LIII
Excerpt from Theories of Celestial Geometry by Prince Loki Odinsson, stored in the Sky Spire of the Academy of Mysteries on Asgard
The foundation of an interrealm gate must be strongly anchored. The runes chosen for such a purpose should be powerful, able to hold a great deal of seidr, such as those carved upon the walls of the Bifröst Observatory. But also, crucially, they must be flexible. They must shift with the boundaries of the realm. This is where an understanding of celestial geometry becomes paramount.
Seidr fluctuates with the orbit of the realms around Yggdrasil. The angle of the boundary to the branches is not constant. Maintaining a magical working in such conditions requires the use of a link to the realm from which the gate is anchored, the better to account for the shift in ambient power on the other side of the gate. Without such a link, without the appropriate runes, the portal will be unstable, even destructive.
To that end, I have compiled several theories regarding rune design and composition that I hope to test in the coming months…
LIV
Fitz's phone alarm buzzes and startles him. It's been quiet in the lab all morning, just him and Jemma sorting the equipment from the Helicarrier's loading bay. "Almost time for our briefing," he reminds her.
"You mean the mini-briefing before the full briefing," she says.
He groans. "Ah, yes. The joys of compartmentalization."
Those who know of the Tesseract are meeting to clear what they'll tell the rest who aren't in the loop. "Do you have your notes on Eld's little project?" he asks.
Jemma nods. "I've got a list going of what we'll need." She pulls up the document and Fitz scans it. He stops at the third item.
"He wants a piece of the extraterrestrial skeleton. Hmm. What for?"
She shrugs. "Said he needs something that has passed through the distortion, and I think the specimen almost definitely did. As a working theory, that's better than anything we've come up with."
"Do you think Coulson will approve the request?"
She reads over his shoulder. "Yep. Already has. He only needs a small sample - I'm thinking about excising a piece of a long bone. Thoughts on the casing?"
"Not copper or iron, I see. Would steel work? I mean, I know it's an iron alloy, but…"
"We'll have to ask. He said something from the earth itself, which is pretty broad."
"Did he mean an element found in the crust, or something just buried under the earth?" Fitz chews on his lip. "If it's an element in the crust, then what about aluminum?"
"Oh, that might work. And it's a lot cheaper than anything else I was considering."
He pulls up the requisitions site on his tablet and puts in an order request for the aluminum, with the rough dimensions of the egg-shaped device Lukas had outlined to Simmons. "Think it'll work?" he asks.
"I dunno," Jemma replies. Her gaze is distant. Fitz knows there is something complex and wonderful happening right now, deep in her grey matter. Jemma doesn't like to share her thoughts until she's considered every angle. Fitz, on the other hand, likes to bounce ideas off anyone and everyone that will stand still and listen for a minute. It's part of his process. But he knows better than to push Jemma. On that, at least.
"What do you think about Eld? Seems like every day it's something else with him."
"I think he's very good at avoiding questions he doesn't want to answer."
"Yeah?"
"I asked him how he knows all this stuff about portals. He said he can feel them."
"Not exactly up to scientific rigor, is it?" Fitz snorts. "Convenient that only he can feel them."
"You're quite the grump this morning." She smiles, with a teasing edge.
"Yes, well, I'm a empiricist, not a metahuman. I don't feel things." She giggles. "You know what I mean," Fitz grumbles. "I'll wait for the results, thank you very much." He leans in. "Although, I heard - " He glances around for listening ears and finds none but Jemma. "I heard that Fury was even thinking about bringing in Dr. Banner if the project really stalls."
"No! You think he would?" Jemma's eyes shine. "I'd love to meet him, though. Even - even with everything, you know."
"We'll be the only normal ones left at this rate," he mutters. First metahumans, and then scientists that have gotten on the wrong side of gamma radiation. Fitz shakes his head. Jemma's right. Dr. Banner would be an asset. He's just being a wanker.
Leo's tired. That's where the irritation is coming from, he knows, but it's hard to shake off.
