Morning came in hard lines and hot colors, a New Mexico sunrise that didn't bother with subtlety. Light knifed through the blinds and splashed into the little rental like molten glass, cutting the stillness into bright rectangles. The AC fought it with the stubborn whirr of a machine that believes in underdog stories. I sat at the kitchen table with my feet kicked up on a scuffed chair, sipping water that tasted faintly of metal and victory, and watched my squad move through the room like a quiet tide.
Alpha-01 kept his usual post by the front door—a polite piece of granite pretending to be a man. He didn't fidget. He didn't blink often. He didn't need to; the door understood it had been seen. Across from him, Alpha-02 worked hand signals with Alpha-05, palms cutting small, precise shapes in the air as they ran silent drills: watch, slow, de-escalate, mirror, hinge. Over by the window, Alpha-03 flowed through a careful takedown with Alpha-06, showing the move at half speed so the novice's timing had somewhere safe to live. The newest veteran, Alpha-04, stood hip-to-hip with Alpha-07 in front of the bookshelf, shaving wasted motion from the rookie's guard: "Elbows home. Chin down. Don't let your eyes confess before your hands do."
Seven Spartans. Even now, it didn't get old. In a world crawling with S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, Avengers in the making, and the occasional Asgardian exiled by his dad, seven Halo-grade soldiers in plain clothes felt like cheating in a game that had always been stacked.
I drained the glass and set it down with a soft click. "Alright, gentlemen—training time's over. Field trip."
Alpha-02 didn't look up from Alpha-05's stance. "Objective?"
"Check on Thor," I said, levering out of the chair. "Our favorite Asgardian likely spent all night sulking at the motel with Jane Foster and her science duo. We make sure he hasn't wandered into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s arms or tried to yank Mjölnir again. Spoiler: he'd still fail."
"Protective detail," Alpha-03 nodded, as if he could already see the corridor we'd need to build between Thor and his worst impulses.
"Exactly. We keep him safe, we keep him sane—and maybe we grab breakfast. I hear motel coffee is… an experience."
"Departure ready," Alpha-01 said, already stepping from the door like the word had pulled him on a string.
"You're always ready," I smirked. "Fine. Roll out."
The SUV was… cozy. As in, I hope you like elbows. Veterans squeezed in without complaint; the rookies learned the physics of personal space the honest way. I took the driver's seat; Alpha-01 rode shotgun, a seatbelt stretched across a statue. Middle row: Alpha-02, Alpha-03, Alpha-04 shoulder-to-shoulder like a recruitment poster that learned restraint. Back row: Alpha-05, Alpha-06, Alpha-07, knees at attention. I adjusted the rearview so I could catch a whole lineup of identical stares and tried not to laugh.
"Look at us," I said, easing into the empty street. "Practically a tour group now. I should get a little flag to wave out the window."
"Unnecessary," Alpha-02 said.
"Oh, it's very necessary. Morale, Alpha-02. Learn it. Live it."
Silence, long enough to take on personality. My laugh filled it anyway, bounced off the ceiling, and decided to stay.
We crossed town under a sky that looked new enough to crack if you touched it wrong. Puente Antiguo yawned awake in slow motion: shopkeepers rolling up doors; a dog doing the morning shift of barking at nothing; a single jogger who determinedly avoided making eye contact with seven very large men in an SUV. The motel sat on the town's edge like a shrugged shoulder—the Desert Star Inn, paint sun-faded to that color you can't name without swearing, the sign flickering between proud and tired. Rows of identical doors stared down a gravel lot. A vending machine did its best impression of a sentry.
Jane's van was easy to spot: science stickers, dust, dignity. I eased in beside it and killed the engine.
"Be polite," I said. "We're visiting friends."
"Engagement rules?" Alpha-03 asked.
"No breaking doors, no glaring at Darcy, no scaring Jane's neighbors," I counted on my fingers. "Simple stuff. Think you can handle it?"
Alpha-05, -06, -07 nodded in eerie unison.
"Good. Let's make a nice impression."
Three cheerful knocks. Inside: a shuffle, a muffled exchange, a thump—someone finding a shoe with their shin. The door cracked and Darcy Lewis's face appeared like a sun peeking around storm clouds. She blinked. Groaned. "Oh God. It's you."
"Morning, sunshine. We brought the cavalry."
Her eyes slid past me and widened like the aperture on a camera. "You multiplied."
"Indeed," I said, allowing pride a sip of air. "Seven at present. What can I say? I appreciate companionship."
"Are you cloning them?" she asked, halfway between horrified and deeply into it.
"Trade secret," I winked.
Jane Foster appeared over Darcy's shoulder—hair in practical chaos, eyes bright with sleep and arguments, a notebook somehow already in hand. "What are you doing here?"
