The simple gesture of leaning into her touch had Sif's brow furrow in some form of wonderment she could not give voice to. It felt like affirmation that being affectionate was not off limits, that the line she had always imagined between them (perhaps between Loki and everyone else safe for Frigga) might not have been there. At least it might not be there all the time. Either way, when Loki leaned in she caressed his cheek again, even though she was now becoming fully aware of the fact that they sat at an impasse of sorts. She was becoming painfully aware of everything now.

She did not reply when he stated she was speechless, simply swallowed hard. It was irritating; despite all this some part of her did not want to give him that satisfaction. Being quiet was not the same as being speechless. One, Sif had learned to use to her advantage. The other was demeaning. When he showed a liking for it, Sif felt a pang of disappointment, and although she did not let go of him her grip sagged. Her lips curled into a wistful smile, a hint of bitterness. She had been told that before, countless times, in her youth. Before she tired her authority figures out and went off to the Valkyries, while she tried and tried to change her fate, she had been berated for the same loudness Asgard loved in its boys. Despite the bitterness, Sif's voice was soft, if raspier than usual again. "I doubt your purpose was simply to quiet me. If you had one at all."