A/N: This fic came about because of a piece of art found on Pinterest. There should be only two chapters. At the end of the second chapter, I'll describe the art.
Namaste,
~Sunny
Avengers
Hammer Time
Chapter 1
New Mexico Desert
"You better call it Coulson, 'cause I'm starting to root for this guy." From his high perch, SHIELD Agent Clint Barton ignored the rain pelting him and kept his eyes focused on the civilian's shadow as he systematically took out every agent they sent after him. As he neared the hammer imbedded in desert sand, the last agent standing, a giant hulk of a man stepped in front of their guest and engaged. The two men fell through the side of the tunnel and the fight continued on the muddy slope until both were so covered in the gooey mess it was difficult to tell them apart. But Clint wasn't your average agent. He also hadn't earned the name Hawkeye for nothing. He could see what most people couldn't. The tip of his arrow tracked the big man's moments as he slid down the hill, still trying to get to the hammer. "Last chance, sir."
"Wait. I want to see this." Coulson's voice said into his good ear, the one he'd had surgery on just a couple of weeks ago. The damage to Clint's hearing had gotten to the point where hearing aids no longer helped as well as they had in the past. The time had finally come to do something about it. With advances in medical technology, SHIELD surgeons had corrected the damage to his dominant left ear. In a couple of weeks, the right ear would be done and he'd hear normally again.
Their guest stood over the hammer, a triumphant smile coming over his face. He reached down, grasped the handle and pulled, but it didn't come free. Using both hands, he tried again, his already oversized muscles bulging with the effort. When he finally accepted that he wouldn't be able to lift the hammer, he fell to his knees and just let the rain come.
"Alright. Show's over."
Clint shoved the arrow back into the quiver and collapsed the bow as he was being lowered to the ground. He vaulted over the side and jogged back into the portable armory just as the rain stopped. "Acknowledged. So what're we gonna do with it?"
"The hammer? Not much we can do. None of us, not even that guy, can lift it."
One side of Clint's mouth smiled. "We could advertise it as a historical landmark, run tours and anyone who buys the premium ticket gets a chance to try to pick it up. The person who can pick it up gets hired to guard the thing and we can get back to the city, plus we make a little cash on the side."
"Tax free? The IRS wouldn't like that."
"Well, the IRS can go **** itself." Clint waited for Coulson to reprimand him once again for his use of profanity, but the line had gone dead. He shed his soaked jacket and shook his head to remove the excess water. When Coulson didn't show himself, Clint went looking, finding him interrogating the prisoner. The man had been cleaned up before being locked in the cell.
"It's not easy to do what you did. You made my men-some of the most highly trained professionals in the world-look like a bunch of minimum-wage mall cops. In my experience, it takes someone who's received similar training to do what you did to them. Why don't you tell me where you received that training? Afghanistan? Chechnya? No, you strike me more as the soldier of fortune type. Who are you?"
From here, Clint could see that the other man was demoralized by the fact that he hadn't been able to lift the hammer. Clint caught Coulson's eye, lifting his chin as a signal that they needed to talk. Excusing himself, Coulson came out and the two men spoke briefly. Over the tech's shoulder, Clint could see the prisoner apparently talking to himself. Coulson returned to the interrogation room and a few minutes later an older man with gray and blonde hair, Dr. Eric Selvig, showed up claiming that their prisoner was someone by the name of Dr. Donald Blake, a medical doctor who had switched to astrophysics. Clint thought it a little too convenient. Coulson did too because he sent a two-man detail to keep an eye on them.
Together, the agents watched Selvig lead "Donald" away with the detail then followed at a discreet distance. Clint crossed his arms and Coulson shoved his hands into his pockets. "I have to report to the director. You're in charge, Agent Barton."
There was a pause, then, "I'm gonna change first."
"Why?"
Clint paused again. "I'm all wet. Don't wanna catch a cold."
Another pause, longer this time. "Okay. Stay sharp."
Clint's "Yes, sir" went unheard because Coulson had already gone. Taking a deep breath of the rain cleansed air, Clint jogged to the temporary living quarters to get out of his wet clothes.
~~O~~
The cloud cover broke around midnight and the stars started to show themselves once more. Not that Clint needed much light to see even without the infrared glasses. It just made things easier.
With the prisoner gone and the locals finally asleep or more likely passed out, Clint and his people could relax just a little. God help them if they did, though, or Clint would be all over them like ants on a Twinkie. Just because something looked harmless, didn't mean it was. Like that ****ing hammer. What the hell was that all about anyway? Of all the people who had tried to pick the thing up, it stood to reason that at least one of them would have what it took to lift it, but no one had.
Guess we'll just have to wait for Captain Friggin' America to wake up, Clint thought while rolling his eyes. What was it about Steve Rogers that Coulson couldn't stop talking about him? Every time he bought another trading card, the senior agent had to show it to everyone he knew. Okay, to be fair, Clint had tracked down a couple and given them his friend in the Secret Santa exchange. Clint had gotten Hill, and through some fancy computer work, had found out that Natasha had wound up with Coulson. He'd begged and pleaded with Natasha to trade. She'd agreed, only after exacting her pound of flesh in the form of a weekend at her favorite spa for the two of them. Oh, and to make it worse, he wasn't allowed to utter one word of protest or make jokes. Well, there go all my openers.
Another yawn pushed its way out, so to keep from falling asleep standing up, Clint tapped his headset. "Barton to Comm-sat. I'm gonna do a walk-through. Let me know when the cameras around the artifact are back up."
