Chapter Text
Scientists in blue hazmat suits scurry around the crater, testing and prodding and measuring.
Black-clad agents stand by the exits, observing from even on the higher floors of the metal scaffolding.
“Agent Ljung?”
Despite the tented covering, raindrops splatter across the ground, beating against hard earth, like fists on concrete.
“Agent Ljung?” Agent Coulson asks again, peering to my right.
What does it mean to hate and love together?
I clear my throat. “My apologies, agent.” I glance back to the crater at the center of the scaffolding. “That does indeed belong to my people.” A silver hammer sticks upright out of the ground. “We call this weapon, Mjolnir.”
It must’ve landed the same day I fell.
“Hm.” He studies me carefully. “None of our scientists have been able to figure out how to move it.”
It’s bespelled: It can only be held by those it deems worthy.
One of Father’s spells.
“Well.” I step back before a splash of mud hits my heels. “As soon as I recover, I’m certain I can be of assistance.”
It’s always one of Father’s spells, these days.
His tablet beeps with a notification, and he glances down. “It looks like our team is ready for the intake process. Please follow me.”
As he leads me down a tunneled hall, he assures me, “Given that you have newly arrived on our planet, please let us know if there’s anything you require. We’re working on a tight budget, but I’m sure we can make a few exceptions.” He looks back with a genial smile. “Agent Fury told me to relay his apologies. He’s been busy overseas.”
My skin stretches across my face. “I quite understand, Agent Coulson.”
Perhaps all too well.
“Ah, this is Jasper Sitwell,” Coulson introduces, striding through the motion-sensor doors. “Head of security and a hell of a good shot.”
In the steel-lined office against a wall of monitors, a bald dark-skinned agent rises from his desk chair. “Coulson, it’s good to see you!”
They clasp arms, eerily similar to the Asgardian custom, before turning to me.
“Jasper, this is Agent Ljung Lirong. She’s our new interspecies consultant.”
Sitwell offers his hand. “Jasper Sitwell, m’am.” His golden lenses gleam under the fluorescent lights. “Pleasure to meet you.”
I still can’t quite get used to that gentlemanly charm, always casting me in new roles.
Roles I never wanted to play in the first place.
“Pleasure’s all mine.” I shake his hand firmly. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”
Coulson checks his wristwatch. “I’m going to have to cut this a bit short.” He ushers me down the hall. “There’s a lot to catch you up on, but let’s make sure you’re not dying first,” he jokes.
I let out a huff of amusement at his expense.
What’s next: Getting a free T-shirt? Setting up direct deposit? Learning that the benefits aren't quite that beneficial?
With a curt nod, I follow Coulson into a side room: a backlit laboratory with a set of exercise machines jammed in one corner and a hodgepodge of beeping machines in the other. Garbed in gray laboratory coats emblazoned with the SHIELD logo, a group of scientists are muttering and taking notes, listening attentively to a singular plaid-clad scientist.
“Dr. Foster, I hope you’re settling in well!” Coulson calls as inquisitive eyes turn to face us.
A pair of cinnamon-brown eyes lock onto Coulson’s easygoing demeanor. “Agent Coulson!” Dr. Foster greets, suddenly gasping as she spots me by his side. “Ms. Ljung! I had no idea you worked with SHIELD.”
Dr. Foster was unfortunately the singular driver who happened to hit me with her truck as I was spiraling inside the dust storm. She drove me straight to the hospital and paid for my treatment upfront.
I smile warmly. “I was only recently hired,” I confess, “but it’s good to see a familiar face. Are your friends here as well?”
It was quite a rush to get me to the hospital, I’m told. I was barely conscious until sunrise, their wide-eyed faces staring at me from the hospital chairs.
“Not yet,” she admits. “They’re still sorting out their affairs, but they’ll be visiting me tomorrow.”
I hum, studying the technical equipment around us. “Wasn’t this the same equipment SHIELD took from you earlier?”
Apparently, in the wake of the dust storm, the Bifrost stamped a runic landing sequence into the ground, exactly where I had fallen. Mjolnir was discovered not long after, prompting SHIELD authorities to confiscate Dr. Foster’s handcrafted sensing machinery, which she’d been using for years to study similar unusual disturbances.
Acquisition over accord.
Control over collaboration.
It’s a tale as old as time.
