Watching the last of the black, company SUVs disappear into the shimmering horizon, Phil Coulson is sure there are several days of intense paperwork ahead of him. He's sent a preliminary report to Director Fury, certainly, but his insistence to his longtime friend that the strange readings he'd been tracking were worth investigating has panned out into more than he ever thought it would. The game is about to change and they have to be prepared.
"So are you planning on staring into the desert for another couple hours or are we dismissed from our lonely outpost in the far reaches of East Bumfuck?" Clint drawls, coming to stand beside him.
"We have to make it so that we were never here, you know that," Phil answers.
"The never-here-ing would go a lot quicker if you two helped," Jasper grunts from behind them, lifting a large, metallic case into the trunk of their SUV. "Seriously, am I the only one packing here?"
"I would," Clint says with an exaggerated sigh, "but I'm an asset. My hands are my livelihood. We don't want to run the risk of anything happening to them, right?"
"I hate everything that you choose to be," Jasper responds with a smile.
"Let's wrap up here and get on the road," Phil says, before the two of them get distracted from the task at hand by teasing each other. He checks his watch. "I have to speak to Dr. Selvig and Dr. Foster before we set out. I'll be back within a half-hour."
"Bring me a water," Clint says, lifting one side of a large, black case.
"Same. And a granola bar or something," Jasper adds, lifting the other side.
"There are granola bars in the glove compartment," Phil informs him.
"Yeah, but they've been in the glove compartment for days," Clint says, hefting the case into the trunk with Jasper's help.
"You've had to put up with far worse than that," Phil says.
"Because we had to," Jasper informs him, leaning against the side of the SUV with his arms folded over his chest. "Why would we put up with granola bars left in the glove compartment when you're going to be within a five minute walk of a convenience store?"
"We agreed that we'd stop for lunch when we were on the road," Phil says, rapidly growing tired with their debate.
"Yeah, but snacks," Clint says, by way of an explanation.
Phil shakes his head and tosses the keys to Jasper. "Then go make a run yourself. I'll meet you back at the car. Make sure you leave the windows rolled down for Clint."
"Funny, boss," Clint chirps as the three of them walk back towards the center of town. "You keep it up and your favorite pet is going to piss on your shoes."
"It wouldn't be the first time," Phil mutters.
"I was drunk and you stepped into my stream," Clint retorts. "Sitwell, I don't know what you're laughing about. You're the one who threw up on his shirt."
"He smelled like your piss," Jasper snorts. "You know my nose gets sensitive when I'm drunk."
"Car. Thirty minutes. Goodbye," Phil says, deviating from their path.
He can hear the two of them continuing to bicker even as he walks away. If the ride back to New York is anything like the ride here, he knows he's going to need some aspirin and a good swim at whatever hotel they stop at. It's not that there's anything wrong with either Clint or Jasper and it's not as though he doesn't enjoy their company, it's just the simple fact that the two of them combined is one of the most volatile, explosive elements in the known world. It reminds him of family vacations as a child, when he and his brothers would kick each other in the shins and bump elbows in the back of the station wagon until their father threatened to turn the car around.
Oh, Jasper and Clint are perfectly capable of behaving like adults. They've just got a devious streak a mile long when they're together. Phil likes a good joke, but he also likes his shoes to be piss-free and his shirts free of vomit. Granted, that was just the once, but he's not got high hopes for this journey.
He walks briskly into Jane Foster's lab, doors blown wide open amidst the scorching summer heat, as usual. It should probably say something that no one within seems to make much of his abrupt reappearance.
"You and the last of the Goon Squad shipping out?" Darcy asks, bent backwards over a chair and fanning herself with a magazine.
"We're leaving for New York in the next twenty minutes," Phil answers with a faint smile even as Erik gives the young woman a stern look. "I thought it prudent to wish you luck on your research and to issue one last apology for the appropriation of your equipment, Dr. Foster."
"I can't say that I'm happy that you did it in the first place," Jane says, looking up from some sort of readout printed by a nearby machine, "but everything's been returned just as it was. So thank you for that much. I don't suppose your men picked anything up before they left…?"
He can see how hard she tries not to let her hopefulness leak through. While he may not understand what kind of bond she and Thor formed in his short time on Earth, he's not about to question it either. In response, he just folds his hands behind his back and shakes his head. Her disappointment is much harder to conceal.
"I'm afraid not. But should we ever get any sign of him, I'll be sure to inform you personally. Call it a peace offering," Phil says.
"I would appreciate that," Jane says. "And if we get any sign of him—"
"I'm sure we'll know about it," Phil says.
"Right. Well, before you go, I think there was something Erik wanted to discuss with you," Jane says, looking back to the man in question.
Phil doesn't think much of it when Erik Selvig takes him aside for a private word. He's already forwarded his recommendation to Fury for the scientist; something that Erik is aware of. The man drops his voice, like he's determined not to let Jane or Darcy hear them.
"Before you return to New York, perhaps you might do me a favor," Erik begins.
"Depends on the favor," Phil counters, his voice lowered to match.
"I've been getting some strange readouts. I've checked my equipment and even purchased new equipment on the off chance it was faulty beyond my ability to detect," Erik explains. "No matter what I did, I always managed to pick up signs of an earthquake occurring a few miles away. But with the intensity of the earthquakes I was detecting, we should have been able to feel it. For some, Puente Antiguo should have sustained a great deal of damage."
"And you think it could somehow be connected to Thor," Phil concludes.
"I think there could be a chance the two are connected," Erik answers. "I can't find any reason for earthquakes that are happening but not happening."
Phil dips his head in a nod. Well, it certainly sounds like something worth looking into and he'd be remiss in returning to New York without at least checking it out.
"Can you show me on a map exactly where you were getting these readings from?"
"Well, this is the place," Jasper says, consulting their map.
"There's nothing here," Clint observes.
"A brilliant observation. Tell me, Clint, what else do your hawk eyes see?" Jasper asks.
"Let's get out and take a look around," Phil says, unfastening his seatbelt.
He hears the other two follow as he opens the driver's side door and slides out. Clint wasn't wrong; there's nothing but desert as far as the eye can see. As he walks, he can see there's nothing to suggest any recent earthquakes or otherworldly visitors. Just sand, sand and more sand.
"Hey, are either of your phones acting funny?" Clint asks.
Phil looks to Jasper before they both pull out their cell phones. Walking towards each other, they can confirm that, yes, the devices are behaving oddly. The screens flicker and fill with static, not responding to touch or tapping the power button. Jasper goes so far as to remove the batter on his phone and raises his eyebrows at Phil when the phone continues its behavior regardless of the lack of power source.
"Barton, when did you first notice—"
Phil cuts himself when he looks up and finds that Clint isn't where he'd been just a moment prior. He looks around them, back to the SUV and across the desert expanse and can't seem to locate their archer.
"Barton," he barks. No response. He takes a few steps in one direction, looking from side to side. "Clint?"
But it's not doing them any good. As far as either of them can tell, Clint Barton has just vanished into thin air.