Building a Better Future

"What is it, Simon?" Betty peeked into the package curiously.

"Well, it's a crown, obviously." Simon Petrikov, world-renowned archaeologist, lifted the shining object from the box and set it on the table. "But as for what kind of crown..." He adjusted his glasses. "I'm afraid I'm at a loss. The dockworker said he found it in Scandanavia, but it certainly doesn't seem very Scandanavian—there's a startling simplicity to its design greatly at odds with typical Anglo-Saxon scrollwork. Besides, Vikings didn't go much in for crowns, at least not purely decorative ones like this."

Betty traced a finger about the gigantic red diamonds set into the golden spikes. "Are these real?"

"I doubt it." Simon glanced at them. "I'd have to examine them for sure, but they're probably some kind of colored glass or crystal. Gems of that size... why, they would be priceless. I'm rather surprised they weren't pried out long ago."

"Maybe they tried." Betty suggested. "There are little groves here, like someone using a prybar of some kind."

Simon moved over to where his fiance was standing and held his glasses very close. "You're right." He said at length. "The metal appears very durable, too—it can't possibly be real gold." He shared a smile with Betty. "It makes sense. Gold wasn't terribly plentiful in Scandinavia." He peered at it again. "It doesn't appear gilded either... curious. I suppose that explains why it was so cheap."

"It looks a little too good to be true, darling." Betty eyed the archaeologist lovingly. "You're sure someone didn't just pass another fake off on you? You've been so bored lately, and you know you tend to pick up wild projects when you're bored."

"I am NOT bored." Simon tilted his nose up distastefully. "I'm just... somewhat disenchanted with my work of late, and a little overfamiliar with seeing the same carbonized arrowheads over and over again. And with writing the same articles... and with lecturing the same grad students..." Simon stared over the tops of his glasses at his fiance. "Betty, it's all so horribly DULL. Are you sure we can't just run off to some tower together and I can just go back to writing music?"

Betty laughed at that. "Oh, darling, you'd go absolutely mad."

"Anyway, if this is a fake, it's the most masterful fake I've ever seen." Simon laughed, picking up the crown and raising it above his head to catch the light. "Apart from the inconsistent style and the lack of wear, everything about it indicates extreme age. Remarkable condition, but clearly very old, possibly pre-Roman." He shared a grin with Betty. "It could be the find of the century."

"Riiiiight. That's what the last dockworker told you."

"This one didn't." Simon frowned suddenly and lowered the crown to chest level as he stared off into space. "A lot of ridiculous ballyhoo about ice giants and magic and pagan rituals..." Shaking his head, he lifted the crown back to eye level, gazing at it thoughtfully. "Nearly passed it up, the man was so clearly mad. Dark hair, elfin looking fellow. A rather disturbing smile..."

A giggle interrupted him. He looked over at Betty, who was biting her lip and shaking with laughter. "I'm sorry, it's just... when you hold it... looking at it like that... you look like that painting of Napoleon, crowning himself."

"Do I? Do I really?" Simon grinned delightedly. "Ah ha..." He said, adopting a pompous tone, sending Betty into peels of laughter as he raised the crown higher. "Simon... Petrikov, Esquire, the Third, hereby..." the crown was above his head now, "...crowns himself, emperor of the eggheads, king of..."

"STOP!"

Simon jerked back with a start, nearly dropping the crown. Standing in the doorway were several men in suits, all of which looked very apprehensive. One even had a very odd weapon out.

"Mr. Petrikov?" asked the one in the lead, a balding man with a nervous smile.

"Yes...?" Simon asked, crown still suspended in his fingers, hovering above his hair.

The man put out his hand. "Could you... very slowly... put the crown on the table?" Another quick smile. "Please?"

Simon glanced from the man to Betty. She appeared more puzzled than anything else. Finally, he shrugged. "Very well."

The men breathed a collective sigh of relief as the crown touched the table. "Dr. Randolph," the lead man waved. "If you would, ah..."

"Oh, of course." One of the men in the rear ducked out from the line and hurried to the table, donning a pair of glasses.

Simon blinked. "Randolph? Elliot Randolph? You're one of the foremost experts in Norse and Anglo Saxon mythology!" He leaned forward. "Oh, this is most fortuitous! Tell me, can you..."

"Give the doctor some space for a few moments." His arm was gripped firmly but gently by the balding man, who led him away from the table. "Sorry for bursting in like that, but we... well, we were in a hurry. Dr. Petrikov, right? Prominent archaeologist?" He stuck out his hand. "Phil Coulson."

"Simon Petrikov." Simon shook it. "But then, you seem to know all about me already. Are you with the government?"

"Something like that." Coulson smiled as Betty came forward to join them. "Again, I apologize for breaking in, but that item you have..." pointing at the crown, "...is quite dangerous."

"Oh, I find that hard to believe" Simon shook his head. "The ends are pointy enough, I grant you, and it's heavy enough, but dangerous..."

