Sif answered before James could. "His Majesty has no interest in Earth's politics. He won't participate nor involve himself to their whims. He's building ties with S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers only."
Fury considered it—then nodded. An independent alliance, without government interference and corruption. A dream of any Agency Head.
James continued. "Asgard is a high magi-tech society, but their history and culture haven't forced them to convert to modern ways of combat. They need help in adjusting to current tactical maneuvers and defence. S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers can benefit from their side too. This is a rare opening for real communication."
Fury leaned back. "I understand, when will he come? We'll start preparations immediately." Opportunities like this don't come twice.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After a few days of preparation, Nick Fury dispatched multiple Quinjets to bring Hawkeye, Captain America, Iron Man, and Hulk to the Helicarrier. Then he began reorganizing the ship—lightly refitting it for a diplomatic visit. A large shipment of ingredients came in, and he brought in chefs to prepare a banquet suited to Asgardian tastes. That part of course was non-negotiable. It is known through history that Asgard likes feast, like the vikings of old.
Alexander Pierce received the news—but he also knew he couldn't just show up himself. Fury hadn't informed him nor given him an invite, showing himself will only cause suspicion.
James, who was clearly the one coordinating things, hadn't even considered looping him in. That omission triggered Pierce's urgency.
The sea was calm with perfect weather. Everyone assembled on the flight deck and formed a wide semi-circle. A platform had been set in the center, specifically to receive the Bifrost without scorching or scarring the deck.
"Heimdall!" Lady Sif stepped to the platform's edge, raised her sword, and called out.
A column of light dropped from the sky and struck the platform.
As the glow faded, All-Father Odin stood at the front—Thor at his side, Jane Foster beside him, and two Asgardian warriors behind: the towering Volstagg and the elegant Fandral.
James stepped forward to introduce both sides.
Fury was unusually polite today, while Tony Stark, unfortunately, was still Tony Stark.
"Hello, Your Majesty, Welcome to Earth," Tony said. "I thank you for sending your son during the invasion, he was a real powerhouse, especially with the hammer."
A few people ground at Tony's zeal.
Odin only smiled. "Tony Stark—Iron Man of Earth. Thor has spoken of you. You are… an interesting man."
Tony shot Thor a look and asked back, lowering his voice. "Did he say something bad about me?"
Odin's smile didn't change, but offered no answer.
Then Odin stepped down from the platform first, entering the Helicarrier with James guiding the way.
"Hey, Bruce," Tony muttered, still offended. "What's he smiling at?"
Bruce Banner smiled as well as he followed the group inside, leaving Tony behind for a second, alone with his confusion.
Their first stop was the command center.
"Your Majesty," Fury said, "we'd like to show you what makes this warship different."
"Oh, I intend to see it," Odin replied. "I came to understand Earth's progress, and Asgard's need to develop as well."
Odin and Fury stood near the command post, Fury gave the order.
The Helicarrier trembled, then the anti-gravity engines rose on both sides. The ship lifted cleanly off the sea.
Odin watched, eyes narrowing with interest. "You cruise at sea—and lift to engage when necessary."
Fury nodded. "Yes, S.H.I.E.L.D. is responsible for global extraterrestrial threats. We needed global reach. The Helicarrier was designed for a global response—though one ship isn't enough to cover everything."
Odin turned his head inspecting. "Designed… for a purpose."
"That's right," Fury said. "Everything has a purpose. S.H.I.E.L.D. defines requirements based on function. Then we design doctrines, platforms, and weapons to meet those requirements. That's the purpose."
Odin held that thought, then nodded. "Interesting. In this respect, Earth is stronger than Asgard. Our defense has lacked that refinement. It has been… unchanged for thousands of years."
Next came the demonstration of fighter planes. The F-22's air performance spoke for itself—agile, responsive, and deadly at range. The beyond-visual-range strike capability drew real attention.
