As Thor slowly stood from his chair, he still had not fully absorbed it all. Much had been said, after all, and there remained several in the rebel crowd he did not know. Events were moving swiftly, but was that not always the case on the eve of war? He did not relish the violence to come, nor did he dread it. He had stood on the brink of too many battles to count, and that sensation preceding the clash, that expectant crackle in the air, was always the same. There was no use worrying for tomorrow, only use in preparing. The thunder god let his eyes slowly travel the faces around him, gauging resolve. He did not see a single set of eyes that looked shaken with fret, only different shades of determined. These were warriors, all. As driven as any warrior in Asgard.

As such, there was one certain thing warriors should do to prepare on the night before an ill-advised assault against a powerful, established force. A warrior should drink. Drink in honor of those who had fallen, and those who would fall. Drink for the love of life. For on the morrow, a warrior may find himself in Valhalla, and he should not have made the journey regretting how he had spent his last mortal night.

“I go now to liberally … toast this adventure,” Thor announced in grim, business-like tones. “Any and all are welcome to join.” With no other word, the Asgardian turned to depart the meeting room.

***(Collab between Thor, Stark, Domino, Steve)***

Thor found his way to the ... tavern in this gigantic, luxurious dwelling. Naturally, it was like few taverns that he had ever darkened the door, but the purpose of such a place was the same as any other. There were those that danced and those that tittered in slurred seduction, those that doused their lips with copious ale. Thor marched through the heaving throng of merry-makers, ignoring the offensively blaring bass beat that thrummed the floor, some sort of awful music.

At the bar, he thumped his hand until he got the attention of the keep, a young dark skinned woman. "Your finest mead, tavern wench," Thor called over the noise.

Neena had to raise an eyebrow to the brute blonde as he was the first to stand up from the meeting, though she couldn't blame him for wanting a stiff one after all this information, hell she couldn't even process this all...not right now. And if they weren't to meet up again for another twelve or so hours, then she might as well make the most of it.

She followed Thor, though discreetly until he made it to the bar where he asked the bar maid for 'her finest mead.' A soft smile played across her lips as she took the seat next to the Asgardian.

"He means a pitcher of Heinekin...two cups, and two shots of tequila." She instructed the rather distraught looking woman, at having no idea what the bohemoth of a man was actually asking her. Never-the-less, with the new instruction, the bar maid left to go and fetch their order.

"I don't think we've properly met. You can call me Domino, Merc for hire mostly...something that I think you of all people would understand." She said giving him a slight wink.

Thor slid the dappled woman a sideward glance. She was different, this one. But more than one of Stark’s companions were not typical in appearance… such as the blue troll that Thor had not yet figured out. The god of thunder gave the woman a welcoming smile of his own. He was no stranger to formidable women, and he liked to believe he could recognize one on sight. He decided he was looking at one now.

“Thank you,” he said graciously, “for whatever it is that you just ordered. It will all drink the same, I hope.”

Thor extended his hand.

“I am Thor Odinson, Domino of Merc, and I do not hire myself. While I am unsure how often Stark pays for attractive women, surely he has not paid you to join this particular venture. As I understand it, this danger threatens you all.”

The Asgardian nodded in approval as the tavern wench began arranging drinks on the bartop in front of them.

"Better." Neena promised as the drinks were laid out in front of them. She instead outstretched her hand to shake the firm grip of the Thunder God before moving the same hand to the pitcher of beer and poured the frosted glasses herself, handing Thor one of the cups before raising her own.

"Oh?" She asked when Thor explained that he didn't hire himself, but the smirk from her face never deminished. "And what makes you think I'm only for hire for...professional jobs?" The tone in her voice could have passed for teasing, though with the rather smug look on her face one couldn't be too sure. She then took her glass of beer and drank the beverage down until there was nothing but foam left, and then poured herself another.

Thor raised his own glass and tipped it to his lips. He was just staring to deeply gulp, admiring the taste, when the one called Domino finished her comment. Naturally, the god of thunder choked a little bit and ended up spraying Heineken all over the bartop. Several sputters and throat-clearing coughs later, Thor wiped the remains off his bearded lips and looked over at Domino incredulously. "What other sorts of jobs do you hire for, woman?" he demanded.

'Back in black I hit the sack
I been too long I'm glad to be back
Yes I am
Let loose from the noose
That's kept me hanging about'

The rather more low key music of the bar, sitting somewhere between traditional Cuban and more modern works, suddenly cut out, momentarily replaced by the blaring lyrics of ACDC, an all too familiar trend for any who knew one particular Stark. For most of the bar's occupants however, it was a moment of confusion, before a few whoops and cheers arose near the entrance as Tony stepped through the fairly elegant, if oppulant, double doors to the bar.

The cut of his suit was tailored, of course, white, in somewhat of a cutting edge style in the world of fashion, combined with a black shirt. His tie, thin as it was, a slightly darked shade of the Iron Man red hardly clashed, at least he told himself, in the effort to be distinctive. No matter what he was wearing however, the cheer would have been the same at the next few words he uttered.

"The next round's on me, ladies, if you would." The billionaire was followed by a line of attractive, scantily clad Cuban women, each carrying trays with a varied selection of drinks upon them, working their way through those at tables and booths, as well as heading to the practically distant dance floor.

"Something he would be more familair with." Neena smirked, ignoring the spray of beer coming from Thor.

With the stunt over, Tony moving to the bar. Rather than sit either side of the two familiar faces, he instead slid over the top, standing and leaning on the bar opposite them, pouring himself a whiskey and coke, before grinning at them both.

"I thought all my drinks were on you?" Neena said putting her second glass of beer back down on the bar, unable to help that her eyes scanned Tony's attire with a look of interest. "You wear black and white well."

"I don't know what you're looking for Thor-buddy o' pal, but I imagine there are less...murderous women to hire for that." He laughed slightly, having caught the end of their conversation, in the moments before he had begun his little procession.

Neena's brow quirked at Tony's response, the corner of her lip flitted up into a smile.

