A man in a black suit pushed past Happy's security line and walked inside.
"Sir, I need two hundred extra-large black coffees. No sugar, no cream. We've been pulling three straight all-nighters out in the sand next door, and right now we're running entirely on caffeine..."
The newcomer was none other than Level 8 S.H.I.E.L.D. agent Phil Coulson.
Nick Fury had sent him out to handle containment at the New Mexico crater site. After several sleepless nights in a row, he had come into town hoping to buy enough coffee to keep himself and his agents alive.
But the moment he stepped inside, he knew something was wrong.
Other than the two people in the corner eating, the place was empty.
Outside stood Happy Hogan with a full security team, and Happy was Tony Stark's personal bodyguard.
That meant one of the two people sitting in the corner had to be Tony Stark himself, and he was clearly in the middle of some kind of private meeting.
Coulson's first thought was that it might have something to do with the hammer no one could lift.
Then he turned and actually saw who was sitting across from Tony.
And his entire highly trained agent brain caught fire.
Because the other man was Clark Parker, internal S.H.I.E.L.D. designation: Superman, a Level 10 classified individual, and the subject of Nick Fury's very clear standing order:
Under absolutely no circumstances is anyone to initiate contact with him.
And now Superman and Tony Stark were sitting together in a diner, eating lunch and talking like they already knew each other.
Inside Coulson's head, alarms started screaming.
Red alert! Maximum threat alert! The two biggest uncontrolled variables on Earth are meeting in a diner in New Mexico! Director! Why have all of New York's disasters migrated here?! Who am I? Where am I? Is it too late to pretend I'm blind and walk back out?
Despite the fact that his inner world had already collapsed into rubble, Coulson's face stayed fixed in a polished professional smile.
"Ah... what a coincidence, Mr. Stark. Didn't expect to run into you in a little place like this."
Then his eyes slid toward Clark a little too carefully.
"And this... young man. Please, carry on. I... I'll just go buy coffee somewhere else. Sorry to interrupt."
He didn't wait for either of them to answer. He turned and practically fled, closing the diner door behind him.
Coffee could wait.
This was way beyond coffee.
He pulled out his phone and called Nick Fury immediately.
"Director... we've got a small problem. Superman has made contact with Iron Man in New Mexico. Yes, just a few miles outside the base, in the town nearby. I don't know what they're planning, and I don't know why Stark approached him."
Unfortunately for Coulson, Fury's signal in the Arctic was terrible. He managed only the rough instruction that Coulson should use his judgment and handle the situation as best he could.
Tony watched Coulson bolt and raised an eyebrow at Clark.
"Coulson's a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. The second he saw you, he looked like a mouse that wandered into a room with a cat. Have you done something to them before?"
Tony had spotted the problem immediately.
Coulson had been too careful.
Far too careful.
"Because they're smarter than you, Mr. Stark," Clark replied, now wearing once again the completely ordinary air of an average person. "They know when to keep a respectful distance. They also know better than to come talk to me in person."
Then Clark glanced up at the sky outside.
"Since you came all this way anyway, how about staying for a show tonight?"
"A show?" Tony followed his gaze. At some point, dark clouds had drifted in, covering the sun. "You mean you're going to try picking up that hammer?"
"Not me," Clark said. "Its owner."
Night came quickly, and with it, the rain.
On a rocky ridge overlooking the S.H.I.E.L.D. compound, Tony lay prone in the Mark III armor, muttering under his breath.
"Unbelievable. I'm Tony Stark, and somehow I'm spending a perfectly good night off in the middle of a godforsaken desert, in the rain, hiding out with another guy and spying on people. If the tabloids get this, my reputation is cooked."
Clark stood beside him in full uniform, arms folded, letting the wind and rain hit him without concern. Kryptonians didn't catch colds from a little rain.
"Watch," Clark said. "This is way more interesting than you and whatever socialite you'd normally be with."
From Tony's vantage point, a huge blond man with wild hair suddenly stormed into the S.H.I.E.L.D. base like a berserker.
It was Thor, stripped of his power by Odin and cast down to Earth.
Even without his divine power, an Asgardian's base physical abilities still far surpassed those of Earth's best special forces. Thor barreled through the corridors, punching one agent flying, kicking another guard across the room.
"Well, that blond giant can fight," Tony commented from above, enjoying the view. "Kind of like a WWE champion who wandered into the wrong movie. I could probably hire him for security. Though seriously, are their defenses always this bad? Should I pitch S.H.I.E.L.D. some Stark Industries nonlethal riot tech?"
Clark ignored him.
He was one of those people who went quiet when someone else was talking too much, but turned chatty when there was no one else saying anything.
In the distance, Hawkeye had already locked onto Thor. S.H.I.E.L.D. wanted to see for themselves what he was trying to do with the hammer.
At last, Thor reached it.
Mjolnir lay before him.
His face broke into joy.
He raised his head, letting the rain pour over him, and shouted up toward Asgard as though he were announcing his return to the heavens.
He approached the hammer almost like a man reunited with a lost love. Then he seized it with one hand and pulled.
And just like in most versions of the story across the multiverse, the hammer could not have cared less.
No matter how hard he tried, it didn't budge.
From Clark's vantage point, Mjolnir gave off the faintest flash. That was Odin's enchantment, his test.
And Thor, for now, had officially failed it.
"No... this can't be! I am Thor! I am the God of Thunder!!"
Thor dropped to his knees in the mud, clutching the hammer's handle and roaring up at the heavens like a man losing his mind.
Around him, S.H.I.E.L.D. agents moved in with guns raised, every barrel trained on him.
Tony, who had watched the whole thing from the ridge, fell into a weird silence.
A few seconds later he turned to Clark, his mouth twitching uncontrollably.
"That's it? He beat an entire armed security team, smashed through multiple layers of containment, and all for what? To kneel in a mud pit and cry over a hammer he can't pull out?"
Tony spread his hands, unable to process what he'd just seen.
"Does the blond guy have rage issues? Did he forget to take his antidepressants before he left the house? Is this some new kind of performance art?"
"I told you," Clark said, still watching the scene below. "I came here to make a friend. Want in? Maybe he really is the God of Thunder."
Tony considered it.
"When we get back, I want to test you," he said at last. "I want to know exactly how big the gap is between your abilities and my armor."
"No problem," Clark answered. "I'll make sure your eyes get opened."
Originally, Clark hadn't planned to start pulling Tony and the others closer this early.
But that dream had changed his mind.