Last night's sleep hadn't been restful, crammed into a crew bunk deep in the lower levels. The Helicarrier's engines aren't loud. Not by a long shot. That would render the cloaking device useless.
The vibration. That's what had gotten to him. Low enough that it didn't register at a decibel that his brain classified as a sound. More a feeling. A rattle in his bones, an uneasiness crawling across his skin. So much for not paying mind to feelings.
And there was a dream that he doesn't remember. He'd been trapped, left behind. They'd abandoned him. He doesn't know who they were - that's always the way of dream knowledge, effortless and vague at the same time. But it had woken him in the night and left something cold, like he'd swallowed liquid nitrogen.
The constant vibration is still there, now under the soles of his feet. They're moving, but he can't see it. Leo wishes they'd thought to put a window in here.
The labs are always shoved in out of the way closets. Field agents seem to think all scientists live underground, like hobbits. Fitz had heard that comment enough when he was a teenager, for being a Tolkien fan on the scrawny side. He does wants a glimpse of the sky, now and then, even if it makes it more difficult to read his computer screen.
And just the thought, of looking out and seeing the tops of clouds skimming by… he wriggles his toes in his boots. He needs to stop being such an arse. Annoying vibration or not - he's on an honest-to-god, flying, cloaked, aircraft carrier base, buzzing along at a casual altitude of 30,000 feet. Leo used to fall asleep imagining such a scenario. Ten years old, burrowed under the bedcovers, the next four issues of his favorite comic stashed beneath his pillow and a flashlight in his mouth. Stars in his eyes and his toy rocket in one hand.
Of course, in that alternate universe, he'd also been famous, a renowned physicist and billionaire inventor who could barely walk outside without being mobbed by crowds of his biggest fans.
Yes, alright, maybe he had modeled his dream self by Tony Stark. Who could blame him, though? Finally, it had been cool to be smart. A genius, a nerd. Stark had changed everything, in the landscape of his childhood. The occasional hobbit remark had been the exception, not the rule.
"We're all here," Fitz repeats, slower. "All of us. Oh god, Jemma, Tony Stark is going to be at the briefing too."
Her lips twitch. "Talk to him like a human being, Fitz. You know," she says, standing up and putting on a high-pitched voice, which is very offensive, if it's supposed to be a serious imitation of him. "Hello there, Mr. Stark. S'a bit windy out there, huh? In the suit?" She clasps her hands together in front of her chest, widening her eyes. "You know, that metal suit you designed? Yeah, the one I recreated in my CAD program. And then photoshopped my face onto. And then put as my desktop background. That suit."
"One time," he grits out. "That was one time."
"You kept that as your background for six months."
"Alright, that's enough jabbering. We need to get back to work."
Jemma laughs in his face. It's great to have such a supportive lab partner. Fitz buries his nose in her list of materials, successfully ignoring her, until he thinks of a way to distract her from ever mentioning that photo to Tony Stark.
"How'd Eld do with the Tesseract? I heard they'd been rotating out the lab technicians."
Jemma shoots him a quizzical look. "Anxiety attacks," Fitz explains. "From the stress of the project and such."
"Well, I didn't have a chance to ask. Our discussion was derailed." Jemma squeezes her eyes shut and rests a hand on the side of her head. "I sort of, somehow, managed to bring up his absent mother."
"What?" He bites his tongue against any laughter. "Absent?"
"Absent, or passed on, I don't know! Oh, Fitz, it was terrible either way. You should have seen the look on his face." Jemma slumps down, resting her forehead on the flat surface of the lab bench, hiding her own expression. "Just awful."
"I'm sure he knows you didn't mean anything by it." He tries a consoling pat on the shoulder. Jemma finally glances up at him, eyes wide and mournful, lips turned down.
"But where do I get off? Asking personal questions like I'm S.H.I.E.L.D.'s grand inquisitor, good god," she moans.
"You're curious," Fitz says. "He can't fault you for that. If he hadn't gone and lied about who he is, he wouldn't be fielding so many questions about his past. It's his own fault, really."
