Tony Stark leaned back against the conference table, his tailored suit jacket catching just enough light to remind everyone in the room who brought the swagger. He spun a small screwdriver between his fingers, like a man who'd already solved this puzzle and was just waiting for everyone else to catch up.
"The rest of the raw materials," Tony drawled, his dark eyes sweeping lazily over the team, "Agent Barton can snag without breaking a sweat. Only major component Loki still needs… is a power source. High energy density. Something to really kick start the Cube."
Maria Hill stood a few feet away, tablet in hand, arms folded. Her icy gaze and sharper tongue didn't even flinch as she fired back.
"When did you become an expert in thermonuclear astrophysics, Stark?"
Tony gave her that signature Robert Downey Jr. smirk.
"Oh, you know. Last night. The packet, Selvig's notes, Extraction Theory papers. You should try it sometime — it's called reading. Am I seriously the only one here who did the homework?"
Across the table, Steve Rogers crossed his broad arms over his chest, blue eyes narrowing slightly.
"Does Loki need any particular kind of power source?" he asked, voice calm but clipped.
Bruce Banner finally stirred, looking up from where he'd been sitting quietly. His shoulders hunched as he rubbed the back of his neck.
"He needs to heat the Cube to about a hundred and twenty million Kelvin just to break through the Coulomb barrier," Bruce said softly.
Tony perked up like Christmas had come early.
"Unless…" he snapped his fingers, "…Selvig's figured out how to stabilize the quantum tunneling effect."
Bruce blinked, then allowed himself a faint smile.
"Well… if he could do that," Bruce admitted, "he could achieve heavy ion fusion at any reactor on the planet."
Tony clapped his hands together and grinned.
"Finally. Someone who speaks English."
Steve glanced between them, his brow furrowed.
"…Is that what just happened?"
Tony ignored him completely, striding over to Bruce and offering his hand.
"Good to meet you, Doctor Banner. Your work on anti-electron collisions? Brilliant. Very smashing."
Bruce chuckled nervously and muttered, looking down at their hands.
"Thanks."
But Tony leaned closer with a conspiratorial grin.
"Also? Big fan of the way you lose control and turn into a giant green rage monster. Rounds out the resume nicely."
Before Bruce could even react, a deeper voice cut in from the wall — warm, amused, and dripping with charm.
Harry.
He leaned casually against the wall, emerald eyes glinting, his broad-shouldered frame relaxed. His wives — nine of them — stood like an elegant formation around him.
"We're fans too," Harry said, his grin crooked and self-assured. "Even caught the Harlem showdown. And we were halfway across another galaxy at the time."
That earned a ripple of laughter from his wives. Fleur let out a low, musical giggle. Daphne's smirk was sharp as a blade. Even Shaak Ti's lips curved faintly, her dark eyes glittering.
Bruce blinked, startled, then chuckled sheepishly.
"…Thanks," he murmured again.
That was when Fury swept into the room, trench coat billowing like a storm cloud, his one good eye razor-sharp.
"Dr. Banner's here to track the Cube," Fury said flatly. "But I'd like you to join him, Stark."
Steve straightened, his jaw set.
"I'd start with that staff," Steve said firmly. "It may be magical, but it feels an awful lot like a HYDRA weapon."
Harry pushed off the wall and moved closer, his wives following like a regal procession. His expression was suddenly harder, more serious.
"It's definitely worth a closer look," Harry said, voice edged with steel. "Even from here, I can feel it. Whatever that staff is, it's giving off energy… a lot like my magic. It's… wrong."
Shaak Ti stepped forward gracefully, her gaze distant, her tone calm but grim.
"The Force around it is heavy," she said. "Distorted. Like something alive… and angry."
Aayla's dark gaze narrowed as she added softly:
"That staff carries too much malice for it to simply be a tool."
Fury's eye flicked between the three of them, and though his face didn't change much, the weight of their words sank in.
"Noted," he said coolly. "But it's still powered by the Cube. And I want to know how Loki turned two of my best agents into his own personal flying monkeys."
Thor, who'd been silent as a mountain in the corner, finally furrowed his brow and rumbled:
"Monkeys? I do not understand."
Steve's face brightened just a little too much.
"I do," he said proudly. "I understood that reference."
