Loki had no objection to EEGs and MRIs on Sauer; the procedures fascinated him.
"We have not used such primitive technology in some time," was all he would say. He refused her request for a scan. "MY brain would destroy your equipment, and you may have need of it."
Skye's examination preceded Sauer's, as the latter had not yet eaten. When both women were finished, Skye motioned to a spare room.
"Shower and fresh clothes," she murmured. "You want to get out of that business suit?"
"Oh, god, yes," Sauer sighed. She wobbled a little as she stood. "Is there a handicap bar in the shower? I'm a little unsteady," she admitted.
Loki blinked. "There is now," he offered.
Skye looked from the blue giant to the brown-haired ex-receptionist, wide-eyed. "He's really nice to you," she opinioned, as she held Sauer's elbow. "How did you do it?"
"Hell if I know," Sauer admitted. "I don't have this kind of luck with good-looking men; they usually want to hurt me."
Skye looked horrified. "Hurt you?"
The other woman shrugged. "It's a long story," she admitted, "but yeah." She glanced across the room to where Coulson approached the blue-skinned prince. "He is a royal. Maybe he takes on charity cases," she guessed.
"Your Majesty," Coulson said as the girls departed, "may I have a word?"
"Yes."
"My security officer, Grant Ward..."
"Yes, I ordered him sedated. Your 'friend' Mr. Garrett was neutralized on my orders as well."
Coulson started to inflate. "Your Majesty..."
"Miss Sauer needs a familiar activity: something she knows how to do without thinking, to promote healing. She was once a keeper-of-arms in your SHIELD organization. Have you any weapons that need servicing?"
Coulson blinked, put off by Loki's abrupt manner. "Yes, but..."
"It is well. Gather as many of them as you can, and put her to the task when she is dressed," he ordered crisply. He looked Coulson square in the face when the man simply stood there. "The lady is not one to linger over fashion, Son of Coul. Go now."
Jemma chose that moment to interrupt. "That sounds like great therapy," she agreed. "If you gentlemen will excuse me, I need..."
"To button up," Loki and Coulson said in tandem.
The young scientist glanced down at herself and flushed pink. "Aaaahhh!"
"Can you do anything about that?" Coulson jerked a thumb at the fleeing, dressing medic.
Loki frowned thoughtfully. "I do not know," he admitted. "I have never had to convince a lady to remain dressed before."
===========/=================/================/==============
"Finally," Sauer breathed in relief as she pulled on a T-shirt and sweat pants, "sensible clothing!"
"I'm a sundress gal," Skye admitted. "But I'm not opposed to a comfortable pair of jeans."
"And a great pair of boots," Sauer added.
"Really? Boots over shoes?" Skye was aghast. "What about some nice peep-toe pumps? They go with everything!"
"I grew up on a farm. Peep-toe anything wouldn't last 5 minutes, and you can't run in them. I can hide my ankle holster in my slouch leathers. Try that in a pair of pumps!"
"You sound just like Agent May," Sky nodded.
"Melinda May? Middle aged Asian woman riding Agent Wa-" Sauer clapped a hand over her own mouth, horrified.
Skye's jaw dropped open. "No way!"
Sauer nodded, her own eyes wide. "I wasn't supposed to tell," she whispered. "They already broke up. He'd be horrified if anybody knew, and really pissed at me! Please don't say anything!"
Skye made an X over her heart. "Not a word. I promise! Ewww," she shuddered, "I just got the visual. How do you know?"
"I don't," the young ex-secretary admitted, reaching for a hairbrush. "But Eldest knows, and he doesn't understand things like privacy and personal secrets and embarrassment."
"No privacy? What about sex?" Skye lowered her voice and glanced at the door.
Sauer bit her lip. "That's a public act, done as a group, so that many children can be made," she related. "The Reis are tiny, like fireflies..."
"In and out and in-between," Skye mused.
"Huh?"
"I touched heads with you-with Eldest-a while ago. He wanted to show us something via 'mind-speak': said it was better than words. I think," Skye shrugged, embarrassed, "that he showed me one of their mass orgies. It was like a million fireflies dancing, in and out and in-between, and there was singing, and then Thanos..." she choked.
"Vicious bastard," Sauer muttered. "Wait a minute."