"I pegged you for the dangerous type there Tony. And here I was about to give you my twenty-percent off deal for buying all my drinks." She teased, moving her hand from the beer glass to the shot glass of tequila and drained the contents.

Thor looked up when the music changed, then over his shoulder. He was nary too surprised to see the grand entrance of Stark followed by a harem of pleasure slaves. That man was opulent, if nothing else, but even Thor could not prevent himself from admiring a few of the beauties. He glanced to Domino when she spoke again, then grunted to himself quietly, musing upon the likelihood that this woman had bedded Stark for money. There was a reasonable chance of that, he supposed. It was not the Asgardian’s place to judge, though.

When Tony had finally planted himself, Thor gave the human a rakish grin, white teeth splitting his blonde beard.

“But I always favor a little edge of danger, Stark,” Thor jested. Then the Asgardian shook his head slightly. “Truthfully, though, I seek nothing more than honoring my ancestors tonight through much drink. Asgard has been dismal dreary of late, and even in the midst of such dire circumstances here on Midgard, a moment of levity is well sought.”

"Boring..." Muttered Neena as she helped herself to her already poured glass of beer once more.

Thor raised his mug, then drank -- managing not to choke this time as he drained it. He thumped the empty mug back on the counter. “More!”

"Mhm, Avengers and....temporary Avengers, drink for free. But, well, that isn't the same for everyone." Having waited to answer Domino's question, Tony used the opportunity to provide Thor with an empty glass, putting his own drink to the side, he to found himself another empty glass, before turning back to the shelf of drinks behind him.

"Right...not that I want to find myself in a drinking contest with an Asgardian, but I think we should both be able to manage something particularly horrific." Despite nursing various drinks throughout the day, Tony had finished very few, a number of mutants having prevented his alcoholic desires over the course of the day, so he was fairly sure of his ability to handle at least one terrible drink before feeling the influence too strongly.

Locating a bottle of Everclear, the Cubans having little in the way of the US' legal problems with the stuff, he proceeded to provide both Thor and his own glass with a reasonable helping of the spirit.

"I believe this is more." Stark smirked as he raised his glass to the Asgardian, "To a moment, or two, of levity then."

Thor watched with patient interest as Tony provided further liquid sustenance. The clear liquid looked basically the same as water, and Thor doubted it could match some of the ales and mead Asgard adored. He was willing to try near anything, though. With a shrug of his mighty shoulders, he scooped up the glass and raised it.

“To levity,” Thor agreed gravely.

He tipped back the glass and swallowed it down. Even the Asgardian’s eyes watered, and he felt the fire scar his throat on the way down. He sucked noisily at his teeth, then sputtered a lone cough that also mingled with a rough chuckle. The night was already taking a turn for the better in his reckoning.

“As you said, Stark… particularly horrific.”

Thor thumped down the glass. “More,” he chuckled.

Neena watched the spectacle with an amused smile, finishing off her second beer casually before it too was empty. Pushing the glass aside, the bent her torso over the bar so that she was closer to Tony, the black corset she adorned hardly leaving much to the imagination as far as cleavege went. Keeping her eyes fixed on him though, she swooped her hand to the side, grabbing her empty shot glass and then slid it over to Tony, craning her neck a bit.

"I'm game."

"Careful now. You'll have me wasted. And you won't like me when I'm wasted." Tony smirked, once his eyes had drawn themselves back up from the view offered by the leaning woman. As opposed to the embarresed rush of someone caught in the act, Tony Stark was deliberately slow in meeting her eyes. He was always going to look, don't let her think the timing of such was all up to her.

Once his fairly terrible impersonation of that 'other' Avenger was complete, Tony poured them all another round, slightly more generous than the last, the alcohol driving him to be a little less smart then he should have been, even still, it wasn't quite enough to kill them.

Raising the glass again, he mimicked Thor, a little more accurately than his modified version of Banner; "More."

Thor chuckled and drank his fill, but he did not interrupt. He didn't want to deter the woman if she was... working. The banter reminded him of Jane, and then the Asgardian went mostly quiet, fighting brooding thoughts while he idly observed the antics and nursed whatever was put in front of him.

"I doubt your 'wasted' self will be enough to scare me away." Neena stood up on the bar stool and hoisted herself so that she was sitting on top of the bar itself, her eyes still locking with Tony. Whether or not it was with a flirtatious purpose, or simply the fact that he had posed somewhat of a drinking challenge, her expression stayed unwavered as she took the full shot glass and downed the contents, trying to hold her eye contact with the billionaire until the water streaming from them forced her eyes to shut as she coughed and sputtered a bit as the tonic fluid burned down her throat. She laughed at her own efforts a bit, breaking the 'bad girl' front she had been putting up the entire time she had been in Cuba but only for a moment as she held up her empty glass for Tony to fill up once more.

"By my count, I'm still behind a glass."

The spirit was in her glass just as she finished speaking, although Tony was quick to slide the bottle away from himself, nearly sending it off the counter as his aim was more than a little off. Even if he'd just run a detox module on one of his suits the moment he left the bar, he hardly needed to kill himself before then.

"Ah...everyone thinks a wasted Thor, or Cap might be worse...It's the powers you see, but they'd be wrong. A drunk Stark? Only a Banner is scarier." He smirked, the influence of the alcohol only slowing his words slightly, although he did rest a little more of his weight on the bar as the spirit began to tip his balance slightly.

"Right, time for you to catch up then."

"I seem to recall a drunk Stark once..." Neena said as she raised the glass to her lips, but didn't drink quite yet, still trying to stomach the drink she had just downed moments before. "Your house, a few years back. I recall you showing off those lasers or whatever it is you have in your suit, having your guests throw random objects from your home into the air for you to blow up." She shook her head slightly and laughed a bit, finally drinking her second glass of the Everclear, feeling hot tears stream to the corner of her eyes once more.