Tony groaned theatrically and dragged his hand down his face.
"Oh, Lord. He's proud of himself. Pop culture is officially dead."
But Steve just stood taller, a little smug.
Tony clapped his hands once and flashed Bruce a roguish grin.
"So. Shall we play, Doctor?"
Bruce stood, straightened his jacket, and allowed himself the faintest wry smile.
"Let's play some."
The two of them strode out side by side, already falling into a fast-paced debate about reactor specs and Coulomb barriers, the language of geniuses that left everyone else in the dust.
As the others began to disperse, Harry exchanged a look with Fury, who gave him a subtle nod. Then Harry glanced back at his wives — Daphne's sly smile, Fleur's cool amusement, Susan's curious gaze, Val's measured calm, Dacey's quiet steel, Allyria's dark humor, Shaak Ti's regal serenity, Aayla's subtle fire, Riyo's understated wit — and they all followed his lead as he turned on his heel.
In the corner, the unlucky Galaga player dared to sneak another round, his fingers flying over the keys as the screen lit up again.
Tony had been right.
Thought no one would notice.
But they did.
—
The steady hum of Stark's holographic monitors filled the lab like a quiet storm. Numbers and schematics danced in the air around Tony, who sat lazily in his chair, legs crossed, fingers flying across a virtual keyboard as he muttered to himself. Near the workbench, Bruce crouched low, the faint ticking of his gamma scanner blending with the rhythmic tap of Tony's fingers. The scepter lay on the table between them, pulsing faintly, as though it was waiting for someone to make a mistake.
Bruce frowned at his readout, his thumb running along the edge of the scanner as if he didn't entirely trust what it was telling him.
"The gamma readings are definitely consistent with Selvig's reports on the Tesseract," he murmured. His voice was low, thoughtful. "But at this rate, it's gonna take weeks to process everything."
Tony didn't even glance up, already pulling apart lines of code in his holograms.
"Or," he said, his voice the picture of breezy confidence, "we bypass their primitive little mainframe, reroute to the Homer cluster, and clock this baby at six hundred teraflops. Give or take."
Bruce looked up, a faint, disbelieving smile tugging at his lips.
"All I packed was a toothbrush," he deadpanned.
That earned a grin from Tony, who finally deigned to meet his gaze.
"You really need to stop by Stark Tower sometime. Top ten floors — all R&D. Lab toys you can't even pronounce. It's basically Willy Wonka's candy land. Minus the creepy boat ride and child endangerment."
Bruce chuckled softly but shook his head, glancing back to the scanner.
"Thanks… but the last time I was in New York…" His voice trailed off awkwardly. "…I kind of broke Harlem."
Tony waved a dismissive hand, already pulling another projection into view.
"Yeah, yeah. Water under the bridge. I promise you — stress-free environment. Absolutely no tension, no surprises."
Then — with no warning at all — Tony jabbed Bruce square in the ribs with a miniature electrical prod, a faint spark snapping against his shirt.
"Ow!" Bruce flinched back, eyes wide.
Tony leaned forward at once, his sharp brown eyes scanning Bruce like a predator waiting for the green monster to rear its head.
At that moment, Steve and Harry strode into the lab.
Steve's voice cracked the room like a rifle shot.
"Hey!"
His broad frame seemed to fill the doorway, his sharp blue eyes narrowing on Tony as he closed the distance.
Tony blinked at him, unfazed.
"What?" he asked, innocent as sin. "Nothing happened. Really."
"Are you nuts?" Steve barked, his tone clipped and commanding.
Tony gave a careless shrug, eyes still locked on Bruce as he jabbed a thumb toward Steve.
"Jury's still out. But you've really got a lid on it, huh, Big Guy? What's the secret? Mellow jazz? Bongo drums? Huge bag of weed?"
Steve's frown deepened, his voice dropping into the gravelly edge he reserved for moments of genuine irritation.
"Is everything a joke to you?"
From the doorway, Harry leaned his shoulder against the frame, arms folded, his emerald green eyes sparkling faintly as he smirked.
"Funny things are," he said smoothly.
Tony immediately pointed at him.
"See? He gets it."
But Steve's glare didn't soften.
"Threatening the safety of everyone on this ship isn't funny. No offense, Doctor."
