They Called Me Cold, They Called Him a Liar

Lunch with Heimdall

"OH GREAT AND MAGNIFICENT HEIMDALL, 'TIS TIME FOR US TO DINE!" Sydney yells, dragging me along. She's strong for her size, I'll give her that, but why did I let her drag me into this?

The golden warrior steps down from the sword podium, actually smiling, a rare feat these days. I guess our resident frost mini has that effect on people.

Whatever the case, Heimdall smiles at us, and lets Sydney drag him out of the bisfrost.

"Come on! I got the All-Father to close the bifrost for an hour or so, so you could take a break and hang out with us." She exclaims, now tugging the both of us to the stable, to ride the 'magical ponies'.   

"Yay, magical ponies!" she cries, letting go of our arms to greet the gentle creatures.

"They're horses!" I snap. "Horses, not magical ponies. How old are you anyways? You're acting like a five-year old."

Heimdall's heavy amber gaze lands on me, but I don't shrink back. In a hushed tone, he whispers into my ear. "Let her have her fun, she has hard times eating by herself, bullied by the others in the banquet hall." I'm about to say something, but he talks loud enough for her to hear. "I have a surprise for you Sydney, let's not waste my hour free from duty riding ponies, but rather enjoying ourselves in the kitchen."

I understand his intention, and I gab the back of Sydney's ruined dress along with Heimdall's shoulder, teleporting us into the kitchen.

With a flash of green light, the ground touches our feet again, and I quickly let go of both 'companions'.

The kitchen is bustling with activity, cooks running to and fro, steaming piles of meats and vegetables, pies, roasts, bowls of stew, anything really. But above it all, is someone yelling at them like a drill Sargent.

"Keep those tomatoes in slices, not cubes!"

"Jesus Christ, what are you doing?! We don't grate parsnips! We roast 'em!"

"Careful of those steaks, make sure to tenderize them!"

"It's good just...NO! NOT THAT MUCH GARLIC!"

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING WITH THAT SALT?!"

And so on and so forth.

I look at Heimdall questioningly, but he just nods towards Sydney, who's ruby eyes are the size of saucers. She knows who it is.

"UNCLE PHIL!!!" she cries, running through the crowd, looking for the man.

The crowd parts, and there he is. Suit and all. Apron over his clean cut Midgardian suit, sauce covered spoon in hand, he looks like the chef from hell, actually not that different from last time I saw him...when he died.

"I thought you had an accident at work, how are you here?" Sydney asks, leading the confused agent towards us. Then again, he knew the old Sydney, not the Jotun one.

Heimdall, the stoic warrior, is laughing. Actually laughing. I join in though, ignoring the familiar bite of guilt.

"Sydney...Syd, is that you?" the flustered man asks, gesturing up and down the girl. She was different, in a way. Long ebony hair, dark blue skin, ruby eyes. Besides that though, her facial features and structure are the same.

An impish grin gets stuck on her face. "Yup, in the flesh."

Coulson's face brightens up, and he hugs Sydney, lifting her up and spinning her around.

"It's so good to see you! How did you get here?" he asks, putting the spoon to the side.

She giggles, gesturing to where Heimdall and I stand. "Loki and his brother Thor found me, and brought me here. But how did you get here? Aren't you a moral?"

Coulson grins, looking only at her. I don't try to make eye contact. Hopefully he doesn't mention me. "Well, it's a bit of a long story. I'll tell you later. Today, you three get to help me in the kitchen!"

No. No.

"Hah, hah, have fun you two!" I mumble, trying to escape. "Looks like you don't need me so..."

"Not so fast. You're cooking too, prince of Asgard."

Heimdall and Sydney start strapping on aprons, and I'm about to join them when someone grabs my shoulder.

"Payback's a bitch." Coulson whispers into my ear, before helping Heimdall with his apron. A cold chill crawls up my back, but I ignore it. Sure, I killed him, but that doesn't mean I deserve to cook. I helped him get to Asgard, not every mortal can say that. Isn't Asgard like a type of heaven to them? Valhalla?

I scowl, trying to find out what he really means,  and start strapping on an apron as well, when a booming voice stops the kitchen workers. "SYDNEY!!!" Thor calls, getting everyone's attention. "WE MUST SPAR, BEFORE I LEAVE!"

"WHEN ARE YOU LEAVING?" she yells back, for everyone to hear. Does she care? Does Thor care? Do they care? Of course not.

I can almost hear Thor thinking. Actually, I can smell the burning...

"Shit, I burned the parsnips..." someone mumbles nearby. Never mind.

Thor finally finishes thinking, and starts yelling again. "SOMETIME TOMORROW MORNING. YOU GOING TO SPAR WITH ME, OR NOT?"

The girl in question flashes me a grin. "Sorry guys. Gotta go!" she says before darting off, leaving me to help deal with the lunch rush alongside Heimdall, and Phil Coulson.

Yay me.