"It was kind of cute actually, the way you have total disreguard of objects. Must be nice, not having to worry for a split second about money." Neena slipped off of the bar counter, onto Tony's side and started rummaging through a drawer until she found exactly what she was looking for. However when she stood back up, she teetered slightly as the alcohol had finally caught up to her brain, but managed to keep her balance by extending out her hand and holding onto the bar.

Tony's hand moved, on instinct, to catch her, although it returned to his side once she caught herself, the moment of concern passing from his features as the smirk returned; "I never worried about money, I simply made it. Now I don't even have to do that...unless I want to buy the Moon or something....might be a plan."

Once she felt she was stable enough, she closed the few feet she had put in between Tony and herself, getting a lot closer to him than initially thought 'appropriate' as they were practically chest to chest. She uncapped the black sharpie marker she had pulled out of the drawer earlier, and quickly colored in the white suit pocket into a big, black spot matching the tattoo that covered her eye. She stood back a bit, admiring her work and then tossed the marker aside.

"Much better. Cute...to downright sexy..."

"That...was...well, original." Another man might have mentioned the expense of the suit, but they'd just talked about how little he cared about money, so he avoided the subject. Instead, his eyebrow raised at her comment, before with a grin, he slid back across the bar, managing to remain entirely smooth until his landing, which required a few more steps to balance himself, before turning back to her, 'saluting' Thor first.

Neena in turn faced Thor and gave him a flirtatious wink. "I'll catch up with you later big boy." She purred and blew him a kiss before dissappearing with Tony.

Thor chuckled distractedly and absently saluted them both, then tapped his mug in a silent command for a refill. As the barmaid filled his glass with amber, another figure slid in next to the Asgardian.

"Well that was...oddly expected..." Steve Rogers took the now empty seat beside Thor and plainly asked for a drink of water, getting the same look of confusion from the bar maid that had been given to Thor by the request of mead and being called a tavern wench. Steve ignored the look though, as he was used to it by now. There was no point in ordering anything stronger than maybe orange juice, as he couldn't get drunk no matter how hard he tried, but that wasn't going to keep him from keeping Thor company.

Thor nodded gravely. "Indeed it was, my friend," he agreed. "The woman has been offering Stark her services since the moment he arrived. He must pay her well." Thor thanked the barwench with a smile that somehow failed to alleviate her awkwardness with him and now the Captain. Although, she did offer a small quick smile back and go to retrieve Steve his water.

"I cannot say I blame him," Thor asserted thoughtfully as he raised his mug for a swallow. "She had a respectable set of teats, that one."

Steve felt a muscle in his jaw clench tightly at the words of 'pay' in reguards to a woman. Steve knew better, Stark never paid a woman for any kind of service, except for maybe an official maid. He had to stop to think about just how many girls he had in his home running around in maid outfits. Upon his drink arriving, Steve took a good long drink, shaking his head lightly to Thor's later comment.

"Really? I hadn't noticed." He said sounding rather unenthused, and then pushed to change the subject. "So where do you think you'll be heading tomorrow?"

Thor frowned in puzzlement and glanced over to the Captain. "How could you not notice?" he asked. "They were..." Thor cupped his hands over his own mighty pectorals, trying his best to paint a picture. "...about so..." He gauged with gestures.

The Asgardian ended the speculation with a chuckle and scooped up his drink yet again. "You've been too long on the battlefield, Captain. Even on the eve of war, a man should not overlook certain things. But to answer your query, I believe I will be taking to the skies tomorrow, as is fitting." The Thunder God's voice took a turn toward the grim there at the end.

Steve had to sigh inwardly in relief that Thor took the bait for the topic change. He wasn't about to explain to an alien just how his morals stood right then. He simply nodded and then finished off his glass of water, immediately asking the woman behind the bar politely for a refill.

"My thoughts are the same. It would be familiar territory to say the least, a great advantage for this...suicide mission." He winced a bit, hating the term he used right away, finding that it tasted bitter in his mouth.

Thor reached over to squeeze the Captain's shoulder firmly ... without breaking it, of course. "Suicide, my friend," he said, "is an endeavor for those that have nothing left to live for. We have much left. Much left, indeed. I fully intend to see the morrow through, and I have confidence the glory of victory will be ours. We will fight because we have everything to live for, and that is all that matters. We shall make our ancestors proud, eh?"

Thor tossed back the remains of his mug and thumped it loudly on the counter to wordlessly ask for more. The barwench glanced down the bar in barely concealed irritation at the noise, but she dutifully came over to refill, forcing a smile.

Steve meerly nodded, keeping his gaze forward. His friend was right, in a round-about sort of way. "Then if any of us shall die, then it will be for a purpose. For freedom, and that is something I will gladly die for." He said, finally turning his neck to look at the bohemoth of a man sitting next to him. "Thanks Thor." He acknowledged his friend and got off of the bar stool, putting his own hand on the Asguardian's shoulder. "I'm going to step out and take a walk for a bit. Drink another for my ancestors too will ya?" He gently jibbed.

Thor nodded, watching the Midgardian hero rise. "I will," the Thunder God vowed. "And Captain, make your peace tonight!" he called as the First Avenger walked off. "For tomorrow, we wage war!"

(Collab featuring Cap, Tony, Natasha, and Jean.)

How Jean Grey managed to escape the San Marino Bay Resort, was mostly a matter of luck. It was almost inappropriate, and bordered on superhuman, the way in which Jean was standing from the table as was all others one minute, before simply being gone the next. It wasn't magic, nor was it mutation; it was simply a matter of slipping into the hall, then, when no one had been watching, taking the stairs .

Jean's suite would sit dark and empty, her beach bungalow already paid for and moved into, it made no sense to move into the same floor and take up the same suite as all the rest of the 'rebel heroes' took up. She had a feeling, while navigating isolated and echoing concrete and steel stairs towards the bottom, that the rest of the group would eat and drink and make merry within the walls of the Resort itself.