Bruce raised a placating hand.
"No, it's fine. I wouldn't have come aboard if I couldn't handle… pointy things."
Tony motioned vaguely at Bruce's chest.
"You're tiptoeing, Banner. You should really strut."
Harry smirked faintly, finally pushing off the doorframe and stepping in.
"For once, I agree with Stark," he said dryly. "Strutting suits you, Doc."
Steve's jaw flexed, his hands clenching at his sides.
"And you two should focus on the actual problem. Loki's still out there. Every second wasted puts more people in danger."
Tony finally turned to him fully, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back against his workstation.
"You think I'm not focused? Then why did Fury call us now, huh? Why not last year? Or the year before that? You don't ask those questions because you're too busy playing perfect little soldier. Me? I like to see the whole board. And something here…" He gestured vaguely to the scepter, to the lab, to the whole ship. "…doesn't add up."
Steve crossed his arms, standing just as tall.
"You think Fury's hiding something?"
Tony's eyebrows shot up in mock surprise.
"He's a spy, Cap. The spy. His secrets have secrets."
Harry stepped up to the workstation, his deep voice cutting through the tension like a clean blade.
"For what it's worth," he said calmly, "I'm friends with Fury. And Tony's right. Nick's not telling you everything. He never does."
Tony shot him a triumphant look.
"See? Even Mr. Wizard agrees. And don't tell me it's not bugging you too, Banner."
Bruce froze at the attention, stammering slightly.
"I just… I just want to finish my work…"
Steve didn't let him off that easy.
"Doctor?"
Bruce sighed, adjusting his glasses.
"Loki's jab about 'a warm light for all mankind'? That wasn't for Fury. That was for you, Stark. Even if Barton didn't tell him about the tower… it was all over the news."
Steve's brow furrowed faintly.
"Stark Tower? That big, ugly—"
Tony's eyes narrowed to slits.
"Careful."
Harry clapped Tony lightly on the shoulder, offering him a sly grin.
"Art's subjective, Tony. Don't let the mean soldier hurt your feelings."
Tony sniffed dramatically.
Bruce pressed on, gesturing at the hologram.
"It's powered by Stark Reactors. Self-sustaining energy. That building could run itself for a year."
Tony raised his chin proudly.
"Prototype. And for the record — I'm kind of the only name in clean energy right now."
Bruce squinted faintly.
"So… why didn't SHIELD bring you in on the Tesseract project? Why are they even in the energy business?"
Tony's smirk returned in full force.
"Don't worry. I'll find out as soon as my decryption program finishes crawling through their files."
Harry arched a brow.
"You mean the one you planted on Fury's desk earlier?"
Tony glanced at him sidelong, feigning surprise.
"Ah, so you did notice. Well played."
Steve stared at them both, appalled.
"You… planted a—?"
Tony cut him off, popping a blueberry into his mouth and holding the bag out.
"Jarvis has been running it since I hit the bridge. In a few hours, we'll know every dirty little secret SHIELD's been sitting on. Blueberry?"
Steve's voice dropped, low and sharp.
"And you wonder why they didn't want you around?"
Tony shrugged carelessly.
"An intelligence agency that's afraid of intelligence? Doesn't really track, does it?"
Steve took a step closer, his piercing gaze fixed on Tony.
"I think Loki's trying to wind us up. If we lose focus now, he wins. We have orders. We follow them."
Tony tilted his head, his expression shifting to one of mild mockery.
"Yeah… following isn't really my style."
Steve let out the faintest of smirks.
"You're all about style, aren't you?"
Tony straightened and shot back.
"Of the people in this room, which one of us is A: wearing a spangly outfit, and B: not contributing to the conversation?"
Before either could take it further, Harry stepped squarely between them, raising his hands in mock exasperation.
"Alright, alright. Enough with the dick measuring. We've got bigger problems than your bruised egos."
Bruce, quietly relieved, offered Harry a small, grateful nod.
Bruce gestured faintly at Steve as the Captain turned to leave.
"Steve… you really don't think something feels off about all this?"
Steve froze in the doorway, visibly wrestling with himself. But at last he shook his head.
"Just find the Cube," he ordered, his voice tight, before striding out.
