The crater still steamed in places, heat turning the air above the split earth into glass. Wind worried the sand and dragged it in small, irritated circles; grit clung to skin and settled in the seams of boots. The sun did what it does best in New Mexico—arrived without apology and stayed. At the rim, a handful of gawkers had come and gone, leaving behind shoe prints, a dropped wrapper, and the sea-salt smell of spilled curiosity.
Thor sat near the edge like a man who refuses to admit the bench is a seat. Blonde hair loose and dust-tangled, jaw set hard enough to strike sparks, shoulders still broad enough to carry trouble two at a time. With Mjölnir gone and the armor stripped away, he looked almost ordinary—if ordinary came in XXL and had the posture of a prince who'd learned gravity the hard way.
Behind us, Jane Foster paced beside her van, muttering notes to a notebook that had the right amount of coffee stains for a scientist. Erik Selvig stood arms crossed, watching me like a thesis defense that had taken a strange turn. Darcy Lewis scrolled on her phone while pretending not to decide between post and don't ruin national security before lunch. My three Spartans bracketed the scene: Alpha-01 posted as a polite fact at the high ground; Alpha-02 at the van, a quiet metronome of inventory and awareness; Alpha-03 a step off the rim, watching the shape of the desert, not just its surface.
"All right, science squad," I said, clapping the moment into order. "Give me a minute with Goldilocks. Promise I won't break him."
"Pretty sure he'd break you," Darcy smirked.
"Oh, I'd make it entertaining."
Jane hesitated. Selvig touched her arm in that gentle, steady way older professors learn when their students are also their heart. "Let him," he said. "Thor isn't going anywhere."
They gave us ten steps of distance and three extra seconds of trust. I slid down and dropped into the dirt beside the god-turned-human. The heat came up through my jeans like a second opinion.
"You mock me," Thor said, not quite a question and very much a complaint.
"Oh, you noticed." I grinned without teeth. "Means you're not completely out of it."
"You are nothing but a man," he said. "You cannot understand what has been taken from me."
"I don't need a semester of Asgardian civics to see the picture," I said. "You got benched. Dad took the keys. Stuck on Earth with no hammer, no lightning, and a head full of reasons why that's unfair. Happens to the best of us."
"I am Thor Odinson," he snapped. "I am no child to be disciplined."
"And yet a college intern just folded you with a taser," I said. "Kind of undermines the whole 'mighty' thing."
The set of his jaw shifted. Pride is a living thing—it flares, it retreats, it reconsiders. He said nothing. Good. Silence is where you can hear your own weight.
"Listen." I let the grin fade a notch, gave the words room to land. "Right now you are just a man. A very strong one, sure; a very stubborn one, definitely. But man all the same. No Mjölnir, no lightning, no father to back your play from a glowing balcony. Men need help."
"I need no aid," he said, and the fire came back into his eyes like a friend who encourages bad decisions.
Behind me, Alpha-01 shifted a fraction—just enough to remind the world he existed. Alpha-02 and Alpha-03 remained still in the way statues would envy if statues learned about breath. Thor's gaze flicked over them, cataloging height, stance, stillness, the total absence of fidget that men achieve only with discipline or danger.
"They are your warriors?" he asked.
"Something like that." I didn't look back. "They've got my back. Which means that, by extension, they've got yours. At least until you get your feet under you."
"Why?" His mouth made the word like it was heavier than English had any right to be. "Why aid me?"
"Because I like helping people," I said. "Because this world is messy and I like leaving places better than I found them. And because you are about as named character as it gets." I let the meta wink and then vanish.
He frowned at the phrasing, not the meaning.
"Here's the deal, Goldilocks." I flicked a grain of sand off my knee. "You're stranded. S.H.I.E.L.D. will be breathing down your neck any minute. Without Mjölnir, you're basically a very fit tourist with anger management issues. So: you can wander around picking bar fights and teaching the locals new vocabulary, or you can stick with people who know when to shut up, when to shove, and when to escort a man quietly out a side door."
"You presume much."
"And you presume pride stops bullets." I tilted my head toward the horizon. "Newsflash: it doesn't. Neither does title. I am not saying you're small. I'm saying gravity doesn't care."
