Woot! Here is the 2nd chappy! That will be all for this little fic.

I hope you all enjoy, and please review and share your thoughts!

Also: Be advised that I have raised the rating to T! ;)

I was perfectly content to remain a guest of this particular mirror for a time…

After all, you frequent the room quite often. The chaotic collection of mortal technology fills the area far more than anything else; your various computers and wires and books litter the desks and most of the floor space.

But here, in this little corner where I silently reside, a small cushioned chair sits just beneath the glass and you have been known to frequent it when exacerbated.

And I have admittedly found it amusing that you do so at least once every day.

You are many things, Jane Foster….

But you are certainly not dull.

I find it rather amusing that you work so very hard for him….

It is each and every morning at the same time, just as the sun attempts to flood your side of the Earth, that you come trudging into this room with your favorite hot liquid steaming in its mug, coming to roll along the floor in your silly moving chair and bringing all of your devices to life. The low hum of the machines fills the room and I watch you type away, sipping at your drink and pausing to write down your newest findings.

I also listen as you answer calls from your beloved weak mortal, his exuberance over this power they have aptly named "The Cube" reaching my ears even through the phone at yours. The fool….they are learning of its possibilities, but they have not even scratched the surface.

You are always so excited when he calls, and I can tell that you are anticipating the moment when he will give you news that The Cube holds the power to bring Thor back to Earth.

You want so badly to believe in that potential, but it will not happen.

The Cube can open a space between the worlds, but it will not reach Asgaard. I can tell this even from the emptiness of my solitude in your mirror.

And for just a moment, for just a single fleeting instant in time, I consider stepping through, revealing myself, and telling you this truth. Just so you would know it was not possible.

Just to put a stop to your unfeasible aspirations.

And it is not because I want to see that hopeful smile on your face die. It is not because I want to see reality crash into your chest and break your heart like Mjolnir would break your ribs.

It is not because I want to see you suffer the knowledge that all of your determination and hard work means nothing in the end.

No, it is certainly not because of that.

Your smiles always falter a bit when your research hits a snag, however, and this always brings you into this plush chair in front of me.

I will not say that I rather enjoy your moments of disillusionment, as you sink into the soft material and ponder your next move.

After all, what sort of king would I be to wish such terrible feelings upon my own subjects?

No, I do not enjoy your pain, Jane Foster.

I merely appreciate the necessity of its existence.

But it is when reality finally begins to sink in that you start to retreat from this room more and more. You begin avoiding your work as the phone calls grow more infrequent and your 'data' yields little in the way of hope.

This will not do, my lady; what is the point of being here to watch you if I cannot see you?

And that is when I sink back down, into the cold empty void, darkness flooding my very existence for just a few moments before I re-emerge behind another pane of thick cold glass, and I feel satisfied that I have found you so quickly.

I also find it satisfying that I am in your bedroom.

And I especially find it so that you spend your time here half-clothed, your trousers discarded and your sleeping shirts often short enough to reveal a rewarding amount of skin.

I cannot help but smile when you flop so unceremoniously onto your bed just across the room from me, slender legs dangling from its end as you huff at the ceiling. You have done this more than once, and I always enjoy the sight it leaves me with.

Perhaps this is the little whisper that told me to stop here and watch you in the first place?

After all, can I not at least enjoy myself while I continue my observations of the human race?

And from the teasings of smooth skin peeking at me from beneath your shirt, I believe the humans have just earned another notch toward conquest and away from annihilation.

I have found I like it in this bedroom of yours, Jane Foster. I have found I like it very much.

It is not often I get such a fantastic view of self-pleasure, and I cannot help but feel some semblance of heat seep into my muscles and skin and loins as you writhe quietly but passionately before me. Even with it being so very cold here in this world of dead glass, I can still feel the effects of arousal.

I must say you put on quite the show. And it does not escape me that no name is uttered from your lips when you drown in your completion. Perhaps you are bitter towards him for not coming back to you? Perhaps you overestimated your fascination with him in the first place?

It matters not.

You were splendid.

"Bravo, Jane Foster, bravo…."

I do not like this.

You have been leaving the home altogether as of late, and I have gathered over this period of time that you have been visiting the dark recesses that harbors The Cube, intent on resuming your research close-up.

Something has set you back on a path of resilience it seems.

Very well, little mortal.

Have your fun and study this alien power all you like. You will come no closer to unraveling its secrets than did your friend or his allies.

You will not break its mystery before my own allies arrive here to reclaim it….

I feel confident in this as I watch you wake up in the morning and set out with your jaw set and eyes alight with a new fire.

But still…I do not like it.

I am baffled now, and my confusion seems to grow with each moment more I spend here.

Why do you come home with more notebooks and less answers, and yet still refuse to give up? Why do you maintain this hope that my oafish brother will come to you?

Or…is it that you believe you will bring him here after all?

You are something to behold indeed, Jane.

A medley of stirred and smoldering emotions set inside a defenseless and tiny human body.

Like your 'atomic bomb'…if it were in the form of a newborn pup.

I am baffled because I can see this intensity in you as you work, and despite the knowledge that you may very well never lay eyes on him again, you still continue to push onward with an almost daring glint in your eye.

I am baffled because I find it admirable.

And see, the newborn pup whimpers this night.

I could have told you not to raise your hopes to such heights just yet.

I could have told you…but of course, I did not.

The final truth of the Cube eludes you, just as it does me. But that is of no consequence. The Skrull will show me all I need to know.

And they will not even see me as they do so.

I almost pity you Jane. I almost feel sorry that you are not aware of their coming. You do not know that a massive invasion will set upon your world and you will fall into screaming chaos as I sneak my way to the top of the mountain.

I almost pity the fact that you keep working beyond your own limits and it is all for naught.

I watch as you wipe at the moisture on your cheeks, your eyes blinking and bloodshot as you stare at your reflection in the mirror.

I watch as those eyes narrow for a moment, and my own seem to widen.

I watch as you reach up tentatively, your head tilting just a bit as those tear-soaked fingers land on the glass and remain there, right in front of my face.

You stare at your hand and more fresh tears trickle from your chin.

I almost pity you enough to come through now and offer some type of reassurance. If nothing else than to tell you that the coming storm will not be in vain; that I will emerge as your king and I will do my very well best to be a fair and benevolent one.

Instead, I blink in confusion as my own hand lands opposite yours, and I freeze for a tick at my own action.

You still stare into the reflection of your hand, blissfully unaware of just how close I really am….

Or…are you?

And that is when I feel the worlds drift into one another, the lines of the shadow and light blurring and the glass softening between our palms. And for the first time since coming to this realm, I allow myself to feel something from the world of the living mortals.

The warmth of your hand meets mine through the paper-thin sheet of glass and I almost find myself breaking through altogether, just to feel the hot sheen of liquid on your fingertips.

I watch you lean forward just a bit and your jaw slackens and I know you feel it too.

And then your pupils dilate. You pull away and reach up again to wipe desperately at your face. You look around your room and suddenly the twitch of suspicion and fear is there in your body-language.

I look on in the cold dark as you grab your notebook and dash from the room, your eyes darting back at the mirror momentarily as you close the bedroom door behind you.

I know you will not return here again.

My hand falls from the glass and I watch the remnants of your tears slide down the opposite side, slow and warm and real.

I felt you, Jane Foster.

And you felt me.