“And didn’t I negotiate for the return of said equipment?” I turn to Coulson, brow raised.
For such a security-involved agency, S.H.I.E.L.D. certainly struggles to protect its citizens.
By the grace of a god, Dr. Foster had relayed to me her plight as we conversed. She is, in fact, not abundantly wealthy, as some sources may suggest. In fact, days prior to my waking up, SHIELD had stolen her life’s work out from under her, offering a mere paltry paycheck in return. She was barely able to cover my treatment with that meager sum.
I was a Jane Doe with no identifiable health insurance.
Dr. Foster paid entirely out of pocket to save my life.
“Of course, the equipment was returned, along with a generous bonus.” Coulson clears his throat. “And in favor of both parties, we offered Dr. Foster a job at our agency.” At my curious hum, he adds, “Where she owns all the patents.”
Dr. Foster grins cheekily. “Don’t worry. Now that I have full access to their database and resources,” she glances down at her notes, determined, “I’m certain they’ll supplement my own findings.”
Perhaps it’s my own folly, but she reminds me of a dear friend.
I sigh. “Very well.”
And a life debt is not so easily filled.
“Oh dear.” I glance at the treadmill in the corner with a shudder. “I’m assuming you’re in charge of my intake appointment then?”
She blinks. “Oh—I didn’t realize you—!” Her brows twist. “You’re not from the UK?”
Coulson flicks the tablet screen and a holographic manila file titled “Ljung Lirong” appears above the surface of the center table. “Agent Ljung here is our resident alien consultant. Who also happens to be an alien herself.”
There’s a muffled “Oh.”
“I prefer the term,” I bite out politely, “Asgardian.”
Coulson tilts his head. “Pardon me. Asgardian.” The little demon tucks the tablet to his side. “I’ll return in a few hours to escort you to the cafeteria. For now, trust that you’re in good hands.”
One of the scientists waves at me with a friendly smile.
I study the back of Coulson’s tailored suit as he strides away. “Yes, many thanks, agent,” I say, dryly. Then I turn back to Dr. Foster’s flabbergasted expression with a chuckle. “And yes, dear, you are indeed friends with an extraterrestrial lifeform.” I curtsy teasingly. “For my part, I can say with complete honesty that meeting you has been an absolute pleasure.”
The doors hiss shut behind me.
“All I ask is that you not subject me to running. I absolutely detest running.”
A scientist to my right holds up a folded set of athletic clothes sheepishly, the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo stitched directly onto the center.
“Yes, yes.” I slow down to a crawl on the treadmill, sweating heavily. “I know my performance was abysmal. No need to rub it in.”
Dr. Foster cocks an eyebrow. “Abysmal? Hardly.” She removes the electrodes from my skin. “Did you know you’re a step up from an Olympic athlete?”
I blink. “I am?”
I thought Father’s spell had removed all of my enhanced and magical abilities. However, I have maintained my appearance as an Asgardian. Perhaps—
“You’re in great health,” Dr. Aliyev comments, typing at a computer. “You seemed to have broken a few ribs, but they’re healing thrice as fast as Earth’s average.” He pushes up his glasses, his eyes glued to the screen. “Quite an achievement, Ms. Ljung.”
I lean backward on the machine, examining the X-ray photos, scattered over the monitors and holographic screens in black and white. I couldn’t identify the breakages, so one of the doctors had circled them in bright red.
Dr. Xiang hands me a bottle of water with a soft smile.
“How long until they’re fully healed?” I ask, uncapping the bottle.
I could mention that Asgardians tend to be more fit than the current showing, which would explain my current embarrassment, but I can’t go spilling all our secrets now. Agent Coulson already knows that I’m injured to some extent.
After all, Father left the appearance spell in place.
Why not make use of what little is at my disposal?
Dr. Aliyev grimaces, squinting through his rectangular lenses. “I’d say about a week.” The keyboard keys clack noisily. “You seem to be acclimating to our viruses and bacteria as well…”
I frown. “Have I brought anything dangerous with me?”
He shakes his head. “Fortunately, our antibiotics seem to work on wiping out the nasty ones. But we’ll be monitoring you, just in case.”
The water is frigid as it glides down my throat, so similar to my early training days.
