bladesofasgard | Meanwhile, in New Mexico...

"Do I look unsure?" Coulson let a little mild curiosity into his tone, kept his features entirely blank as he shot Barton a sideways glance. He hadn't been trying to weasel out of Stark security duty with this, not really, but the company and the scenery were an improvement.

He checked his watch, then the sky. He wasn't impatient. Dr. Foster's calculations were correct, as near as any SHIELD physicist could tell, and she'd been helpful in elaborating on the more obscure notes in her research. It would be here, and now. He wouldn't be out here with one of their best assets if he thought she was wrong.

"We're actually out here looking for the back end of a black hole." He almost added don't right after he said the words, but that would only be encouragement. "We should be seeing a subtle aurora any minute."

Edited 2012-08-21 21:27 (UTC)

"I'm pretty sure I've only ever seen you unsure maybe three times, Sir, and there wasn't a whole lot of different between that face and your constipated one. I'd prefer to avoid both of them, if at all possible."

Which was total bullshit, of course, but Clint was stuck alone with Coulson in the middle of a dessert tracking aliens. If anyone expected him to be serious at a time like this, they were crazy.

He kept his eyes on the road for the most part, occasionally watching the skies above them just in case. But mostly he left that to Coulson, who kept switching his gaze to the sky to his watch to the folder of research in his lap and back again. Doctor Foster had seemed nice enough - a little loopy and scatterbrained, but most scientist types were, in Clint's experience.

"You mean like the Northern Lights?" he asked after a minute, because he was way out of his league here, and when Coulson had been conferring with the scientists before heading out here, Clint had maybe understood every fifth word coming out of their mouths.

"Forgive me for asking, sir, but what exactly are we expecting to.... get shit out on us?" he asked, waving his hand at the sky. He preferred to be prepared for anything but he had no idea what to expect here and Coulson hadn't exactly been forthcoming on their ride so far.

Then again, Clint was also more comfortable when he was given a target and told to shoot. If he was driving into Independence Day, he'd need a hell of a lot more arrows.

Coulson just gave him a Look. It probably looked a lot like all of his other looks but he liked to think that facial expressions were for lesser men. Barton had never seen his unsure face. He just thought he had.

"Exactly like that." He replied, checking the star chart in his lap again. Barton was smarter than he gave himself credit for. He might not understand the specifics of astrophysics, but he got right to the relevant point.

"We don't know or I would have briefed you on it before coming out here." He didn't take anyone in totally blind if he could help it, so part of the reason they'd brought in Barton was the he could hit the target anyway. "Could be nothing, but if we're really looking at a - doorway to a galaxy halfway across the universe, I don't particularly like the idea of leaving it alone and hoping no one else..."

He had been expecting a subtle aurora. There was nothing subtle about the swirling sphere of light spiraling down from clouds that definitely hadn't been there just a moment before. "Drive."

Clint hadn't missed it either, his eyes widening for a moment in the closest thing he ever got to an "oh shit" expression because Coulson sure as hell didn't have exclusive rights on the unflappable persona. His foot stomped down on the accelerator, jolting the vehicle forward in a burst of speed.

"Just in case you missed it, that's what I've been doing for the last hour and a half. Sir." His jaw clenched as thunder rumbled and a bolt of lightning struck off to their left. They were in the bloody desert for fuck's sake!

"I really hope you meant drive towards the giant tornado-thingy, sir. Because I'm not sure we can avoid it at this point," he added, his voice tense as he swerved around a rolling something moving too fast to make out. "Also, if we end up in Oz, I am so coming back with a flying monkey."

Coulson caught the papers in his lap a moment before they spilled, let the seatbelt jerk him back as Barton hit the gas. He was only half- listening to the steady stream of chatter, picking up the tone more than the words themselves as he traded papers for a camera.

He had tapped his comm, and all he got at the other end was a broken stream of static interference. They were on their own. And me without my ruby slippers.

"Just keep us in one piece." He didn't let any tension into his own voice, calm and steady as ever.

As they got closer the high beams only made it a few feet in the dust kicked up by the tornado, the shadows offset by erratic flashes of light that didn't look like normal lightening even to the camera's infer-red. And - that was a person.

"Swerve left." The order was followed by the dull thud of a body against the side of the van, and just as suddenly as everything had started - it stopped.

Clint had reacted even before Coulson's orders. There was no clear line of sight, not here, not with the wind kicking up dust and sand and debris and other things he couldn't pick out in a blinding swirl around them. The wheel shuddered in his hand and his knuckles turned white as he tried to keep control, paying more attention to the vehicle than what was happening outside of it.

So when he caught the figure of a person outside his right-0hand window, it happened too quickly for even him to react, although he tried, the SUV skidding sideways as he yanked on the wheel.