Generally speaking, it was a good, and safe, choice. The kind of wise decision and group activity that Jean Grey was known for in the past. Inevitably, that made it exactly the thing Jean needed the very opposite of now. Seeing as how it was dinner and she'd never had her lobster, it was food that came to the woman's mind. And outside of hotels and resorts for foreigners of means, most food in Cuba could suck from an outsider's palette. Except for local farmer's markets where basic veggies and fruits could be found, there wasn't much in the way of variety even for wealthy Cubans. Seafood was a rarity, and shellfish was reserved for the upper most and the afore mentioned resorts and hotels.

Most Cubans worked from the same ration book that they'd been working from for nearly sixty years, meaning most Cubans had been playing with the same handful of ingredients in their extremely limited kitchens for about sixty years. Most didn't have working ovens, nevermind a microwave. Aside from a few private residences along the shore, there wasn't much outside the San Marino resort in San Marino Bay.

Not unless you wanted to walk twenty minutes to the village of San Marino, on the far side of the San Marino Bay from the resort. When Yasil, the young Cuban bell hop at the Resort, informed Jean of this just off the front desk of the Resort, she knew she was about take a walk. The power of telekinetically powered movement meant she could sneak in some fast floating and cut the trip down from twenty minutes to ten minutes, but finding where Yasil had pointed her was more a matter of luck.

According to the native, the best the village had to offer was a suprisingly good paladares called Nina's. So long as Jean had pesos, and she did, she'd have no problem. Even if there might be some attention to a tall red haired white girl in the village, Yasil admitted, trying not to grin as he said it. The paladares was a private, family run restaurant. Nina's was it's name, though there was no signage to be found once she arrived in the twilight of San Marino bay, having escaped the resort using the staff parking garage exit to avoid media. It was more or less a wood hut on the sands of the beach that bordered the water's edge of the village itself; and it was crowded.

There wasn't a location on Earth that Jean Grey didn't speak the language for thanks to her mutation, and in Nina's paladares Jean quickly found out the language was laughter, beer, and some incredibly pan fried pork cutlet. Nina was an eighty year old grandmother, her son Alfonso holding court behind the wooden block counter and taking orders, his wife and two daughters doing the cooking in the kitchen tonight. Decorated with Christmas lights and baseball memorabilia, the sport was Cuba's national religion, it was only a minute before Jean was ushered to a plastic table with plastic chairs and offered her choice between Cristal and Bucanero; the two most popular native beers.

Yucca, rice, and beans accompanied the pork. Between Cristal and Bucanero, it was the large bellied and sweaty polo shirted Alfonso who picked the stronger, full flavored Bucanero for Jean before sitting next to her and conversating between puffs of handrolled cigar even as she ate with plastic knife and fork upon paper plate. Alfonso told her that they were happy to have her, even if they were charging her four times as much as any of the locals eating and drinking within Nina's walls. The price, he told her with a belly full of laughter and beer, was out of his hands.

In a heavily government controlled industry, as with every Cuban industry, only family was allowed to work at a restaurant. So every native restaurant she'd find, every paladares, was a 'family thing.' It had to be. Just as there had to be a two-tier pricing system; one of natives, one for tourists. Alfonso explained a handful of tourists found their way to Nina's due to word of mouth at the resort each day, though rarely did they come after sunset, like she did. Though spicy, the pork cutlet was tender and moist and washed down with the strong Bucanero even as Alfonso told her about the local youth baseball champions celebrating their championship game victory. Alfonso's nephew, a Cuban boy ten years old and mostly skin, bones, and a shy grin, was paraded in front of her to recount his hitting of the game winning run earlier in the day.

By the third Bucanero, a beer held strong at 5.4% alcohol content, conversation swayed to the newest investor to San Marino: Tony Stark. Cubans liked Iron-Man, even if they had their 'doubts' about Tony Stark himself. The prior ownership group of San Marino Resort were second generation, the first generation there for the days when Cuba was the Caribbean playground for the likes of Mobsters and Rat Packs. Alfonso, himself, had once served cigars to Frank Sinatra as a kid. So while Stark had a reputation, it was in Alfonso's nature to hope he would pause and take a look at the people of San Marino village, as most of the resort staff came from the village itself.

Even Jean's skin had a slight sheen of sweat to it after the fourth Bucanero, Alfonso having gifted several of his own hand rolled 'cigarillos' to her and a bottle of local Rum that, to Jean, tasted like a fine Cognac. Both gifts fitted nicely into her oversized handbag, laughter echoing as Jean forced a farewell, taking a 'Perros' team baseball cap, just faded and worn earlier in the day by Alfonso's nephew, tilted upon her head as she made the twenty minute walk along the shore back towards the resort.

It was dark when Jean got back to the bungalow and opened it up to beach breezes and the constant sound of waves crashing in the distance again, and again, and again, until the sound just faded into background, Jean struggling to use the bungalow's phone to have the front desk relay a message to Scott to meet her at the bungalow. Her bar was where she unpacked the clear glass bottle of native rum, a glass of it already in her hand, the hand rolled cigarillos put aside--for now. Seated in the sand in front of her bungalow under moonlight, the cool night breeze taking that shine of sweat from her skin as Jean allowed native rum to push her from the realm of Bucanero buzzed to flirting with the realm of, maybe, a little drunk.

A warm, fuzzy, happy feeling to her in that moment. It could've been her last night on Earth, and Jean would be okay spending it just so. Especially since, she knew, it very well might be her last night on Earth. A fact that left her smiling, one stomache burning sip after another.

The cool sea-breeze air was just what Steve needed to be able to wrap his mind around things. It seemed that ever since he arrived here in Cuba, it was always one thing after another. The mutant registration, which had always been on his mind even before arriving for Stark's little meeting, Nick Fury going missing, and now Agent Romanov's latest news. It seemed that both of his Avenger friends coped with the news drastically different, Thor with his drinking to honor his ancestors, and then Tony with...well...whatever that was with Domino.