As his footsteps faded down the hall, the room fell quiet again — and Tony tossed another blueberry in his mouth.
"Well," he said, smirking faintly. "That went well."
—
Tony Stark leaned back lazily on his stool, his hands clasped behind his head, legs crossed like he didn't have a care in the world — even though he was flipping through complex algorithms and gamma emission data faster than most people could spell their own name.
His eyes flicked over at Bruce Banner, who was hunched at his own station, quietly running the scepter under a gamma scanner. Banner's shoulders were tight, his expression neutral in that tired, sad way only Banner could pull off, though his hands moved with steady, surgical precision.
Tony tilted his head, his smirk already halfway loaded.
"So," he drawled, "that's the guy my dad never shut up about, huh? The great Captain America. 'Beacon of Hope,' 'Light of Freedom,' blah blah blah…" His tone was all mocking, though it was more about his dad than Steve. "Honestly? Starting to wonder if maybe they should've just kept him on ice. Would've saved us all a hell of a lot of grief."
Bruce didn't even flinch. His eyes stayed on his screen, his fingers tapping a quiet rhythm against the scanner as he replied softly, almost distracted.
"The guy's not wrong about Loki," Bruce murmured. "He does have the jump on us."
Tony snorted and turned back to his own holographic display, waving one hand in the air dismissively.
"What he's got is an ACME dynamite kit with a comically long fuse. It's gonna blow up in his face, and guess what — I'm gonna be there with popcorn when it does."
That earned him the faintest ghost of a smile from Banner.
"And I'll read all about it," Bruce added dryly, still focused on the scanner.
Tony leaned over, narrowing his eyes at him playfully. "Uh-huh. Or," he said, his voice dropping into something just a little more pointed, "you'll be suiting up. Like the rest of us."
Bruce finally met his gaze, one brow raised, lips twitching into something that was more grimace than grin. "Ah, see…" he said, almost apologetically. "…I don't get a suit of armor. I'm exposed. Like a nerve. It's… a nightmare."
From the corner of the workstation, where he'd been leaning with quiet patience and watching them both with those sharp green eyes, Harry Potter finally spoke up.
"That doesn't make you weak," Harry said evenly, his deep voice low but cutting through the air like steel wrapped in velvet. "You're just brave enough to walk in without one. Not many people can say that."
That pulled Bruce's attention fully. He blinked at Harry, startled at first… but then he huffed softly, almost — almost — smiling.
Tony, however, grinned wider, clearly undeterred. He tapped his own chest, rapping a knuckle against the faintly glowing arc reactor under his shirt.
"See," Tony said, tone sharpening, "that's where he's wrong." He jabbed a finger at Harry, then gestured to the little circle of light in his chest. "You think this is just armor? Think again. I've got a cluster of shrapnel trying every second to crawl into my heart. This…" —his fingers brushed the reactor— "…this stops it. This little circle of light is part of me now. Not just armor. It's a… terrible privilege."
Bruce straightened slightly, eyes narrowing in quiet thoughtfulness. "But you can control it," he said softly.
Tony's grin faltered into something harder. His gaze sharpened.
"Because I learned how," he shot back.
Bruce nodded faintly, looking down at his hands, his voice barely audible.
"It's different," he murmured.
For a beat, the silence was heavy. Then Tony reached forward, swiping the glowing data stream from between them with one finger so the two of them stood face-to-face. His brown eyes, usually dancing with irreverence, were steady and searching now.
"Hey," he said, quieter. "I've read all about your accident. That much gamma exposure? Should've killed you."
Bruce met his gaze, his mouth pulling into a crooked, almost bitter little smile.
"So you're saying the Hulk — the other guy — saved my life?" He gave a dry chuckle that didn't quite reach his eyes. "That's nice. Nice sentiment. But…" His jaw tightened. "…saved it for what?"
Tony stared at him for a long moment, then finally leaned back with a faint shrug.
"I guess," he said, "we'll find out."
Harry straightened off the wall and took a step forward, his hands sliding into his pockets. The faintest grin tugged at the corner of his lips as his green eyes glimmered in the lab light.
"You'll find out," he added, almost teasing, though there was a quiet wisdom behind his words. "But you're asking the wrong question. Second chances don't come with instructions. The point isn't why you got one. The point is what you do with it now."
