He was surprised that she still sounded so calm, and opened his eyes just a slit so he could peer up at her. He glanced at her hand, still captive between his, then back up at her. "It could have," he agreed. "But I had faith in you." His mouth went tight when she mentioned her father, but for the time being he held in the unkind words that wanted so badly to escape his lips.

Because the whole point was that Sif wasn't her father. She was herself, as stubborn and cranky and terrifying as that occasionally was. And at least this way, she seemed to look more herself too, as odd as that seemed.

He glanced down at her hand again. Tentatively, just an experiment really, he ran his thumb over her knuckles. He'd had plenty of unpleasant encounters with those knuckles, though nothing he probably hadn't deserved. He liked them better this way, though.