"Checking in," I said, cheerful as a crime. "Making sure Thor didn't try breaking into S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters overnight."
She hesitated, glance flicking to Alpha-01 at my shoulder, to the mass of polite muscle behind me. Then she sighed the sigh of a scientist calibrating for a new variable. "Fine. Come in. Don't touch anything."
The room was built to hold a bed, a hope, and not much else. By the time you added Thor and Jane's crew, it was snug. Add seven Spartans and it became a sardine can in camo. Thor sat on the edge of the bed, arms crossed so hard his biceps were committing to the bit, hair in mythic disarray, pride wrapped around him like a cape he wasn't currently brave enough to wear. He looked up, and the frown he'd been saving for special occasions got an encore.
"You again."
"Morning, Goldilocks," I said brightly. "Sleep well?"
"I do not sleep." He scowled. "I reflect."
"Sure," I smirked. "And I eat ice cream for breakfast."
Darcy snorted into a chair, snatching her phone like it might need defending. Erik Selvig hovered near the kitchenette with the vibe of a man on his second cup of worry; he lifted a hand and let it fall, as if neither hello nor halt would help.
My Spartans fanned out without a word, moving like furniture made of resolve. Alpha-01 took the door—a fact more than a presence. Alpha-02 slid Alpha-05 to the near wall, eyes mapping the room's exits and emotions. Alpha-03 paired Alpha-06 by the window, drawing the curtain with two fingers so our reflections wouldn't draw the street. Alpha-04 and Alpha-07 landed near the dresser, shoulders open in a posture that said we were guests who could turn into corridors on command.
"More of your warriors," Thor said, taking them in with weary appraisal rather than threat. Even in exile, the prince measured.
"Yep. Picked them up last night. Expanding the family. They're here for you, too."
"You're not normal," Jane said, arms crossing because somebody needed to. Her gaze moved from one Spartan to the next, landed on me like a question she wouldn't dignify by asking.
"You're only just figuring that out?" I put a hand to my heart. "I'm hurt, Jane. I really thought I stood out."
"He stands out," Darcy muttered, thumb flicking over her screen. "Might as well carry a neon sign."
Thor's voice took a different shape. Quieter. Realer. "I failed."
The word sat down between us with a chair of its own.
"At the hammer?" I said. "Yeah. So what?" I shrugged, not cruel, not kind—just correct. "Everyone fails sometimes."
"Not me," he said, the old certainty flickering like a bad bulb. "I am Thor Odinson."
"You weren't yesterday," I said lightly. "Yesterday you were just a guy with a taser problem and a dramatic hair routine."
Darcy laughed loud enough to startle herself. Thor shot her a glance sharp enough to cut rope; she lifted both hands like she was holding a witness sign. Jane looked between us, the corners of her mouth doing treason against her neutrality.
I leaned forward, elbows on knees, and let the joke step aside so the point could get through without bruises. "Listen, Goldilocks. The hammer isn't gone—it's waiting. You'll get it back. But not today. Today you're just a man, which means you need us."
His jaw tightened. A protest lined up for launch. Then—nothing. The silence was an agreement he wasn't ready to name.
"S.H.I.E.L.D. is locking everything down," Jane said, shoulders pulled tight. "They know about him. About the hammer. It's only a matter of time before—"
"Yeah," I waved, the shape of Agent Phil Coulson's almost-smile floating across my memory. "Coulson already knows about us, too. He'll keep watching. Let him. We don't cause trouble, he won't either."
"You're far too calm," Selvig said, frown heavy enough to be serviceable as a paperweight. "This is not… ordinary."
"Calm is my specialty," I said. "Panic never helped anyone, except people selling poor decisions."
Thor studied me, raw curiosity briefly overpowering dented pride. "Why? Why aid me?"
"Because you're interesting," I said, winking to keep the air from getting too serious to breathe. "And because watching you get tossed yesterday was the best comedy I've seen out here. I want to catch the sequel."
Even Jane cracked a smile at that, half exasperation, half relief. Darcy made a choked noise and typed something I chose to believe was kind.
The morning cooked slowly in the cramped room, a stew of ego and curiosity, concern and compliance. Jane prodded at the words Bifrost and Asgard the way a scientist tests glassware—gentle pressure, watch for cracks. Thor deflected with noble vagueness that accidentally told the truth. Darcy added commentary every time his chest puffed too much, like a human pressure relief valve. Selvig tried to keep the peace and failed in three languages.
I let them simmer. Every few minutes I tossed a joke like a lid lifter—bleed off steam, keep the pot from exploding. At one point I suggested Thor find a job while his dad finished teaching him about consequences.
