She peered around the corner, confirming her suspicions. She cursed in Russian away from earshot of the two guards that remained on watch. Time was ticking and she reached for her pepper spray from her utility belt.

One…two…three.

She leapt from her hiding place and blindsided one of the guards, while spraying the hapless wit that began to claw at his face. Her Widow's Bite stunned the poor soul and she clamored up the steps.

Several other guards popped out of the corridor and she slid on the ground, taking them down at their vulnerable ankles and kneeing several in the groin. One minute. Mentally she was aware she was running out of time.

An arrow whizzed by her fiery red curls. "I can handle it by myself," she shouted back into the empty air.

"I'm not going to let you have all the fun."

She reciprocated with her pistol as she shot a target behind the marksman. "You were saying?"

He shook his head, warding off the residual blast charges he received earlier. "These hearing aids aren't working." The constant ringing was enough to drive him mad. He thought he had it under control.

"You still need them."

He continued to follow her through the dark compound, as more blast charges were ignited. "That's it," he grumbled. What he lost in hearing, he made it up with his vision. His fingers reached for an arrow. Silently, he launched it into a back corner and one of the men came crashing to the broken floor. "Finally."

"How many arrows you have left?"

"Not many."

"You might want to switch it to your gun now."

"You know I don't like that," his gray eyes narrowed in the darkness.

"I'm just saying." She held her hand in front of them as she picked up more footsteps coming their way.

Clint punched a button on his bow and several clicks were heard coming from his quiver. "It'll be my pleasure," a grin appeared on his face. "You may want to duck." The hallway ignited in smoke and flames, as the guards scattered from the blast.

"Show off," she brushed past him, while aiming her gun around the corner.

The two ran out and made their way to the final room. They rushed through the bolted doors, analyzing their current surroundings for traps and triggers. To their amazement, Fury and Coulson stood in the middle with a vast amount of screens.

"I see we have a new record. I'm impressed." Fury grabbed a scanner and gave it to Coulson.

"What is this all about?" She controlled her breathing as Coulson walked up to her first. "What the hell is this?"

Coulson didn't answer her as he waved the wand over her. Her black catsuit hardly had any coalescing green light up except over her back. A linear green line was stretched across her shoulder blade.

Her head turned around, "Fuck."

"It's just one," her handler replied.

"It's still one mark," she muttered.

Coulson's attention turned over to Hawkeye. His reaction was the same as Widow's. "Get this over with." The wand emitted clicks as Coulson swept from head to toe. Natasha watched, hoping he would get several marks or at least one mark more than her. "I'm guessing I'm better than the Black Widow."

The redhead was going to lunge at him for his comment until the signal went off. She raised an eyebrow. "You were saying." The sound of her voice mocked back at him for his premature victory.

Green marks were seen over his right upper abdomen, as two distinct lines not a mere inch were crisscrossed.

"That could've been bad," Fury looked at the marksman and went over to the screens to see when that event occurred. He found the scene where Barton had been in a knife battle, using his bow to counter the slashes. His attacker rebounded several times alternating his hold of the deadly weapon before tempting Clint to counter his attacks.

"You know I don't like use any other weapon except for my bow."

Fury gazed at him. "Better reconsider." His attention went back to the monitor.

…

The week went by slowly after the field trials. Phil was tracking something out west as usual, but there was something he was holding back. His brows furrowed as he checked his cellphone. Natasha never mentioned it, but she kept a close watch on the agent. No one could still be trusted, not even Barton. The stunt he had pulled still had ramifications in her book.

The Black Widow walked about the base, seeing that it was her prison at this point. She found the research corridor. Judging by the numerous locked doors, she wasn't granted access to whatever secret projects. She turned around the corner, but a familiar scent caught her attention. A faint hint of peppermint oil tainted the air.

Her light footsteps quickened. He's here.

The redhead bounded up the stairs and onto the second level before coming across an opening that looked out on the mesa. She wished she had her Widow's Bite with her, but Fury had confiscated them after the trials and along with her other cache as well.

Her green eyes fell upon an aged man. "Ivan," her voice broke the silence.

Her former mentor turned around. "I see that you're alive."

Without seconds to waste, she pushed him against the windowpane. "Why are you here?" She held a death grip around his neck. "You put me through hell," she seethed.

He struggled against her grip, "I can explain," he croaked.

A few Russian curses were thrown his way, as she shoved him to the ground. Her sharp heel was aimed at his jugular. "I don't need more lies. You were the one who killed my parents."

"It wasn't me," the old man pleaded with his former star pupil.

Confusion flashed across the Black Widow's face. "Enlightened me." She sunk her heel further, a thin line of blood streaked down his neck and stained his shirt's collar.

"It was Alexei. He was the mole in the group."

"What?"

"The minute you went off the grid back in Novosibirsk, Alexei was going to kill you anyhow. He visited me earlier in that day, trying to kill me as well. He was working for someone else."

"You mean you've been protecting me all this time?" She lifted her heel off his neck.

Ivan got off from the floor and rubbed his neck, "I trained you well and it wasn't easy. I had to play the bad guy." His accent was thick with hints from the old country.

"Do we know whom?" she went back to the previous part of their conversation.

"No." The old man sat on a bench, "he wiped his records clean." He applied pressure to his superficial wound, "He was methodical."

"Is he still alive?"

"He's dead…buried under the Red Room," the master spy smirked. "It was pride that got to him at the end."

"Good then."

Her mentor sighed, "I'm sorry if I had put you through hell back then. There was just no other way around it."

"You were a good teacher." She smiled back at him.

He took the simple gesture, since it was rarity for her to smile. "I saw your field exam the other day. It can still use some work."