"Roger that. Comm-sat out."
First on the list was the power generation tent. Only a few techs wandered around checking displays and making notations in their tablets. Boring!
Clint climbed the ladder into the tunnel, satisfied that the repairs had been completed to Coulson's exacting specifications. Oh, boy, he thought sarcastically, now no one can see in. Not that there's anyone but us monkeys this far out.
After checking the outlying tunnels, Clint slowly worked his way closer to the center until he only lad the room where the hammer lay. What the hell is that stuff? Our tools and equipment couldn't touch it.
And forget about moving it. No one left on the base now had the moral integrity to be able to lift it, provided the story was true, which Clint doubted. It was a myth. A fairytale told to children at bedtime.
Coulson had told him the Nordic legend behind Thor's Hammer, that only those of sound moral character and integrity may lift Mjölnir. The hammer can summon the elements wind, rain, thunder, and lightning for the wielder to use at their discretion. There had been some other crap about time travel, but Clint had stopped listening.
Clint chuckled to himself at the portentous tone Coulson had used, as if he would be the one to make decisions on who was or wasn't worthy to use the hammer.
Eventually, Clint found himself looking down at the artifact from the top of the stairs. The panel that had been torn when the prisoner and Agent Robinson fell through it had been repaired. The ground around the hammer was still wet though no longer muddy.
Clint went down the stairs to stare at it for a while then walked around and around, looking at it from every angle. He stepped into the circular hole that had been dug, squatting to look at it up close. With one finger, he reached out to touch the handle, drawing back quickly. Nothing happened so he touched it again, longer this time, then rubbed the finger with his thumb and sniffed. It smelled like wet leather.
That should've been the end of it, but the longer he looked at the thing, the more his curiosity grew. He poked his finger into the ground around it starting two feet away and moving toward it. The dessert sand was soft until he reached the base of the pillar.
Something about the artifact drew him to swipe two fingers down the handle, the head and the strap. Again, there was no reaction. It didn't move, lightning didn't come down from the sky to strike him dead, and Coulson didn't suddenly appear to give him hell.
Getting to his feet, Clint fully intended to leave the area, to finish his walk-through, but he didn't. He just continued to stare at the artifact with his arms crossed as he walked around it one more time. Hundreds, maybe even thousands, of people had tried to pick it up, including the prisoner claiming to be Thor, the god of Thunder, and none had been able to. What chance do I have of picking it up?
And as it always did, his shoulder angel and devil snickered at him for even thinking it might be a possibility. Not good enough for heaven and not bad enough for hell. Great. If I was music, I'd be Barry Manilow.
So, just to prove to himself that he couldn't do it, Clint glanced over his shoulder to verify that he was alone then wrapped his left hand around the handle, took a quick breath and pulled.
It came free from the pillar making him stumble backwards. He looked from the hammer in his hand to the pillar and back then muttered a horrified "Oh, ****!" and promptly dropped it again, staggering back a step and staring at the thing as if it would come to life and bite him.
"O-oh, ****!" The hammer lay on the wet ground looking harmless while at the same time scaring Clint more than anything he'd ever seen or done in his entire life. Again, he glanced over his shoulder, nervously this time, rubbing a hand down his face. "Okay. It's, uh, it's-it's all good. I'll, uh, just pick it up and put it back and no one will know. Yeah. That's it. Just…" he motioned at it with his left hand, "…pick it up."
But Clint couldn't make himself touch it. He also couldn't leave it where it was or Coulson would know something was up. "C'mon, Barton. You can do this. Just pick the ****ing thing up and put it back before someone finds out."
Taking a deep breath, Clint wrapped both hands around the handle and lifted it up to eye level. He let go with his right hand, feeling more at ease the longer he held it until it seemed to weigh nothing at all.
With a grin, he recalled the old Thor cartoons from when he was a kid. Standing with his feet shoulder width apart, he raised the hammer in the air. A bolt of lightning shot from the head into the sky through the hole in the ceiling, the flash so bright it left an afterimage on Clint's retinas. With nothing to stop it, the lightning swirled around the sky, arced over and struck the nearest power source: the SHIELD generators. A strong initial explosion was followed by several smaller ones in rapid succession plunging the entire complex into darkness.
Clint's elation quickly deflated. Switching on the Maglite, he replaced the hammer on the pillar, almost jumping when a voice accompanied by mild static came over the back-up radio he carried.
"Morris to Agent Barton."
"Barton. Go ahead."
"Sir, the generators are down. We've lost all power to the base."
He cleared his throat and pressed the talk button, using his most acerbic tone, "Oh, really? What was your first clue, Morris?"
"Sorry, sir. Just following orders."
Though he felt guilty for his part in the incident, duty obligated him to respond as expected. "Well, don't just sit there, Morris. Get someone on it. I want a report ASAP."
"Yes, sir."
Clint returned the radio to the clip on his belt, breathing a sigh of relief. Once again, he shined the Maglite on the hammer. Bending over, he whispered, "Let's keep this between you 'n me, okay?"
Naturally, the artifact didn't respond. Clint nodded, gave it a salute and hastily left the area when he heard a pair of guards coming. At the junction, he made an about face as if he were coming from a totally different direction. Aiming a thumb in the direction of the hammer, Clint ordered, "Go check the artifact then walk the perimeter."
The men nodded and moved off. Confident that he hadn't been made, Clint strode quickly down the tunnel toward the power generation tent, dropping his "resting face" into place just before he called out for the man in charge.
TBC