She casts him a doubtful look. Fitz squares his shoulders. "I'm serious. I think he likes it, you know. Holding all the cards. Keeping secrets. He's always got that smirk." For some reason, the mental image of that smug little facial expression sets Leo's teeth on edge.
Jemma frowns at him. "And here I thought you liked him."
"I do," he admits. Grudgingly. Fitz rubs at his forehead, trying to think past the low grade hum of the turbines. "But he's not exactly S.H.I.E.L.D. material, is he? First the thing with Raina. And now he's a metahuman? Coulson doesn't like someone on his team he can't predict."
"Then why did he recruit Lukas?"
"Expediency?" Fitz shrugs. "Too many kettles on the fire. He needs help."
"And it doesn't hurt to keep all the people that know about the Tesseract together in the same place," Jemma observes.
"Which is why we're all here," Fitz says. The Tesseract sits in its innocuous metal container, off to the side on an unused lab bench. "Don't you think Coulson should tell everyone about S.H.I.E.L.D. having the Cube?"
"I don't think he wants to open that can of worms just yet." Jemma shrugs. "Plus, he's still trying to crack Raina. Figure out where she got that 0-8-4."
Fitz glances around, suddenly not so enthused about being 30,000 feet in the air with a criminal in the brig. Or whatever they call the holding cells in the Helicarrier. He calls it the brig in the privacy of his own mind, because Fury's got an eyepatch, of course, and one of the other daydreams he used to entertain featured himself as a pirate, scourge of the great sea. With a fantastic tricorn hat. Naturally.
"I don't envy him that," he says. "Eld's still not cleared the ring to be used for interrogation."
"Coulson has his ways," Jemma replies. "I don't know what they are or how he got them, but you know how he is."
Fitz hums his agreement. "The CIA, I've always thought. They've got those seminars and classes. You know. Intro to Interrogation Techniques. Psychological Terror 101. I think he and my grandmother might have graduated together."
"No, I believe she taught the courses," Jemma says. "Graduate level. Learn to Make A Human Sweat With the Strength of Your Gaze."
"You forgot her masterclass. How to Intimidate Friends and Manipulate Family Members." Fitz grins and nudges the black screen of his mounted computer, to wake it from resting mode. They've got to get to that briefing, and he wants to bring a printout of the report he'd prepared about theories of spacetime. His tablet's not hooked up to the printer yet and he doesn't want to bother with it.
The screen doesn't flicker. He taps it, hard. Nothing. "What the - " Fitz presses the power button. Still, the screen remains empty.
Jemma notices his efforts. "Is it unplugged?"
He checks the power cord is in full contact with the outlet and depresses the button again. Dead. "The grid's not gone out, has it?" The Helicarrier is powered by both solar panels and generators in the base of the ship, near the engines. Even if one went out, the backups should work. And maybe he wouldn't be nursing this blasted headache.
She turns her screen to show him. "Mine's on."
Fitz plugs in to her station's outlet instead. The computer remains black. Frustration bubbles up. "This doesn't make sense."
Jemma bends over to examine the connections. "Well, you've got a crack in the base, right here."
"But that wasn't there last night. I know it wasn't. I checked over all our equipment after it was loaded, to make sure the techs didn't damage anything, and I inspected the lab space to make sure all our specifications were met. I didn't see any crack." Fitz glances at her, puzzled.
Her face drains of color. "A crack…"
His own stomach swoops, as if the Helicarrier has taken a sudden loss of altitude. "You don't think…"
Jemma gnaws on her lip. "This isn't good. If this is another distortion - up here, on the carrier - "
Fitz does his best not to think what would happen if such a distortion appeared in the floor below their feet. How that vibration would stop, go silent, how the sky would fall away as they tumbled, only air currents below.
"We've got to tell Coulson," he decides. "The Tesseract should be moved. Somewhere away from anything important. Maybe we shouldn't have brought it up here at all." Perhaps it would have been better, to leave it buried in that desert.
Swiveling the monitor out of the way, he studies the base with its crack. It certainly doesn't look like much. Nothing like the distortion in the Bronx. That had been rubble strewn over the street, dust in the air, crunching between his teeth. A deep abyss beyond the cordoned police line.