A soft gust of wind blew through his golden mess of hair, though despite having swam for hours in the ocean earlier and unable to yet have the oppertunity to 'clean up', his hair had dried remarkably well, looking as if he had styled it purposfully. He quietly ran his fingers through his hair as the breeze died down and looked over the setting sun over the ocean. It was remarkably breath-taking really...the calm before the storm. Steve knew that feeling all too well, and that unsettling feeling in his stomach never seemed to lessen with each time he experienced it.

Having been wandering the beach for quite some time, his Captain America shield strapped to his back, he hadn't even noticed that he had wandered off of the hotel's beach and passed a series of smaller bungalow's, though as he finally stopped to look at his surroundings, he spotted a familair blur of red hair. Jean Grey. He tried to smile as he then changed his course and walked up to the deck of the bungalow where Jean was standing, but in his heart he couldn't find much reason to smile anymore.

"Evenin' ma'am." He said with a slight salute of respect.

For a girl from the world old world prestige and class, there wasn't a more curious sight in the world than that of Steve Rogers. Jean Grey had been a Daughter of the Revolution before her death; and still claimed to be. Whether she was on Earth, or not, she would always claim the DAR.

For a daughter of the storied New England elite, it was like seeing Santa Claus on Christmas. But Rogers made a poor theatrical figure in the darker hours of the Cuban south shore, black water shining silver under a nearly full moon above.

When Jean smiled at the man, it was not without it's hint of cheer. "Captain America, you may the least worldly super hero I know. 'A boy from Brooklyn'," Jean recited the legend, rising her glass in the air to him. "I'd say never change, but no: definitely change. Ingratiate yourself with the world. And start with a smile."

The young woman nearing thirty nodded firmly, underscoring her words. "Fury lives. Natasha believes this, I believe this." Then as if she'd spoken it her entire life, Jean Grey continued in military terms. "Inbrief was fun, tomorrow' s outbrief will be brief and succint. Recharge however you want tonight. Just make sure you muster in the conference room on time. If I have to hunt people down in their rooms, the wraith of a telepath shall be severe."

Her glass raised to that, too. Her lips matching with a playful,if devilish, grin.

Steve couldn't help but to widen his half-hearted smile if just a bit by her militairy jargon...it was really the first time he felt like he belonged anywhere in a long time.

"I believe he's alive too. We'll find him, and get this whole mess cleaned up." He said with a voice of not only confidence, but promise. His eyes then wandered to the glass in her had, and his smile faded slightly. "You plan on recharging with a headache in the morning?" He asked, somewhat teasingly. Having approached the woman fully now, he rested his elbows ont he bungalow's deck railing, though kept on the opposite side of Jean and a couple feet to her left.

That...just stiffened her smile into something hard, and unforgiving; even as a smile it remained. "Steve, you cannot imagine my world." She meant it. She meant it well, if not sweetly. But she meant it. "Hangovers are a matter for those less equiped than I. Much like sex."

Steve had opened his mouth to reply, but then found his mouth clamping shut rather quickly at her added comment. He stood there, stiffly, and blinked a few times before opening his mouth once more to say what he had intended to say earlier.

"No...I suppose I can't." He said letting out a soft sigh. "I apologize for that remark, I meant no harm by it. But you and I...more or less we are in the same boat. I feel the calm before the storm just as you do. Though we may come from different backgrounds, our stories are more or less similar, and our goal is also the same...something I wish I could keep such a beautiful and delicate woman such as yourself from having to bare, though I don't doubt you can hold your own out there."

The sound of 'delicate' made her smile. "No need to apologize, Steve. Seeing as you and I have saved the world roughly the same amount of times, I think we're due for some selfish hours. Keep a sentry on alert long enough, and he begins to lose focus. Needs that time to recharge. Maybe some of us have had more time for recharging than others, but all of us begin tomorrow on a suicide run. We're just trying to bring everyone back safely...so I've no doubt we've got the same goal."

Then Jean smiled at him; big and bright and genuine. Even as a worried woman came out of the bungalow door, a look of curiosity written across her beautiful pale features. She looked prime to speak, her red hair dark and straight and slicked for once, a dark silken blouse flowing down past her hips, where hem brushed with thigh, just covering the naturally black bottoms 'the Black Widow' wore.

But instead of speak, Natasha quickly turned her head to face Steve Rogers. And offered him a little smile in greeting. "Hey, Cap," before just as quickly losing the smile and regaining the questioning look as she turned back to the other red head. There were no words spoken...although the way Jean Grey turned her head from Rogers to the Widow behind her, it could not have been more clear words were exchanged silently.

Telepathically, maybe.

"Yes ma'am." Was Jean Grey's verbal response to the femme fatale, words dripped equally in honey and sass.

After a brief exhale, Natasha looked back to Cap. Her green eyes softening in expression only slightly as she took the measure of the man, her head nodding upwards. "You good?"

Steve found that his throat had gone rather dry as Natasha came out from the bungalow, his eyes again blinking repeatedly as words had yet again failed him for the moment. He then took the slight silence to move his hand to the back of his neck and scratch it, if a bit awkwardly due to the shield strapped to his back.

"Natasha! It's uh...good to see- I thought you were...what?"

It was one of the few times that Natasha would smile, free and genuine as the other red head on the scene. When something as free and genuine as Steve Rogers presented itself to her. If Captain America hadn't understood the difference between a spy and a soldier yet, that appearing when she was least expected was exactly what the Black Widow did, than all she could do for him was smile.

"Jean did some work for SHIELD years ago. We were doing psysec, and Fury delegated testing to me. Xavier told Fury to see if we could crack Jean first, before trying Xavier himself. We never got past Jean. No effective way to keep her out indefinitely. It's like trying to keep a talented and resourceful hacker out of a secure database...it's a matter of time."

Natasha settled herself into the still warm sand just past the wooden deck of the bungalow, her eyes taking in the Cuban shore in moonlight before moving back to Rogers. "She helped me out after New York with Hawkeye. We kept in touch after that."

There the Widow stopped, the phantom of a secretive smirk on her lips as she choose that point to stop at.