Bruce blinked at him, genuinely surprised — then gave the faintest of nods, his shoulders easing just a little as though a tiny weight had been lifted.
Tony glanced between them, then huffed out a laugh under his breath.
"You know what?" he said. "You two should get a motivational podcast or something. Call it 'Gamma & Green Eyes: All the Feelings.'"
That earned a low laugh from Harry, who just shook his head and leaned casually back against the counter.
The three of them fell back into their work, the hum of servers and soft tapping of keys filling the air once more.
But a few minutes later, Bruce's voice rose, quiet and wry, more to himself than to either of them.
"You might not like what you find out," he murmured.
Tony didn't even look up from his screen. He smirked faintly, his voice as dry and sharp as ever.
"You just might," he replied.
From across the room, Harry let out a quiet chuckle and shook his head, his expression equal parts amused and knowing — like he already suspected both of them would surprise themselves before this was over.
—
The steel door groaned in protest as Steve Rogers pressed his palm flat and shoved, muscles coiling in his shoulders. Even for him, the weight of it was satisfying — heavy and resistant, like something that wasn't meant to be opened easily. He kept his touch firm, but controlled, so the hinges didn't squeal and give him away. The door slid just wide enough for his frame to slip through, and then he eased it shut behind him with the quiet finality of a man used to moving through enemy territory.
Secure Storage 10-C stretched out before him like a monument to secrecy.
The warehouse was enormous — cold, cavernous, and silent except for the faint, low hum of power running through unseen conduits. The air smelled faintly of oil and ozone. Crates were stacked two, three stories high, marked in SHIELD's stark black stencil. Every surface was harsh white under fluorescent lights, shadows crisp and angled like blades.
His boots made no sound on the polished concrete as he moved inside, his broad shoulders squared, his chin lifted just enough to keep scanning his surroundings. His eyes, sharp and unblinking, swept across the space — noting every corner, every door, every camera. No guards. No noise. No sign of life.
That didn't make him feel any better.
He'd fought in more than enough wars to know the difference between a place being empty… and a place being watched.
Steve exhaled through his nose and started forward, keeping low as he threaded through the maze of crates. Each one was perfectly uniform — like soldiers on parade — but he didn't trust appearances. He never had. Not since HYDRA.
His gloved fingers brushed one of the stencils as he passed. Black paint on cold metal. No dust. Recently handled. He crouched slightly to peer at the serial number, lips pressing into a line. Nothing jumped out at him yet — but he hadn't come this far just to give up.
Halfway down the aisle, his instincts tugged at him. His gaze flicked up.
The second level of the warehouse loomed above him — a catwalk running the length of the room, high and narrow, perfect for recon.
Steve's jaw set as he crouched low and tensed.
"Here goes," he murmured under his breath.
Then, with a burst of speed, he sprang upward, muscles surging. His boots left the ground with barely a sound, his hands reaching out in a blur to catch the underside of the railing. The steel groaned faintly under his weight as he swung his legs up and over, landing on the balls of his feet in a single, fluid motion.
Up here, the air was cooler and clearer, and the view was everything he'd hoped. He crouched low, resting one hand lightly on the rail as his blue eyes swept the rows of crates below, scanning for anything out of place.
From up here, he could see into the shadows between the stacks — places the ground level left hidden.
Every muscle in his body stayed coiled and ready.
Steve moved forward down the catwalk, his boots whispering over the grating. He kept his profile low, shoulders hunched slightly. His left hand trailed lightly along the railing, the habit of a man who liked to know where his edges were.
His thoughts were quieter than his movements.
If Fury's hiding something… and Stark and Potter are actually right… this is where it'll be.
That thought didn't sit easy in his chest.
Because no matter how much evidence piled up, there was still a part of him — maybe the last stubborn bit of faith he had left — that wanted to believe Nick Fury was fighting the same fight.
That they were all still on the same side.
But he'd learned the hard way that uniforms and words didn't make a man honest.
Not anymore.
Not since the war.
Steve's fingers flexed slightly on the railing, then curled into a fist.
"Not this time," he said under his breath, voice low and hard.
