"You changed brands."

To catch a creature like the Wolverine unawares, you had to either be very good...or cheat. Seeing as she'd been at best a decent dancer during her own prep school days, stealth was out of the question. It was only telepathic cheating that Jean Grey could use to rob Logan's senses of the upper hand. And cheat she did, treasuring that moment where he jumped just-so at being caught by surprise. Not that you'd see it. His body never moved so much as a centimeter. But his mind couldn't hide the surprise.

Neither could his eyes.

"Come to talk cigars, Red?"

His eyes were brown, and narrowed slightly. His defenses were up. But, then, his defenses were always up around her. Jean let his question sit in the crisp midnight, New York State, air. There was a brisk breeze as grey clouds framed silver when they passed beneath the near full moon overhead like a parade in passing. He stood under a sentinel pine, well worn jeans, leather boots, plaid shirt yellow and brown, and a leather jacket that seemed as used to him as he was of it. Just the sight of the man made her grin at him like a girl, as moonlight peeked between passing clouds.

"With you?" She scoffed, not with his taste for cheap cigars. "Unless it's something with flavor like an Acid brand--"

"--fruity," he said, dismissing it.

"Or something with some balance like an Ashton ESG."

"--overpriced," gruffly he dismissed that, too.

But her grin didn't die there. Dismissing her choices in cigars was part of what constituted 'fun' for Logan. Her grin showed more than her amusement; it shadowed his own. "Champagne tastes?"

"For a champagne girl."

"Careful, Logan, that's awfully close to a compliment coming from you."

Her tone teased him. Her eyes watched him. She was dancing on the edge of an adamantium blade, now, and she knew it. For a moment, her green eyes met his brown eyes, and she forgot all about what it is she had come to say to him. With Logan, passions ran deeper than blood and fire. They ran deeper than life and death. Just because she'd died...

"Listen, Jean..."

She ignored him, her white flats crunching brown pine needles underneath her weight, her hands resting heavy in the front pockets of the denim jacket she wore with the Xavier Institute 'logo' teeshirt and black leggings, to keep the chill close without letting it through to her bones. One step, a crunch, then like a little girl playing a game, another dancer's step, and another satisfying crunch beneath her feet.

Irritation grew, and the man before her's voice grew strained. "Jean, I'm sor--"

"--no." Gone was the girl playing with dead pine needles underfoot, gone was the grin, replaced by the woman who'd returned from the greatest adventure worth having: death. Her green eyes came alive in the faint light of the moon filtered through passing clouds, and the orange-red glow of his lit cigar as she leaned in close...close enough for Wolverine to understand there was no debating what message her lips would utter next. "You don't get to blame yourself, Logan."

"I--"

She cut him off again with little more than a prolonged stare deep into his eyes, the intensity of her gaze growing as her voice drew softer. "No, Logan," the corners of her red lips curving upward in the moonshadow of a smile, "I don't need to read minds to know what you'll say. Except listen to me, and listen to me good, 'bub': the only thing that would have changed had you been in Genosha? Is you would've had a front row view. Instead you were here, in upstate New York, smoking cheap cigars and looking after them." She said, her head motioning in the direction his body faced leaned up against the tree as it was: in the direction of the school.

"Lot o' good that did."

In that moment, Jean Grey did the most dangerous thing she could've done: she touched him. Her right hand flashing out of her jacket pocket and catching his jaw, making him look her directly in the eyes. "Don't ever think I wanted you anywhere else that day. I love you, you idiot." She was past thinking, past having any other purpose besides gut reaction. "I needed you here..."

Then it came to her, like a light flipped in the dark. "I still need you here," she said, letting go of her gentle hold upon his jaw with her fingertips. "If robots coming blasting out of the sky and onto this school...I need you here."

The man was wrought. Beaten out of shape by her touch, her three little words, and her new request. It was through gritted teeth he found words to respond with, words she could have laughed at predicting, had she been certain the laughter wouldn't have wounded his pride. "I'm not a babysitter."

"No," Jean agreed, speaking softly still. Softly speaking cold, hard, truth. "You're a killer. I need to know that a man like you is here, protecting this building and these children." To death and back, Jean almost surprised herself with the maternal, protective, nature she found overtaking her heart and mind to make this decision. Because truth be told, there wasn't another member of the X-Men she'd want going to Cuba with her than this primal killer right here.

But the students mattered more than she did, and so they needed him more. She would ensure they had him.

Jean shouldn't have gasped when he reached out to her, she should've seen it coming. She didn't, and all she could do was try to swallow the gasp even after the start of the sound had escaped her. His arm was a steel vice, holding her body to his in an impossible strength. He was several inches shorter than she was...but he never seemed like it, wide and powerful as the man was he felt like a titan to her now.

"I'm sorry, Jean. I should've been there."

Her fingertips plucked the cigar out of his mouth, and tossed it, her lips smiling. "Just promise me you'll be here tomorrow."

"I promise. And tonight?"

Go where you want.

Baltimore, MD

"Once I had a love and it was a gas," Debbie Harry crooned to the thumping beat. "Soon turned out had a heart of glass."

Something about Blondie always calmed Carol's nerves. Heart of Glass was always the track she listened in the ready room, decked out in her flight gear with the earbuds wedged into her ears. She always hated she couldn't take her iPod into the F/A-18 with her. Carol took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and let the music play while she thought.

Seemed like the real thing, only to find
Mucho mistrust, love's gone behind

The earbuds and iPod she had now she could certainly take with her up into the air. SWORD designed it to be ultra-durable and dense to stand up to the intense speeds she traveled at in the air. Carol liked that she could listen to music when she flew. At least in the jet there was the idle radio chatter to listen to as white noise. Now, when she flew without a jet's help, all she ever heard was the whipping of the wind in her ears. The music acted as a constant companion on those long flights. There was nothing else in the world like being able to fly; the speeds and beauty of seeing the world from a bird's eye view were breathtaking, to be able to touch the sky like the old gods. But there was also isolation up there where the angels tread. She liked the isolation some of the time, a chance to be alone with her thoughts... but sometimes her thoughts were too much to take. The music kept those bad thoughts at bay.

In between
What I find is pleasing and I'm feeling fine
Love is so confusing there's no peace of mind
If I fear I'm losing you it's just no good
You teasing like you do

Carol thumbed open her phone and brought up the email. An official joint message from SWORD, SHIELD, and the Navy. A united front all sending her their message. Ten days had gone by and she hadn't been around, officially listed as AWOL. If she failed to report for duty within the next six hours would result in Carol's termination from both agencies and a court-martial from the Navy on desertion charges. She tossed the phone across her small apartment and leaned back in the chair. She knew that was coming ever since they announced the Sentinel bullcrap. The rest of the former Avengers had been making a stand, but Carol kept her head down and went about her job. What was going on sucked, but was it her place to act? That's what she thought at first, but as the situation got worse and worse she started to reconsider. Carol loved working for SHIELD and SWORD and working with the Avengers whenever they needed her. She loved the Navy and her rank, and now all of that was being threatened by them because she wanted to take a stand.

Lost inside
Adorable illusion and I cannot hide
I'm the one you're using, please don't push me aside
We could've made it cruising, yeah

Carol stood up and looked out the window to the street below. Not many people out today, but the few she did see were going about their business like any other day. For one brief second Carol wished she was one of them, to give her powers and all the rest of her life up for a chance to be ignorant of what was going on behind the scenes. But she couldn't trade, and that moment of weakness didn't change anything about the world.

She picked her phone back off the floor, the screen now cracked. Along with the email from Carol's superiors was the encrypted message from Stark. Coordinates and a brief message. She couldn't change anything by wishing it to go away, but she could change things by making them go away. All of her life she had been fighting for something, a chance to become a fighter pilot, and then later the enemy, and then finally the monsters and aliens that threatened the world. Now, the people she was going to have to fight were the people she had but her faith in for so long. It wouldn't be an easy fight, but it was a necessary fight.

Today it was mutants, tomorrow it would be metahumans, and then what? Liberals? Conservatives? Where would it stop? She decided it would stop right now. Carol crushed the cellphone with one hand and pulled the microchip out the back, crushing it into powder in case the government wanted to monitor her. She turned up the volume on Blondie and walked to her closet where the Captain Marvel suit was hung up on the rack.

"Time to fly," she said to herself.

Once I had a love and it was a gas
Soon turned out had a heart of glass
Seemed like the real thing, only to find
Mucho mistrust, love's gone behind

What's one of the first things a girl does when they come back from the dead? They go shopping. They go to the salon. The first day Jean returned to New York for the first time in her new life, she let Hank McCoy cook for her, give her a full physical check up, and then she slept. The second day? She shopped, hit the salon for four hours, and then she shopped some more on a shopping spree that would have made her mother and grandmother proud. The amount of shopping bags that returned with her to the Mansion that day made even Warren Worthington the Third blink.

And Warren was a boy who feared no dollar amount. Or much of anything else.

Jean spent the morning working out, then grooming. So short a time after four hours at a salon, there wasn't much work needing to be done. But as any woman endeared to the benefits of hyper-grooming would tell you, there was always work to be done. And since the team had given her Xavier's now empty master bedroom with adjoining, and glorious, master bath, Jean had all the space and time in the universe to do it.

"Wow."

The sense of awe in the girl's voice made Jean blush. She was already 'made up' and dressed when the teenager appeared in the doorway, and spoke the word of amazement. There were moments in Jean's life when she was forced to remember that she had been a teenage model, that she was decidely on one extreme of the 'physical attraction' spectrum. Gussied up and dressed to kill, Jean could wow people. Had it not been for a tragedy and a mutation, her fate likely would have been wealthy philanthroping trophy wife.

But it was an emptier feeling now, the feeling of beauty, than it had ever been before her death.

"Thank you, Jubilee." The hint of blush upon her cheeks was genuine, even if the smile she gave the girl was not. It was hard to smile about being admired for beauty, when the sensation of it had become hollow to her. Still, it was fun for Jean to see a teenage girl gawk at what a grown woman could look like with skill and practice and resources.

"Tell you what, keep Logan from going crazy while I'm gone, and you and I will do a shopping/make-over day?"

Jubilee was different than most girls Jean had known growing up. She could be deadpan and sarcastic, even in the most unexpected moments. So when Jubliee's response began with a dull, "Oh, I don't know. A beauty day with a rich woman that looks like you?" Jean began to think she'd read the girl wrong. Then came the sudden shift in the teen's expression, from dull disinterest to vibrant excitement, "ARE YOU KIDDING!? I'd SO rather learn how to be a sex bomb from you than how to hone my mutant ability."

Even Jean had to laugh. "Priorities--"

Grinning, Jubliation Lee finished Jean's sentence for her, "I haz none. I know. But you absolutely have a deal. Though you have to dish; hot date?"

Jean turned before the full length mirror before her, checking herself for imperfections. She wore a Betsey Johnson dress; the dress itself was a floral grey and white print from it's pleated hem that fell above her knees to it's low back to it's shoulderless and strapless top ending just above her bust. But where the dress ended was not bare skin, but a sheer black lace on black lace polka dot scoop neck, straps, and back that exposed her skin below it's shadow.

One of the best parts about being a telekinetic girl? Never having to ask someone to 'zip you up.' Only when she was satisfied did Jean grab her black lace clutch purse, and return her attention to the teen wearing yellow and pink, motioning for the girl to walk with her as she left the room, and starting walking to the stairs, to the garage of the Mansion. "Sort of, yeah. I've set up a meeting with a lawyer who has worked for the Senate, the Department of Defense, the CIA, and even the White House."

It was an impressive resume. One even a teen disinterested in much of the 'real world' before her arrival at Xavier's such as Jubilee could be impressed by. "Sounds legit."

"Very." Her voice lowered, not out of state secrecy, but as a girl's will when she's gossiping with another girl. "He's also gorgeous, and he was my last date as a mundane human girl. His family holds a sizeable print-media empire, but he wanted something different for his life. So while he's a lawyer of renown, he will one day be head of that media empire. An important friend for the X-Men to have."

It was the reason Xavier always wanted Jean to be the public face of the young team. She looked like a model, she had the contacts of 'Old Money', and the intelligence and vision to use both to their full extents in assisting his vision. Just because he had died didn't mean his dream died with him.

"So you're going to go schmooze him over to our side?"

"All I want from him is what we're facing, from a legal standpoint."

"You mean," the girl snickered, "besides killer robots?"

Dark as the humor was, it made Jean chuckle. "More like, I want to understand the mechanisms at work behind said killer robots. Take this as a lesson more important than beauty: rare is the threat that is as simple and plain as it first appears. There is usually more at play; the endless gears and wheels within wheels of human mechanisms."

Jubilee didn't quite grasp it, but given the rushed manner of the lesson, Jean didn't blame her. She stopped at the exterior door that led to the walkway from Mansion to garage, "Remember, keep an eye on Logan like only you can. Keep his spirits up."

"Yeah," Jubilation Lee laughed, and laughed loudly, "Right...but I'll do what I can."

Coincidentally, it was a sentiment that mirrored exactly how Jean felt in that moment.

---

Down in the lower parts of Xavier’s school amongst the various training rooms and bunkers, Neena Thurman could be found in the shooting gallery making the most of her time here at the school. She wasn’t a student, nor was she a teacher. Instead, she liked to think of herself as a visitor; a very restless one. Emptying both clips on her pistols into several different moving targets, Neena simply waltzed over to the supply table where her reloads were located, her body moving to the beat of the current song blaring through the room with a few head-bangs mixed in with a few half-assed vocal exploits as the song continued.

“Dear future…I bought you…I own the rights…” Neena sang out as she reloaded her pistol clips with a quick flick of the wrist, and when the music picked up once more into the heavier rifts she jumped to the side, rolling in succession and then taking a knee, pointing her dual pistols and unleashing a torrent of raining led on a single target hitting spot on despite her mess of raven black hair covering one of her eyes completely.

The song was then suddenly cut off and an eerie quiet echoed throughout the shooting range as Neena had emptied her last bullet, the smell of gunpowder radiating through the air tickling Neena’s adrenaline spike, itching for wanting more. Standing up straight and slipping the dual pistols into their respected holsters on each hip, Neena turned around to find Storm standing on the other side of the protection glass, her one hand on the stereo system’s power button and her other hand motioning for Neena to come to her side of the room.

“So you’re going then?” Storm asked, crossing her nimble arms across her chest once Neena entered the second half of the room.

“What choice do I have? It’s not like I’m much help here.” Neena replied blatantly, the obvious tone in her voice going on about how she had been feeling rather useless lately.

“I just want you to be careful out there Neena, without Logan or myself going…I just feel like we’re going into this blind.”

“But you’re not going into this blind are you? No, you both have your prized red-head back from the dead. She’ll take care of everything I hear. She’ll fix all of your problems and then probably shit out skittles just because she can.” Neena snapped, her feelings towards the return of Jean Grey only too obvious.

When Neena first came to the school, she was disappointed to find that Charles Xavier had since passed on, along with a woman known as Jean Grey. The details were a bit fuzzy as no one seemed to want to talk about it, but after a few nights with Logan she was able to get the gist of her story. Now, one year later as the wounds of the school seemed to have just started to heal, here she was again, tearing open new wounds that would take even longer to heal.

“Anyway, I have a plane to catch.” Neena said walking over to the exit door where her pre-packed bags had been stored. She hoisted one up onto her shoulder, the other she slung across her back.

“Neena wait-“ Storm tried, but Neena had already pushed herself through the doors leaving Storm to only lower her head and sigh.

“We need everyone we can get Neena…” Storm said quietly to herself as she looked back up at the doors that Neena had just went through.