"A wonderful show," Odin said. "Earth's weapons are… interesting. I'm interested in an exchange between our realms."
He also observed close-combat weapons demonstrations and offered his own comments, but the real problem surfaced quickly.
Energy.
Asgard ran on high-tier energy systems. Even if they wanted to supply Earth, it wasn't practical. The energy required just to open the Bifrost was enormous—there was no surplus to export at scale. Fury hadn't expected much there, and this confirmed it.
So the exchange would focus on design, engineering, and doctrine.
That part had immediate traction.
Tony Stark and Bruce Banner were clearly engaged. The Avengers would participate as well—though James made one boundary clear: this did not include sharing the Stark Armors. Only general weapons concepts and non-proprietary platforms.
Once the direction was set, Thor—impatient as ever—pushed for the banquet to begin.
James had expected it, the Asgardians loved their feasts.
He'd also had stainless-steel, thick-walled drinking cups prepared for them ahead of time—to limit the damage from their "traditions" of breaking cups/mugs to show that it should never be used for lesser drinks again
After a night of revelry, Odin returned to Asgard the next day. Thor and Jane Foster stayed behind. Both sides needed time to assemble technical outlines, as S.H.I.E.L.D. began drafting defensive concepts based on Asgard's terrain and known threat profiles.
At that point, none of it required James.
If he wanted to learn, he could return to Asgard whenever he wants.
But waiting at HQ was a special agent team that very much wanted him back.
Before leaving, James quietly pulled Athena's latest compiled data set—then boarded a Quinjet and flew straight to headquarters.
By the time he returned to the flight base, a month had passed.
"Wow~," Skye said, staring at him with open irritation. "You vanished for a month."
"Sorry," James said with arms raised palm out and a guilty smile, the apology real but brief. "It was urgent. I didn't have time to say goodbye—especially since I got sent away from earth."
"You left Earth?" Skye scoffed. "Sure~"
"I'm serious." James smiled at her. "Let me talk to Phil first. Then I'll come back and I can tell you all about it."
He headed up to the third level and went straight into Phil Coulson's office.
Coulson looked worse than he should've. He was pale and unfocused, so absorbed in himself that he didn't even notice James enter.
"Phil?" James said.
Coulson jolted. "—Jesus. You're back."
James narrowed his eyes. "What happened to you?"
"Nothing," Coulson said too quickly, then waved it off. "Just thinking. How's Asgard?"
"The place is incredible," James said. "But the war cost them. The alliance is meant to bolster each other's defences, and improve their old ways to fight off invasions."
Coulson nodded at his words. "Well, that's a good thing, if Earth gets invaded again… it won't be fighting alone."
James and Phil Coulson talked for a while, then headed down to the lab on the first floor. Fitz and Simmons were already inside, while Skye was upstairs in the second-floor lounge.
As they passed the lounge, James called out, "Skye, come with me."
Skye looked up. "What is it?"
"I'm back today to test how your training is going," James said, eyeing her. "You didn't spend the month doing nothing, did you?"
"How is that possible?" Skye shot back, pushing up from the couch. "Even if you left me here, I kept training. I haven't been lazy."
"We'll see about that." James gaved her a smirk and kept moving.
Skye followed him down.
In the third-level lab, Fitz was working on the stun guns. When James walked in, he glanced at the units laid out on the table, picked one up at random, and weighed it in his hand.
"Not bad," James said. "Weight feels like the standard pistols."
Fitz brightened up at the praise. "I went through a lot of trouble shaving off twenty-five grams. So—did it pass your specifications?"
James gave a short nod. "Yeah, it meets the standard. This can be mass-produced."
Then he looked at all three of them. "You, Simmons, and Skye—come with me. I want to see what a month of training got you. I hope you don't disappoint."
He didn't wait for an answer.
He led them to the HQ range and put them on the line. James retrieved three loaded Glock 22s and set them down in front of them.