"Oh..." Steve said simply. He wasn't even going to begin asking what she was talking about with the whole hacking and database thing...as it could only lead to more confusion. "Well...well it's really good to see you again. Really." He said sincerely, seeming to have completely forgotten about Jean for the moment. "You...you look good."

Seeing Natasha was a lot like seeing a very close friend after a very long time, which was really exactly what it was, and he was still unable to comprehend just how he had heard her voice in the meeting room and then have here here in the flesh, but he wasn't complaining. The more Avengers on this mission, the better.

"Where is Hawkeye anyway?"

"The Rocky Mountains."

It was like asking a lawyer if they knew the time, in asking Natasha a question. Any good lawyer would simply say, "Yes." Yes, they knew the time. In asking where Hawkeye was, all Steve Rogers had gotten in the knee jerk reaction of a spy was exactly the information he asked for and nothing more. Because information was a valuable thing; a matter of life and death to the likes of a spy.

A normal person, however, would respond like Jean did. "He's hunting. Laying low, keeping safe."

One heartbeat later, the two redheads turned to face each other. It lasted only a heartbeat longer, then Natasha's eyes returned to Cap. "Yes. Although the US and Europe think he's climbing the Alps with a pair of Swiss swimsuit models." Information delivered with the same controlled, relaxed, tone in which she revealed the location in.

"Spies are weird," Jean said it to Steve, looking to him as Natasha resisted the urge to look at Jean.

"We should talk about the narcotic 'cigars' your friend in the village gave you."

Immediately, Jean let slip the barest slips of a gasp before catching herself. Her face a measure of conflicting sensations; that the spy could violate her privacy without trying and the outrage Jean felt from it...and the dark amusement she felt in someone giving a telepath as good as they got. "Spies are worse than telepaths. I'm warning you now about this 'Natasha'. She seems very shady to me."

Natasha ignored the woman, happily. "I wouldn't expect him tomorrow. Maybe if you go on the team heading to the US you'll run into him."

"If you can believe her," dryly added Jean, and under her breath at that.

"Well the more help, the better." Steve said interjecting his voice between the two red-headed women. He had to stop to think though, that given the circumstance...had he been anyone else...say, Tony Stark, tactical planning would have been the last thing on his mind.

"I plan on staying here, and persuing the hellicarrier. I'm much more familiar with that scene than the other, however if I'm needed somewhere else, Miss Grey...I will go where I am needed." He decided to not remark about the cigars, it was bad enough that he was already in semi-hot water with the comment about her drink.

"If we form a good enough divide between those of us who have arrived here for this mission, then thing's shouldn't look as bad. The challenge is getting the right balance for the right mission. That being said, I think it would be a good idea for both of you to travel to Britain while Stark and I take down the hellicarrier."

"Is there a target in Britain?" For a second, Natasha looked uncertain, before exchanging a quick look with the telepath and nodding again. "Targets alpha and bravo are equally matched in their level of danger and difficulty."

Silently, Natasha's hand brushed Jean's in the Cuban sands as the Boston girl spoke the words Natasha seemed unuable to speak just then. "Someone will be walking into a death trap, tomorrow."

Steve took that remark rather gravely, but he couldn't stand to see the same grim expression of the two women before him. "And someone will also give us a lead as to the wereabouts of Director Fury." He said, trying to sound optomistic, but the fact that someone was going to potentially die tomorrow was inevitable, and the sinking feeling in Steve's gut had returned with a vengence. He wouldn't wish death on anyone in this new group of Avengers, and so he said a quiet prayer in his mind to God that if anyone had to have been taken, that it would be him.

Natasha shrugged, the hint of humor edging into her voice. "Nothing new."

Again, Steve frowned. He was beginning to understand why Tony and Thor drank so much, as he could absolutely go for a drink at that given moment. The one draw-back of being America's super-soldier. He knew Natasha meant it as a type of joke, but Steve found no humor in it whatsoever.

"Have you decided where you will be going tomorrow then?"

High above, from the top of the hotel, there was a brief flash of light, and a 'whoosh' both of noise and force, a streak of smoke and heat leaping into the night, before disappearing from all but the keenest of sight. Those with military experience, but little in the way of technologcal understanding might mistake it for the path of a rocket, but to any who knew, the two blasts that blurred into one ran on something far more advanced than even the US could afford to put in its weaponry.

Far out to sea, the light dipped, dropping thousands of feet each moment, before seeming to disappear below the horizon, the slight noise that could still have been heard right up until that point disappearing behind the gentle crash of the waves.

Without words, just watching the two, communication could be worked out. Natasha turned to Jean, as if to whisper something between them. Then Jean paused in thought, her shoulders bouncing a moment with a little shrug--both of them looking to Steve Rogers. After a moment, Natasha spoke. "Jean can get you drunk, Steve, if you want."

Jean nodded, adding, "All I do is turn 'on' certain pathways. It's nothing, really."

Steve found himself distracted from the two females as he craned his neck upwards, at hearing what he at first thought was going to be a missile barrage, but then as his mind began to think about it, he realized that he recognized that sound almost immediately.

"Hmm? Oh...no, no thanks." He said half-heartedly as he kept his eyes on the puff of smoke that was once Tony Stark.

Natasha found herself watching Steve as he watched the sky in response to the flash and the force. Jean, on instinct, looked up. It simply made the spy aware of her different training, her different mindset, than the others on the team.

It was instinct to look up. Only someone trained intensely in behavioral modification would so carefully watch others when others watched the bright and noisy distraction. A strange feeling, she felt herself feeling with the linked mind: Usually it was combat where that training came into play.

Work, not, Natasha thought to herself, looking then at Jean for half a heartbeat, play.

"No, no decision made. Probably Alpha, given Hawkeye might stop by."

Of it, Jean semed to just shrug at. She either didn't know, or didn't want to share that thought aloud tonight. "I don't know, myself."

He nodded to the two women, but his face remained firm.

