On Sakaar, Thor had once traded blows with the Hulk in the Grandmaster's colosseum. Thor only barely managed to restrain the green giant with brute strength. Lock knew this well—and he also knew his strength.
He was three times stronger than the Hulk, but unlike the raging beast, Lock wasn't just raw fury. He was precise, disciplined. Against Thor, he had no doubt he could overwhelm the God of Thunder in pure physical power.
Still, he wasn't arrogant. Thor wasn't just a brawler—he was the God of Thunder.
"With Mjolnir in his hand," Lock thought, "Thor's strength increases tenfold. Add lightning to that, and no mortal can stand against him. But… I was acknowledged by the hammer yesterday. I've already learned its tricks. Even if he calls it, I can at least counter, maybe even dodge. And if I strike from the shadows while he stands in the light… maybe I can beat him."
Thor squared his shoulders, lightning sparking in his eyes. "Lock, you don't understand. The true strength of a god is far beyond anything mortals can imagine—"
Smack!
Jane Foster slapped Thor across the head. "Enough! The two of you are ridiculous. If you keep at this, I'll send you both to the hospital for brain scans."
Thor shrank immediately, sheepish under Jane's glare. "Jane, don't worry. We're fine. Just… talking. It's rare to meet a man with the same spirit, so we brag a little."
"Really?" Jane looked between them, suspicion in her eyes. She muttered under her breath, "Is this how men bond?"
She shook her head. She was a scientist—her whole life was research, data, equations. When her best friend and she acted silly, they role-played, trading lines like schoolkids. Maybe these two were just nerds who loved mythology. Men never grew up anyway, she thought. Still, she couldn't quite wrap her head around their behavior.
Lock leaned closer to her, voice low. "I know where Mjolnir is. Want to go see it?"
Jane pressed her hand to her forehead. God help me. These two are impossible.
Thor perked up instantly. "Lock, don't joke. If you know where the hammer is, take me there. Now."
He stormed out of the bar. Jane and Lock had no choice but to follow, leaving behind poor Ron kneeling on the floor, still unsure if he was supposed to keep bowing.
"Jane," Thor asked as they stepped into the night, "where can I find a horse?"
Jane blinked. "A horse? Why on Earth would you need a horse?"
"For ceremony," Thor said earnestly. "In Asgard, we ride Pegasus into battle, into rituals. To reclaim what is mine, I should ride."
Jane threw up her hands. "Thor, we have cars here. Cars!"
Lock chuckled. Thor had lived centuries, fought across realms, commanded starships—he wasn't ignorant of Midgard's technology. He just wanted a piece of home, a sliver of dignity.
A few minutes later, Lock returned, leading two horses by the reins.
Thor's face lit up. He crushed Lock in a bear hug. "Good friend! You understand me."
The two mounted up and rode out, laughing as they made for the hammer's resting place. Jane trailed in her car, fuming. First you drink like fools, then you brawl, now you're galloping off like knights in a fairy tale. And not one of you thought about the woman here? A ride into the sunset could've been romantic, but no, you leave me to drive alone.
Frustrated, she turned back, calling Daisy and Erik for backup.
By the time Jane returned with them, Lock and Thor were already gone.
Fifty kilometers away, the site of Mjolnir had transformed. In just a day, SHIELD had thrown up a sprawling camp around the crater. Floodlights blazed, tents stretched across the desert, and soldiers moved in disciplined patterns.
Lock and Thor lay prone on a hillside overlooking the camp.
"The hammer is inside," Thor muttered, eyes fixed on the glow of Mjolnir in the center of the site. "I'll retrieve it myself."
"Need help?" Lock asked.
Thor shook his head firmly. "No. If Mjolnir is to accept me again, I must prove worthy on my own."
Lock plucked a blade of grass, chewing idly. "Then I'll wait here."
Thor vaulted down the slope, slipping into the shadows. But SHIELD's defenses were tight. Before he reached the hammer, guards spotted him. Shouts rang out, floodlights swept the ground, and soldiers rushed in.
Even weakened, Thor was no ordinary man. He threw soldiers aside like dolls, smashing through barricades, driving toward the hammer with sheer determination.
High above, a figure shifted in the watchtower. A bowstring drew back. The arrow loosed silently, streaking straight for Thor's heart.
Before it struck, a pebble whistled out of the darkness—clink!—knocking the arrow aside.
The archer's eyes narrowed. Hawkeye.
He scanned the shadows, and his trained gaze locked on Lock. Without hesitation, he drew again. Three arrows flew at once, their trajectories clever, deceptive. One slow, two fast—tricks honed through years of combat.
Lock smiled faintly. Impressive. His hand blurred, and when the shafts reached him, he plucked all three from the air as if they were nothing.
Barton's brows rose. So he's no ordinary intruder. He fired again, casually, as though testing. But this arrow glowed faint red.
An explosive arrow.
Lock caught it—and instantly sensed the danger. His palms snapped shut around the shaft.
BOOM!
Flame and smoke burst between his hands. When the ash cleared, Lock brushed soot from his palms. Not a scratch.
Hawkeye froze.
He nocked another arrow—only to stiffen at the sudden presence behind him.
"Didn't Natasha ever mention me?" a voice murmured at his back.
Barton turned slowly. The man stood close, impossibly fast, calm as stone. Hawkeye lowered his bow. Getting close to someone who could catch explosive arrows was suicide.
"Who are you?" Barton asked.
Lock tilted his head. "You don't know?"
"Should I?"
Lock sighed. So Fury hadn't told him. And Natasha… she hadn't either. That stung, more than he'd admit.
"My name is Lock," he said quietly. "I'm Natasha Romanoff's husband."
Barton blinked. For once, the unshakable SHIELD marksman was utterly speechless. Of all the things this man might have claimed—alien warlord, Hydra experiment, even Asgardian imposter—husband was the last word he expected.
Before Barton could speak, Lock tapped his comm and dialed.
"Natasha," he said, eyes still on the archer. "I caught someone called Hawkeye."
Her voice crackled back immediately, sharp with worry. "Clint? Is he okay? You didn't kill him, did you?"
Hawkeye's jaw dropped. "...Seriously?"
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A/N: Advanced Chapters Have Been Uploaded On My Patreon
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