Subtle had never been his forte.

Prepulsor tech screamed as the humanoid figure in the sky powered towards its destination, the clear, if powerful, sea of the Caribbean stretching out before him as he blasted past the cape of Florida. But for all the noise the system itself caused, the man within didn't hear a thing, ACDC blasting over the suit's internal sound system, right into the ears of its billionaire, genius occupant. At least according to himself, although in reality, both were objective fact.

But Subtle? Not even he could claim that, even if he'd have wanted to.

The Iron Network may have meant he could talk to a set few people across the world without the government listening in, but he knew his suit would have been tracked the moment it left its hideout in Georgia. Of course he'd launched multiple suits from locations across his various properties. He'd even shot one off out of the vault SHIELD had failed to crack in the ex-Avengers tower, likely much to their chagrin. Each would head for a different location, most in small groups but as soon as the real Tony Stark touched down wherever, he knew the US government would know, might as well make it a show. Banking beneath a low cloud, Tony's suit was joined in flight by two others, automatically piloted, and somewhat earlier versions of the M29 he now flew. Cubans liked Tony Stark. Cuba did not.

There were no radio warnings, there hadn't been for years, although for all the good the element of surprise did them, the Cuban military may as well have flown a "We will shoot at you' banner. The suits picked up the oncoming missiles before they'd even left the ground, JARVIS locking on to the building heat signatures moments before they took to the skies. They would be allowed to close this time, just in case shutting them off caused some kind of ground level detonation. The red warning signs flashed in the suit before Tony could even see the missiles on the horizon, he didn't bother to zoom as he might to track a genuine threat. The countermeasures he had decided upon triggers when the offensive weapons closed to within a single second, just in time for him to smirk.

All three suits emitted a brief pulse, knocking the four missiles aside and onto a new trajectory, plummeting them to the sea below, where they would either simply sink, or detonate 'fairly' safely below the surface, depending upon the specifics of the assault. Stark didn't wait around to find out, all three suits then returning to top-flight speed as they approached the island nation, coming into sight of its sun bleached shores, rather than simply violating its air space. Once he had landed, the government wouldn't be able to take steps to deal with him, such a public attack on a global hero would not only cause international issue, but equally put them on fairly uneven footing with their own population. It had been less than a year since Stark had prevented a rogue-mutant attack on the island, the inhabitants having feared a similar event to the Manchester incident, although Stark had been sure they were not related. The suits dropped lower in the sky as they began to pass over Cuba, turning the heads of those in the vicinity to look to the sky, if only briefly, to catch a glimpse of three flying humanoids. Many cheered. It was something he would never get tired of.

The meeting place was a beach house along a very expensive stretch of shore, the nearest neighbors being several miles in either direction, although Stark had never saw fit to make his own stretch of the sand private, particularly when it came to the locals. A past exploit had once told him that God had used up all the spare 'sexy' on the Cubans, and Tony had seen little to make him doubt that, at least when it came to the sort who wanted to party on a stretch of beach owned by an American billionaire, genius, superhero. The three 'Iron Men' touched down on the large stilted platform that jutted forth from the house, out and over the sea. Two separate swimming pools and as many hot tubs co-inhabited the space, along with a number of, currently unoccupied, bars. The property itself had been 'donated' to the Avengers cause as a safe house and headquarters outside of the US, although with the dissolution of the Avengers, it 'technically' belonged to SHIELD. The thought made Tony laugh as the mask of his suit descended into it, allowing him to feel the warm sea breeze on his face, and to see the world in more than a holographic display.

"JARVIS, update on the assembly."

"Several individuals are already on their way, although some are delayed or have yet to establish plans, do you wish to send a prompt?"

"This isn't a Facebook event JARVIS, even I can wait." Stark managed to keep his impatience hidden within him, even to his artificial butler-AI as he walked over to one of the previously mentioned bars, the metallic boots of the suit clanking as he did so, removing a bottle of malt whiskey from the bar, kept cold by a refrigerator that ran on the most sustainable cooling system outside of his first home, Stark took a sip as he turned to face the view. He avoided taking more for a moment, while not an alcoholic, probably, he tried to monitor his intake. Sometimes. With that though, he trudged to the left side of the platform, looking out over the beach. He paused in thought to wave at a couple of women prancing in the waves, which earned him a few blow kisses. Chicks digged suits. Especially the Iron kind. The two unoccupied suits practically stood at attention towards the centre of the platform, although in reality, their internal AIs were busy calculating many different problems, some that were completely irrelevant to this mission.

"Might I suggest you continue to wear the Mark 29 for this meeting sir?"

"Why would that be JARVIS?"

"It seems counterproductive to produce a helmet to prevent telepathy, to then not wear it in the company of telepaths."

"It was more for the evil, maniacal telepaths JARVIS, not the beautiful resurrected ones, how can they trust me if I make an effort to hide my thoughts?"

"How can you trust them if they feel the need to read them?"

"Touche JARVIS, I'll contemplate it."

"That's all I can ask sir."

Jarvis' voice had already began to quieten as he replied, the metal innards of the suit whirring as Tony stepped out of it, already dressed in beach shorts, comically Hawaiian in style. He first looked to his own, temperature controlled and purified pools, designed specifically to his personal tastes and not to mention, incredibly expensive. Then he turned to the sea.

Women.

"Lets see how good my Spanish still is." He mused to himself, before turning to leap the banister, landing several meters below on the sand.

"Ola, Ladies."

The South Beach Yacht Club, Kennedy Room private lounge.
Miami, Floria, United States.

Bennett Collins was a tall, athletic, blonde haired rich boy who was smuggling Scotch into a party-within-a-party the last time she saw him. Now? He was still tall, athletic, and his hair was dirty blonde instead of simply blonde. But it worked for him. He was still gorgeous, still had the charisma to light up a room at the drop of a hat. Even with the Kennedy Room empty save for Bennett and herself, it seemed like a good place to be the second he stood up, and smiled that megawatt smile at her.

"Jean Grey, I almost don't believe my eyes."

His blue eyes held onto her image a beat too long, with a look of desire most wealthy men only had when they saw a deal that needed closing. Ben Collins had always been a deal maker, a boy who could talk his way in, and out, of nearly anything. He'd set his sights on her at the Adams Prep Academy, the good girl that was beyond the temptation of vice and sex and corruption.

"Thank you, Ben, I know the risk you're putting yourself in by talking to me."

He knew what she meant, but his response was that of a man who'd just been told the absurd. "Please, I'm meeting an old friend who simply wants legal counsel."

"You're meeting with a woman high on the American kill list."

Her tone was blunt enough to cause brusing, but Ben Collins somehow dodged it with a tiny grin that could've meant half a hundred things. "You're a telepath. Read my mind, go ahead: See if I'm afraid of 'G-Men' coming to get me in the middle of the night."

"What makes you think I already haven't read your mind?" Jean smiled the kind of smile that, itself, could've meant anything.

It only made the man's grin grow. "Because Jean Grey would never invade someone's privacy like that unless she had no other choice. Sit down, come on, relax. Do you want something to drink?"

"No thanks. You seem so certain I'm the same girl from Boston."

Ben dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand as he turned to the silver drink cart and began to pour himself a scotch with ice. "Nobody's the same, Jean, I just choose to believe in the purity of your heart over the cyncism and paranoia of basic human nature." With his drink now in hand, he turned back to the antique, round, poker table Jean had seated herself at and smiled at her as he sat himself in the seat to her. "You were always a better person than me. You don't need to rub it in."

"I didn't mean--"

He laughed at her, touching her shoulder with a gentle, friendly, pat. "I'm teasing, Jeanie. Relax. You sure you don't want a drink?"

She felt on edge, and taking deep breaths and telling herself to take Ben's advice and relax just wasn't helping too much. A quick peak into his thoughts...and she knew he was just here to help, however he could. And maybe get to know her again. That surprised her, but it was a train of thought that was put away as she forced her focus from his thoughts to the conversation at hand, smiling back at him. "Thank you, no. I'm just looking to wrap my head around what we're facing, and I couldn't think of anyone better to explain it to me."

"You could have gone into the President's mind. You could have gone into the mind of--"

"--Ben--"

She tried to stop him there, but he ignored her and continued: "--the Chairman of the Senate Intelligence Committee. Of the Director of the NSA. Of--"

This time, she was more forceful, leaning forward in her seat and putting a hand on his arm. "Ben, I don't work that way."

The way he looked at her, eyes smiling, she knew she just played right into his hands. His voice was softer than before, genuine in a raw sort of way. "Yeah, Jean. I know. That's my point. You're a good girl. You've always been a good girl. I'm happy to help."

"Thank you." Just like they were back in prep school, he seemed to make her blush when it pleased him. "Can you confirm I'm on the kill list?"

"Well they don't call it a kill list, but the last time I saw it? No, you're not on it." Jean felt herself relaxing into her chair as she watched Ben Collins go into business mode. "From people I've spoken to the list has gotten smaller, not larger, over the last few years. Intelligence and Military boys are freaked out by the power you showed on Genosha, and I guess you can't blame them. But, no, you are no longer on that list the last I knew."

"Would you know if I was back on?"

His smile never waivered. "No."

"But you believe I'm not on it?"

"I was in the room when the President ordered you off it, Jean. It's been a good year since I was senior staff for the West Wing, but yeah, I feel pretty confident you weren't put back on it. The list changes month by month, and I'm told it's at about two dozen names right now. But it's not as simple as names on a kill list anymore. Controllers fire on people whose identities they do not know based on evidence of suspicious behavior or other 'signatures', patterns of behavior, that the US feels is dangerous to national interests. So no you're not on the list. Could you still end up the target of a drone strike? If you're in the wrong place, at the wrong time, with the wrong people...sure."

It was true. She didn't need to use telepathy to see it. Maybe that's why I feel so ill right now. Jean allowed a soft sigh as she sunk back into her own chair, nodding, bemusement touching her lips in a twisted little smile. "Last week a US drone strike took out thirty people in Pakistan during a 'signature strike' against people US intelligence believed were AQAP," al-Qaeda Afghanistan-Pakistan, an acronym she was certain needed no explaining to Collins, "Ben...the US killed thirty members of a wedding party last week over one of these strikes."

"We're still waiting on the UN assessment report--"

"Ben! Get serious."

He didn't look flustered, but he didn't look happy, either. "I am."

"You don't find it chilling, to say the least, when the US President that won a Nobel Peace Price and is by training a Constitutional Lawyer is creating a legal framework for assassinating people, even US Citizens, with drone strikes?"

"Jean...why do you think I'm no longer Senior Staff at the West Wing anymore? It's a dangerous precedent to set, to put it mildly. But on the other hand, you have the Senate Intelligence Committee Chair, Republican Robert Kelly, blasting the White House for reigning in the drone strikes. Claiming 'while we're busy pondering morality and more transparency, self imposed red tape has paralyzed counter-terrorist intelligence operatives in the field.' He essentially called taking mutants with no history of crime or terrorism off the kill list, people like you, 'an unmitigated disaster resulting in Broken Arrow, Kansas.'"

"Is it?"

"No," Bennett quickly shook his head, and took a long savoring sip of his scotch. "He's an idiot. But it cannot be understated the current problem Washington finds itself in. One of my NSA friends explained it like this: 'it's as if they've jump on the back of a tiger, and they don't know how to get off.'"

On face value, it confused her. "They don't know how to stop killing people they're not certain are guilty, including US Citizens?"

"That answer is far more complicated than I can easily convey. But I'll start by saying no one wants to be blamed for the next 9/11. Whether it comes from al-Qaeda or the Brotherhood of Mutants. People are terrified, Jean, and it's understandable."

"So the answer is McCarthyism?"

"No, but the trend lines are going down. In 2012 they killed an estimated three hundred or so. In 2013 it's down to around a hundred."

"And most watch groups estimate every one in nine deaths is a civilian with no attachment to terror or crime. I have a feeling they're low balling the number."

There was a hint of shame in Ben Collins' eyes, but it was gone as soon as (she thought) it appeared. "The bureaucratic inertia in trying to reign the drone programs back is hindered by the different considerations, both bureaucratic and policy wise, for keeping the country safe. Well who do you keep it safe from? That 'kill list' as you call it is the best answer many of them have right now."

"Best, or most convenient? I'm a US Citizen, Ben. I've got rights that aren't supposed to be taken away from me without due process of law."

"Anwar al-Awlaki was an American citizen before he was assassinated using drones. US officials called him a 'Senior Operational Planner' when everyone else called him a Propogandist for al-Qaeda. al-Awlaki's father, a US citizen, when it was disclosed his son had been targetted by US operatives, tried to sue to get the legal justification for the killing from the US Government. He was defeated in court because the US Justice Department killed it by using the official State Secrets policy. It's very difficult to get actual transparency on what factors made killing this man, let alone doing it with drones, a matter of last resort instead of a matter of first resort."

"So you'd be unable to find out, legally, whether the drone strike was a policy of first or last resort?"

"It'd be impossible given the legal actions of the Justice Department, yes. In fact since the identities of targets are, obviously, not disclosed before being taken out make it just as impossible to challenge, legally, the basis for even making these people a target. The Justice Department justifications for the criteria of killing someone includes the concept of an 'Imminent Threat'; that this person represents such a time sensitive threat to the US and it's interests that killing them isn't first or last resort, it's the only resort. Problem is,"

"I need a drink." Jean almost couldn't believe what she was hearing. But what she did believe was that a stiff glass of Scotch couldn't hurt her at this point, with the growing headache that was spreading through her brain. She kept listening even as she rose from the table and moved to the drink cart.

"I totally understand, it's disheartening. But it gets worse. Like I was saying, problem is according to a document that was sent to Capital Hill last year by the Justice Department the term 'imminent threat' is a rather interchangable thing. So while you and I might think 'imminent threat' means take them out or they'll blow up New York City in a day, the Justice Department feels they can't know something like that with great confidence, being able to prove it beyond the shadow of a doubt, even within a secret court. So it becomes a rather legally significant point."

After a long, deep, drink Jean found herself wondering one thing...and needed to refill the top third of her Scotch. "So why don't they lay out the evidence in front of a court if they have the evidence, and if they don't aren't they just executing people without a trial, and that's unconstitutional?"

"They would say once a citizen is actively plotting to take lives, to use whatever means of destruction available to them, be it an IED or a mutant power, that citizenship should not be a 'shield' for them to carry out their criminal plots. So one of the important distinctions from a legal point of view is...what constitutes someone 'actively plotting' an attack on the US or it's interests? According to the US Government, that determination is made by affiliation. That is to say once the US determines a person has an affilitation with a group known by the government to wish harm upon the US, that is enough to, legally, claim they are 'actively plotting' against the US."

As she sat back down, only one question stung at her mind: "Are the X-Men considered an organization actively plotting against the US government?"

"Are the 'X-Men' even an organization? It's a debate going on at the moment in various levels of the government. Most say they are, much as the Avengers have morphed into more than a the super powered arm of SHIELD; are they their own organization?"

It made even her blink. "You can't tell me the US Justice Department views the Avengers as an organization active plotting against the US government and it's interests?"

For the first time in a while, she saw hints of that charismatic smile return to Bennett Collins. "No. But are they an organization? And if they are, like the X-Men, it's not hard to imagine circumstances where they could at least be 'actively plotting' against US interests."

The question What happens when the interests of the United States are less than just? kept coming back to her again, and again. But for whatever reason, Jean was unable to give voice to it. "Because the X-Men and Avengers represent organizations of individuals with extra...or super...or...whatever means of complicating US interests?"