It wasn't enough to avoid the tell-tale thud of a body hitting his hood though.

Clint's pulse pounded as the SUV spun sideways before skidding to a stop and he sat there frozen for a moment, eyes wide and staring at the clear view in front of him.

"Shit," he rasped out, feeling his hands tremble, and wasn't that embarrassing, because it's not like he hasn't had to do things like this before, has purposefully bowled people over, but they were usually bad guys, people shooting at him, not some random stranger blinded in a freak desert whirlwind.

"Shit. Coulson, did I just... Fuck!"

And he didn't bother waiting for permission or orders or anything before he was scrambling out of the vehicle to search for the unlucky bastard he'd hit.

Coulson's lips pressed briefly into a thin line, the shock of what had just happened registering, his own heart pounding in his chest. One hand had closed close to the release on his seat-belt, so tight his knuckles had gone white. He heard Barton beside him, and he did what he always did in situations like this. He compartmentalized, released his seat belt and set the camera down, but there was nothing he could say to Barton until they saw the stranger who'd been hit.

He was out a moment later, Barton already crouched beside the man who seemed to be coming around, muttering to himself or... making cat sounds. He was alive, anyway, and that was something, a fraction of relief until he started trying to sit up. Barton had that handled at the moment however.

It gave Coulson the chance to case the area, noting the runes etched into the floor where they stood, and another dark figure rising to his feet. He placed himself between Barton and the man he hadn't noticed before, who looked understandably unsteady on his feet. When Coulson touched his comm this time there was an immediate response. "I need EMS out here now, we have civilians injured. Yes, we did. Send a team. Get someone from linguistics."

Only two as far as he could tell, similarly dressed, and Coulson took a step towards the other, hands open and obviously empty. "Excuse me, sir? I'm Agent Coulson, with SHIELD. Are you hurt?"

Loki had already been completely overwhelmed and driven to a place of irrationality. The subsequent events made little sense to him, confusion and pain both emotional and physical, the sound of Sif's scream echoing in his ears, the new betrayal by Odin.

He'd tried to speak, tried to say anything - This was for you! I was doing this for you! - but his words had been lost in the void.

And then he hit the ground, dirt filling his mouth. More confusion, sounds and foreign smells and shouting and sudden, blinding light--

Loki scrambled to his feet, hand grasping air for a dagger that would not come - my magic, I'm so empty, what - and then he tore one of the few he carried normally from the sheathe hidden by his coat. All he could really take in with a mind already taxed was the sight of Thor, sprawled out on the ground and obviously wounded, his presumed attackers already at him.

"Brother!" Intellectually, he knew Thor was no longer his brother, had never been his brother, but in this moment of frantic concern, intellect was overtaken by instinct. Loki threw the knife at Thor's presumed attacker, already tearing another, smaller dagger from his boot as he surged toward the man.

And ridiculously, it felt good to finally have something to fight, other than himself.

The man was obviously disoriented, and though he didn't hear a word and his throw went wild, Coulson could see the obvious instinctive smoothness of the movement before the weapon embedded itself in the SUV's left headlight, sparks flying. It would have taken out either of them in a heartbeat.

He reacted instinctively, weight shifting so he was braced for impact as he snatched the taser from his belt and fired off the single shot. All of the man's focus was on Barton, and on his brother, so he had to hope that the bulk of his body blocking the former would delay or mislay that second throw long enough for the shot to take him down.

"You dare--"

That was all Loki managed before the voltage hit him. At that point his body game him no choice, and he hit the ground in an undignified heap.

His last conscious thought was a resigned "of course," since it seemed of a piece, that one more thing would go terribly, irrevocably wrong.

If he was lucky, maybe they'd kill him and he wouldn't wake again.

Thor came around in a haze of confusion, some small stranger prodding at him, asking something he didn't wish to hear.

"Have care where you... hands..." Thor batted his hands away, or tried to, the effort entirely in vain because the man seemed to have so many hands all at once. He called his hammer to him instinctively, but there was no answering call of magic, and his hands clenched into fists, Mjolnir's name on his lips.

This couldn't be. This couldn't be.

Loki's voice cut through the haze of confusion as sure as any knife, and Thor reacted instinctively, eyes widening. "Brother!"

He reached up to shove irritating the mortal out of the way, scrambled to his feet just in time to see Loki collapse. Pure fury overtook any other emotion and Thor growled, charging for the man who had dared to harm his brother.

Edited 2012-08-26 02:09 (UTC)

Clint had barely registered the second body, trusting that one to Coulson while he felt for a pulse on the one he'd hit. Did he have a pulse? The way he was dressed made Clint suspect that they were runaways from a Ren fair or they really weren't from around here.