He breathed out through his nose. The breath tasted like stubbornness and dust. Then he set his chin and gestured toward the Alphas with two fingers that wanted to curl into fists. "You carry yourself as if you command them."
"Sharp eye." I finally looked back—Alpha-01 met the glance with an almost-smile that only the long-suffering can do; Alpha-02 gave me a micro-nod; Alpha-03 had the sky in his periphery and me in his focus. "That's exactly what I do. Alpha-01, Alpha-02, Alpha-03—soldiers. Loyal. Disciplined. Strong. You saw them at the airport. They're not for show."
"They fight well," he admitted, grudging and honest at the same time.
"Affirmative," Alpha-01 said, which is him bragging.
"Efficiency: maximum," Alpha-02 added, which is him flirting with a sense of humor.
"We protect," Alpha-03 said with a nod, which is him telling the truth he likes best.
"Best testimonials in the business," I said. "Five stars. 'Would hire again.'"
"They are no ordinary men," Thor said.
"Nope." I let the word sit. "Not even close. But they're mine. Which means if I say we're helping you, we're helping you."
He stared at the horizon the way a sailor stares at a storm that used to love him. "I do not need guardians."
"Maybe not forever." I softened the edge and kept the point. "Right now? Yeah—you kind of do. You will get your hammer back. You will stand taller than this. Until then, borrow our discipline. Borrow our timing. Let us make the world less sharp while you figure out which parts of your heart are stronger than lightning."
Wind put a hand on the lip of the crater. The AC in Jane's van hummed. A bit of the rim slumped and became a new shape; the desert approves of impermanence. Thor's shoulders eased by a fraction so small you had to be looking at him when grief blinked to catch it.
"Very well," he said at last, each syllable carved clean. "I will tolerate your aid."
"Progress." I flashed a grin. "Learning to share."
He shot me a look with less fire and—if I'm not lying to myself—more curiosity. I stood and offered a hand. "Come on—out of the crater before someone takes a selfie with you and tags it #FallenAngelHair."
He weighed the hand like he might wrench my arm off to test it. Then he took it—his grip a careful miracle that remembered not to crush—and rose easily. Even depowered, the man was a wall with opinions.
"Thanks," he muttered, like a man who doesn't use the word often and finds it fits anyway.
"You're welcome." I dusted off my knees. "Don't get used to me being polite."
Jane hurried over, her curiosity now a visible aura. "Are you all right? That was… incredible. You should not be alive after that fall."
"I am fine," Thor said, which is the exact sentence people say when they're halfway to the ground again.
"Until the next taser," Darcy muttered, sliding the device back into her bag with all the gravitas of a sheriff holstering a badge.
I laughed. "I like you, Darcy. Good aim, good timing."
"If he really is who he claims," Selvig said, rubbing the bridge of his nose like you can knead reality into compliance there, "then S.H.I.E.L.D. won't be far behind."
"Oh, they already know," I said. "Coulson knocked last night. Polite man. Great poker face."
"Coulson? S.H.I.E.L.D. Coulson?" Jane asked, eyes going wider. "He talked to you?"
"Came to say hi after the airport incident. We're practically pen pals."
"And you're still alive?" Darcy said, impressed with either me or S.H.I.E.L.D. policy, unclear which.
"What can I say? I'm charming," I said, and got a raised eyebrow from Alpha-02 that translated loosely to don't test the hypothesis.
"This S.H.I.E.L.D.," Thor said slowly, piecing together context with raw will, "they seek my hammer."
"Bingo." I pointed vaguely in the direction of the Mjölnir crater. "They've got trucks on it already, I'd bet. Big shiny hammer in the desert is catnip for secret agents and barbecue vendors."
"I must reclaim it," he said, jaw not just tight but welded.
"We'll get there," I said. "Not right now. First, you eat. Maybe shower. No offense, but you smell like fried god."
Darcy gagged theatrically and then immediately took a photo of the sky to hide the laugh. "Oh God, he does."
Thor looked torn between punching me and agreeing; I counted it as growth that agreement won. Somewhere down the road, a siren coughed once and decided not to commit. Alpha-01 tipped his head: "The weather looks bad."