He smiled at her like she was cute for trying. It was a little bit condescending. But Jean ignored it, and told herself she was being paranoid. "Individuals with metahuman means of destruction. Sure. Go back to al-Awlaki; Once the US Government determined he was a member of an organization with the intent to do harm to the US and/or it's interests, it didn't matter if he was actively plotting to kill a sand snake. It was enough, legally, for the basis of an assassination order. All they had to do was determine his affilitation, and his level of involvement, because that's a clear 'indicator' of intent."

"It sounds circular. Adam Gadahn--"

"--is a US citizen turned propogandist for al-Qaeda. You have clear affilitation. So under the criteria, the "disposition matrix", the burcreatic euphemism for what check marks get you onto a kill list, yeah. He should be on it. Some illegally collected NSA electronic intelligence, or some hard intell picked up in the field by some CIA agent or some SEAL team pointed them to actuallly pulling the trigger on al-Awlak and not Gadahn. Why? I don't know that information. But legally could they kill Gadahn? Sure. Absolutely."

"...so..."

"It's absolutely circular logic, yes. And if that's not scary enough new SHIELD Director General Stryker wants the Sentinel Operations Command transferred to the Department of Defense. The US Intelligence community has to report what they do to the various Intelligence Oversight Committees. But for the US military, especially under it's Special Operations division, they don't have to report everything they do to the various Armed Forces committees. They have what's called the Authorization of Military Force, a law from 2001 that says the US military can go after those responsible for 9/11 'unbounded by space and time.' Now after Manchester and Broken Arrow, it's been rumored the afore mentioned Senator Kelly is trying to gain support for a similar law with metahuman threats in mind."

"So Stryker wants the drone program, the umbrella of which this 'Sentinel Initative' is under, moved to the Department of Defense from the CIA/NSA. And Kelly wants a new AoMF for metahumans signed into law which would allow the US Department of Defense, of which SHIELD can direct lethal force to, to kill metahumans without ever having to explain it so long as it holds up under the circular and enabling logic of the US Justice Department?"

"...yes."

"That's terrifying."

"Once again, I agree, it's one of the big reasons I'm here. The normative legal precendent being set for American security, intelligence, military policy that America will rain down drone attacks wherever in the world, whenever in the world, is just as terrifying to me. We're not the only nation with drone technology: Israel, Iran, China are aggressively developing this technology. Nothing like the quantum leap in technology being reported by what little information that has been made avaiable to the public about the Sentinels. Is that Stark tech? Maybe, it's impossible to know for sure."

"Stark sounded pretty convinced on TV the other day."

Ben nodded, as if submitting to that fact. "I was part of the legal team that conducted the argument to forcefully take his suits a few years ago. I can tell you more than the actual suits and how they were powered, the black ops and military boys were more interested in the programming behind it. It's one thing to construct a suit like that, it's quite another, they said, to program it so it all works. But Stark has, seemingly, done it. So when they got the Rhodes suit, the 'War Machine' suit, it presented a giant leap forward on that front. But now they're afraid Stark has beaten the world to a Quantum Computer. A sort of super computer that can do endless amounts of things at once. Not sharing that technology, keeping it, through force of subterfuge, from the government--"

Her blood went cold when it hit her what Ben Collins was telling her: "Equates to conspiring against the interests of the US Government."

"Yes."

"Ben...are you telling me I'm not on the US Kill List, but Tony Stark is?"

"He wasn't the last time I saw it."

"And the last time you asked people who still have access to it?"

"...Jean, I think our meeting is done. It was nice seeing you. If I can do anything else for you...let me know."

Jean felt the man lean down and kiss her cheek. There was sadness in his voice, and in his thoughts. She could taste it in the air, just as much as she could hear it in his voice. Instead of taking a car down to the Florida Keys and hiring a boat from there, Jean Grey decided then and there to bust out of the windows of the Kennedy Lounge at the South Beach Yacht Club, and just fly to Cuba and Stark's meeting place.

As quickly as she could.

The sea, it turned out, was not too bad in the way of temperature. It was good to relax, he had told himself, during times of great confusion and peril. The two Cuban women certainly helped. Floating aimlessly in the shallow surf with attractive company made it almost feel like the old days again, before all the death and the conflict. Before the heroism. That wasn't to say Tony would take it back, his ego was sufficient that he believed the world, especially right now, needed him, or at least, needed Iron Man, but switching off from time to time was necessary, and nobody switched off better than Tony Stark. Just as he felt himself finally starting to forget the troubles of the last few days among the sapphire surf, a familiar voice chimed in through the waterproof earpiece he had on at all times, hidden within his ear, rather than similar to a headphone.

"Sir, incoming airborne humanoid, identified homo-superior, Omega-1, two minutes and counting, how shall I proceed?"

"Prep the M29, have is assemble on me. No rush." Tony replied with barely more than a whisper, for the benefit of his company, to not sound like a madman talking to himself. When he turned to relocate them, he encountered only one woman, with a rather panicked expression, and his Spanish wasn't good enough to pick up her frightened muttering. Sounded like a prayer.

A flash of blue darted across his vision and suddenly Tony's head was ringing, he collapsed into the waves before a lithe blue hand grasped his head and shoved him beneath the waves. The motion of it all prevented him from catching full view of his assailant, although his memory of his own compiled database gave him some ideas, and as to where the 'missing' girl had gone. JARVIS' voice sounded garbled in his ear, the device not able to completely remove the affect of the rushing water.

"Sir, your vital signs suggest extreme stress, I shall in fact, rush." Despite the near death scenario, Tony had enough of a moment to regret, once more, programming JARVIS with a sense of humor. It was a necessary evil really, if he was to spend all day talking to a computer, it should at least be able to hold its own. In the next moment, he felt something metallic wrap around his hand, he didn't wait any longer, pressing it to the body of whatever was attacking him, and firing the prepulsor. The weight on his head was gone, and he leapt from the surf gasping, draggin himself a few feet from the sea, before turning to face the ocean from which he had just crawled.

His previous assumption was correct, female, blue, shape-shifter. Mutant.

She was closing fast, and his efforts to hold her off with the one Iron glove in place on his hand were met with artful dodges, clearly a martial artist. Well, so was he, but he'd struggle to bend his leg that far round. She nearly had him, then the second glove came on, and two beams was too much to dodge, and she was blasted back into the surf. By the time she was up and running at him again, more cautious and ready to dodge, the rest of the suit was arriving. It wasn't as clean an assembly as when he had machines present to do it, but the M29 as one of the newer suits built itself around him almost flawlessly, there was even only the slightest slap across his face when the helmet came into place. That however, was when she surged forwards, covering the ground with a few bounds before striking into him. While she weighed far less than the metal-clad man, she struck with enough force to send them bowling into the sand. She had taken too long however, now he was safe under the iron skin, nothing would get to him. But he could get to her.

One backhand sent her into the air, before another prepulsor beam sent her further, higher, before crashing down into the sand. Snarling, she fairly impressively managed to pull herself to her knees, glaring at the target she had so nearly killed.

"You should have brought more of you, I think my reputation deserves a little more than this." He smirked beneath the helmet, and while she couldn't see, the amused contempt was clear in his voice, despite the metallic projection emitted by the suit.

"It only takes one bullet."

"Then you should have brought a gun." The suit began to hover above the ground, both hand-cannons aimed at the blue mutant, they appeared to be locked in a standoff, before the other woman, the genuinely human one, at least he thought so, screamed. Then the world exploded.

The shockwave knocked him to the ground, stabilizing without falling over, he turned to face a cataclysm of fire, wood, metal and plastic raining from the sky as smoke billowed from what once had, apparently, been his home. The holographic display within the suit began tracking dangerous rubble, before highlight two targets in the sky. Warning signs flashed and JARVIS began to list his immediate priorities.

"First things first." Tony spoke, turning his head to find his mutant assailant gone, before firing up his flight systems, momentarily darting into the surf, reemerging with a terrified Cuban woman. She didn't scream 'at' him, that was a plus, at least she realized he was helping rather than just another threat. It took him all of a few seconds to deposit her a safe distance into the treeline, before turning to face what had become of his holiday home.

"Sir, two targets, Mark 2 Sentinel Drones, bombardment formation." Sentinel drones had always been easy to identify, but hard to track to begin with, which was the initial reason why Tony had picked up on the intellectual theft of his property. Only his own technology would be able to fool JARVIS, but then be identified immediately on 'sight.' The Mark 2s were the smaller, attack dogs of the Sentinels and likely the most similar, if still inferior, to the bulk of his suits. If they hadn't got the jump on the two automated suits below, he had little doubt that they would have been able to fight off the sentinels alone. Now, with the 'life signs' of his own suits gone, it was down to him. They didn't stand much of a chance.

"Typical government ineptitude...steal my technology, yet still manage to make it terrible." He muttered to himself as he took to the skies, the suit covering the distance to the two sentinels, spread out and still pounding the ruins of his home with air-to-ground beams, they reacted too slowly, and the Iron Man tackled one head on at full speed. The suit didn't skip a beat, continuing to push the limits of its short-burst speed as Stark carried the Sentinel higher and higher, the robot starting to break up from the force, before with blasts from both hands, it fell apart. Another red warning light flashed on his HUD and Tony moved the suit a meter to the left, just in time to dodge a blast from behind him. Turning to face the remaining robot, a volley of blasts seared towards him, most were avoided, some glanced off his suit.

"My Turn." The rocket shot forth from his wrist, launching downwards and striking the Sentinel in its head, circuits frying, it nevertheless continued to head towards him, its body following the last issued command, before a moment later the rocket, drilling into its structure, exploded, sending yet more wreckage scattering onto the beach.

"Very good sir."

"Thank you JARVIS."

"There's only one problem sir."

"Why is the government trying to kill me?"

"No, where do I direct Miss Grey to now?"

"Is there a hotel nearby JARVIS?"

"Yes sir, would you like me to hire out a conference suite?"

"No JARVIS, buy the place."

“Is the meeting over already?” Neena’s voice called out from a mere forty feet away. Even in the airports rented Jeep Wrangler, it couldn’t get over all THAT kind of wreckage. With a somewhat amused chuckle, Neena parked the jeep and jumped out from over the side, vaulting herself over the door with ease as her black boots landed firmly in the sand. As Neena closed the distance between herself and the man in the iron suit, she knew fully well that she must have stuck out like stick in the mud. Sporting her usual black leather attire, it wasn’t exactly ‘tropical’ per-say, nor the mess of jet black hair, white face makeup and the black tattoo around her eye were all too common around the area either. Still, she walked with a confident stride as if she had been here for years, owning up to her own presence.

It was nice to be out of the school grounds though for a change. Sure over the year that she had spent at the school she was given a mission here and there, mostly just ‘paper boy’ silly stuff and that got her out, but until now Neena didn’t have a reason to go out. With her mercenary ties cut and no longer interested in going back to S.H.I.E.L.D under the direction it was taking, Neena had been feeling like she had been in a state of Limbo; not wanted here…not needed there. It was enough to drive her crazy with her own thoughts as she now had plenty of time to think. Maybe this ‘war’ was just what she had indirectly wished for, a reason to fight, a reason to stand for something. It certainly got her adrenaline pumping though, just the way she liked it.

Given her past, Neena had thought that a break from all this mercenary life was just what she needed, as during the time her affiliations were uncertain. She had always walked that thin line of vigilantism; she had been that way ever since she left the church as a child. The way the mission went was the way she dealt with things, and if people got in the way then so be it. When she agreed to work for Fury though, all of that was supposed to change. He promised to help her fill that empty hole she felt in the pit of her soul, he promised to mentor her, shape her into a true vigilante; and now he was gone. No, ‘vacation’ time at Xavier’s school did nothing for Neena if only making her angrier and even more prone to pop a bullet in the skulls of those responsible.

Time at the school did however teach Neena one thing; and that was the significance of her mutation. But then again, every mutant at the school was exceptionally significant the way that the staff talked on about them, coddling the children as if trying to protect them by filling their heads with compliments would keep them safe. Still though, she was able to fully understand just what having a mutation meant, and she was able to learn so much about those like her. As a mercenary, she often felt like she was alone. Hell even the government didn’t want her as a child as her mutation was cast off as a ‘dud’ and they wanted her disposed of, like a misprinted T-shirt.

“Stark…” Neena acknowledged finally approaching the metal suit and coming to a halt in front of him and rested her hands on the sides of her hips, hoping to GOD that she was actually talking to the REAL Tony Stark and not just one of his suits on ‘auto-pilot.’ She tilted her head to the side slightly in a curious expression, looking up into the two squarish slits that made up the eyes of the metal armor. She hadn't actually ever seen Stark's suits in person before, let alone having ever met Tony himself; but she sure knew about him; who on this planet didn't?

...and his ego wouldn't of had it any other way.

"You called?" She smirked, the tip of her black lips twitching up into a bit of a smile.

(Collab between Yoshi, Zach, and myself.)

"I did." The metallic voice projected from the suit, as its head slowly turned to face the woman addressing him, the holographic interface immediaely tracking her, recording vitals and, more importantly, providing background information.

"Unfortunately it would seem some unwanted guests showed up early to this party of mine, I try not to make it a habit of disappointing those women who still answer my calls." Self-depricating humor wrapped up in ego, an odd combination, but he'd just watched his house get blown up, he could do what he wanted.

"How rude of them." Came Neena's snarky reply. She looked past the metal suit to the wreckage that laid just beyond him and then back to the iconic red and gold man.

"And you have yet to disappoint." She added to his second comment.

"I did shoot them down, so maybe." Stark replied, before the suit finally touched down, having been hovering above the sand, his head turned to look at the burning wreckage one more time, before once again focusing on Neena.

"There a not-so-small hotel I own, down the beach aways, but first, I have to meet the woman who can't die? Care to join me?" The suit 'nodded' in the direction of the hotel, before starting to hover down the beach, confident the jeep could keep up, it was hard to be the 'perfect' gentleman, when strapped inside a metal shell, but he was at least polite, all considering.

Neena's somewhat amused expression darkened slightly at the mention of a girl who couldn't die.

"Jean..." She said feeling her stomach churn a bit. She nodded though, her black hair bouncing in and out of her eyes a bit.

"I'll follow behind so long as you keep below the clouds." She agreed and went her way back to the Jeep where she started it back up and followed Tony's trail.

---

'Clean up' didn't require a highly trained team rapidly responding from a flying aircraft carrier when you had a telepath to assist, and a location so remote in a country as corruptable. A lightning storm would be the official report of damage by police, clean up a matter left to private owners and their insurance companies. Jean would have to get the insurance companies, too, in case they asked too many questions in policy review. But that, at least, could wait for now.

She'd been too late. It was a harsh fact that gnawed into her thoughts, the thing should try to ignore and replace with thoughts of routine and other dilemmas. It wouldn't be her first 'too late' moment as a heroine, and because of his own resiliance it wouldn't be her most defeating either: the man was alive. She could 'see' that plainly. The mutant was another issue entirely.

The loss of Tony's pleasure palace did not interrupt her plans elsewise. Jean had never planned to 'stay' at the house (just warn him then check in before everyone else arrived). She'd even brought her own false identification with it's own artfully created 'cover' identity well distributed over every network that mattered. If anything, the X-Men had gained a wonderfully eclectic selection of friends...but the man who'd she first seen after resurrected was right: they were all covers that could be hunted down now.

So he gave her a new one. "Miranda Maximoff" read the American passport and the VISA Black Card she presented to the front desk clerk down the beach from Stark's palace. She figured to walk down later after showering and changing. But now, it seemed, she was betting she wouldn't have to. She got a bungalow on the beach and asked about shopping in the area; two designer malls within a five minute's walk. Jean wanted to change, if robots were already falling out of the air. Especially if it meant leaving, or going somewhere else. She hadn't been wearing shoes since Florida.