He puts his finger to the crack and hisses, snatching it back instantly. Jemma grips his shoulder, tight. "What are you doing?" she demands.
"Just checking," he gasps. "It's cold. Very cold."
Brenna Roberts hooks her hand around the door frame, pulling her head into view. "Everyone's down the hall. You ready?" Neither he nor Jemma respond right away. "Fitz?" she asks.
"Better bring them here." He digs his teeth into his cheek. "The briefing can wait." There's been at least three briefings a day since Agent Martinez was found in the S.H.I.E.L.D. storage facility in New Jersey. It's the bureaucracy's reaction to panic. Makes them feel like they're accomplishing something useful.
But Fitz has a better idea.
"Jemma," he says, "Did you pack the case with the aerial probes?"
"Sure I did." She moves a crate away from the interior wall. "You're thinking what I am, yes?"
"We need more information," Fitz agrees. "An unmanned probe has a better chance of getting near this distortion than we do." He nurses the tips of his fingers in his mouth. He'd swear on his first edition Captain America comic that the surface of his computer had been absolute zero.
"Wait - distortion?" Roberts barges into the lab. "Where?" She looks up, like the ceiling is about to cave in. He points to his computer. She frowns. "Just this? You're sure it's the same?"
"Not sure. Which is why we're going to test that supposition. Right now."
"How?" She squints at him. No respect for the scientific method, as per usual.
"Look," Fitz says. "It's wide enough here to slip something in. If I take the backup battery off - maybe even the protective casing - I can dispatch a probe to peek around inside." He modifies the probe even as he's speaking, multi-tool to hand.
"Didn't you do that with the one in the Bronx? Send probes through?"
"They never came back," he admits. "They stopped responding to my signal."
"So..."
"Fitz has been preparing," Jemma tells her. She hefts one of the probes in her palm. A long chain of metal links is attached to the tail end of the sensor relays. It'd only cost him a quick trip to the machine shop, a favor from a welder that likes meatball subs. The connection should stand up to fairly high pressure.
"You've leashed them," Roberts observes. "Like robot dogs."
The humor grates at him. Leo suppresses the urge to rub his knuckles into his forehead. "Any better ideas?"
"Nope." Brenna twirls the chain around her pinky. "Sic' em, boy."
Fitz doesn't wait around for Coulson to come in and put a stop to this. Experimentation is a tried and true method of information gathering. He grabs the chain with both hands and motions to Jemma. She flicks the power switch of the modified probe.
"Here goes," she says, and settles the nose of the probe against the distortion. A breath later, it's sucked in.
Links of metal click together as they begin to slide out of his hand. "Okay," Fitz says. "Okay." The chain uncoils, slow and steady at first, then gaining speed. "Ooookay - maybe another minute." He holds tight as the pressure starts to grow. Walks forward to give it more slack. His palms sweat and slide. The muscles of his arms strain. "It's -" he huffs, "It's getting a bit - difficult." Inching a few more steps toward the distortion, Fitz braces his legs up against the lab bench.
With a sudden pop, the chain is yanked out of his grip, clangs against the ceiling, smacks into the base of the computer, and disappears the way of the probe. His stomach slams into the lab bench as he is propelled forward, fruitlessly grabbing for the chain, arms stretched out.
"Ow," Fitz whimpers, half-prone across the work surface. He examines his reddened palms. "Ow, ow ow!"
Jemma scratches at her forehead. "Clearly you're too weak to be the anchor point," she mutters. "Now, if we had some real strength, we could - "
"I've just been injured in the line of duty, Christ, Jemma! Give me a mo' before you begin compiling an itemized list of my faults."
"Oh, don't be a baby. I've had that saved on my desktop for years," she retorts. "But you know that's not what I meant."
"We'll need a real bloody anchor to hold it down." Fitz flexes his hands and winces. "Solid ton of metal."
"Or..." Jemma grins, eyes bright under the fluorescents. "We could ask Captain Rogers to step in and help. He's just come off the landing deck, you know."