"It is the Icy Helm of Laufey, King of the Frost Giants." Dr. Randolph was suddenly standing beside them, face grey. "An artifact of enormous power that should have been lost to time."

"Funny how those keep getting not lost." Coulson frowned.

"This one REALLY shouldn't be here." Randolph emphasized. "It's one of the frost-giants' super-weapons, we took it from them in the Wars. It's supposed to be in Odin's treasure vault."

"Then what is it doing here?"

Dr. Randolph shrugged. "Some last remnant of Loki's trickery?"

Simon couldn't help but feel a little bit disappointed. "Randolph, surely you're not taking such ridiculous mythologies seriously..."

"Wow. Really?" Coulson arched an eyebrow. "Did you... totally miss that whole mess in London last year? Or in New York the year before that? Loki, Thor, gods on earth... any of that register?"

Simon frowned. "I don't get out much."

"I heard about it." Betty nodded. "But I thought it was just some crazy tabloid story."

Coulson shook his head as he turned to the group of men. "Westen!" He snapped. "Help Dr. Randolph secure the artifact. Tripp, call Preston, tell her to prep the jet for a flight to Treasure Chest as soon as possible. Dr. Randolph," he said, turning to the doctor, "I want you to think on the best way to get in touch with Asgard. We need to get this thing off world as soon as possible."

Randolph seemed puzzled. "Why not just call up Dr. Porter? She should..."

"No." Coulson interrupted the man. "A direct line. Sif or someone, but not Thor." Turning back to Simon, he gave another smile. "I'm heartily sorry, Dr. Petrikov, but I'm afraid we're going to have to confiscate the crown."

"What?" Simon gaped.

"Yes." Coulson nodded. "Along with..." he turned to look at Randolph, "...anything else here?"

"Oh yes." Randolph nodded. "Three... maybe four items."

"Wait... now wait a minute!" Simon protested, as Coulson gestured a squad of men in HAZMAT suits into the gallery. "You can't just... just barge in here like a bunch of hooligans and take whatever you want...!"

The windows above the gallery suddenly shattered. Everyone ducked as a thousand shards of glass rained down around them. Simon risked a glance up. Men in dark uniforms were rappelling down from a whirring helicopter high above. They were wearing gas masks and carrying guns.

A sharp crack next to his ear broke his reverie. Coulson had a pistol out and was firing with clinical accuracy at the descending men. Others of the strange men, including the HAZMAT crew, were pulling guns from all sorts of places and starting to fire.

Dr. Randolph was the only one still cowering on the floor, stuck behind a display case, hugging his suitcase. Simon crawled over to him, dragging Betty along behind him.

"DR. RANDOLPH!" He shouted, over the hail of gunfire. "CIRCUMSTANCES NOTWITHSTANDING, I SHOULD LIKE TO SAY HOW MUCH I ADMIRE YOUR RESEARCH!"

Dr. Randolph blinked at him, then prised one of his hands away from his suitcase to shake Simon's. "THANK YOU!" He shouted back. "I TOO FIND YOUR ARCHAEOLOGICAL TREATISES ON ANCIENT RELIGIOUS PRACTICES TO BE MOST INSIGHTFUL!"

"THAT IS VERY KIND OF YOU!" Simon bellowed, shaking the man's hand fervently. A shell casing bounced off his hair and landed on the floor. "TELL ME, HAVE YOU EVER CONSIDERED THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE EARLY MEDIEVAL WEAPONRY MOLDING TECHNIQUES?" A body thudded against the display stand and collapsed just behind him.

The chattering of a fully automatic machine gun filled the gallery as Dr. Randolph seemed to consider this. "IT IS AN INTERESTING QUESTION!" He agreed, as the gallery shook with an explosion. "MOST SCANDINAVIAN TERRITORIES WERE BEYONDTHE REACH OF ROMAN EXPANSION!" Off to the doctor's left, a gas grenade tumbled to the floor. One of the HAZMAT agents dove at it and threw it out the window. "MOST LIKELY THEY ACQUIRED THEIR WEAPONSMITHING PRACTICES THROUGH TRADE AND TALENTED SLAVES!"

"THAT DOES SEEM THE MOST LIKELY HYPOTHESIS!" Simon nodded. "BUT SOME EARLY BRONZE AGE DIGS HAVE UNCOVERED BITS OF METAL WEAPONS FAR IN ADVANCE OF EVEN WHAT... The Romans... had..." He realized the gunfire had stopped and that the agents were looking at them strangely. "...in later periods." He finished, standing up and brushing off his suit. "If you have the time, I should like to discuss it with you further at some later date."

"It would be my pleasure." Dr. Randolph said, also standing and offering his hand. "I have some interesting theories on that very subject that I think you would find intriguing."

"Thank you." Simon beamed, helping Betty to her feet. Turning back to Coulson, he blinked. "I'm sorry, I forgot what I was saying to you."

Coulson seemed a little puzzled. "You mean, before the Hydra death squad dropped in?"

"Precisely, yes." Simon frowned.