"What?"
"Thanos is a vicious bastard. Eldest isn't! He showed you his...erm..."
"Happy place?"
"Works for me. Anyway, Thanos shows stuff for torture, so I had to watch him kill a planet. Eldest showed you things that bring joy. I dunno if he meant to show you the invasion: maybe just the dance."
"So maybe he showed me something that Thanos doesn't know!" Sky finished excitedly.
"Like sex? Nah. He had a family, once upon a time." Sauer shuddered. "He killed them, too." Sauer pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I wish I could 'remember' something nice. If your 'gift' works like mine, all you have to do is think about it, and then you can draw it." Sauer paused, looking at the blank wall opposite them, and looked thoughtful.
"I know that look," Skye deadpanned. "What will it be: knife or sharpie marker?"
"Marker," Sauer said softly, "and some aspirin."
============/=================/===================/============
"Cross her off, boy, and go dark again." John Garrett's orders rang inside Ward's head. He had a woman to kill, and a job to keep, and security cameras watching his every move...
And his head was threatening to pulse off his neck. Note to self, he thought; do not get ICED again inside of this century. A bad hangover hurts less.
He rummaged through the medicine cabinet, slamming 4 of the painkillers. Where was the one he wanted? Oh, yes...
===========/==============/================/=================
"I thought you could use this," Agent Koenig said, proffering a piece of paper. "I know it's back in New York, but..."
"It is well," Loki said approvingly. "Thank you."
===========/=================/================/===============
Coulson finally pried Sauer and Skye out of the changing room, and tasked Sauer with cleaning a respectable pile of firearms. Skye stuck around-at Sauer's request-so she could have somebody to talk to, and soon the room was filled with the smell of Neem oil and gunpowder.
It feels good, Sauer thought as she drew a cleaning wad down a rifle barrel. She replaced the soiled wad with a fresh one and did it again. A tiny wire brush pulled old oil and carbon off of the firing pins, fleck fleck fleck. Soon it shined like new, and she smiled.
"How long have you been doing this?" Sky asked, fumbling with the pistol in front of her. A spring rolled across the table and onto the floor, and the young hacker fumbled for it with a grunt.
"Since I was 5," Sauer murmured, pulling the next pistol apart. "My dad is a gunsmith. One of his favorite sayings is 'A clean gun is a happy gun'." She scowled at the grime inside. "How long has it been since this was cleaned? This is an unhappy gun!"
"Don't look at me," Skye held up her hands in surrender, "I only got here yesterday, same as you. Uh-oh. There's a bullet stuck in this barrel."
"Careful. That's a squib load. Better let me take care of it." The ladies traded seats and continued to chatter as gun parts littered the table.
One room away, John Garrett scowled through the observation glass. The woman he wanted dead was bonding with Coulson's hacker, and he didn't like it. Ward's hormonal-driven obsession with Skye was getting in the way of business. If he didn't get his priorities straight-and soon...
There was just too much at stake.
Coulson interrupted his thoughts with coffee.
"How'd you sleep, John?" he asked casually.
Garrett frowned thoughtfully. "Pretty good. Hit me like a ton of bricks, and that hasn't happened in a while." He motioned to the gun-cleaning pair with his coffee hand. "Is this a good idea? I mean, that little gal of yours...should she be handling weapons?"
"Skye? She's awkward, but she'll catch on. She's learned more about gun care in the last half hour than she has with Ward in months."
"I was talking about the other one. That gal's elevator does not go all the way to the top."
"Prince Loki seems to think that's fixable..."
"So long as she doesn't short-circuit first!"
"Or die before we can get the intel out of her head," Coulson deadpanned.
"Huh?"
"She's dying, John: brain damage. What Loki did-what the other aliens are doing now-are all just stalling tactics. We've got to get as much information out of her as possible while she can still talk."
"The mysterious Space Boogeyman stuff?"
"Yes, the mysterious space boogeyman stuff." Coulson snapped. "Honestly, John, how can you pretend this isn't real?" He rubbed the scar on his stomach.