Already she was looking for alternatives for a meeting place even as she walked to the bungalow, having sent a mental 'note' for Stark to meet her there. From that meeting she could relay a new meet place telepathically to each of the people he knew were coming. Jean showed up to the bungalow only after a quick stop off at the beach resort's gift shop, and their Starbucks. Instead of the dress she wore 'San Marco Rescort' loose cotton Navy shorts that went a little lower than mid thigh on her, and an oversized pink 'San Marcos Resort' shirt. Finally, she had sandals on. In her left hand the she held large bag from the gift shop, which now housed her dress and three bathing suits. In her right, an iced grande mocha raspberry latte with three additional shots of expresso.

The key to the bungalow was in her pocket, but was picked up immediately and the door unlocked. It was a little, she'd admit, disarming to jolt with surprise when the door opened...and a man was already standing there. Her eyes stayed winced shut for a long moment, even as she made her introduction, a painfully given smile of few amusement to greet him and the darkly featured woman standing near him.

"Mr. Stark. Domino. Good to know my key is absolutely worthless." Those were the words she spoke, even if she sounded anything but glad to know her key was worthless. Opening her green eyes at him, she finally continued moving as planned, setting her bag down and taking a long, long, drink of that iced latte. "I'm really glad you weren't injured. I was on my way to warn you, when...whatever happened."

In the white, lofty, furniture of the bungalow's main living area and counter adjoined kitchen with it's accent lighting and view of the beach, Jean sat down and asked her questions as they returned to her, even as her eyes were looking out of glass doors along the back of the wall of the bungalow, and it's white stone back porch. There was even a glass fireplace in the living area. The beginnings of sunset were even starting to glow over the surface of the bay's water.

It all looked and felt a little too Bond, to her. Finally her eyes switched over to Stark, and her focus onto her questions.

"Have you identified the mutant yet?"

"Jean Grey back from the ashes. Not that I knew you before, but death seems to have done you wonders. I guess the Phoenix does always rise brighter." Tony's tone was lighthearted, even if the usual smile or smirk wasn't quite as wide as usual. Scotch in hand, he made sure to back off to give her room to enter immediately. After all, it was her bungalow.

"I practically designed the Sentinels, true they were a threat to my house, but I'll be damned before I put myself in the ground." He took a few sips, his slight caution of before gone with the news, or at least, his own personal calculation, that for whatever reason, with some of the most powerful mutants and metahumans converging on Cuba, that the US had wanted to put him six feet under first of all.

"The mutant, Mystique, was far more of a threat, it would seem individuals from both extremes would rather me dead in the Cuban sea." This was probably the most serious he'd been in the private company of two women for a long time, a fact that brought a smile to his lips even if it was only a private thought, although, without his suit on, he very much doubted there was such a thing as a private thought when it came to Jean Grey. Some called him paranoid, but clearly the events of the day had shown that he wasn't nearly paranoid enough.

"Your concern is, however, appreciated, lets hope what I've got to offer is worth all that, and that I haven't put you all in harms way simply for inviting you all to my latest themed holiday." He didn't add, not that it was really neccesary, that anyone looking at the situation, would have probably expected the reverse, to find it ludicrous that during the anti-mutant campaign by the government, it was the only normal human that was endangering them all.

"We should change meeting locations. If you can tell me who you know is coming, I can relay any change. But I'd rather my bungalow not get blown up, just the same, so we should probably head somewhere once people get to the hotel, or just change locations altogether."

"The location has already been relayed. They'll have picked it up of course. But Tony Stark just bought a hotel on Cuba, how many press cameras do you think are on that place right now? 'My' home was officially SHIELD property, they can get away with that, not this." There was an amount of indignation in his tone, at some small part at Jean for suggesting he wouldn't be able to fix the mess he'd landed himself in, but the vast majority at his own government which had decided he was a little too inconvenient.

"And to think, I voted Obama."

Neena pulled herself off of the recliner chair from the corner of the room to join in on the conversation. Of course Tony had already filled her in on the information just given to Jean, and it was enough to keep a slight smirk on her face. For once she felt like she was ahead, that she knew more than miss little perfect...though she wasn't sure how long that would last.

"So then it's official Stark, it's all your fault we're in this mess." She teased lightly at the reveal of his vote.

She didn't think the President was soley to blame for their current mess, but Jean also knew he had his hand in parts. Just as Jean didn't think meeting out in the open was the best of ideas. She'd be impossible to follow even using satellite feeds when flying at those speeds, but she wasn't afraid to show people she was here. Now it was obvious, and the there went another cover identify.

But more vexing was the thought that haunted her lips now, until she looked from Tony to Domino and back to Tony...and just let it out: "How do we know they won't send other Sentinels? A drone attack? There are people that work here, unlike your former SHIELD safehouse. There would be collatoral damage."

"Do I think the US is ready to declare war on Cuba, rather than just pound its own, technically, soveign territory? Maybe, not yet, at least. Secondly they can disprove that there were even Sentinels at the safehouse, at a public hotel? Not to be anything but realistic, but currently Iron Man is a lot more popular than any mutant, I'd think they'd want to avoid killing me on Cuban television." It took a moment, maybe more then that, before he let out a sigh, taking another sip of his drink, before looking out of the windows Jean had studied minutes before.

"But then, I didn't think I was on their hit list. I can guarentee their safety, but only with public force. If we want to meet with some degree of anonymity, then we will have to pick somewhere else." With that, the barest, slight admission that there might be better ideas than his own, he 'collapsed' one a chair, refraining from another sip of his drink.

"Creating mess is just about my greatest skill, catchings others in it would be a close second."

Neena shrugged, looking between Tony and Jean before settling in on looking to Jean.

"I don't think we can afford to be picky right now." She said, her own little smirk gone from both her face and her voice. Shrugging again, she turned her back to Jean and followed after Tony, sitting on the chair's arm in a slanted angle, taking the drink from Tony before helping herself to a rather large sip before putting it back in his hand.

"I'd like to see them try to cross that line though; it would give the Government the balls they've always lacked." She added with a wry smile towards Tony.

His eyebrow raised at the movement of his drink, he smirked slightly, although his humour drained somewhat at her comment. "If the Government having a lack of balls saves lives, I'm happy for it to stay as it is. They can shoot up my homes all they want then...well, all of them with less than three floors." He remembered at the last moment, he wasn't supposed to be a hero.

Jean was already at the bar, a bottle of vodka and awaiting bucket of ice quick ingridients to the quick drink before she moved on, turning on the bluetooth hotspot in her iPhone and letting music roll through the speakers placed through in and out the bungalow: Santana's Evil Ways starting out with bongo drums and Santana's classic electric guitar.

Having accomplished so much, she took an even longer drink and chuckled. "Okay, you two hang out all you want, I'll be in the bedroom for a moment. Tony, since you're the new Hotelier, any chance you could get something chocolate and grilled lobster served up? Maybe something for the others? The bar's got basics, but if someone wants beer they're mostly out of luck. I'll be back."

And with that she let the doors to the bedroom of the bungalow close behind her, the sound of the shower coming on just moments later.

United States Airspace
30,000 Feet

Carol was halfway across Florida when they finally appeared. Five F/A-18 Hornets swooped through the clouds and formed a diamond shape around Carol. They were later than she expected. Honestly, she figured they would have shown up outside of Baltimore. Carol kept her speed steady and looked towards the jet on her right. The pilot pointed towards his ear and tapped it. She activated the bluetooth radio clipped to her ear and gave the pilot the thumbs up.

"Metahuman, you are ordered to identify yourself and follow us to the nearest air base."

Metahuman.

Not "Miss", "Lady", or "Ma'am", but just metahuman. But she got that. It was a lot easier to kill someone when you just thought of them as a thing and not a person. This was it for her. This was the point of no return. What she did at this moment would either brand her a traitor to her government, or a traitor to the people of the country.

"Metahuman, you have been identified and are ordered to follow us and surrender to SHIELD for interrogation. Failure to comply will result in hostile action and potential annihilation."

Carol balled her fists together so hard they would have crushed steel. She activated the mic on the bluetooth and looked towards the pilot on the right, the same one who issued the threat.

"My name is Captain Carol Danvers, United States Navy. You can annihilate me when you catch me..."

Carol ripped the radio from her ear and tore past the formation of jets, breaking the sound barrier twice over as she accelerated. The boom threw the jets off course and the squad scattered through the sky. If the military sent them after her, then they were among the best pilots they had. They had trained in their Hornets hours on end and were at the peak of their mental and physical capabilities as pilots. But they were still men and machines, and Carol was not.

She dove towards the water off the coast of Florida as fast as possible. A look back showed three Hornets giving chase. The jets would just be getting missile lock on her. The signature whoosh of the missile's igniting was her cue to turn. Three missiles locked on to Carol's location sped towards her. She dove even faster to give the missiles something to chase. If they were sent just to capture/kill her then the missiles would be heat seeking. The hair on the back of Carol's neck prickled as one of the missiles nipped at her heels. She elevated slightly and slowed, catching the missile and landing on it. She kicked off of the weapon and flew up into the air. The kick sent the missile into free fall where it fell another thousand feet before exploding.

The first missile launched exploded five hundred fee above her as it finally ran out of fuel. Shrapnel whizzed by Carol's face and small, sharp pieces of metal dug into her back. The pain and the blast sent Carol falling towards the ocean. She righted herself after a fall of a few thousand feet and flew back up towards the jets in time to dodge another three missiles coming her way. The missiles began to turn around and follow her ascent. Carol, meanwhile, kept her tunnel vision and charged one of the Hornets. The pilot opened fire with the M61. The gatling gun bullets bounced off of Carol as she swooped by the jet and ripped through the craft's left tail fin. The plane started to spin out of control.

Carol continued to climb, up past thirty thousand feet and into the stratosphere. She pushed past sixty thousand feet, to high for the Hornets and farther up until the air got thin and it got harder to breath. The space climb was something she did often when she first got her powers, the thrill of going into space followed by the fall was one of the biggest highs anyone could attain, literally and figuratively. Now she needed the high to survive and avoid spending the rest of her life in a cell.

She took a deep breath and held it in. She stopped finally and floated, not on her own power, but caught in the low gravity of the upper stratosphere. The stars in space twinkled brilliantly. If she had been breathing, they would have taken her breath away. Then came the pull of gravity back to the earth. The sound barrier popped, then popped again, and again, and again as she fell. The heat of the reentry was absorbed by her suit and durable skin, and the wind howled so loudly it would have blown out the eardrums of a normal person. The United States and the landmass of Cuba came into view from the heavens above. Carol dove and flew faster and faster down towards the island. If the Hornets were still on her tail after all of this, then they really were good.

At a thousand feet from the water she pulled up from the dive and slowed down, the shattering sonic booms following her as she slowed. Carol flew close to the water and finally landed on a sandy Cuban beach, her hair singed and a bit black around the edges from the space dive, her suit cut and nicked from shrapnel. Carol looked down at her suit and kind of regretted not bringing a change of clothes, but any clothes she brought with her would have long been destroyed. Well, she could borrow some money from Stark.

(Collab between Yoshi and myself.)

It didn't take long for something to come up that required attention. She could hear Xavier tell her to leave it alone, to let it lie. To let this kind of thing develop on it's own. Pushing, the man had always been fond of telling her, can only result in disaster.

He was probably right. Xavier typically was, much as it annoyed her about him. But given the current circumstances, she didn't really feel as if she had time to wait and see. To let it develop on it's own. Standing there in the shower thinking about it as she washed, Jean knew there was no pushing it off.

Her wet hair was left to fall upon her shoulders after a half-assed attempt at blow drying it for a few minutes. She returned to wearing essentially the same thing, just with purple bikini straps visible upon her neck, suggesting she'd added a layer under shorts and shirt. Exiting the bedroom into the main room she learned Stark was on a phone, making Jean grin when she heard him speak the words 'grilled lobster'.

A new drink was required, though her eyes ran to the young woman in the room as she made it. "Want to tell me why I'm getting the sense I did something to you?" It was perfectly light and friendly, the tone she used.

Except for the underlying, inescapable, certainty with which she spoke. There was an issue between her and Domino, one Jean was rather clueless about unless she went 'digging'--and she wouldn't do that, unless the girl gave her no choice. With her new vodka on ice in her hand, Jean took a quick drink before adding: "Normally I'd just leave it alone, but considering the short time frame we have and the impossible odds in which we're facing, I'd just assume get it out into the open now."

"I don't know you. I haven't even gotten a chance to talk to you at the Mansion since I've been back. I'm sorry if you feel I've slighted you in some way. I certainly never meant to."

Having taken over Tony's chair completely in his absense, Neena had her legs sprawled out over the arm of the chair with her back at a slightly awkward slanted angle on the crease between the other arm of the chair and the back of the chair itself. With Tony's drink in one hand, and twirling her pistol around in the other while she stared up at the ceiling she looked quite content...that is...until the red-head came out of the bathroom.

Without even so much as looking in Jean's direction, Domino kept her eyes on the ceiling for a bit, but she did sit up in the chair a bit more so she could finish off Tony's drink which she had stolen once again.

"You're getting a sense? Why not just come right out and say that you've been digging through my head?" Neena snapped, sinking back into her slunken position on the chair, setting the now completely empty (aside from the ice) glass on the end table next to the chair.

Jean Grey smiled. "I can't remember the last time someone who spent time in that Mansion accused me of that." She really, genuinely, couldn't. "It was probably Logan. But, sure: No, Domino, I have not violated your thoughts--concious or subconcious. It's really not my style. Are you as good at dodging bullets as you are dodging topics?"

Neena scoffed openly, indicating that she didn't believe a word Jean was saying. Her eyes lit up though the second she brought up Logan, forcing Neena to finally face her with her eyes now narrowed.

"You don't even know what you did to him do you?" She said quietly, doing her best to keep her voice down lest Tony caught on to what was going on. "No idea how many nightmares he's had, no idea just how wounded he really is..." She shook her head, trying to keep herself from shaking in anger.

"But yes, I can dodge a bullet even better than that. It's my mutation factor after all...luck. But no one at that school gave a damn about it. What would a mutation like luck have stacked against a telepath anyway? But not even that...no...let's talk about trying to stack up against someone who died, and then came back all willy-nilly like nothing is wrong." Neena stood up, unable to sit still in her chair anymore. If she wasn't so sure that Jean would be able to stop her, she might of just shot her in the leg right then and there from the pure anger that was coming off of her.

Normally, the stance of displeasure and irrtation might have made Jean blink. Today, right now...it only made her take another, long, drink of vodka. The back of her hand that held the glass stayed at her lips for a second, rubbing a drop of liquid from her mouth as she finally removed it. Her green eyes stuck on the mutant before her.

But anger, or resentment, did not come out of Jean's mouth. Only soft spoken words of sadness. "I don't love Logan like he loves me. The man has a lot of nightmares, but I'm not one of them. Nor is my death on his hands."

"BULLSHIT!" Neena interupted, no longer caring about keeping Tony oblivious to the situation. "I was THERE! Many times in fact! Can you imagine lying in bed next to a man who just gave you one of the best nights in your sad, pathetic life, only for him to cry out in his sleep another womans name?"

Jean had a solution: she invisibly 'nudged' Tony Stark out the front door, and closed it behind him. Keeping every entrance to the bungalow telekinetically locked for the moment. "Considering it was my first time coming back to life, maybe you can tell me how the appropriate manner in which to do it is? You know, so I don't do it 'willy-nilly' next time?"