"Sausage," I said. Medium. "Observation only."
Ding.
Reward: +500
Target:Thor Odinson
Reason: Stabilized trust (de-escalation, acceptance of aid)
The HUD slid the number into place with the self-satisfaction of a spreadsheet that balances. From 1,000 to 1,500 since the morning—enough to do something meaningful soon. Alpha-04 could exist if I spent it, or we could bank for another Spartan-II training later. Choices. It felt good to have choices I wasn't going to abuse.
"Okay," I said, clapping once. "Science squad—load him up. We'll follow. Let's get Goldilocks back to town before S.H.I.E.L.D. shows with cones, clipboards, and opinions."
Jane nodded, questions for later stacking neatly in her eyes. Selvig muttered something that sounded like "this is a bad idea," which is scientist for we have no protocol and that excites and terrifies me.Darcy rolled her eyes, then offered Thor a hand up into the van like she wasn't half his weight and twice his nerve.
I lingered with the Alphas at the rim while the van doors thumped shut.
"Good work," I said under the hum of heat. "He's not our best friend yet, but he'll get there. And when he does, the points are going to rain."
"Understood," Alpha-01 said.
"Ledger updated," Alpha-02 murmured, which is his way of saying proud of you without using words that might be evidence.
"Sky is good," Alpha-03 added, eyes on a hawk drawing geometry above the highway. He meant today. He meant this.
We didn't get far before reality tried to audition.
A county sheriff's SUV rolled up to the lip of the crater, tires crumbling dirt louder than necessary. The deputy inside had a jaw that had learned to clench during community meetings and a pair of reflective sunglasses that made his face a mirror. He stepped out slow, hand resting near his belt in a way that said habit, not threat.
"Mornin'," he said, and the word carried the county in it. "You folks part of that unusual meteorological activity or just passing through?"
"Installers," I said pleasantly, patting the clipboard in our SUV because prop comedy works on bureaucracies. "Solar. We chase weather on weekends. Sometimes the weather chases back."
His mouth tugged. He looked past me at the van, at Jane writing something on Selvig's palm because the notebook had finally failed, at Darcy pretending her taser was a fancy stapler. Then he looked at the three large men on the rim, noted that we were not posturing, not crowding, not making shapes that make cops test their training.
"You see anything fall out of the sky?" he asked, because you have to ask the question even when the answer is tattooed into the dirt.
"Just questions," I said. "We're escorting them back to town for breakfast and documentation."
He took that in the way men do when they're balancing duty, curiosity, and the practical knowledge that paperwork is a finite resource. "All right," he said slowly. "Keep it clean, keep it quiet. State boys'll want to say hi."
"Yes, sir," I said, performing respect without servility. "We like quiet."
He tilted his head at Alpha-01. "Your brother there gonna keep strangers from breakin' ankles?"
Alpha-01 gave him a nod measured in millimeters. "Affirmative."
"Good." The deputy touched the brim of a hat he wasn't wearing—muscle memory is a story too—and climbed back in. The SUV did a slow, reluctant about-face and left us the desert again.
"Weather looks bad," Alpha-01 murmured once more, not as fear—as posture.
"Still sausage," I answered. "Let's make it pepperoni before lunch."
We rolled.
Jane's garage lab had not gotten bigger in the last hour, but it had learned new inhabitants. Thor sat on a folding chair like a throne in exile. Selvig paced, which is the cardio of doubt. Darcy made coffee with the solemnity of a rite and handed Thor water with the authority of someone who has been hydrated and knows better.
I took two minutes to do the boring work that keeps stories from bleeding: moved a power strip off the floor; placed a battery bank by the laptop; wrote CLINIC # on a Post-it and stuck it inside a cabinet. Alpha-02 recabled a dangling surge protector as if the building inspector had a soul. Alpha-03 checked the alley and the roofline and the street and closed the back door without making a noise.
"All right," I said, leaning against a workbench covered in Einstein-Rosen bridge math and a ham sandwich someone had abandoned to theory. "Let's be adults. S.H.I.E.L.D. will put a box around that hammer. They will put a box around you if you let them. Our job, for as long as we can get away with it, is to keep people from getting hurt and to keep Jane Foster'sdata from disappearing into a vault with a black bar over the label."
