wait...did you see that?

See what?

There, on the heart monitor...

No, it can't be..., that's impossible.

Since when in our recent history has "possible" ever had a consistent definition?

Slivers of light filter through her eyelashes and she hears murmuring. She knows those voices, has heard them berating and encouraging her over the past days and weeks. Her eyes feel gummy and leaden and a slow awareness of her body begins to filter into her mind.

Is it..? Jay, honey, if you're in there somehow, give us a sign, please.

That's a strong signal! Her heart is beating!