Roberts jerks to attention. "Oh, I am so on it. He's wearing a t-shirt today." She darts into the corridor before Fitz can snap his jaw shut.
"I'm - that's - " Actually a fantastic idea, he realizes. "Hand me that probe."
Jemma does. "This is Rex. He's a good boy."
"I get to name the next one." Leo strips the bulky covering off.
They're on the fourth probe when Brenna Roberts comes back with Captain Rogers in tow. Coulson is right behind them. Next is an older man, who dodders in, tugging at the too-long sleeves of his wrinkled sport coat, a white puff of facial hair protruding from his chin.
Fitz almost swallows his tongue as Tony Stark saunters after, hands stuffed into his pockets. Stark glances around like he'd gotten lost on the official Helicarrier tour and ended up joining this group by mistake. "I thought you said there'd be bagels, Coulson. You know I don't attend briefings unless there's free food."
Captain Rogers eyes him. "They told me you were a millionaire."
"I have very low standards." Stark winks. "And it's billionaire, actually."
Lukas Eld is the last to duck into the lab. He strides over to Fitz's station. "Agent Roberts said you needed help walking your dogs," Eld tells him. "I assume that was an attempt at humor?"
"Jeez, harsh." Agent Roberts blows out a breath of air. "Attempt?"
"This is Rex," Fitz says, holding out the modified probe. He doesn't respond to Lukas's jibe. "Scientist's best friend."
Jemma juggles a few others. "And Fido! And Mitzy, I think. This one with the bent corner casing is Sparky."
"I said I wanted to name one!"
Lukas Eld sighs. "Perhaps I overestimated the quality of your humor."
"Probably," Leo says, on the edge of snippy.
Jemma leans in towards Eld. "Who is that guy? The disheveled professor."
"Dr. Pfeifer," Lukas answers. "An expert in Northern European mythology and a professor of linguistics at Brown University." He smiles with only one side of his mouth. "I believe he's the sort of man that would find your childish jests hilarious."
"Ooh, we don't like to have any competition, do we?" Roberts tilts her head knowingly.
"To have any sort of rivalry, the competitors must be on equal intellectual footing. Unfortunately, that does not seem to be the case." Lukas picks an invisible speck of lint off his pressed suit jacket.
A snicker passes between the three of them. "The claws are out." Brenna says under her breath.
Coulson neglects to introduce the professor, but he doesn't seem to mind, stepping forward and doing so himself. Loudly, with a grand flourish. "Greetings! I am Dr. Harrison Pfeifer. That is a doctorate, mind you - not a medical degree." He proceeds to list off his academic accolades to a largely disinterested audience. Leo's not sure why he's even here.
"And I have been tasked by our Agent Coulson here to translate the journal found in - "
The agent cuts him off. "Pardon me, Doctor, but we will cover that in another briefing. I want to hear about this distortion. Fitz?"
"It's here." They gather around his lab station. Fitz shows them Rex, with his makeshift leash, and outlines his sophisticated information gathering technique.
"Put the probe in the hole and hold on tight?" Stark summarizes. "Simple. Elegant. Kinky. I can get behind that kinda plan."
Jemma starts to fan Fitz's red hot face with her hands and he slaps her away. He gives the leash over. "Captain Rogers, if you would?"
With a bemused smile, the Captain plants his feet and wraps a few lengths of the metal chain around his fist. "Fire at will," he says.
Rex is deployed through the distortion. Fitz realizes he's holding his breath. Forcing himself to exhale, he presses his sore hands to his trousers. The raw skin tingles.
The chain leash snaps to full tension. The Captain grimaces.
Steve Rogers, in the flesh, pulling back against a thousand Newtons of pressure emanating from a distortion in the fabric of spacetime. Fitz watches, slightly dazed. "I think I've seen this exact illustration in Issue #487 of The Amazing Captain America," he whispers to Jemma. She shushes him.
After Rex goes Fido. Then Mitzy. Even Sparky gets a go, though the bent corner casing gets caught on the edge of the busted computer base and Fitz has to pry it loose. The tips of his fingers are numb when he's done.
