If nothing else, it hasn't even crossed Thor's mind to be bothered that she's making herself at home in his house. Though he has mostly withdrawn from the world under the excuse that he needs to grieve, it's a paper-thin justification for retreating from anything else that might hurt him, a sham to cover his cowardice, a gnawing loneliness that he can't help but feel he deserves. He is not the only one who has lost, and that is perhaps part of the problem, knowing that he shoulders some of the blame for it happening in the first place.
Every time he sees that hollow look in another's eye, the one that reflects his own, he knows that he is the one who put it there. So he has been avoiding people, trying to drown out his thoughts with drink and mindless television, with little success. And he knows he should try something else, but he is trapped in a routine now, telling himself that he will make an effort tomorrow. And the next day, and the next.
Harley, at least, does not carry the shadow of this universal devastation in her eyes. The pain she carries is old, and Thor did not put it there, and maybe that's why he finds it easier to look at her as he stands awkwardly next to the couch, uncertain what to do next as she putters around in his kitchen.
"You...? Thank you. We... Asgard appreciates your kindness." He hasn't personally thanked most of those who have donated, but for a moment he remembers that he is supposed to be a king, though he looks and feels nothing like one, disheveled and in Midgardian clothes, his weapon propped in a corner with a small collection of bottlecaps scattered around its base.
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Every time he sees that hollow look in another's eye, the one that reflects his own, he knows that he is the one who put it there. So he has been avoiding people, trying to drown out his thoughts with drink and mindless television, with little success. And he knows he should try something else, but he is trapped in a routine now, telling himself that he will make an effort tomorrow. And the next day, and the next.
Harley, at least, does not carry the shadow of this universal devastation in her eyes. The pain she carries is old, and Thor did not put it there, and maybe that's why he finds it easier to look at her as he stands awkwardly next to the couch, uncertain what to do next as she putters around in his kitchen.
"You...? Thank you. We... Asgard appreciates your kindness." He hasn't personally thanked most of those who have donated, but for a moment he remembers that he is supposed to be a king, though he looks and feels nothing like one, disheveled and in Midgardian clothes, his weapon propped in a corner with a small collection of bottlecaps scattered around its base.