After a beat, Jean just went on. "You'll forgive me for doing the best I could in the circumstance. Just the same, I hope you never have to find yourself in that situation. Why on Earth would you need to stack up against me? Whatever you and Logan have going on is between you two. It's none of my business, but don't lay his hang ups at my feet. You'll find out in due time with that one he's going to torment himself no matter what you do. Is it my fault he's in love with me? It's not. He'll move on, or he won't, because he's Logan. Either way, out of my hands."

The redhead forced herself to take another long drink, her thoughts swirling like a maelstrom of confusion and pain. Even if she did her best not to show it. "Is that all you got? Any more misdirected anger at me? I'm not the man who took you and said another woman's name, Domino. But if you need to blame me for that, until you grow up, that's fine."

"The appropriate manner?" Neena scoffed, rolling her eyes and pushed past Jean headed straight to the bar. Fuck being sober anymore. She turned her back to Jean, examining the liquors in stock before finding a new bottle of tequila. Turning as she opened it to face Jean once again, she jumped up onto the bar, letting her legs dangle freely as she raised the bottle to her lips, downing an eighth of the bottle without even so much as a wince before stopping. "I would have stayed dead." She jabbed venomously at her.

It wasn't just Logan, it was never really about Logan to begin with. Domino didn't love him either, but it sure was a good way to break the metaphorical ice. "Logan has become my best friend, and he was fine until you came back. So don't you go on about me acting childish when all I'm saying is that I can't stand to see my best friend suffer."

Neena took another drink, just wanting this whole thing to surpass, willing for the intoxication to kick in. She didn't care if she cam across as alcoholic right then, she just wanted to be numb.

"This whole shit-hole situation is your fault anyway. I don't even know why I'm helping to be honest since you should be the one to clean it up. Maybe you'll think next time before you kill a bunch of people before you die. Maybe you'll think next time you decide to piss the government off, putting all other mutants and alike in danger."

Of 'staying dead', Jean stayed curiously quiet. Both in speech, and in her own mind. "If Logan's your best friend and you think he was fine until I came back? Then, honey, you don't know Logan. Trust someone that's been in that metal head of his. At his own insistance."

The last bit she added just so the girl wouldn't use that as ammunition against her, too. Jean had no problem stepping back and allowing Domino the bar. She had plenty left in her glass, as it was.

The harder part was keeping the laugh off her lips. Something she failed at, letting a slip of laughter out until she caught herself. "It's all my fault? I'm the reason the government tried to kill Tony Stark today? Really? I stopped Apocalypse from bringing down the world, and I'm a bad guy?"

The laughter returned, louder and uninhibitated. It left Jean shaking her head. "Your logic is twisted, alright. I also had Loki open a portal over New York City and bring an alien conquering force into the world? Ohletmeguess! I...caused Manchester and Broken Arrow, too, right? I blew up innocent men, women, and children? I mean, in your head, that's what happened...isn't it?"

Even though the laughter was gone, a grin remained. It was the only way her mind knew how to deal with the ridiculous and half-cocked claims of the girl.

Neena just watched her, her eyes narrowing more and more as the red-head continued on."Yeah yeah, lets all make Domino look like a moron shall we? Stop putting words in my mouth Jean--"

"--THEN MAKE SENSE!" Finally, the cool surface of the Cape Cod girl cracked. Suddenly, Jean was right there against the bar, leaning into the girl like Jean was Logan, and wanting more than the girl to be logical. "I'm not forcing you to say things that don't hold water, Domino. If there's a problem you're dealing with, whether it's neglect felt at the Mansion, or some sort of neglect from Logan, tell me and let me help you. Or don't, and just drive yourself crazy. But find the real targets for your pain, because for a marksman as good as you...you're sure as fuck off your mark this time."

Neena looked down at her with a rather disgusted look on her face before sliding off of the bar, forcing Jean to back up just a little to keep from colliding their bodies together. Neena didn't back off though, and since she was a few inches shorter than Jean she looked straight up into Jean's eyes.

"You don't know shit about me." She hissed and without even so much as blinking, Neena chucked the bottle of tequila at the wall to her left, watching it shatter with a satesfactory sound that made Neena almost want to smile. Shaking her head, she finally turned away from Jean, heading straight to the door that would lead her out of this room.

"You won't let me, Domino. You won't give me the chance," she said, as a telekinetic force with a strength that Domino would find impossible kept the door closed tight. "I don't blame you for anything you've said to me. You're hurt, and like Logan you're hot blooded and stubborn. I'm his friend for a reason. I'll be your friend for the same reason, when you want it."

Then the door swung open, and allowed Domino out.

Domino remained still for a while, taking in Jean's words slowly as the door was impossible to wrench open. At her first realization that Jean wasn't allowing her out, her fingers twitched towards the pistol on her right hip but was stopped when Jean began talking. Keeping her back to the red-head, she listened, but as soon as the door opened, she was out and pushing past Tony rather abruptly.

"I'm out." She quickly explained to Tony. Or maybe...she just needed to think...

The door closed again before Tony Stark could blink from Domino back to the bungalow. She'd barely done it since her 'awakening', except once...as pure reflex to ward off the attack what was left of Magneto had thrown at her those first hours on the broken remnants of Genosha after life returned to Jean Grey.

The tequila, the shards of glass; every molecule and every single atom found within came flying on a spectrum she could feel, not see, whirling and whirling in the air until the golden Tequila and it's glass bottle slowly began to take shape, then solidify as one object in the universe once more.

She wasn't quite sure what was more shocking to her: that she had reformed the bottle with it's contents back in their place...or that she had quietly wished she had stayed dead, too. After the bottle was returned to the bar Jean opened the door herself, smiling casually at Stark.

"I gotta go pick up some things. I'll be back in time for food. I sensed Carol arriving. You might want to find some way to flag her down and point her in the right direction."

Then she walked, her sandals 'flopping' with each step she took towards the designer malls.

Tony Stark didn't appreciate being 'nudged' out of rooms, especially when said room contained two attractive women going at each other. Innuendo deliberate. Of course, there were warning signs that both were mutants, and a fleshy non-homo 'superior' like him might not be best advised to remain, but that made it even more interesting. Dramatically sighing, he finished his various orders to the hotel, which included free drinks at the pool bars for all guests, not just his own. It was his business now, and he'd already checked various details on how it was running while simultaneously talking with two women who had already arrived, he'd decided to make some changes, and first, was pulling in more customers while also keeping the current ones happy. Equally, the more eyes on the place, the less likely it was the US government would blow it to hell.

It wasn't long before both women left, one in a dramatic strop, the other in a deliberately calm manner it would seem, Stark turned, having still been facing the room they had both just left and shouted after them; "Whatever it is, sort it. Even I don't have enough houses for us to all not get along." A little of the stress of the day came out, but even though he'd hidden it in humor, he was genuinely worried that divisions between those he had called would doom their mission, but he couldn't afford to not call in all his allies, but he'd at least hoped the mutants, most of all, would have understood the gravity of the situation.

Talking of allies and trust, Carol Danvers. He could have contacted her in a less obnoxious way, but an override, via a forced wifi signal, to the iPod she always wore during flight, was the most satisfying. JARVIS didn't even bother to complain about having to 'break into' private property, for once Tony's blundering nature was also the most efficient.

"Danvers, meeting point has changed, meet me in the Lobby of the San Marcos Beach Resort, we've got some time before the mutants sort themselves out." He was perhaps colder with Carol than the other Avengers, particular those who he had fought in New York alongside. Stark had many friends in the military, but time and again they had put service above that friendship, and given that now this was service to the nation who had bombarded him, military types weren't too high in his books at the moment. That reminded him, he would need to contact Rhodes if he could. He'd have been tougher on him, had it been Warmachine landing on Cuba, one, Carol was still attractive and female, short of trying to carve his face off, there was little she could do to place herself in the 'I won't even bother' part of Tony's mind, and even then maybe she'd still have a shot. Secondly, beyond facts and figures, Stark still didn't really know her and if there was one thing he normally listened to his deceased father's words about, it was giving people chances.

"Oh, and wear 'the' outfit, looks good on you." And, having Captain Marvel show up to your evil terrorist meeting, would make any American spies watching weep patriotic tears.

"I'm on my way," Carol grunted.

She was sitting on the beach, taking inventory of her bumps and bruises while a group of children watch from afar.

"Be there in five. Danvers out."

Carol stood and brushed sand from her uniform. The children scattered when she looked in their direction. Sighing, Carol took to the air and flew over the kids while they looked on in awe. It was only a few minutes flight to the hotel at even a leisurely speed, but it gave her time to think. She didn't fully know what Stark was planning, other than it was related to the current anti-mutant problem in America, and some kind of plan to change things. Her plan had originally been to observe and decide after hearing all the facts, but then came the government's email, then the jets. She was too busy running away to check, but she was sure the Hornet she ripped into crashed, the fate of the pilot uncertain. She had attacked US armed forces in self-defense. Even in self-defense, it was an offense tantamount to treason. In hindsight, that choice to run instead of be arrested was her Rubicon moment. After that there was go going back.

Carol landed in front of the lobby to the expensive hotel. The sight of a flying woman in a colorful costume, one that was ripped and partially burnt, drew all eyes in the area on her. What looked like photographers were beginning to gather near the far end of the parking lot beside the hotel. She ignored them and walked through the lobby where more people gaped and watched her intently. Carol found a bar in the lounge area to the right of the lobby. She saddled up to it and got the bartender's attention.

"Señora?"

"You speak English? I'd like an Old Fashioned, please."

A sparkling splash of galaxies above and below, glorious Asgard reaching heavenward in the distance. The Bifrost Bridge, a massive glittering highway paved in rainbow. Two figures of legend standing upon the many hues, shoulder to shoulder, speaking quietly...

“She is safe?” Thor asked, both the question and the concern a routine as familiar as breathing.

“Aye,” Heimdall rumbled, staring grimly into the infinite, dark and deadly hands deceptively lax upon the pommel of his planted greatblade. “She has fled, my prince. She hides, protecting our secrets from they who search. What few secrets there are left to protect. She is safe enough. For now.” A small pause. “Yet I cannot speak the same for the others.”

The arctic eyes of the thunder god narrowed. The recent news of Midgard had been troubling to say the least. Mysterious massacres. Upheaval. A powerful government and the blind masses turning upon their protectors. It was irreconcilable madness, and Thor could not shake the notion that, at the root of such madness, some terrible evil lurked, orchestrating events. If Loki had not perished, Thor would wonder…

He shook his blonde head slightly, dismissing the thought.

It was not Asgard’s responsibility to protect Midgard from itself, and, as such, Thor had already chosen to involve none other in his plans. This would be no political foray, no official endorsement from the Asgardians, no choosing of sides. It was not Thor’s place, or even Odin’s, to dictate how another realm should rule its populace. However, Thor could not sit idly by and watch companions he had fought alongside perish for unjust causes. Brave Midgardian heroes had helped Thor defeat his nemesis. A sense of respect, rather than obligation, compelled Thor to return the sentiment.

“Place me somewhere discreet,” Thor instructed. “Well hidden from their government’s electric eyes.”

“As you wish, my prince.”

Discreet happened to be at the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico, fifteen miles northwest of Cuba.

Some small time later, a sudden and isolated squall lashed against the Cuban coastline, spitting lightning and sideways rain, sending vacationers fleeing for cover. Few saw the sodden figure emerge from the warm tumultuous waters or trudge up the sands in the midst of the violent storm. Only a couple of children huddled inside their father’s car witnessed a blonde giant of a man break into a shuttered beachside souvenir shop, stealing board shorts, an XXL t-shirt, a pair of the largest size flip flops, and a souvenir cap. The vandal left unmarked silver coins on the counter.

As abruptly as the deluge came, it went.

While sunshine pierced through quickly breaking cloud-cover, steaming the surrounding dampness, a towering tourist walked the streets, the bill of his souvenir cap dipped low, the tension in his jaw and flat line of his mouth discouraging interaction. Heimdall had advised Thor where to search for Tony Stark’s supposed meeting, but standing upon Midgardian ground, Thor lacked the advantage of the gatekeeper’s marvelous, pinpoint sight. Furthermore, Thor dare not risk taking to the air to orientate himself, not yet. Stubbornly, he traveled on foot in the general direction he believed the Man of Metal to be, keeping a warrior’s alertness to his senses, navigating the crowded thoroughfares. He reluctantly acknowledged he could hunt all the day and still never find Stark, but fortune had ever favored the Asgardian hero.

If he could navigate the great forests of Alfheim and the rocky corridors of Nidavellir, surely he could navigate Cuba and locate his quarry. Provided one of the resourceful heroes of Midgard did not find him first.

Collab by Zach, Ruby, and yours truly

Stark's arrival was heralded by gasps of awe and a number of cheers from those outside the lobby, sitting in the Cuban sun. The M29 set down, falling into the famous Iron Man crouch as it landed, one hand pressed to the ground, before stretching up to its full height. There were a few camera flashes, although they were yet to reach the intensity of a paparazzi frenzy. Tony had given orders that the press largely remain outside the hotel buildings, enough to provide a constant view of the hotel to the outside world, but not to hinder the running of the place in any meaningful way. The suit had already been cleaned of soot and debris from the beach attack and so left no marks as it trudged across the carpeted floor to where Danvers sat at the bar. As the suit moved, the helmet once more folded in on itself, revealing Tony's head as he lent on the bar beside her. One of the few photographers allowed inside then got the money snap, Captain Marvel and Iron Man talking at a bar in Cuba.

"Danvers, you're doing the right thing." It was a far cry from the flippant and flirtatious tone he had used before, this was the Stark of his first press conference after being abducted by terrorist, the serious message he had to give. While he had always been disappointed when people like Rhodes had put the military before him, he nevertheless understood how it could be hard to do so, although it made it easier to remind himself that Danvers wasn't doing it 'for' him, but recent events, less guilt about making her choose that way, even if Stark had an ounce of that in him.

"Today, the US government ordered a drone strike on my home, hoping to catch me there. In the process, I was attacked by a mutant terrorist, but that's irrelevant. The fears that the drone program would turn on metahumans has far been outstripped, after all, you don't get more normal than me." His smirk returned at that, no one, least of all himself, considered Tony Stark 'normal' except maybe Captain America on a bad day.

"This is why the suit was important, every move now is a propaganda war, and if you're here, even diehard patriots are going to wonder if the US government is really standing up for Americans, or trying to control them." He continued, after ordering himself a whiskey, his last drink having largely been 'stolen' by a certain mutant, he took a sip, before grinning, he'd been a little too serious for the beginning of their conversation;

"I like the scorched, ripped look though, really brings out your....eyes." The deliberate pause nearly brought out a laugh in Stark himself, faking intimidation at the risk of expanding on any other detail in the presence of the military woman.

"That said, Avengers get a 100% discount at the various outlets in the hotel, or so I'm told, if you want anything else."

Carol just grunted and took a long swig of her old-fashioned.

"You don't need to keep up the pitch, I'm already buying. You can thank the Air Force for that one. Nothing drives a girl away like a squad of five F/A-18's, all of them with missile lock on your ass."

She chewed ice from her drink and stirred it in moody silence.

"Look," she said with a sigh. "I don't mean to come off as bitchy, it's just the last few hours hasn't put me in the best moods. Things are already so bad out there, and now I'm going to be kicked out the Navy for standing up. You know what they used to do if they caught people like me back in the day? They'd line them up against a wall and shoot them."