"Hell of a workout." Captain Rogers recovers the last probe and transfers it to Fitz. Ice crystals have begun to grow on the steel frame.
"Yeah, looks like you've been slacking in the gym lately," Stark says.
Leo and Jemma snigger at the face Steve Rogers makes at Stark's back. Lukas Eld pretends to fiddle with his tie, but he's grinning too.
Plugging in the probes to Jemma's comp station, Fitz lets the data collate before he runs it through his standard sensory output program. His eyes flick over the results, and a thought begins to coalesce in his mind. One glance shared with Jemma, and he knows she's with him.
"I can tell you one thing right now," Leo says. "These probes went to the same place."
"All four?" Coulson clarifies.
"Yep. They all came back with the exact same readings. Down to the last decimal."
"Does that mean all the distortions are leading to that place?" Roberts asks. "The one in the Bronx and in the South China Sea? In New Jersey?"
"I'd have to run the probes through those distortions to be sure. But this one, at least, isn't a random gate, dropping off at a different endpoint each time something goes through."
"What is the place on the other end?" Stark raises his eyebrows. "That's the question I want answered."
"Not Earth." Fitz studies the program output. "Different acceleration of gravity, and the ambient radiation isn't the same as our upper atmosphere."
"Another world," Eld murmurs.
"And we happen to know someone who is from another world," Coulson points out. "We need to ask Thor about this."
"Is he gonna understand what we mean when we start talking about gravity and radiation?" Brenna asks. "I mean, I know he's from an alien civilization, but he seems kinda - well, he talks like he's from another time."
"That's something to consider," Jemma agrees. "What does he know about science? Human science."
"When's the last time he was on Earth?" Fitz says. "Besides New Mexico." Coulson turns to him and Leo tries to tease out his meaning. "He had to have been at one point. Right? A thousand or so years ago. Mythology, yes?"
They all end up looking at Lukas Eld.
He purses his lips. "My field of study," Lukas begins, "is much the same as your Dr. Pfeifer." Eld nods at the other expert like he's doing him a favor by including them in the same group. "The human construct of Thor, not this - this - "
"Alien?" Stark interjects. "He's gotta point. I don't remember there being any spaceships in those myths. I don't remember the gods wearing jeans at any point either."
"But the stories were clearly based on this Thor," Captain America says. Fitz thinks he looks thoughtful, his blue eyes cloudy, brows drawn low.
"Dude who summons lightning, and has a giant metal hammer to lay the smack down? Yeah, good deduction, Cap." Stark is fiddling with something in his hand. He doesn't see the look Steve Rogers shoots him this time either.
Lukas interrupts. "Why exactly is he here? What did he say to you?"
"He was looking for Jane Foster," Coulson explains. "He wanted our help to find her."
"A woman," Eld mutters.
"The one he met last time he was on Earth." His supervisory agent nods.
"Is that all?" the consultant presses.
Fitz scuffs his feet back and forth on the grated floor. "He said something about Asgard's goodwill, right?"
"Oh, yeah," Stark drawls. "Said he was here to offer us Asgard's goodwill. Dunno if that means he's decided not to blast us to pieces or if we can expect a coupla nice fruit baskets this year for Christmas."
"I would assume he meant an alliance," the Captain says.
"An alliance, or a treaty?" Lukas's question is sharp, almost irritable. Fitz looks more closely at him. His face is pale and drawn, dark smudges underneath bright eyes. Tired, on edge. Most agents who see the Tesseract look like that for a few days after. Or maybe that incessant vibration has gotten to him too.
"Does it matter?" Coulson asks.
"Not if you assume an alliance means the same thing to him as it does to you," Lukas says.
Dr. Pfeifer scrunches his thick white eyebrows together. "Eh? An alliance is an agreement between two powers, to assist each other when needed."
Lukas drums his fingers on the lab bench and sighs. "An alliance is made between two equal parties." He lowers his gaze and smirks. "Much like an honest rivalry."