"The worst thing you can do in this situation is wait until the last minute to decide. Doesn't make for good tacticle planning." He sighed, suddenly wishing that the meeting would be held now instead of later. He wasn't sure how he was going to survive the night knowing what was to come tomorrow.

The roar, if it could be called that, of prepulsor tech returned, coming in low over the tide, it was clear it was being pushed to its limit, a bright spark becoming visible on the horizon before, moments in advance of when the suit itself might have become visible, the lights went out.

They returned in odd spurts, the sound of the suit phasing in and out, before a loud, metallic voice suddenly became audible.

"Oh Fuck."

The sound was shortly followed by the sight of the Iron Man suit 'skipping across the water' before with a sporadic bursts of prepulsor tech, it flung itself towards the group on the shore.

"JARVIS eject."

"But Sir, the chance of personal injury is well above..."

"JARVIS eject now!" His voice came a little faster, more urgent than would be expected of his communication with the artificial intelligence, dangerous as it was for him, it would be worse for the suit to crash into the individuals ashore, especially as it had built in defences to prevent itself from being halted by all three of them. It paid to be prepared, but not now.

In the next moment, the suit seemed to deconstruct itself around Tony, the different elements of it flying off in a shower of mechanical parts, before flying away on their own trejectory, eventually depositing Tony in the sand, about a foot away from them, on his back. After a moment of silence, he managed to smirk.

"Callibrations."

"Are you always this profficient?" Steve asked, raising an eyebrow at his ally as he looked down at him on the sand. It was only obvious that Steve thought Tony to be drunk still, he had seen how much he had consumed with Thor and Domino hours ago, and he was sure it didn't stop there.

"Well, I've only managed the exact angle required to 'skip' myself a few times before...highly entertaining." Tony jumped to his feet, brushing the sand from him as he looked back out to sea, seemingly trying to recall something for a moment, before speaking again.

"The US Navy has mobilized, in full it would seem, or at least, within striking distance of Cuba, they shot at me, a little bit." There was slight tone of indignation to his words, although, after the events of the day, a few missed rounds was hardly anything to complain about.

"Again?" Steve asked, though not sounding too surprised.

"I think there's going to be a hell of a lot more firepower pointed at us shortly...but tonight isn't about those thoughts." He turned back to the trio, a grin on his lips, the influence of the alcohol all but entirely gone, a brief flash from the reactor visible beneath his shirt registering the end of the detox session.

"How are we all?" He noticed Natasha with a look of clear suprise, but didn't speak on it. Despite worrying for her safety, he'd be lying to himself if he were to suggest they were particularly close out of the Avengers, he somewhat doubted the worry would be mutual, vice versa. "Seems you've found yourself quite the pair of companions Steve, maybe modern women aren't so alien after all."

"And unlike you, I have shown these women nothing but respect. I didn't think anyone would have seen you until you were late for tomorrow's meeting." Steve crossed his broad arms across his chest, the light jesting aside, the fact that the US Navy was lying in wait perplexed him more than he externally showed.

"You wound me, Steve. I would never disrespect a woman...perhaps I'm just better at appreciating them?" Stark's eyes remained solely on Steve's, almost as if he was ignoring the fact two of these very women were beside them, even if the latter half of his response was rather more serious;

"I wouldn't do that...tonight may be the last night before the end, but that doesn't mean I'd shirk tommorow, well, not anymore."

"I really can't see Stark a shirker." Though it was Natasha finishing the last of the glass of local rum, it was Jean who took the glass as she rose from the sand and started back inside the bungalow for a refill.

Natasha kept her face muted, her lips curved upwards and crimson, freshly painted with the expert hand of a beautician--or a marksman. "Don't worry about the Navy, Stark. They're in a stance of non-aggression."

A beat, before a small allowance, and shrug. "Well. Except for those on the kill list. The Judge for the secret US court has yet to be approached on account of your case. The Judge found that curious."

The woman flung out of the fact as casually as she'd shrug, as if the matter was a bit of gossip. Little more.

"Kill list?" Steve's once narrowed eyes towards Tony Stark suddenly widened, his attention back on Natasha. She wasn't serious was she?

"You wouldn't believe how easy it is to land one of us on the list of persons threatening the US or it's interests. Stark is on it because of system security concerns, and because Tony Stark became too big a risk to US interests following that time he sued the government over drone technology cutting in on creative property copyrights."

Jean came back with two glasses instead of just one, handing the spy her drink before sitting down with her own once more. "Technically," Jean felt the need to explain, as if someone had forgotten she was a genius mind besides. "he already sued them after Rhodes was allowed the Mark II. He's already lost that one, the first time."

And as in all legal things, explanding on the issue only seemed...to make it sound all the more confusing. "You're not on it," Natasha reassured Steve. "I'm not on it. Only Tony, right now. Maybe Jean."

"I think it was probably those times I embarresed them...really. Legality falls second to ego. I should know, I've been an awful offender in my time." Tony watched Jean provide the drink for both herself and Natasha, although felt no desire to source his own, he'd drank more than enough for the evening, even if it was their last night as members of a state, rather than its enemies, he'd done the hard partying element of things, now to relax.

"Although, I wouldn't worry, association with me probably accounts for something, that bastard 'terrorist' trying to sue the states for stealing his property, I'm a dangerous man."

Jean had to laugh, working on her third drink, after her four Cuban beers earlier. "He's terrifying."

"Can they even do that?" Steve interjected. If they could...then times really have changed...in more ways than Steve even realized. A terrifying thought in it's own.

Jean stopped laughing. "...yeah. They wouldn't have done it if they weren't going through in full with the Sentinels. The US has been killing people, even their own citizens, using these secret legal loops, for years. Using drones. The Sentinels are just escalation; a response due to all of us."

"Well, not all of us." Jean had to doubt Steve was in it for any other reason than his own personal values. He was on no target list. Although even Jean wished she could see the thoughts a secret court Judge would have on the Department of Justice bringing up a case against...Captain America for terrorism.

"They did everything but give us forty eight hours to hand ourselves over to authorities."

A direct reference to Iraq, and the actions of the US, from the Boston girl.