Someone at the far end of the lounge began to play the piano in the corner. It was Summer Wind by Sinatra. Carol hummed softly with the music while she and Stark sat in silence. Stark's eyes narrowed slightly as she retorted, taking a gulp of his own drink, deciding his previous pace wasn't quite enough to deal with the current situation. He allowed a few moments of silence as she hummed, before finally decided to take 'the bait.'

"Do you know what they do to people like me 'today?' They attempted to kill them in a fiery inferno via unmanned drone assault, or alternatively, try to drown me, take your pick. Be bitchy all you want, but you can't pull the 'my day was worse' card, not now." Another gulp of his drink, motioning to the bartender to prepare him another, before contemplating his current one, then downing it in another, larger gulp.

"Aren't you missile proof anyway?" He finally added, the slight smirk returning to his features, a normal person may deal it unwise to taunt or tease a pissed off metahuman, but even Stark didn't consider himself wise, at least in that regard. Supremely intelligent maybe, and suave, definitly suave.

"Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt" said Carol. "Physically and emotionally. Your own people opening fire on you like that can hurt you pretty badly."
Carol finished off her old-fashioned and slid the empty glass across the bar to the bartender. She waved him off when he began to refill it, and turned back to Stark.

"So where are the others? I feel like we should be doing more than just drowning our troubles away with booze."

"Eh, I;ve done it for 20 years, worked out for me." Despite what he said, Stark avoided taking another sip, instead turning his head to look out of the lobby, through the glass doors, to the outside world.

"Jean Grey and Domino are already here...although they seem to be working out some issues. They've run...or at least walked, off somewhere. No one else has arrived yet, possibly the US is going to crack down on the Avengers before anyone else, hence the delay." He couldn't bring himself to say Ex-Avengers, in his mind, Fury's pet project was still alive and well, no matter what SHIELD tried to enforce.

"Hopefully everyone who matters should be here soon...I had hoped to reveal my cunning plan over food, rather than have to explain the brilliance of it to individuals, but I'll think I should be able to manage anyway." If only he did have much in a way of a plan, he wouldn't be so tetchy about getting them all in one place, this wasn't an issue for his mind alone.

"I'm glad your confident. I suppose one of us should be. As for the other members, I hope they can make it through to Cuba. I had to push it Mach 5 to get here without having sidewinders shadowing me. Someone like Thor or Banner wouldn't have a problem with that, but Captain America may find it more difficult."

And she hoped like hell Cap would show up. Stark could talk about his brilliant plan until he was blue in the face, but she wouldn't follow him; at least not like she followed Cap. Steve was the one she would follow, he was the one that could look at whatever Stark was planning and make sense of it. Stark was an idea man, but Steve made those ideas practical.

"What do you plan to do if it's just us? You, me, and the two X-Men? If that's all there is, does whatever your planning work? We can do amazing things, but not the same things we can do when we're many. We have superior people, but they have superior numbers."

"Rodgers took down Hydra on his own, with a little help from a Stark, Jean grey singlehandedly saved the world from.. whatever Apocalypse was, You and I probably aren't bad at this whole hero thing ourselves, and Domino, well, I can imagine she's killed a lot of tough things. We may be less than what I'd hoped for, but the Government is kidding itself it isn't still scared." It didn't exactly sound like his 'pitch' from earlier, it was far less idealistic and much more matter of fact, they had achieved these things, a Drone program, as terrifying as it could be to have those you protect turn on you, shouldn't be a problem.

"Firstly, we find Fury, if we have him, we have the greatest weapon there is for taking down SHIELD."

When the orders came, Calvin wasn't what to do with himself. Xavier had recruited him just the same as the original five. At the same time as the original five. But Xavier had others plan for Calvin. Advanced training, covert placements, someone he could deny if they were ever captured or killed. But while most mutants were one trick ponies, Calvin was not. He'd never failed. Never faced being revealed to the wider world, beyond he and Charles and a few people Calvin called friends.

Then came the pre-recorded message from Xavier that automatically got sent in the event of the X man's death. I'm sorry, the man said. Then he made a very strong case for getting out of his deep cover at the next possible opporunity. Calvin didn't hear anything else after that. So he waited, found an opportunity, and 'died.' So went Senator Mark DeRozen (Republican, New Mexico) into the afterlife. Senator Kelly would lose an ally, and Xavier a mole, but those had been his orders.

So it's what he did. Then else came from the X-Men, from that Mansion. Like that, he was an outsider. And then Jean Grey returned from the grave, and called him. She'd found out during a psychic link with Xavier, and Xavier told her. Death prevented her from contacting him earlier. It was a good excuse, even Calvin had to admit. So out of a vagabond lifestyle came Calvin Rankin, an old white teeshirt and knee length khaki cargo shorts. Blonde hair short cropped, skin tanned. Brown eyes that looked relaxed.
It didn't seem promising to present himself to two Avengers...but it wouldn't have been much different if he went up to two mutants right now. So he approached the pair at the bar until both of the super people looked his way, "Calvin. One of the X-Men. Do we each get a suite, or is it booked up?"

Tony raised an eyebrow as the man approached, his helmet momentarily clicking back into place, before sliding away once more, afterwards, Stark turned back to the bar.

"No information on you, so we'll have to wait 'till Jean can confirm that, but if so, I don't see why not, I own the place." Now he took another sip from his drink, it was...disconcerting, when he didn't have information, especially on his allies. Afterall, it wasn't your enemies who backstabbed you.

He's real, Stark.

Welcome to my mind, Miss Grey, enjoy the scenery.

I can pick and choose. Sorry, Tony.

Well, wouldn't want my brilliant plan to not be a suprise. This has been fun, lets do it again sometime

Shut up. They're looking at you.

I never shut up, and people are always looking at me

She was right though, turning pack from the bar, which he had apparently been staring at intently, Stark found two pairs of eyes rather firmly staring at him, to which he shrugged;

"What, neither of you ever had a telepathic conversation? I think I like them, get with the times I say." That said, having shared a few words with one of, if not the, most powerful mutant on Earth, in your brain, certainly required at least a sip from his drink.

"It would appear you are a real X-men Calvin, welcome to our little terrorist cell, you'll find the vests and holy books out back. Failing that, you are....now booked in to Suite 12." Stark paused, momentarily, as a holographic screen projected from his gauntlet, booking the mutant into the mentioned accommodation, thankfully this one hadn't required him to boot out a foreign dictator or anything, although, he would get round to that. Then, allowed, he continued to speak.

"JARVIS, create new file, directory Mutant-X-men, Calvin." Still looking at the screen, Tony turned his head up to face the 'new recruit,' the same sort of face as if he'd just paid him a particularly nice compliment.

"Dinner is in a few hours, wander around if you want, but don't be late, I hear the Avengers are going to be there."

"Avengers?" Carol asked with a raised eyebrow. "I'll be sure to bring my autograph book. But for now, I need to find some clothes that aren't so brightly colored, or shredded in the back, or.... you know, still smoldering. Let me know when it's time for the meeting and I'll be there."

Carol waved at the bartender to get his attention. The man raised his eyebrows curiously while she pointed towards Stark. "He's picking up my tab, so talk to him about my bill."

She hopped off the stool and nodded at Calvin before wordlessly walking out of the lounge to find her room.

Currently on the docks on a local bay in Florida and hiding behind a barrel of fish fillets, Steve’s keen green eyes scanned the immediate area. He was already covered behind him, as he was practically up against an old brick wall of a souvenir shop so he had no risk of being taken by surprise from behind. Still, Steve’s strategy was to be quick. If he was ever to make it on time to Cuba, then he had to act now. Wearing nothing but a simple white-T and light brown khakis, a ball cap for the Florida Dolphins and a pair of cheap sunglasses, those who knew Captain America would have to look twice before recognizing him, which in this situation could only help.

“Okay…1…2…3…” Steve jumped out from his place of hiding, a rather large and torn backpack strapped to his shoulders with his glorified Captain America shield strapped on underneath that to keep the famous logo hidden. With cat-like tread he quickly moved across the docks, moving past the charter boats that were either busy loading or unloading those who had paid a ridiculous amount to go catch some fish at the bottom of the ocean. Finally, he reached his destination of a smaller boat near the end of the dock that he had been watching for hours and found no one to be on board. Jumping aboard the boat, he quickly untied the rope keeping the boat secured to the docks and with a mighty push of his leg on the dock, cast the boat out to the open sea.

For the first time in days, Steve felt like he could finally breathe. Sliding both his shield and backpack off of his back, he headed below deck where he planned on taking a look at the map he had packed and then to steer the boat, but once he got downstairs, he found two men sleeping in their respected beds below deck, making Steve stop dead in his tracks. What could he do? He had never attacked a potentially innocent sleeping man before…

Steve didn’t have to make the call though, as the familiar sound of a helicopter sounded overhead, and then after a few seconds, the boat started to shake from an unnatural wave of water. The two men were startled awake, finding Steve down below staring at them just as confused as they were. The first man gathered his senses quickly and reached under his pillow where he kept his pistol and aimed it at Steve.

“No no no, wait!” Steve called out but the man’s finger twitched and the bullet whizzed through the air, only to be stopped immediately by Steve’s shield that he held out in front of him, the patriotic colors and lone star sticking out like a sore thumb.

“Yo cool it man! It’s Cap’n America!” The other said as soon as he saw the shield, but the first man looked unappeased.

“Yeah, and he’s trying to steal our boat.” He grumbled and shot again, letting the sound of ricochet metal clang through the small lower deck.
Steve popped his head over his shield to look at the two, his mind racing for something he could say to the two to keep them from trying to kill him, but the boat once again rocked and rolled, sending Steve flying to the floor until his back hit the wall, with the two other sailors on top of him. With quick thinking, Steve pulled the two men off of him and raced back up on deck and looked up at the helicopter having to shield his eyes from the harsh rays of the sun.

“Steve Rogers, please surrender the boat or we will have no choice but to blow it up.” A booming voice came from the helicopter. That made Steve raise his eyebrow. How did that even make any sense? Before he had time to answer though, the helicopter dropped something that looked like a small backpack into the water next to the boat, and then the water began to rise and shake once again.

“They really aren’t fooling around…” Steve said as he ran back down below deck, pushing past the two confused looking men to take a look at the controls. He flipped a few switches, pressed a few buttons and the small ship rocketed forward, cutting through the sloshing waves like butter. Steve clasped his hands tightly on the wheel and looked back to the other two men.

“You two want to live to see tomorrow?” He asked them.

“Yeah…” They both said in unison.

“Then shoot that helicopter down.” Steve replied with a voice that came off as both demanding and full of experience.

“They are dropping bombs down on us, if you aim just right, the next time they drop it shoot right away, it should dislocate their main engine but give them enough time to strap on parachutes. Then I want you gentlemen to jump overboard. I will have called the coast guard and they will come pick you up. Any questions?”

The two men stared at one another, unsure of what to make of this whole situation but one followed the other as the clambered up the stairs to reach the upper deck. Steve returned his attention to the waves in front of him and began a zig-zag like motion to keep the helicopter from hitting them. Not moments later, Steve heard gunshots…but not those from a semi-automatic pistol the man had tried to shoot him with earlier…no…this was a turret sound. Clenching his teeth in frustration, Steve yanked the wheel hard to the left and grabbed for an old mop in the corner, jamming the wheel so that it continued to bank left in a wide circle and ran above deck with his shield. Right away he spotted the two sailors on the deck, gunned down from the helicopter above, and another parcel was on it’s way down.

Steve ran and slid on the deck, picking up the man’s discarded pistol and took aim, shooting the bullet both as quickly and accurately as he could. The bomb erupted, having been exactly between the distance of the helicopter and the boat and both were quickly engulfed in a hot flame. Steve jumped back to his feet and put his shield in front of him, using it as a barrier as she ran through the fire and jumped overboard into the sea. Not seconds later, the helicopter itself crashed about half a mile away from the boat.

Steve didn’t stop though, that boat had fuel and fuel was flammable. He stayed underwater, strapping his shield back to his back so he was able to use both arms to power his way through the water and didn’t surface again until he needed a breath. By the time he had broken the surface, the boat and helicopter were both completely out of sight, only a small indication of smoke on the horizon indicating where he had once been. He turned his head in the other direction and found nothing but horizon as well.

“Looks like I’m swimming to Cuba…” Steve mumbled to himself and began a father fast-paced stroke headed towards the small land mass.

The second Steve was able to touch his feet down onto the solid surface of the earth, his knees buckled and the tide quickly swept him up onto the beach in a crumpled heap, gasping for breath. Looking up at the sun, he noted that at least six hours had gone by since he first tried to borrow that ship, and his entire body was screaming at him in pain from the long swim. Steve sprawled out on his back, finding it a bit awkward since the shield was acting more like a turtle shell now but he didn’t bother with it as his only thought right now was to let Tony know he was here. Searching through his soaking wet khaki pants pockets, Steve found what he was looking for in a small sealed plastic bag.

He sat up, opening up the bag and stared down the rather odd looking black device in his hand. There was only one button to push…and so he did.

“Uh…Tony? Hello? Iron Man? It’s Steve…I’m um…here…” Steve said into the blue-tooth headset, but the idea never struck him to actually put this strange object in his ear. As far as he knew…it worked like a radio.

Thor found himself outside of the hotel. Eyes faintly narrowed, he inspected the area for signs of danger, but of signs there were none. Not of danger, at least. Ample signs of debauchery, though. Half-nude humans milling the area with drinks in hand amid a backdrop of artistic tropical decadence. After trodding through the poorer parts of the city in his search, the contrasting wealth and indulgence felt nearly obscene to Thor. Gaudy and suggestive, tasteless and sexual.

Thor had no doubt Stark would be near.

When he heard the billionaire’s name mentioned by a tittering gaggle of barely-of-age and barely-dressed maidens, Thor’s suspicion was verified.

His hunt, evidently, was at an end.

The route had been circuitous. It had been a newscast blaring in a local tavern that had tipped Thor. He had paused just inside the entrance to watch. Footage of the smoking remains of a Stark dwelling right here in Cuba. Other images of the Iron Man suits blazing across the sky. Commentary and speculation from eye-witnesses. Thor had slowly realized that Stark had apparently elected out of the subtle approach. Reproachable as far as tactics went, Thor thought, but the man’s property had paid for the poor judgement. Thor could only hope Stark himself had not perished in the blaze.

Then he had heard rumor from two tavern wastrels, not locals to the region judging by their pale complexions.

“I’d sure like to be in that guy’s will,” the one had said before knocking back a stiff swallow.

“Who? Stark?” the other had answered with a snort. “That guy ain’t dead. I heard he’s throwing some party or something, few blocks from here. Fuckin’ prick probably blew his own damn place up to get some more attention.”

Now here stood Thor, a “few blocks” later. Ignoring some of the intriguing female looks cast his way, and even an offer or twelve for a drink, Thor located the desk where the retainers of this palace appeared to orchestrate events. He regarded the process for a moment, then came forward. He experimentally dinged the bell upon the countertop and was well pleased when the head retainer came quickly to assist.

“May I help you, señor?”

“Yes,” Thor asserted, his bearded face grim, arctic eyes intense, something in his manner and that one simple word causing the other man to shrink back unconsciously. “Find Tony Stark and tell him that Thor Odinson is here to see him.”

Tony had used the time, between directing Calvin and Danvers going off to buy some less destroyed clothing, to relax. For most, the might have meant a bed or a private balcony, for Tony, it was a lounger amongst one of the wilder pool parties along this lovely stretch of Cuba. Despite the loud music, copious amount of alcohol, drugs and dancing, otherwise, Stark looked pretty much like any other tourist looking to relax, sipping a drink (non-acloholic for once) while he regarded the scene from behind shades. Loud noises just helped him think, that, and pretty women. Then the device in his ear relayed an all too familiar voice.