She cocked her head a little sideways, wondering what he was up to. "More training I assume?"

"You read my mind. All we need is Barton."

…

The marksman lunged at her, but she quickly twisted her body with a half handstand. Her legs connected with his back and he landed to the ground with a thud.

"Stop falling for that," she barked at him.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead, "Easy for you to say."

Ivan watched his two pupils from the sidelines. "Again."

Phil stood there, counting the number of times Barton landed on the mat. He didn't dare to interject into Ivan's drill schedule.

Natasha crouched low to the mat and eyed Clint. Her green eyes focused on his chiseled arms. "Thirsty for more?"

He played a grin his face, "you know it." He charged at her before twisting beside her. He caught one of her arms and locked it in position.

"Where did you learn this one?" she spat.

"Ivan gave me some pointers before this." He added pressure to her left arm. "Want to have dinner tonight?"

"In your dreams," her eyes narrowed before she flipped herself, knocking Clint off his center of gravity. "I win again."

"That's a little better," Phil called from the sidelines.

The door to the gym opened. Fury walked in with his black trench coat. "I see everyone is playing nice for once," he called out. Everyone in the gym froze. He handed each of his agents a folder. "You have your mission assignments. Welcome to Strike Team Delta."

…

Jane plunged her extra hours into the lab despite Darcy's insistence that she take a leave of absence. There was no point in going back to an empty apartment.

"Can you hand me that wrench over there?" the budding scientist continued wiring her contraption.

"You need to seriously stop," her assistant whispered as she scrounged for the metal bar. "This is unhealthy for you."

"I don't care right now." She grabbed the tool from Darcy's hand. "I need to do something to keep my mind at bay." She worked on the device for a several more hours. Soon enough, metallic shell encased the wires she had programmed. Deep down, she didn't want to believe that Thor was dead. She saw the accident reports and bystander accounts. None of it could be true. There was no rhyme or reason. It didn't make sense.

Firefighters believed he died on impact and that the collision down the hill caused the gas tank to rupture. The flames were too intense and they never recovered a body.

A cool liquid streamed down her left cheek as she made the final adjustments. "It can't be true," she whispered to herself. "It just can't be…"

She dropped the pliers on the table and sat there in silence, mulling over the week's events. This was the breakdown that Darcy was waiting for, but Jane would have none it. She didn't need anyone to know.

She flipped the on switch. A slow blue light engulfed the room. The beam focused and shot straight into the ceiling. She wiped away the tears around her eyes and silently said a prayer to herself before taking the gadget with her out to the open wide space.

Her footsteps kicked up the dirt as she wound her way to Dr. Selvig's site. His whole week was enraptured by a mysterious find. He still didn't know what it was, but only that it was encased in iron and that a force field surrounded the mysterious object.

The floodlights were still on as she made her way to his base camp. She walked a few more yards away from anyone's prying eyes. In the open vastness, she dug a hole and dropped her gadget into the foreign soil.

The self-sustaining light came on. She watched the beam point upward, piercing through the darkness. She hoped it would buy her some time. She walked back to her makeshift workstation. Her laptop was already crunching the numbers for her, plotting the inconceivable notions surrounding wormholes.

...

Swirls of fog and mist surrounded him. His head was spinning as he set foot on the marble floors. He didn't recognize where he was. I'm not in Kansas. The thought mused him as he wondered if he was in purgatory or not.

He walked further into the hallowed halls. Torches lined each side of the room, but he was beside himself. His footsteps grew stronger and bounced against the walls.

"Welcome home, my son." A figure moved from a shadow that was casted from a giant Corinthian column. The gray bearded man walked towards him with his Shakespearian costume ghosting across the floor.

"Excuse me?" He swallowed, clearing his throat. "Do I know you?" his voice was low and doubtful.

"Of course you don't." The old man smiled. "Walk with me." His voice boomed.

"Where am I?" The blond looked in bewilderment.

"Asgard."

"What? Come again." He rubbed the back of his head back and forth. "This can't be real."

The gray bearded god laughed. "You don't remember because I erased your memories." He looked at his son, "You needed to learn a lesson. And to earth, I sent you."

"Right…"

"You learned to love."

An image of Jane flashed across his mind. "I'm still not following."

The aging god stepped in front of him. He placed his hand into Thor's open palm. Telepathically he flashed the images of the old Asgardian days, where Thor held court as a young prince. "You were always looking to Midgard and causing trouble for me." His father's voice reached into his mind.

Images of his childhood came to light along with a smaller boy that stood next to him. The two were kneeling beside a staff that emitted a blue light.

"I found it first," the small boy stuck his tongue out.

"I'm older than you," Thor shouted back. He snatched the staff from his adoptive brother.

"Settle down boys," Odin appeared on the steps of the drawing room. "Loki, it doesn't belong to you. And it doesn't belong to you either, Thor."

Loki flashed a smile across his mischievous face and ran out of the room, leaving Thor to fend for himself. "Why did you ever bring him here?"

"A debt had to be paid." Odin rested the staff by his chair. The god began to wonder if it was a wise decision.

The connection ceased between both father and son. "There's a pressing matter that you need to know."

Thor shook his head and adjusted to the newfound cache of memories. The missing piece in his life was finally placed. "What is it?"

"It's Loki." Odin shuffled a few more steps, "There's so much I can do here, but you're needed back on earth."

"But, I still have more questions."

Odin smiled, "You'll get your answers." The god summoned the Odin Force and the energy force surrounded Thor. "Find Mjolnir."

"Wait…" he screamed against the swirling light and dust.

…

The story is starting to pick up and there are just a few chapters left! Of all the Marvel movies, I have yet to see Thor. That's pretty good since I was living out of my car practically during med school.

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