"The diner is always hiring," I said. "You'd look great in an apron. Very Midgard chic."
"I am not a servant," he said, scandalized.
"Sure," I said. "You're broke. Big difference."
Darcy nearly dropped her phone laughing. Jane pretended not to grin. Selvig contemplated a universe in which gods do dishes.
Meanwhile, my Spartans became furniture with opinions. Alpha-01 never left the door, a quiet announcement that the threshold belonged to us only if hospitality agreed. Alpha-02 drifted a step left, a step right, the way a man does when he's measuring the air for the weight of voices. Alpha-05 mirrored him like a shadow that studied. Alpha-03 did a mirror check without making one; Alpha-06 tracked his breathing to learn where calm lives. Alpha-04's eyes flicked to Thor's hands whenever the prince's temper squeezed them into fists, then back to Alpha-07, whose guard kept getting better every time his mentor's eyebrow moved.
"Shredder," Jane said, at last. "What's the plan? We can't just… sit in a motel room while S.H.I.E.L.D. fences off our research."
"Plan is boring," I said. "Boring is good. You keep working—on your Einstein-Rosen what-have-yous. If Coulson wants to take your equipment, we negotiate him down to borrow and duplicate. We stand near and turn crowds into corridors if the day gets loud. We keep Thor from bench-pressing a fence."
Thor didn't deny it. That was progress disguised as dignity.
Darcy pointed at Alpha-01 without looking away. "What's your deal? Are you, like, a robot? Because I've only seen that level of stillness in mannequins and the line at the DMV."
Alpha-01 considered the honor of a response. "We assist," he said simply.
She squinted, fought a smile, lost. "You're the best kind of weird."
"That's our brand," I said. "Best weird."
The motel's air conditioner rattled like it owed someone money. The sun climbed the slats of the blinds and set the burlap-colored wall on low fire. Somewhere outside, a truck coughed itself into the day. The world kept happening the way it always does when you think everything has changed.
Finally, I clapped once, loud enough to reset the scene without being rude. "Enough moping. We'll be nearby if you need us. Don't do anything stupid."
"I do not need babysitters," Thor bristled on instinct, as if the word might leave a stain.
"Yeah, yeah," I said. "Keep telling yourself that. We'll be around."
I stood. Alpha-01 opened the door without looking at the handle. The Spartans flowed out past me like shadows with posture. I paused in the doorway and flashed Jane a grin. "Try not to let him trash the room. Motels charge for damages."
Her sigh chased me into the heat. It sounded like compromise taught by practice.
Outside, the sun slapped us on the way to the SUV. I slid behind the wheel, let the seat catch me like a friend. The others settled with the soft chuff of coordinated weight.
"Well," I said, buckling up. "Fun. Goldilocks still sulking, Darcy still sassy, Jane still stressed, Selvig one sigh away from retirement. Classic team dynamic."
"Thor Odinson unstable—emotionally," Alpha-02 observed, voice a diagnostic tool.
"Physically he'll be fine," I agreed. "We just need to keep him from doing anything reckless until the plot remembers he's a protagonist."
"Next action?" Alpha-03 asked, eyes on the motel roofline, then the road, then the sky.
"Observation," I said. "We watch, wait, and safeguard our golden-retriever god until he reunites with his hammer. We'll post up near the Desert Star Inn, take turns being boring within eyeshot. If S.H.I.E.L.D. tries something creative, we become corridors. If Thor tries something Asgardian, we become gravity."
"Weather looks bad," Alpha-01 murmured, very gently, which in our code meant: eyes up; there are eyes on us.
"Pepperoni," I said, rolling us into gear. Low threat. "Let's keep it that way."
We pulled out, the SUV easing into sunshine that had stopped pretending to be kind. In the rearview, I caught a last slice of Thor through the open curtain—sitting tall but not taller than he was, hands resting, thoughts heavy. He'd lost Mjölnir for a morning; he hadn't lost himself. Not yet. Not on my watch.
We were a moving hinge again, not a hammer—the shape we make when the Marvel Cinematic Universe asks for noise and we choose useful instead. The road hummed. The day opened. And the math I'd done last night—quality and quantity, mentors and rookies, structure and numbers—felt right under my hands in a way almost nothing else ever has.
"Alright, squad," I said, letting a grin borrow my face as the Desert Star shrank in the mirror. "Let's go be boring in a way that keeps the interesting from killing anybody."
"Understood," said Alpha-01.
"Copy," said Alpha-03.
"Affirmative," said Alpha-02.
From the back seat, three rookies said nothing at all—and in that silence a promise took root: they'd learn the song by heart and keep it on key when the Destroyer finally came to town.