A faint creak of metal answered him — the sound of his weight shifting on the catwalk — but otherwise the warehouse remained still. Silent. Watching.
Steve pressed on, step by careful step, a shadow gliding silently through SHIELD's secrets, ready to tear the truth out of whatever dark corner it was hiding in.
And if he found it?
Well.
That would be SHIELD's problem.
—
The van rattled deeper into the tunnel, its engine echoing like distant thunder through the endless stretch of concrete. Overhead, the harsh rhythm of fluorescent lights strobed by in long, cold pulses, throwing alternating bands of white and shadow across the interior.
Inside, the air carried the faint tang of ozone and steel.
Erik Selvig sat near the rear, hunched but composed at his makeshift workstation — a steel frame bolted into the van's floor around the gleaming centerpiece of the operation: the Compact Molecular Stabilizer.
The CMS dominated the space like a pulsing heart torn from some futuristic creature. Its smooth alloy casing curved in perfect symmetry, studded with crystalline nodes and slits of blue energy that throbbed in a quiet, rhythmic sequence. Beneath the humming chassis, a lattice of fiber-optic cabling shimmered faintly as data danced across them, forming and unforming equations in a constant, living stream.
To either side of Selvig, a handful of SHIELD soldiers sat and stood with mechanical stillness. Their black tactical gear swallowed the ambient light, rifles slung loosely at their chests. Blank visors hid their eyes. They could have been statues for all the humanity they showed.
Selvig, on the other hand, seemed very much alive — but in a way that was… off.
His movements were steady. Purposeful. Hands precise as they glided over the sleek controls of the CMS, fingers tweaking dials, entering commands on the glowing touchscreens. His lined face was calm, his pale eyes fixed on the machine with a kind of rapture.
In his gloved hand, he now held the final piece.
A cylinder of iridium — small, polished, gleaming in the sterile light as though it contained something more precious than gold.
He turned it once, the metal prongs catching the light. His lips curved into a faint smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"There you are," he murmured softly to himself, his voice carrying just enough to be heard over the drone of the wheels and the faint hum of the CMS. "Last little piece of the puzzle."
The CMS emitted a low, mechanical chime, and a slot near its core slid open with a hiss of releasing gas and the whisper of hydraulics. Inside, an array of crystalline receptors glowed faint blue, waiting.
Selvig inhaled through his nose, like a man savoring fine wine, and leaned forward.
"Iridium. Stable at absurd temperatures, beautiful under pressure," he continued to himself, more a lecturer now, though no one was asking. "Resonance field unbroken even under asymmetric Coulomb stress. A… perfect medium."
His thin smile widened into something sharp.
"We'll need that… when the bridge opens."
The words carried an eerie certainty, though he never took his eyes off the machine.
With slow, deliberate care, Selvig lowered the iridium into the slot, metal prongs aligned just so. It settled into place with a muted click, and for an instant the blue light brightened like a flare before subsiding into its previous rhythm.
The CMS issued a low tone, and the display screens came alive in a flurry of alien symbols mixed with human mathematics. Strings of equations streamed past in perfect, surreal harmony. Selvig's eyes glittered as he took it all in.
"Good…" he breathed, almost reverently. "It accepts you."
He leaned back just slightly, folding his hands neatly on the edge of the workstation. He didn't so much as glance at the soldiers, whose rigid stances hadn't changed since the van left the facility.
The light from the CMS painted sharp lines across his face, making the smile he wore seem even more alien.
This was not the smile of a man proud of his work.
It was the smile of a man who no longer cared about his work.
A man whose will was no longer his own.
Something deep inside him — something hollow and cold — approved.
The van kept rolling through the darkness, and Selvig sat perfectly still, watching the glow of the machine as it hummed softly to itself, alive now, purring like some terrible predator ready to be unleashed.
The faintest chuckle escaped him then — dry, hollow, almost inaudible.
"Soon," he whispered to no one in particular, his voice equal parts wonder and dread. "Soon."
—
The low hum of the Helicarrier's bridge filled the silence as Thor stood before a SHIELD terminal, his massive frame almost comically out of place among the neat rows of consoles and blinking monitors. His storm-blue eyes were locked on a single display screen.