“Uh…Tony? Hello? Iron Man? It’s Steve…I’m um…here…”

The unmistakable sound of Captain America was rather distant, considering it was being transmitted via a bluetooth device and the sound of the waves in the background, nearly as loud as the man himself, alerted Tony to the problem.

"The device..Rogers, put it in your ear."

Steve nearly dropped the device when he heard a faint mumbling sound coming from it, but was unable to make out any words. He gingerly lifted the strange object to his ear, as if it were a seashell and he was trying to listen to the ocean, cupping his hands over the bluetooth headset to keep any sound from leaking out.

"Tony? That you?" He asked, removing the bluetooth headset from his ear once more and spoke loudly into it as he neared it towards his lips once more before returning it to the cupped position back by his ear.

"Steve, the device, you place it 'inside' your ear, then we will both be able to hear each other." Tony sighed, rubbing his forehead, while also waving away an offer by a fairly attractive barmaid for another drink. Normally such a ploy would have him paying up immediately, but contacting Steve was more important, at least he wouldn't have to make too many changes around the hotel, now that he owned it.

Unsure of exactly how this was going to work, Steve then carefully slipped the headset into his ear, finding that it fit just like his ear buds did when he listened to music while training.

"Are you a recording? Wait...how can you hear me?"

"It's....designed to pick up your voice Steve, it's like a phone, but smaller." There was a time when Stark would have bombarded the Captain with technical jargon to confuse him, but he didn't feel now was the time, not that this would usually stop him. At least Steve had been around long enough to 'probably' understand Tony was talking about mobile phones, he would hope anyway.

"To cut matters short Steve, two of the government's sentinel drones destroyed our previous meeting point, trying to kill me, we've relocated to the San Marcos Beach Resort and Hotel, should just be a few more miles down the beach, if you're near where we agreed on before." Now when the barmaid took another turn of the pool, Tony paused to order another coke, careful to mute the output of his device as to not confuse Rogers while he did so, before resuming their conversation.

"I can't imagine your trip here was a bundle of laughs either."

As Tony began to explain to Steve just what the devise was capable of, he finally moved from off of his butt on the sand and stood up on the beach, trying to figure out just exactly where he had washed ashore. He wanted to question Tony more about this strange device in his ear, but figured there was probably a better time and a better place. Quickly brushing off the sand from his shorts and clingy white t-shirt which was now practically see-through, he craned his neck to see anything around him that wasn't sand or the ocean.

"Have you tried not making them angry this time?" Steve asked in response to Tony being attacked, a slight hint of humor in his voice.

"It was a real swim." Steve then brushed the sand out of his blonde hair before realizing that he had no bearings, until he looked up.

"The sun is about 60 degrees to the west from my location, other than that, I can't tell you if I'm where we agreed we were to meet or not..."

"Master Rogers, continue along the beach 8 miles South." The voice of JARVIS interrupted the conversation between the two Avengers, the signal built into the device now in Steve's ear providing the A.I with his exact location. "You will pass the previous meeting point, as further guidance."

Stark frowned slightly 'at' JARVIS due to the impromptu invasion of their conversation, but he couldn't be too frustrated, he had programmed the inteligence after all. It was then he allowed himself to grin slightly at the Captain's comment.

Steve made a rather confused face as a new voice sounded in his head, but the confusion melted into somewhat of a smile at being called 'Master Rogers.'

"Hey...who's your friend? I think I would rather talk to him from now on." Steve remarked as he turned to face South just as JARVIS had instructed. 8 miles...well...then he would be there in just a few minutes provided his legs had once again gotten used to the solid feeling of the earth beneath his feet.

"That's JARVIS, he's my...computer-butler."

"Steve, I make you angry and we're on the same side, what do you think I plan on making them feel?" It was told like a joke, but Stark already had at least one press release to give, that would at least make it to the internet, if not the mainstream US media, barring some technological overrides or bribes, which weren't entirely out of the question at this point.

"Uh...happy?" Steve questioned, not really understanding where Tony was going with that remark. "I'll be there soon." He then said, taking more of a commanding, leadership type tone and felt his feet dig into the sand before he began to run...8 miles South.

-Redacted-

The day had dragged on while those who had been called arrived, the substantial wing of the hotel that had been put aside for them equally played host to the larger and more comfortable conference rooms, the large business table, complete with chairs more akin to living room furniture than the rigid nature of the board room, had been complemented with a hologrpahic projector at its centre, courtesy of Stark Industries.

Tony was standing, having releniquished the tempting offer of the largest chair, set at the head of the table, to be able to interact with the projector, and simply stroll around the room, he didn't particularly like remaining still. That and those who had arrived probably thought him unlikeable enough without him proclaiming himself their director.

Slide 1 presented a map of the Continental United States, as well as portions of Mexico and Cuba, detailing Fury's last known actions, a trace that was less accurate than Stark would have wanted, although probably far more so than Fury would have allowed, if he'd even known about it. That said, his course of action was rather clear, he'd been attempting to go to ground, although Stark would have hardly thought the government would have been able to pick him up so quickly if he hadn't also been attempting something counter to remaining hidden, Fury was a slippery bastard even at the worst of times, and this time he'd clearly had a reason to hide.

The private elevator leading up to the room hummed, as the first of them arrived.

Thor stepped forth from the open doors, his manner no-nonsense, mouth still set in a grim line. He did not favor strange voices entering uninvited into his mind, not even to direct him, but he would not quarrel with the necessity of instruction. He wore the beach garb still, shorts, t-shirt, flip-flops, hat, even if such disguises were likely moot by that point. He paused then when he spotted Tony Stark. He stared at Stark briefly. Then he cast a slow glance around the rest of the room, a glance that finally found its way back to the host.

“Stark,” greeted the god of thunder in a rumble that carried. “It is heartening to see that you live. Midgar would be greatly less amusing elsewise.”

Tony paused for a moment, the adjustment required to communicate with Thor after spending a while without speaking to the Asgardian, before responding;

"It's good you could make it Thor, trust me, I am equally thrilled I am still alive." He approached Thor, before making the questionable decision to shake his hand, despite the Asgardian's ability to limit his strength, the moment they clasped hands it almost felt like he'd forgotten to, and Tony didn't fancy being crippled before the mission had even began. When his hand remained intact however, it left him wondering if Thor was simply a fan of hearty handshakes, or if he'd deliberately given him a scare.

"Interesting...disguise, you have there."

Thor issued an eloquent grunt at the human’s reply. The Asgardian knew of few humans that lived their lives to the extent as Stark. Great indulgences, but right alongside great sacrifice. He shook the human’s hand with a respectful warrior’s grip, fortunately remembering a second before squeezing to be mindful of the fragile human bones. The strength of Stark was in the man’s mind, not body, but the mind was more than adequate to accomplish heroic feats.

Thor glanced down at himself.

“I thought it better to blend,” the god replied, missing Stark’s sarcasm. “Odin has not sanctioned my visit, and as thus, I wish to remain hidden until impractical.” The scrutiny caused Thor to inspect Stark’s own clothing, but there was nothing particular to comment upon there.

Instead the Asgardian gave the room another glance. “I trust you are gathering more than empty seats for this uprising,” he said. “I heard a sorceress of yours whisper in my mind as I arrived. I assume she is an ally?”

"Yes Thor, she is, although probably not if you keep calling her that." Stark answered with a smirk, although mentally noting the term for use later.

Thor regarded Stark’s smirk and decided to file that knowledge away. Thor knew a thing or three about angering a sorceress. Not the type of woman one wanted to spurn, but surely the woman in question could not be too disagreeable if she kept company with such as the Man of Iron.

“I will mind my tongue, then,” said the Asgardian.

With a shrug and a small smirk of his own, Thor moved past Stark to inspect the projection, absently searching for clues that told the purpose for the meeting. Probably of them all, Thor would know the least of the current happenings on this world, mostly those events Heimdall could easily discern from the watcher’s perch. Thor did not like that feeling, being the least informed, but he was patient enough to wait for the knowledge.

Thor glanced over his shoulder when he heard the elevator softly ding.

The elevator once again opened up showing a rather tired, wet and sandy looking Steve Rogers. As soon as the doors had slid open completely, he took the few steps out of the elevator and into the new conference room, nodding respectfully towards Tony first and then spotted Thor, also giving him a respectful nod of acknowledgement.

"Am I not late then?" He asked, remaining standing by the chair he would have considered sitting down in had it not been that he looked and smelt like the ocean.

"No, well, you've still beat most, and that's all that really matters." Stark returned to looking at the projected diagram, after nodding to the Captain, momentarily pausing to note how it very much looked like 'any other' Avengers meeting so far, hopefully with less internal conflict than their last few before the attack on New York.

"You can sit, Steve, the only person you'd insult would be the owner...and I'm fine with an odd smelling chair."

Steve looked from Tony to the chair aprehensively before just deciding to take a seat, resting his clasped hands together on the long table in front of all the chairs in the room. Well...if Stark owned the place, then he didn't mind so much getting the chair dirty.

"So...who are we still waiting on? Have you heard from Bruce? Hawkeye? Black Widow?"

The prince of Asgard moved to grip Steve Roger’s shoulder and clasp hands firmly, another warrior’s clasp just shy of bone-crushing. The towering blonde god tried not to loom over the seated man, and thusly simply chose to sit down beside. “Captain Rogers,” said Thor, rumbling a chuckle as he surveyed the fellow Avenger. “Could Stark not have leant one of his flying chariots for the journey?” the Asgardian jested lightly. “You look as if you swam here, my friend.”

Rogers’ question was also a silent one of Thor’s, of course. He glanced to Stark to hear the answer.

Steve looked up to Thor with a rather annoyed expression on his face, and simply stated...

"I did..."

"Not just 'us' this time, this registration issue is as much, if not more, a mutant issue than our own. Sorry I couldn't fully brief you both on the matter, but we'll be having a little help from some X-men on this one." And we need it remained unsaid, they'd conquered alien invaders together, but the US government? A whole different kind of villain in this scenario.

Jean Grey kept it simple: a grey cotton tank top too thin to do more than cover the tighter, form fitting, white tank top below it. She wore pale pink denim cutoffs that were short-short, instead of simply short, a new pair of white leather sandals on her feet, a pair of pink oversized sunglasses being removed from her face as she walked in chatting quietly with the tall blonde X-Man.

Calvin Rankin had not bothered to change, and likely would not. It was Calvin who walked in first, before Jean followed in his shadow. "Gents," Rankin's accent was light, almost too light to be recognized as Australian, unless a person were to focus on his words; the few he gave, anyway. Jean left a straw tote bag slip from her right shoulder and onto the ground, next to the chair in the middle of the table she picked just to the left of Calvin's.

Jean's attention flashed to the images projected, before it turned to the people in the room, her right hand tacking free falling strands of red hair behind her ear as her attentions were concentrated. She was hoping the Thunder God wouldn't bring up anything unexpected; like the Phoenix. Jean started with a little wave of her fingertips to Stark, before a full smile flashed a greeting to the other two.

"Fury's alive," She said straight to Stark, knowing the other two Avengers would focus in fast. "I don't know where. I can't locate him. That's...strange, because it means someone's gone through a lot of trouble to make him hard for a telepath to locate. But he is alive, and not under too much strain right now. If I had to guess, I'd say he's knocked out cold where ever he is."

It wasn't much, but at least she could tell them the man was alive.

"Ah, Thor, here's your 'sorceress,' see, stunning, even when she isn't using her mind powers," Stark smirked, ignoring his own advise as Jean walked in, nodding to Calvin, if only because he felt it a little too rude to ignore those who arrived, at least before he got into one of his many trains of thought.

He frowned somewhat at the mention of Fury though, especially the detail she provided, which pretty much confirmed the belief he'd been taken, rather than simply having so succesfully disappeared as to have dropped off Stark's own grid. He turned back to his map, showing the rarely revealed Stark ability to shift eyes from a beautiful woman in a crisis. The map projected into the air spun, as he began to make notes onto it, with various hand gestures that would have meant nothing to anyone but the device picking them up.

At the arrival of Jean Grey, Steve found himself bolting to stand from his chair, mostly out of respect for a woman entering the room. Like Thor, Steve wasn't naive to the fact that she was indeed beautiful, and suddenly he felt even worse about his current dress attire, regretting that he wasn't sporting the typical red white and blue uniform.

"Ma'am." Steve said tentatively sticking out his hand to shake her own hand. He had been briefly informed of Jean from Stark himself when he had reached out to Steve to arrange this meeting, but he had no idea that a woman with such reputation could also be so...beautiful.

Calvin found himself smirking, as he considered the sleezy way Stark addressed Jean Grey. Getting closer to Jean had been Calvin's main reason for coming, if for no other reason than to 'see what he could see.' And, to be certain, he had more reasons than his own curiosity alone. Many more. Did Stark really expect Jean to fall for what 'Iron-Man' called charm? That truly was amusing to Calvin. Steve Rogers looked content to sit and wait and stink, like a good soldier.

The 'God' felt to Calvin as thick headed as he looked. It was a thought that Calvin enjoyed, even if he did so privately, and smugly.

"Sorceress?" Jean asked with a small frown, her green eyes jumping up, leaping from Stark to Thor, lingering just a few moments on the blonde Thunder God before both look and frown were swept away with a furrowed brow and tiny trace of scowl, "I'm not a sorceress."

Calvin took the opportunity to slip from one side of his chair to the other, closer to Jean, whispering something to Jean even as he watched Thor with a self satisfied smile. A self satisfaction that turned into amusement, as he finished his whisper to Jean and leaned back straight into his chair again. The whisper even left Jean snickering, though faintly. "I don't put spells on people. Though if I did..."

Then she grinned, and stopped herself there. "Lord knows I've been called worse than 'sorceress.'" Jean even did a slow double take at the tall, blonde, and strapping human. "Hi, Captain." A greeting with a hint of a blush thrown in. Old fashioned, that one.

"Hilarious, you know, I knew a few people like you in High School. I think they clean my septic tank now." Stark didn't bother turning to face Calvin as he spoke, the bluetooth device in his ear picking up far more than just the words in this one room. It wasn't smart or grown up, but as the Captain and Thor had learned over similar meetings, Stark had a cold place in his heart for those who felt their powers entitled them to something more, even if in the case of the two Avengers, their actions had proven to Tony they were far from simply that.

"Sir, disturbance at current-level windows, Gamma-2, supporting defensive grid." JARVIS chimed from the central projector, prompting a response from Tony.

"Let him in, we've talked."

Steve found himself looking around the room, trying to locate the body that the voice belonged to. He had heard that voice once before...in his head...what did Tony call it? His robot butler?

Dissatesfied at not finding a strange looking robot in the room, Steve trained his eyes on the door instead where someone was supposed to be coming in soon. Gamma radiation? He adjusted himself in his seat a bit tentatively, wondering if a great big green guy was going to just rip down the doors instead of a scientist casually walking through.

With that, one of the windows, aimed away from the beach and into the Cuban jungle, slid open, a furry blue figure darting in, before he stood upright, placing a comical, if stereotypical, sombrero, atop his head.

"Took your time Stark...I feel my disguise may not have worked under inspection." Hank McCoy spoke with an element of humor, with a calm voice that was rarely raised in anything but interest or that same joking manner. The kind that gave you endless chances, but who you'd be terrified to break that last straw.