"I've seen enough human monsters to not need one from outer space," Garrett grunted. "You've studied the same history, Phil. By the time this girl's boogeyman shows up, the Earth will be radioactive dust. The most SHIELD can do-anybody really-are stalling tactics." He snorted. "Blasted planet's too full of individualists, everybody only out for themselves, and nobody has the stones to make us all work together."
Coulson gave him a look. "Because forcing people to work together doesn't work, John. The communists tried that: remember?"
Garrett nodded thoughtfully. "You're right. Maybe this boogeyman idea might help after all. It worked for Hitler," he mused.
Coulson looked at his old friend with alarm, and opened his mouth to retort, when Fitz walked into the room.
"Agent May is on the comm."
===========/==================/====================/===========
A quick knock made both ladies jump, and Ward poked his head into the room.
"You ladies ready for a break? Wow," he marveled, staring at the rows of spotless pistols, assault weapons, and energy rifles on the opposite wall, "you work fast!"
"Grew up in a gunshop," Skye jerked her thumb at Sauer.
"It's a family thing," the young woman admitted.
"Oh, really? What was the first shotgun chambered for the 3 ½-inch 12 gauge cartridge?" Ward closed the door and leaned back against the wall, arms folded across his chest.
Sauer didn't even blink. "It was the Mossberg 835. Federal Cartridge Co. and O.F. Mossberg worked together to develop the 3 1/2-inch 12 and a gun to shoot it in the late 80s. To keep the gun a secret, Mossberg referred to the project internally as a 10 gauge."
"Uh-huh. What is Condition One carry for a 1911?"
"Too easy: Chamber loaded, thumb safety on, hammer cocked. Want to ask me the color of my first Daisy BB rifle?"
Ward pinched his nose and looked pained. "Don't tell me: Barbie Pink Camouflage."
"Bite me. I swapped out the fake plastic wood-grain stock for beech wood. Dad handled the cutting, but I had to sand and finish it myself."
"You still have it?" Skye asked, curious.
"Dad has it somewhere. He took it away after I tried to club Siggo with it." She saw the look on Skye's face. "One of my older brothers," she explained. "He used to pick on me a lot."
"So your dad grounded you off of your pop-gun because you tried to use it as a club?" Ward snorted.
"No, the Lewis model pop-gun is a piston-pressured toy that fires a tethered cork projectile. I still have mine, thank you. Dad took away my modified Daisy BB rifle because I didn't check to see if it was loaded before I started swinging. That, and I wouldn't apologize to Siggo. Still won't," she looked knowingly at Skye. "He had it coming."
"Um..." Ward started, standing upright again.
"What?"
Skye pointed at Sauer's face. "Your nose is bleeding."
"Is there an Aesir in the house?" Sauer muttered, grabbing the one clean rag.
"I'll get an ice pack," Skye offered, and left the room.
Sauer put down the bloody rag and gave Ward a cool stare. "That was for her benefit," she said icily, "not yours."
"Beg pardon?"
"You came in here to kill me."
Ward's face became a mask. "It isn't personal."
"It is for me," Sauer answered.
And she kicked the table into his face.
===========/=================/=====================/===========
"Sauer's apartment was dusted with an alien protozoan that enables telepathic communication with Thanos," May said. "Infected hosts display aggression, sudden language proficiency, and homicidal psychosis. Alcohol ingestion slows them down, but doesn't kill them. Penicillin is effective. Take the maximum safe dosage for body weight with three shots of hard liquor, just to be safe. Coulson, you're first, because you actually entered her unit. Simmons, if he or anybody else refuses alcohol, sedate and triple the penicillin dose."
"You sound pretty sober, May," Fitz commented.
"I didn't shay I was dwiving," she retorted.
"Right. When you're sober, contact me," said Coulson. "We'll treat as best as we can here, and meet you back at the Triskelon."
"Negarive. The Triskewion is swamped with infected civiwians. One of Sauer's elderly neighbors attacked an aide, and the woman is in a coma. If you need medical backup, try the Hub."
"But what about..." began Simmons.
"May out," the radio crackled and went silent.
"What about what?" Coulson turned on Simmons. He noticed she wore an apron, with a wickedly complicated knot tied at the back.
"Sir, I have multiple scans and blood work that need analysis. The lab here is not sufficient! I can administer antibiotics, but I must have a fully functioning hospital. The Hub is on the other side of the planet. If the Triskelon is unavailable..."