"You were saying that he couldn't take your artifacts, dear." Betty reminded him.

"Ah! That's right." Coughing slightly, Simon reared up. "You can't just come in here like a bunch of hooligans and..."

"Ah, dear, considering the way those OTHER hooligans smashed through our ceiling and tried to gun us down..." Betty interposed, glancing at the bodies strewn across the floor, "...it might be best to let the more polite hooligans take them away."

Simon paused and took in the bodies. "You may have a point there." He considered.

"Dr. Petrikov, with all respect, we can't leave these items in your care." Coulson answered. "Not only are they extremely dangerous, if we leave them here, they'll just be snatched up by the next Hydra team sent this way."

"Yes, well, it does appear that the security for the gallery is rather inadequate." Simon looked around the museum-turned-battlefield. "I suppose moving the artifacts to a safer location is the most prudent choice." Sighing, he turned to one shattered case and ran a finger lovingly across the runed stone within. "I just was looking forward so much to analyzing them in more detail..." He murmured sorrowfully.

"That... brings me to the other thing I wanted to talk to you about." Coulson interjected. Simon looked up as the man continued, "Dr. Petrikov, you are the foremost expert on artifacts the world over, correct?"

Simon actually blushed, but tried to cover it with a cough. "Well, 'foremost' is such a slippery term... Dr. Graham of America is very productive, and Dr. Welton... well, and well, Dr. Randolph, of course..." He gestured at the balding professor, who smiled in recognition of the praise.

"Yes, yes." Coulson nodded impatiently. "We're much indebted to the good doctor. But he tells us you're the best man for finding and digging up ancient artifacts 'that should have been lost to time.'"

"Lost to time?" Simon blinked askance. "Nothing should be lost to time! Artifacts are history, they are legend, they are our connection with our primordial selves..."

"Dear." Betty placed a hand on his arm. "I think Mr. Coulson is offering you a job."

Simon stopped, turned, and blinked. "A job? But I'm so busy already..."

"You'd be tasked with examining classified documents that have never been released to academia." Coulson smiled, taking a folder from one of the other agents and handing it to him. "These are just scans of fragments, but they should give you the idea. If possible," he continued, as Simon flipped through the pictures in growing amazement, "we'd like you to lead digs at any locations indicated by these documents, and secure any artifacts you find there."

"What sort of artifacts?" Simon lifted his bespectacled head from the pictures momentarily.

Coulson hesitated, and then gave a frank shake of his head. "Honestly I have no idea. The kind of artifacts that could start a war if they fell into the wrong hands. The sort of artifacts that made the world what it is today, and could completely change what it will be tomorrow."

"...these are remarkable..." Simon was no longer listening, continuing to leaf through the pictures. "I... they might be beyond my skill alone... I'd need philologists, historians..."

"You'd work with a team of consultants, of course." Coulson smiled. "We're already forming a team in Chicago. Experts in their field. Unorthodox, some of them, but I'm sure their information will be invaluable. And, of course," he gestured, "you'd be working with Dr. Randolph."

"Dr. Randolph?" Simon's eyes opened very wide as he looked up.

The professor smiled. "I'll admit my work is largely theoretical, professor, but I should very much like to be involved in the more gritty side of things."

Simon closed his eyes, blinked several times. raised his hands, put them down, took off his glasses, knocked them against his chin a few times, and put them back on again. "Are you saying," he asked, very slowly and distinctly, "that you want me to lead a private archaeological research project based on mysterious manuscripts to find unprecedented artifacts alongside a team of the greatest experts in the world?"

"We would, of course, provide funding and tactical support..." Coulson started.

"Money? Bah, who needs money?" Simon practically embraced Coulson. "I'll fund the thing myself!" Letting the uncomfortable Coulson go, he rounded on Betty. "My dear, did you hear?"

"It's just what you always wanted, darling!" Betty flew into his arms and he spun her around in a wide arc.

"Oh, agent Coulson!" Simon said, letting his fiance go and returning to face the smiling man. "You have no idea what a life of boredom you've saved me from!"

"We're SHIELD. That's what we do." Coulson smiled. "We make the world a better place."

A/N: Heh. Had to throw in one more, after the "Kid's Stuff" one, right?

Just to be clear, I've seen very little of Adventure Time-just enough to get a sense of the Ice King's story. So I'm not sure how that translated into this idea, or if Simon's character meshes at all with anything shown in the show... I just presented him as a somewhat addled professor. I figure he's probably changed pretty enormously in the years since anyway.

This is nearly the last Recruitment Drive story, from me anyway. One more, which I'm sort of planning to bring in as many of the other stories together as possible in a sort of mega-crossover. I'm pretty excited about it, but it's a fairly obscure fandom, so I'm not sure how well it will go over. I'll just give you a few hints: It was another Whedon franchise that sort of mirrored Agents of SHIELD in its wacky, loose sci-fi, and the story concept itself mirrors this fic in that it involves an apocalyptic future that was somehow averted.