On it glowed the file of Jane Foster. A headshot of her, smiling faintly under her dark bangs, her name in bold white letters, a long list of credentials beneath. Thor's jaw tightened, though there was the faintest hint of warmth in his gaze.
"She is… well?" Thor asked at last, his voice low, but carrying that regal note of command.
Phil Coulson, standing a pace behind him with his hands folded lightly in front of him, smiled faintly, his calm professionalism never quite hiding the hint of admiration in his tone.
"As soon as Loki took Selvig, we moved Dr. Foster," Coulson assured him. "We've got an excellent observatory in Tromsø. Very remote. She was asked to consult there—suddenly, yesterday. Private plane. Handsome fee. She'll be safe."
Thor inclined his head, his golden hair catching in the overhead lights.
"You have my thanks."
There was a beat before he added, his tone dropping into something darker:
"It is no accident Loki took Erik Selvig. I dread to imagine what he intends for him once he has served his purpose. Erik… is a good man."
Coulson's expression softened slightly. He shifted his weight, tilting his head toward Thor in quiet solidarity.
"He talks about you a lot," Coulson said. "Selvig, I mean. You… changed his life. Changed a lot of lives around here. You changed everything."
Thor's face tightened at that, as though the words were not quite comforting. He turned his gaze to the great windows overlooking the clouds below.
"They were better as they were," he said, almost to himself. "We pretend on Asgard that we are more advanced… wiser… yet we come here battling like—" he waved one large hand, searching for the right word— "bilgesnipe."
Coulson blinked.
"I'm sorry, like what?"
Thor turned back, his brow lifted slightly as though the word were perfectly obvious.
"Bilgesnipe," he repeated. "You know. Huge. Scaly. Big antlers. Ravages the fields of Vanaheim. You have no such creatures here?"
Coulson's mouth quirked into a dry smile.
"Don't… think so."
Thor gave a small snort, his gaze distant again.
"They are repulsive," he said gravely. "And they trample everything in their path."
The god fell silent then, his eyes unfocusing as he stared into the sky beyond the glass. His voice dropped into something almost wistful.
"When I first came to Midgard… Loki's rage followed me. And your people paid the price. Now… again. In my youth, I courted war."
"That," a deep, sharp voice cut in from behind them, "explains a lot."
Nick Fury strode into the room, his long black coat catching the air, his presence as commanding as ever. He planted himself next to Coulson, one brow arched, and fixed Thor with his one good eye.
"Relax, Point Break. War hasn't started yet."
Thor's head tilted toward him, but he said nothing.
"Question is," Fury went on, crossing his arms, "you think you can make your brother tell us what the hell the Tesseract is?"
Thor's jaw tightened further.
"I do not know," he admitted after a pause. "Loki's mind is far afield. It is not simply power he craves. It is vengeance—against me. There is no pain that would tear that need from him."
Fury let out a humorless chuckle and shook his head.
"Yeah, a lotta guys think that… until the pain stops."
Thor turned his full gaze on Fury, his expression grim.
"What is it you would have me do?"
Fury stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and jabbed a finger lightly against Thor's chestplate.
"I'm asking what you're prepared to do," Fury shot back. His voice was quiet, but every word was a challenge.
Thor's eyes narrowed.
"Loki is a prisoner."
Fury's lips curved into a faint, knowing smirk.
"Then why," he asked, with just a hint of venom, "do I get the feeling he's the only person on this damn boat who actually wants to be here?"
Thor stared back at him, but didn't answer. Not right away. His silence said enough.
Coulson glanced between them, his usual calm diplomacy holding the moment steady before it could crack.
"We'll keep you apprised," he said quietly to Thor, then added under his breath, "Try not to throw anyone through a wall, huh?"
Thor gave him a look, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite himself.
Fury only turned and started walking away, his coat flaring out behind him.
"Think it over, Goldilocks," he called over his shoulder. "Clock's ticking."
Thor stood there, still staring at the horizon beyond the glass, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.
Coulson finally broke the silence, speaking softly, almost apologetically.
"For what it's worth," he said, "you're not the only one who wishes things were simpler."
Thor didn't move, his voice little more than a murmur as he replied:
"Aye… but wishing does not make it so."
And with that, he simply kept looking out over the clouds, as if somewhere, far below, the answers might yet reveal themselves.
---
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