"Then Tripp and I will take you in our quinjet as soon as we're sober," Garrett finished. "Depending on how fast you are with a needle, I think we can be ready to fly in about 2 hours."
"That's settled. All hands assemble at the bar, on the double!" Coulson exclaimed. "I'll pour, Simmons, you inject. Three shots apiece, right?"
"Three shots of what?" Skye asked as she walked in.
"I'll explain at the bar," Simmons said briskly. "Where is Sauer?"
"In munitions with Ward. Her nose started to bleed, so I came for an icepack or something," Skye explained, thumbing behind her for emphasis.
"You left them alone?" Jemma was aghast.
"Yeah, why? What's wrong with..." Skye was cut off as Coulson lunged past her, swearing.
"This day just gets better and better," Garrett snarked. He jerked his head at the lab door. "Honey-pie, you get your meds out. Laddie," he said to Fitz, "you get the Scotch. And somebody find me my boy Trip. I have a feeling we're going to need him." He trotted off after Coulson, chortling.
Simmons growled in frustration. "If that piggish old man calls me 'Honey-pie' one more time, I'm going to give him a Number 12 needle in the bum."
"He gives me the creeps," Skye shuddered. She motioned to the intricate knot-work at Simmon's back. "Are you macraméing your clothes on now?"
Simmons blushed. "Prince Loki called it a Troll knot: impossible to untie. I'll have to cut the cord to get it off. It should keep me dressed for a while."
================/=================/===============/============
Tripp's head snapped up at the sound of the gunshot, his hand convulsing around an orange even as he jumped from his chair and ran.
Down the hall...to the right...he found Coulson's refugee leaning up against a door, gasping and disheveled.
"Fryse...FRYSE..." she choked. Blood dribbled from her nose into a puddle on the floor.
"Oh, my god," he said, concerned. "I heard a shot. What happened? Are you hit? Are you hurt? Do you need...Arkkkgghg..."
He didn't see the frost growing on the doorway. It enclosed both the door and the frame, even as she whipped about and punched him in the throat.
His knees buckled as she followed with a swift punch to his solar plexus. Her fists felt hard, like ice. Triplett gaped and mouthed a silent "why" as he crumpled to the floor, one hand grasping her shoulder. The woman's eyes had gone dark.
"Trouble brewing in the ant-hill?"
Sauer's pupil-filled eyes snapped to Prince Loki, who filled the opposite end of the hallway.
"De søker vår død," she snarled.
Now Thor's size, Loki looked scathingly at the much-younger woman and shook his head. "This man is not your enemy."
"De er allemine fiender!" she spat. "Hver mors sønn!"
"I cannot imagine why," Loki snapped. "You're making such an effort to be friendly."
"Don't patronize me, second son!" she snarled at him, standing. "I have seen the stuff of your nightmares and worse..."
Loki crossed the hall in two steps and grabbed the young woman by the throat.
"Do. Not. Try. My. Patience." He growled. Blue muscles flexed as he pulled her face into his. "Speaker," he growled, "back to your cell, and let the girl go."
"Without me, she would be dead, and she bid me stay," the ghost sneered. "Not e'en you can contradict her choice!"
"Break the chalice and the wine pours out," he snarled. "Do not mistake mercy for weak sentiment!"
"No. Please, stop," Triplett wheezed. "She didn't mean it..."
"I am quite certain that she did," Loki snapped at the gasping specialist.
Triplett shook his head. "Something happened," he insisted. "She was frightened..."
"I have seen her fear, grub. If she is any indicator of your race's potential, it is no wonder you are so short-lived," Loki bit back. "A pained dog indeed snaps at a member of its own pack!"
Triplett staggered to his feet, clutching his stomach. "Your majesty: please. Let me show her..." he wheezed. "Let me show her, this mother's son means no harm."
"You surprise me, Thrice-son," Loki said stiffly. "You speak a language of the North?"
"A little," he nodded. "I had friends from Norway in college. Please." He turned to Sauer. "Let me talk to Eldest. You trust him, don't you?"
"Words," the haunted woman spat. "Words can lie."
Triplett shook his head. "We have a saying: 'Search me, and know my heart.' Let Eldest Touch me, the way he Touched Ward and the others. Decide from what he sees."