"Disassemble, reassemble, then continuous fire," he said. "Don't stop till all the bullets are gone. You ready?"
All three nodded, readying themselves up.
"Begin."
James started his stopwatch and watched them move.
Skye was the fastest, Fitz followed after, and Simmons was last—but all three were smooth and consistent. This wasn't just a practice; it was a check, and the results were looking good.
Click.
Frames locked together, magazines got seated, and the rounds were chambered.
They began firing in rhythmic shots.
Their training showed in the details—each shot had a small corrective micro-movement, a subtle lift and settle of the arms. James had drilled that habit into them to keep early-stage accuracy stable under pace.
It wasn't ideal long-term. Since in real combat, those micro-adjustments could become time you didn't have, you might not even be able to do that while on the run.
But they weren't there yet. So at this stage, it helped more than it hurt.
James stopped the timer.
The three were in roughly the same bracket—within two and a half minutes. Not exceptional, but passing, especially given their limited time training disassembly.
"Good job everyone," James said. "You're qualified to carry sidearms. But your training still isn't enough—especially during disassembly and re-assembly. You've all improved, which is pleasing."
His tone turned serious.
"Still—your intensity is low. From now on, mornings are: disassembly, re-assembly, then continuous fire. Twenty magazines per person per day."
Skye blinked. "We can carry live guns?" The routine didn't bother her, but that part did. "Does that mean I'm an agent now?"
"No," James said immediately. "It has nothing to do with that. You still don't meet agent requirements. You three are cleared for firearms under technical staff equipment regulations."
Skye's shoulders dropped.
James waved Fitz and Simmons off. "You guys can go, I'll catch up."
When they left, he stepped closer to Skye and took her hand.
"Don't think about it too much," he said to her. "How long have you been with S.H.I.E.L.D.?"
"I just want to know sooner," Skye admitted, feeling tight on her chest. "The closer I get to know, the more anxious I get."
James nodded once. "I get it. But if you want to be an agent, you need to have patience. What we deal with isn't normal, and your file—your past—won't be simple either."
Skye swallowed. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying be ready for anything," James said, steady. "The answer might not be what you want. It might not even be the best. But it'll be what you need."
Skye's eyes glossed up, she tried to blink it away, but tears slipped anyway.
James lifted a hand and wiped them from her cheeks.
Then he cupped her face and kissed her—soft at first, then deeper, making sure it lingers.
They broke apart a moment after.
"Come on," James said, taking her hand again. "Let's go back."
Later, James filed the request with Coulson: Fitz, Simmons, and Skye are cleared for sidearms as technical staff. The purpose was for self-defense. If they were ever pulled into combat, they'd need heavier training—or an emergency they couldn't avoid.
Either way, they could now fight back when they need to.
With that handled, James found a moment alone with Melinda May.
"How's Phil doing?" he asked.
"He's starting to suspect that something's off inside him," May said. "He can feel it."
"Any word from the Director?"
May felt a little dejected. "The Director has no other option. We have to figure it out ourselves. If Phil remembers… things could get worse. We know that resurrection has consequences. Phil ran the project, and if he remembers what he signed off on? We don't know what will happen next."
James thought for a beat. "Then get the Director to send everything—every file tied to the project, and give it to me. I'll work something out."
May nodded. "Okay."
They split immediately after. That was how it always was—cutting straight to the point. May would handle reporting, they didn't usually talk like this, James had just been gone too long.
After James returned, Coulson reported to HQ: their team was complete, operational, and ready to deploy again. For now they were on standby, and nobody wandered off without clearance.
James mulled that over, then called Kyle.
"Kyle. How's the stock situation?"
Kyle Robert's voice came through with a bit of irritation. "Boss, I've been calling you for a month. Where the hell have you been?"
He barreled on without waiting. "League Games shares are selling hot. Expensive, yeah, but demand hasn't cooled at all. After the auction, ten percent of the shares are sold—but you're not here, and there's no signature to sign them off."