And he would have heard about a Ren fair near here by now, they'd been here almost a week. It's not like there was a lot to do for entertainment in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere New Mexico.

Although when he herd the tell-tale sound of a taser, his head jerked up in alarm in the direction of his boss. "You did not just.... Please tell me you didn't just tase the nice alien, sir. Isn't that grounds for... hell, it's not even an international event anymore, is it? What is it now, interstellar? Intergalactic? Interplanetary? This was not covered in the briefing, sir."

There wasn't time for him to get an answer, or even babble out more of a protest, because really, tornadoes and aliens and what the hell was this? Either way, his half-panicking was interrupted by the inert, incoherently mumbling male on the ground in front of him suddenly coming to with a ferocity and lunging at Coulson, knocking Clint over in the process.

Clearly Clint hadn't hit him hard enough the first time.

His foot shot out on instinct, taking the hulking blond man down to land face first in the dirt before he'd even gotten a step. Clint stared down at him in mingled annoyance and horror. "Okay, I'm sorta sorry about that, I didn't really intend to do that, but man, I just hit you with my car, you really shouldn't be moving like that and my boss will tase you. Just as a warning. You might want to stay there till we get this sorted."

Grimacing, Clint rubbed the sand off him and cast a disgruntled look in Coulson's direction. "I think it's a little late for the 'We come in peace' spiel, isn't it?"

He stepped neatly out of the way as the second body fell, reloading the taser as he moved. By the time the man had spit out enough dirt to try getting up again, the weapon was pointed at him. Aliens who looked very human and spoke their language seemed unlikely, but not every Incident was going to be like Roswell. The man, whatever he was, was awfully lively for someone who'd just been hit by a car, not that Coulson was complaining.

"I think that's his line." Coulson replied, nodding at the man on the ground.

He backed off enough to kick a knife away from the darker man's limp hand, noting the sudden tension in the blonde - concern? - confusion and realization. More confusion.

"He's only knocked out and I'd rather not do it again. We're not here to fight." Coulson lowered his tazer again when the man didn't move, though he suspected that had less to do with trust and more with the unconscious brother. He seemed to be having trouble keeping his eyes open, let alone fighting. "I think you both need medical attention."

"Do not touch me or mine again again, mortal." He shot Barton a narrow glare before trying to sit up. He made it onto his arms unsteadily before falling back down again muttering something that sounded like a curse. "We have no quarrel... Leave."

He didn't try getting up again. It looked like he was down and out this time. Coulson turned his attention to Barton.

"Check him for weapons. We should have medics here soon." He set to work on the darker one, rolling him onto his side. "Are you alright, Barton?"

Clint's hands were already skimming over the blond giant's still form, searching for weapons and not having much luck. Either he was unarmed or very good at hiding weapons and Clint was a little hesitant to start searching where no man had gone before on an unconscious alien. This day was already freaky enough, thank you very much.

"Sir, I just drove through a tornado and hit an alien with your car. I'm not sure 'alright' encompasses things right now."

Still, he lifted his head and shot Coulson a searching look. "Are you alright?"

"Not exactly how you wanted to spend your vacation?" The tone was apologetic, if not the words. He hadn't expected any of this.

Coulson's lips pressed into a thin line, his hand slightly unsteady as he lifted it away from the unconscious and now fully unarmed man. There were a lot of strange things in the world, he knew that first hand, but that was why he threw himself into his job. He didn't have to worry as much about how he felt when he was too busy figuring out what he needed to do.

He stood finally and brushed some sand from the collar of his suit, the gesture entirely pointless, but it gave him somewhere else to look. "Sure." Relatively speaking. He wasn't unconscious, and that was always a plus.

There were flashing lights in the distance already, coming closer fast. From the comm chatter, it had to be theirs. "Let the EMTs take a look at you too. Then, if you're up for it, we have a temporary base to secure."

"You always take me on the best dates, sir," Clint quipped in return as he dusted the sand off his jeans - a futile attempt, but he tried anyway.

"Also, that was so not convincing. You're slipping, Boss-man."

Clint made a face at the mention of EMT's. "I'm fine. The SUV took the brunt of the damage anyway. And that guy," he added, jerking a thumb at the blond giant he'd accidentally hit. "I can help with the base, though."

"I try." Coulson's response was automatic, and he shook a little dust from his tie before giving up entirely. He still liked the desert more than Starksitting, but not by much.

He didn't respond to the latter part of Barton's teasing, but he took a slow breath so his hands stilled and his features were neutral again long before the first car pulled up. He gave Barton an assessing look and considered arguing, but in the end he just nodded. "Come on then, let's get back to work."

Meanwhile, in New Mexico...

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