"Okay..." Brenna draws the word out, prompting him on. "So when he says goodwill, he means an alliance?"
"Yes," Dr. Pfeifer answers.
At the same time, Lukas says, "No."
Brenna massages her temples. Leo can sympathize. His own skull is starting to ache, pulsing like the Helicarrier's turbines have taken up residence. "Thanks for clearing that up," she snarks.
"A treaty is an agreement between two parties with conditions that must be met," Dr. Pfeifer insists. "Just like an alliance, only slightly more formal."
"A treaty is dictated by a stronger party to a weaker party." Lukas shakes his head. "They set the conditions. If the weaker party fails to live up to them - then the treaty is voided. It is about strength, and the honor of your word."
"You're saying he's offering us a treaty, not an alliance?" Coulson chews on his lower lip.
"I am saying that it would serve you well to figure out what he is offering." Lukas raises his hands, pushes them outward. A gesture Fitz interprets as him saying go forth, and do as I bid you.
Coulson does not look impressed. "Maybe you should ask Thor on our behalf. Since you seem to be on the same page as him."
"Have the good doctor here ask him. I have other work I could be doing." Lukas does not flinch away from Coulson's stare.
"Will Thor even answer?" Brenna chews on her lower lip.
"Seemed like a friendly dude." Stark puts a bottle of some energy drink to his lips and chugs the contents. He burps, then wipes his mouth on his sleeve. "Didn't seem to mind when I shot a few repulsor beams at him." Fitz cringes. No food or drink in the lab. But it's Tony Stark. How's he supposed to tell him off?
"You… attacked him?" Lukas cocks his head, fingers pausing in their rhythm, hovering over the table. "And he did not retaliate?"
"Nope." Stark pops his lips.
"Well." Lukas jerks his neck, one lock of black hair falling over his forehead. Fitz watches him. His eyes flicker, like he's deep in thought. "Then I don't see the harm in asking him to clarify," he finally says.
Stark clangs the can down. "You don't wanna meet him? Doesn't this Old Norse stuff like, butter your bread?"
"No. I have no wish to bias myself. To read alien intelligence into what should be ascribed to human ingenuity." Lukas straightens from where he was leaning against the wall. "Do I have your leave to go and resume my urgent work, Agent Coulson?"
Leo's boss waves him off. "Alright. Fine. Dr. Pfeifer and I will question Thor when he returns from his visit with Foster."
"Perfectly alright with me," Pfeifer says, scratching at his fuzzy beard. Coulson looks resigned to the idea.
The strangest briefing Fitz has ever been a part of dissolves, and the attendees drift away. Fitz follows Roberts to the door. She turns right, towards the Helicarrier's deck. "Where are you going?" he asks.
"I've got a few errands to run."
"Errands? We're 30,000 feet up."
"Can't talk, gotta go!" She bounds off. Fitz frowns after her.
Jemma is arranging the probes in their case. "C'mon, Rexy, sleepy time."
"How are we going to tell them apart?" he wonders. "Other than Sparky."
"Oh, I've got a label maker," she says airily. "I always bring it. You wouldn't believe how often it's useful."
"Of course you do."
Soon they are alone again, and for a minute it feels like he's back in the Academy, bumping shoulders with Jemma in his cramped makeshift lab. Except now the Tesseract hums dissonantly, a low warning, in the far corner.
Shaking his head, he recalls his mind to the here and now. It's harder than it should be. He needs a cup of coffee - or maybe not, maybe he's had too much. His mind is buzzing.
Jemma murmurs something, too low to hear. "What was that?" He looks over one shoulder, still typing absentmindedly.
"Hmm?" She is bent low over her tablet.
"I said what did you say?"
"I didn't say anything," she replies. Her thought process must be in overdrive, and Fitz is getting impatient waiting for her to share. But she doesn't admit to whatever it was she just whispered under her breath, so Fitz leaves her be. For now. He's not above wheedling and annoying her into talking to him. He does have to finish analyzing the probe readings, though. Willing any irritation he feels to fade, Fitz focuses on his computer screen. Too much coffee, for certain.