"You are reckless," Loki warned. "Should Speaker not relent, she could kill..."
"We accept the offer," Eldest said softly.
==============/===============/===============/==============
Coulson and company found Triplett sitting in a Lotus position, his back to a frosted door, stripped to the waist. His gaze was fixed on the orange in front of him, which he carved and poked at with a pocketknife.
"Tripp?" Garrett asked uncertainly. "You ok?"
"Fine as wine, boss; I'm good," Tripp answered softly. He did not look up from his orange sculpture.
"Have you seen Agent Ward?" Coulson pressed.
Tripp jerked a thumb backwards, towards the frozen door. "He's chillin'."
Fitz ducked into the observation chamber. A moment later they heard him scream: "WARD!" and slam his hands against the glass.
A battered Grant Ward lay in the center of the torn-up room, frozen to the ground in a snowy cocoon. Only his face showed.
"Little help," he gasped out. "Cold..."
Jemma was out the door first. She stopped at Tripp's makeshift guard-post.
"Tripp," she urged, "we need to get past you to tend to Agent Ward."
"He'll be fine," was the smooth answer. "He's jest in a time-out, is all. Had an attack of stupid." Tripp's eyes never moved from his work on the orange.
"Tripp," Skye said cautiously, "what are you working on?"
"'S a map," he said gently. "'S a present for Coulson, 'cause he's a friend of the Hostess."
"Tripp," Jemma patted him on one very defined shoulder, "we need you to move so we can get to Ward."
Tripp carved one more piece out of the orange and looked up at Jemma. "But soft! What light through yonder window breaks! It is the east, and Jemma is the sun!" He stretched a little. "I arise, fair sun, so that thou mayest tend the envious moon." He stabbed the orange with a push pin and started to rise.
"Your security agent has gone 'Bye-Bye', John," Coulson remarked, "while mine seems to have crossed the wrong Frost Giant. I wish he wouldn't do this to my crew!"
John Garrett reached down for Triplett's elbow. "Come on Romeo. Let's get you to the medical ward."
"I'm gonna get my head examined? Tha's awesome." He wobbled a little in Jemma's direction, and placed a hand over his heart. "Search me, good lady, and know my heart. Probe me and know my anxious thoughts. Lead me in the way everlasting."
"That's right down this hall," Jenna said soothingly, tugging him towards the medical bay.
Freeing Ward was a little more complicated. The cocoon around his body had an inch-thick ice shell. By the time he was free the man was a light blue color.
"Crazy," he moaned. "That thing is crazy. Attacked me. Too fast. Not human," he sputtered. "Cold, cold, cold. Sorry, sir. Too slow." His teeth chattered.
Coulson and Fitz moved Ward into the nearest warm shower. "Damn," Coulson muttered. "I was afraid of something like this. Who are we missing?"
"Agent Koenig," Fitz replied, "Miss Sauer, and Prince Loki."
Coulson growled in the back of his throat. "Stay with Ward. Get him warmed up, and then get him to Jemma."
Coulson found Agent Koenig in the garden, staring at a random spot on the grass and whittling. His suit jacket was gone and his sleeves were rolled up.
"Agent Koenig?"
The pudgy man motioned with his whittling knife. "They were right there," he said. "They stood right there." Flick went the knife, and a piece of wood landed on the grass.
"Agent Koenig..."
"And Loki-he's still getting bigger, you know-he said 'Hang on to me if you want to live', and she did." Flick, flick, flick.
"They're gone, then."
"Yep." Flick, flick. "Damned if I can say how. It looked like he stepped behind something, but there isn't anything there to step behind of." Flick, flick, flick.
"Oh."
"The girl-she looked kind of shaken, so I gave her my jacket. And then he said "Hang on to me', and she did, and," he waved his knife around in the air for emphasis, "just like they stepped off of the world, or something. Blink, blink: gone."
"Huh." Coulson scratched at his 5 o'clock shadow. "Aw, hell. You up for a drink?"
"Damn straight."
TBC
=========/================/=============/====================
A/N: Speaker/Sauer's sudden Norse translates into "They tried to kill me," and "They are all my enemies, every mother's son."