"Black bars are my aesthetic," Darcy said, sipping coffee and texting at the same time. "But agreed."
"Scientist priority," Alpha-02 said like he was reciting scripture. He set a small portable drive on the table without ceremony and slid it toward Jane. "Incremental backups. Label in a way that looks boring."
Jane blinked at the gift and then nodded like gratitude is a muscle you can strengthen with practice. "Thank you."
I turned to Thor. "Eat," I said. "Then wash. Then we go see the part of your story that's sitting in a hole with cones around it. No heroics. You're human until the contrary is proved."
He bristled at human, then let it sit. After a beat: "And if they do not let me see Mjölnir?"
"Then we let them do their job while we do ours," I said. "We make corridors. We keep crowds from doing something the news can name. We keep you from trying to bench-press a fence."
"You prevent me from acting foolishly," he said dry, almost amused.
"We try," I said. "You're a project. We take pride in our work."
He almost smiled. It looked like a man remembering that teeth have other duties than biting.
Jane pressed a brown paper bag into his hand like a communion. "Sandwich," she said. "It's not divine, but it is calories."
He regarded it like a puzzle, then ate it like hunger had secretly been waiting its turn.
While Thor chewed, I crouched by the whiteboard and drew two lists under the title TODAY:
People helped
— Thor (accept aid)
— Jane/Erik/Darcy (protect data)
— Locals (keep safe)
Points
— +1,000 (assist quartet)
— +500 (stabilized trust)
— Total: 1,500 (available)
Under Spend, I wrote nothing yet. I like to feel the weight of restraint.
"Budget?" Alpha-02 asked, because he likes his plans like he likes his cables: tidy.
"Later," I said. "We earn first, spend after. Temptation is not a strategy."
He gave me a look that translated to I will ask again in an hour.
"Okay," I said, clapping to break the garage back into motion. "We convoy. Jane drives. We follow. We speak only when we must. If I say, 'The weather looks bad,'—"
"Eyes up," Alpha-01 replied. "Surveillance likely. S.H.I.E.L.D. proximity."
"If I ask, 'How's the slice?'—"
"Pepperoni low, sausage medium, anchovy bad idea," Alpha-02 recited. "Threat shorthand."
"If I say, 'Jane's hard drive,'—"
"Scientist priority," all three said in unison. Jane glanced between us, eyebrows climbing, then smiled because some rules you can love on sight.
"Good," I said. "Pack it in. Goldilocks, welcome to your lecture series. Lesson One: Humility makes you harder to hit. Lesson Two: Help is not a chain. Lesson Three: People are the point."
He took a breath that squared his shoulders from the inside. "I will listen," he said, and the room believed him enough for today.
We loaded back up. Jane fired the van; Darcy checked the taser with the air of someone who would not get surprised twice in the same week; Selvig pretended not to be relieved and failed with grace. In our SUV, Alpha-01 took the wheel, Alpha-02 took the ledger in his head, Alpha-03 took the window like a man who has made friends with sky.
As we pulled out, the deputy from earlier passed the block and chose to be interested later. A sedan that had been rehearsing curiosity found new errands. The city of Puente Antiguo continued pretending it was fine that gods and hammers and acronyms had decided to make weather a social event. That's the thing about small towns; they know how to hold more story than they spill.
"Next stop: cones and clipboards," I said, settling back into the seat. "We walk in quiet. We walk out useful. We keep Thor Odinson alive long enough to remember who he is without the lightning."
"Understood," Alpha-01 said.
"Copy," Alpha-03 murmured, tracking a circling hawk like a note in a margin.
"Affirmative," Alpha-02 finished, and his mouth tensed a fraction that, on someone else, would be a smile.
I looked at Coulson's card where it rode under the dashboard mat and thought about knocks that sound polite and promises that hold. The system hovered in the top of my vision with its tidy math and its ethical multipliers. Points are numbers; people are not. Say it enough and you keep it true.
We drove toward a hole in the desert with a hammer in the middle and S.H.I.E.L.D. around the edges, ready to do the only thing we came here to do: be the hinge, not the hammer, so a god in the dirt could stand up again.