When I first started sparring, my instructor used to beat me down time and time again. When I arrived the next day with a patchwork of bruises, he frowned, certain that he had been pulling his punches. After a few years, we both realized I lacked a natural aptitude for war: I was smaller, thinner, and more prone to injury. He had inquired after my diet, of course, but that had yielded few results. He had then inquired after my medical history as if the truth would be naturally found, buried deep in my mother’s line.
Jokes on him: The truth was something only I could guess at.
All I’ve been told is that Jotuns are physically weaker than Asgardians on average.
“This is mere interest,” I ask, “but do I resemble the human body? Blood type and everything?”
Everything I’ve ever learned about my body has been through trial and error.
Well, and a few cursory medical spells to let me know I’m allergic to a common Asgardian bean.
Dr. Foster hums. “Well, you mentioned you were cursed, right? Based on your testimony, you’ve lost a lot of the strength and speed that you’re used to and even then, you’re stronger than the average human.”
I try not to preen.
Dr. Aliyev chimes in, “The DNA tests are still going through, but based on the X-rays, Asgardians seem to be functionally similar to the human body. You probably won’t have a recognized blood type though—well, recognized by us on Earth.” He scratches his chin. “Ms. Ljung, forgive me for asking, but did Asgardians originate from Earth or have they always existed in your realm?”
I can see the intellectual curiosity blooming behind his eyes.
The doors suddenly hisses as Coulson enters. “Afternoon, team. I take it everything went well?” he asks, scanning the team.
There’s no bow of submission, no tilt of the head.
Instead, Dr. Xiang nods excitedly. “You won’t believe what we’ve found.” She pulls up a host of holographic files that shimmer silvery blue in the cold air. “At her current state, Agent Ljung could be comparable to Captain America in his early days.”
Ah, yes, I remember that the star-spangled soldier!
Before the team can bombard him with groundbreaking discoveries, Coulson holds up a patient hand. “You can put the rest in the report. We’re on a bit of a time crunch, so I’ll be escorting Agent Ljung to the cafeteria.” He scrolls through his tablet. “After that, we’ve got some written tests…”
As if all of this isn’t one big test.
Coulson frowns, looking me up and down, as I step down from the treadmill. “How do you feel physically? We could finish combat capability tonight with some of our recruits.”
And I always ace my tests.
I cross my arms. “It’s doable. I just need a quick shower.” Turning to the team, I offer them a warm smile. “Thank you, dears. It was an absolute delight spending time with you all.”
There are a few shy smiles in return and only a couple hungry gazes, scientifically peaked, so to speak.
I make use of one of the proffered towels on my way out.
Dr. Foster calls out, “Dr. Aaliyev!” She hangs her lab coat on the wall. “I’ll be taking my lunch break now.”
“Perfect.” Coulson checks his watch. “I’ll lead you to the showers first.”
“Why thank you, agent,” I say, relishing in the cold air. “I appreciate the escort.”
“You’ll get a hang of the grounds soon enough,” Dr. Foster adds. “Trust me.”
As we walk to the showers, we pass by the hammer once more, sticking absurdly upright in the sand.
“Ms. Ljung, that artifact belongs to your people, no?” Dr. Foster asks, craning her neck to look around me. “Could you remove it from the ground?”
A bland smile. “Unfortunately, I was heavily injured from battle with a special curse. It prevents me from removing the…artifact.” Unclench the jaw. “I’m certain I can try once I have recovered.”
Coulson hums in patient interest.
And well, I haven’t mentioned that this is a really special artifact to the Asgardians. Enough to bequeath rulers of the Nine Realms. And I specifically haven’t mentioned that it does not answer to me.
Never has, never will.
Not that I haven’t tried, of course.
The wielder of Mjolnir must be worthy, as the legends say.
Dr. Foster’s eyes glitter with excitement. “I wonder if we can measure this ‘curse’ you seem to be under.”
The bigger question is: Why did Father send Mjolnir down at all?
Why send the hammer if not to test me? To hang this second chance in front of me, like paltry crumbs to a starving mouse?
It certainly didn’t fall off the pedestal and travel with me out of coincidence.
“I’d love to collaborate with you on that, doctor,” I tell her, smiling wide. “You know, this seems like the start of a great friendship.”
She grins back, practically beaming.
After all, Thor pulled it off in the movies, didn't he?
But...I'm not Thor.