He 'padded' over to the meeting table, seemingly ignoring everyone around it, and focusing on the projection in a similar manner to Stark, although not being able to interact with it, without first prompting the billionaire. Soon the pair were engaged in a very indepth conversation with very high-brow terminology. What the room didn't hear, was the silent telepathic greeting, to the mind he knew would be waiting for one.

"Jean, I'll have to get used to seeing you again. But for now, still the most extreme pleasure." He was always one for dramatics, even when 'thinking.'

There was no need for Stark to point out the ‘sorceress.’ Thor already had eyes upon her the moment she entered. Of course she was beautiful, and of course she had much flesh on display. Both were valid reasons for any man to stare. But Thor had lived most of his existence around beautiful women. Not that he was immune to particular charms, but it was the aura around this particular woman that drew his scrutiny rather than the length of long, well-shaped legs.

Well, to be fair, maybe it was both.

Thor narrowed his arctic eyes slightly, his jaw tightening. Trying to work out his alarm as the others blathered to one another. There was something to this one, something not of this world, some flicker of cosmic. Something both familiar and foreign, known but unknown, yet Thor could not place the sensation or memory. That did not necessarily mean that she was an enemy, but instinct told Thor she was dangerous. Very dangerous. Yet a glance around revealed none of the others were wary in her presence. Perhaps Thor’s own senses were mistaken. Even so, Thor nearly regretted leaving Mjolnir in the sands at the bottom of the Gulf.

The god stood slowly, hands on the table, and addressed the woman, somehow achieving a “regal” bearing despite board shirts and a tacky souvenir t-shirt. The swell of muscles in his arms were tight, veins standing with tension.

“I am Thor Odinson, Prince of Asgard, God of Storms, and Avenger of Earth,” he said low and slow. “Companion of Stark and Captain Rogers. Be you sorceress or not, I would know your name and your intentions here, woman.” Calvin and Stark remained all but ignored, as well as the entrance of a … blue furry troll? No, Thor did a small double-take on Hank before refocusing his glare to the red-head. The troll could wait until the woman had answered.

"Not sorceress," Jean's smile found her pink glossed, shiny, lips...despite the urge that followed the God's demand. "Or 'woman.' Doctor Jean Abigail Grey. Aliases include 'Marvel Girl', and more recently, 'Phoenix'." Jean knew even before Thor was done speaking what he was really after. And it wasn't anything close to what to what Calvin Rankin or Tony Stark were after.

No, all Thor wanted was to make the connection between his intuition, and reality. A connection Jean served up to him by including her second alias; that of the cosmic entity personified: the Phoenix. Because what a girl wanted more than anything was to be stared down by a God like Thor for nothing about her other than that cosmic sensation she gave him.

For once in her life, Jean Grey wished she'd given the God a sensation closer to what she gave Stark, instead of the that of the cosmic variety. "Let's just call me Jean, even in the field," Her words were simple enough, even if the look her green eyes gave the God suggested something more to her meaning. "If that's okay with you, 'man'?"

Thor stared at Jean Grey a long moment, arctic eyes hard. He'd managed not to erupt at mention of Phoenix, but only barely. Surely the nomenclature was purely coincidental. Surely the woman had not named herself after a legendary being for any reason other than homage to the fables that Midgardians told of such. But Thor could not deny what he had sensed. Nor could he decide how much of a threat it would be... or if it was even a threat at all. Time would tell, he supposed. All he knew presently was that this woman was one he would keep a close eye upon.

"As you wish... Jean," he said, obviously grudging. Slowly, he sat back down, convincing his body by degrees to release the tension that often preceded great violence. Friends, he reminded himself. He was here among friends.

Thor was not the only member of a unique bloodline to arrive at Cuban meeting. Barely outside the hotel, an arcane circle materialized before emitting a woman in tight-fitting black leather besides Scott Summers, the controversial former leader of the X-Men, also garbed in black leather, and something of a winner in a genetic lottery in which his entire family was made up of powerful mutants, the kind that authority should recognize as formidable.

But Scott was gentle enough in general. He stepped up to he door with his most trustworthy companion at his side, Illyana Rasputin, ironically the most gothic and intimidating woman he knew.

While Thor, the mighty thunderer he was, had been grumbling about the so-called 'Sorceress' that was Jean Grey, he as entirely oblivious to the former hellion queen that had just teleported onto the beach. They recieved a few curious glares from the locals, but nothing that necessitated a top on their part. After all,Tony Stark had invited Summers to his 'beach party', and Magick was just his escort and chauffeur. When fighting intergalactic conquerors and omega level mutants, teleporting is usually more practical than, say, The Blackbird.

So, stepping up to the hotel doors, Magick looked at Scott, as if her eyes were communicating a hint of doubt in the wisdom in this course. But Scott just smiled at her and chuckled a bit before adjusting his hair a bit.

"This can't possibly go that wrong. And if it does, just pull us out," he said as he began to pry the double doors apart. "Actually," he reconsidered, "just stay by the entrance." Then, peeling the doors apart, Scott stepped inside the Cuban lobby and looked around. It was peaceful enough in appearance.

So he made his way around the space before spotting an elevator along the edge of the wall. He smiled at the worker at the front desk, who responded by nervously smiling back and breathing uneasily.

Typical, Scott mused, offset by the fact that the man kept staring at his signature visor. Without asking permission from anyone, he strolled over to the elevator and pressed a button, stepping inside before riding it up several floors to a conference room.

As soon as the doors spread, he took a glance at the people gathered within, spotting a blonde, muscular behemoth, the billionaire playboy that was Stark, Captain America, and then.. Jean Grey? 'Was this real?' he wondered to himself before cautiously stepping into the room, ready to call Illyana in an instant.

"Jean?!?"

Jean didn't even look; too busy keeping herself from another brush with a blush. She just kept that forced smile upon her glossed lips, even as she stood from her chair and walked towards the entrance of the conference, shooting a look behind her to the group at the table. "We'll be right out in the hall for a few minutes." Jean assumed the mutant man would follow her into the hall as she walked past him.

Steve blinked awkwardly, looking between Jean and the man who had just entered the room, exclaiming his surprise over the presense of the woman. He cleared his throat and took a couple steps back before sitting back down in his seat, averting his eyes from the situation that had just become somewhat awkward for everyone in the room.

Luckily for her, Summers did, letting her close the doors to the conference room as he walked out. The hall was the same, no matter the hotel; a short fiber, freshly vacuumed carpet in a hall where the biggest features was the art framed on the walls, and the elevators 'dinging' away softly. Only then did Jean stop and look at Scott Summers.

"Hi, Scott. Hadn't seen you much the last week at the Mansion. How are you?"

"I.." He didn't know what to say. He didn't know if he should've screamed or cried. "J-J-J-J-Jean.. is that you?"

A lone tear streamed down below his right eye. After mourning her death years ago, he'd thought that he'd simply run out of tears. But he was wrong, he discovered. It's not every day that a revolutionary realizes that his dreams aren't all dead.

Jean's voice dropped to a whisper. The kind of whisper that only carried with it secret tones and words best kept between two well acquainted souls like Scott and Jean; her green eyes wide and raw and watchful. For any sign. "I don't know how. I woke up where I died, in what remains of Genosha. A man I quickly realized was a weakened Magneto was the first to find me. A day later he helped me get home to the Mansion. That's the day the Mansion got Stark's message. So I decided to come out and help."

That was, though abridged, exactly how it had happened. "I don't know how's or why's apart from that, I'm sorry."

She said, not for the first time, apologizing for returning from the dead.

Swallowing the pain in his throat, he smiled a little bit, like the sun rising in the dawn. His lip spread to the side of his face as he thought of what he could say to her. What can you possibly say when someone you love returns from the dead? Only the truth, he realized as he looked into her moist eyes.

Slowly, but steadily, he recalled the last few years of his life, "I left the X-Men. I quit when you and Xavier were gone. Without you, there was reason for me to stay. I always wanted to change the world, so I did. I became my own man, started my own team, and chose a different life where I've touched more Iives than I ever did on our old X-Men team. I-I've changed the world, even saved it a few times. But it's always killed me that you died. Don't apologize to me, Jean. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you all those years ago."

"Oh no, don't have her stop apologizing now. Not when she's actually doing it correctly for once." A silky voice came from down the hall. Coming out of the shadowed entry way from the lounge, as she had apparently taken the stairs, Neena came forward. Her eyes narrowed a bit at Jean but her attention stayed on Scott. Still though, she continued to walk forward until she was practically standing in between the couple, a part of her heart going out to Scott as she realized that he had let a few tears slide for this woman.

"She's not worth it Scott. The Jean Grey you knew before the Government put their noses up our asses is still dead, and will always be dead." A light smile fluttered across her black lips as she looked back over to Jean and winked before pushing past Scott to enter the room of men.

It was a ping-pong of tones. Jovial and teasing, with the loud smack coming from Jean's hand against Domino's backside and the grin to accompany it. "Welcome back, Dom."

And then, her eyes returned to Scott Summers, and the jovial and teasing was gone. Extinguished, leaving only a muted sense of seriousness between Jean and Scott Summers. "I know. We'll get together and talk after Stark's glorified PowerPoint show, okay? In the meantime let's get in there. They've got just as much put into this fight as we do, especially since it's their leader missing in action right now."

Something, she thought, Scott and she could relate to. "Okay?"

Once the black & white woman left the hallway, Scott halfway considered vaporizing her, except that he knew it was wrong. Ever since he could remember he'd struggled with the same base desire. As one of he planet's most powerful inhabitants alive it had only made sense that he had some sort of superiority over the less powerful, after all, evolution had crafted him. But it was his unprivileged upbringing that gave him self-control and a conscience to plague him over every misdeed.

But for Jean, and Jean alone, he'd hold back a little longer. Caging his curiosity, he agreed, saying, "Okay."

Jean walked into the room first, pushing the door open for Scott to follow: "Hey, nerds," she said to Hank and Stark, "We nearing ready to fire this laser light show up?"

"Lasers?" Steve found himself ducking his head instinctively.

"My Kingdom for a laser pointer." Just because teasing Cap would be, she thought, that amusing.

"I've got nothing more than lasers." Stepping inside the room, Scott made his visor glow as he looked at the former war hero, who nearly fell out of his seat when he realized that Scott's visor was glowing red. "And they're a lot less fun than you'd think."

"Sorry, no lasers." Stark replied, nearly at a half-whisper, before clapping his hands, the holographic projection warping into a straight line of light, before disappearing into the projector beneath it.

"McCoy here was simply helping me work on a theory for a new arc generator." Not entirely, although that had come up, not before both of them had confirmed how unlikely it would be to track Fury, without inside, or drastic outside, help. The face that Tony wore when he turned to regard the fully assembled group was one of grim determination, rather than his usual humor.

"I won't waste time on listing their past grievances, but this government has taken a great man, and one of our only hopes at shutting the whole system down without a full scale civil war. I had hoped bringing in the world most powerful, surviving, telepath, and another genius rather more used to governmental oppression, might have given us more of a location, but it hasn't." He paused, perching on the edge of the table, they had all gathered at one end, so he remained facing them all, beyond Beast who remained somewhat behind him.

"Only one person will know where they've taken him, one who isn't on their side. A woman who's used to far more terrifying governments than this, so far, and who never trusts the men in charge. Which technically means she's never trusted me, but anyone who does is many degrees dumber than they think. Natasha went into hiding before they took Fury, I've only got a fix on her because she's revealed herself, she's on her way..."

"And once she gets here, the government will have its casus belli." Beast interrupted, the latin phrase seemlessly woven into his sentence, as if no more normal a wording could have been chosen, "The US, under the new lifting of the embargo, will have grounds to extrodite us all for harboring a traitor, and, well, the Cuban government isn't particularly fond of a lot of us anyway." Beast's eyes fell on Stark, although, it was hardly like he was the only offender in the room, at least the 'death warrant' on the billionaire wasn't public, Natasha on the other hand, once that was done, they'd lose a significant chunk of the public support on that alone, Russians were never particularly popular in the States, let alone those which refused orders.

Carol attempted to enter the conference room as quietly as possible. She held her breath and opened the door so slow it barely made noise. She was late and she knew it. After the lounge, she found jeans and a t-shirt in the hotel gift shop before she headed to her room and ripped into the mini-bar. The booze made her sleepy and she nodded off, sleeping through her alarm.

Holding her breath, Carol slowly tip-toed across the carpet towards an open chair. She started to sit down in it before it loudly creaked, annoucning her presence to everyone else.

"Shit...," she whispered under her breath as all eyes turned on her. "Hey everyone... I've been here the whole time, just quietly listening. I've been folllowing everything. So, yeah, that whole thing with Russia is like crazy, right? Vodka, Yakov Smirnoff, uhh... Communist Russia, you bite dog..."

Carol rubbed her flushed face and looked down at her lap.

"Sorry about that. Hey, Cap, Thor, other super friends... I'll just be shutting up now."

Stark sighed after an elongated silent pause, "Never work with children, animals or Avengers." He allowed Danvers to wither for a moment longer, although there was a significant lack of seriousness to his glare, something a veteren would probably have little difficulty in bearing.

His attention was dragged away from Danvers as the projector on the table crackled to life, although remaining simply a beam of light, visibly shifting from side-to-side as a familar voice sounded through the device.

"This is agent Romanov, recorded message. Sorry Tony, won't be able to make your little get together, the heat's too strong on us Fury sympathisers, can't let them get away with this, not again." Despite being a recording, it fully drew the billionaire's attention, suconciously mouthing responses, although he managed to avoid blurting them out. The agent was more than a friend and fellow avenger, even before then she'd saved his life a number of times, he didn't want her dying because of what she was telling them.

"I couldn't get a complete fix on Fury, but SHIELD have recently moved two top security prisoners, beyond any clearance level I even knew existed. One has remained in the States, still being transported onboard SHIELD's mobile headquarters, the other's been moved to the UK, SHIELD's top security facility on the Devon moors. I don't have any more information as to which one is Fury, but I can't imagine they'd use this level of clearance for anyone not useful for fighting back. That's all I have time for, they'll have already traced me."

The message cut out immediately, no cliche gunfire in the background or violent shouts, Natasha was too smart to let them get that close, instead it left the room in silence for the moment, Stark's hands pressed to the surface of the table, as his mind raced through the problem at hand.

It was Hank that spoke first, the calm of his voice resorting to a usual habit of his; "The miserable have no other medicine but only hope." The quote drew Stark's eye, a slight frown crossing his features, although he seemed disinclined to comment on it, and again it was Hank who continued.

"So, it would seem we must divide, and wage war on two nations, let us hope we do not drag the rest of the human world into it."

"I've worked with SHIELD in UK," Carol said while staring at her lap. "For only about six months last year, I acted as a SHIELD liaison with MI13, it's like the British version of SHIELD. I'm not an expert about all the facilities and infastructure they have there, but I know where to start looking, and I might have some friendly contacts on the other side of the Atlantic who may be willing to help."

It was a good idea; splitting up. Even if Jean didn't like the idea, it still remained a good idea. "Okay. Meet up here tomorrow at 7am for splitting up and shoving off? Give everybody one night to blow steam and come back tomorrow focused and ready?"

"For with long travel I am stiff and weary.Get thee away." Hank smile slightly at Jean's reaction, before turning his head to regard Tony, who gave little more than a terse nod, turning back to watch the hovering stream of light that arose from the middle of the table, remaining still even as the rest of those assembled filed out. Hank remained until they were gone, giving a last few words for Stark, before leaving himself;

"Unwind Stark, you do it well from what I hear. She can save herself, worry about the ones who cannot in her place."