Why that made Natasha Romanoff chuckle, was the Widow's secret, and her's alone as she stood and brushed sand off her back side. "Sounds like we might want to make the most out of the night."

The Black Widow's amusement ran twisted as she finished the last of the rum in her glass. "I'll be back. You boys don't let Jean get too crazy."

Despite herself, Jean grinned. 'Too crazy' sounded just crazy enough, for tonight.

A few hours earlier...

---

"Dancing. Do you?"

"That depends..." Neena said, grabbing the bottle of Everclear and took a few swigs before putting the bottle down, her smirk widened as she had just 'passed' Tony in their beverage consumption. Rather than sliding across the bar like Tony had, however, she chose to just walk through the bar-tender's swinging door and approached him once more. "...if you can keep up." Her tattooed eye winked at him, and she outstretched her hand to grab Tony's, fumbling a bit before heading to the rather secluded dance floor.

"I invented dancing...at least...I think that was me." Tony grinned in response to her question, a brief moment of genuine contemplation crossing his features as his memory searched through all his various inventions. Giving up, he allowed himself to be led by the woman, snaking through the tables, booths and those simply standing, pausing to wave at a couple of strangers who looked rather confused at his actions, before fumbling with the device on his wrist, setting up a playlist for their own trip to the dance floor.

The electronica/bass mix had set the dancefloor rather much alive, the light show set to match kicking in as soon as they both arrived. It hadn't entirely just been set up in the moment, Tony had already made the arrangements to switch the style of music at certain times, he'd just pre-empted the change somewhat. Once they arrived, he 'spun' her back to him, still smirking.

"I seem to have a lack of things to break...But you haven't seen me dance, so evidently I can still impress you with that alone."

Being spun back into the arms of Tony Stark, she couldn't help but to look up at him (nearly a head taller than she was) and gave him a half sincere, half-intoxicated smile.

"My, my Mister Stark, is there anything you can't do?" She teased, trying to do her best impression of some stuck up rich southern girl, which she was sure that Tony knew all about in one way or another. Dropping the accent though, she kept her ever-so-famous smirk on her lips.

"Maybe...but give me a day and I'll invent something to do it for me," He laughed slightly in response, the accent mimicing a long line of people he'd had the pleasure/pain of meeting, even if it wasn't particularly convincing, what with the influence of the drink. With that, his body started to move along to the beat, the music seeming to move him to action, even if it was nothing too drastic.

She leaned up, practically on her tip-toes to whisper into his ear.

"I've got my own bag of tricks Mister Stark. Just you wait and see." She purred before returning flat onto her feet once more.

"I'm an impatient man, I'm sure I'll unveil them in no time," His grin extended slightly, even if it was as much a joke as simply flirting, having to keep close to her to be sure of hearing with the music made it that much more intimate, even as he started to dance.

Neena's hips began to sway with the beat of the music, and frankly, that's all she had to move for it to be considered the right kind of 'dance' for the style of music playing.
"Hmm...impatience. I wouldn't brag about that particular trait when trying to seduce a woman."

"Who said anything about 'trying,' that's something I've never had to invent anything for." Impatience was indeed the wrong term with Tony, more like attention span, but that would have probably been an even worse aspect to mention. His hands moved to her hips as they began to sway, allowing them to move freely, while holding her to him. He extended his neck back to its usual height as he finished speaking, having stooped slightly to whisper to her, the press of bodies on the dancefloor becoming rather closer, even if reputation alone allowed them a little more space than most.

"Not yet anyway..." Neena challenged as her arms draped up and around Tony's neck loosly as she felt his hands on her hips. But hell, who was she kidding? Tony had her right where he wanted her, and it had been that way since she had arrived here in Cuba...and the clouded thought process of her brain cells dying slowly one by one from the alcohol wasn't helping too much either. But she wasn't about to outright admit that, not now, not ever.

She had her fair share of seducing men; Logan for one which proved to be a lot easier than she had initially thought. This was all a game for her, much like the drinking 'contest' she had made up in her head. There always had to be a way to one-up someone, but keeping her composure around Tony...forcing herself to not break before he did...was becoming harder and harder with each passing second, and the slight tremble in her body being pushed up so close to his was probably a dead give-away.

At the quiver of her body. Tony's hands moved, one moving only slightly, his fingers gently pressed to her rear, while the other slid up her back, teasing, but not actually tampering with, the bindings of her corset, even as he inturn, responded, hauling her up momentarily, rather than bending his neck, "No, not yet."
His hand at her back, momentarily stopping its movement across her, moved to press another song on the controller attached to his wrist, a moment later, bad touch began to play.

Bringing out both a smirk, and a laugh from the billionaire, followed by a momentary squeeze of her ass, that had previously only been lightly held, as he started to mouth the amusing, if ridiculously sexual, lyrics.

Neena had to crane her neck up to look at the speakers that were fastned to the raftors of the roof, as if in complete denial that this song was actually playing, that her poor drunken brain was playing tricks on her, but when Tony's hand seemed to respond to the context of the music, she looked back at him and let out a laugh as well, laughing with him for a moment. Again, she pushed herself to her tip-toes, all the while still moving her hips to the new beat of the new song, more or less grinding into Tony teasingly before her teeth playfully nipped at his earlobe, before whispering,

"So what kind of suite does the playboy billionaire have in this joint?"

"Well...I actually don't know...I just told them to give me the best one...haven't actually seen it." He mused after she asked, his hand brushing over her rear as it instead moved to stroke his chin, as if in contemplation of a great philosophical matter.

"I'll have to investigate that sharpishly."

"You might need protection on this dangerous mission, and it just so happens that I'm packing. So no...I'm not just happy to see you." She giggled slightly.

"Oh, but I think you are...none the less." He grinned, before looking around, as if searching for someone on the dancefloor, before returning his eyes to her, his hands back on her hips as he moved, if not radically, to the music.

"No other Avengers present...high risk... but the prize." Tony enjoyed his own private reference, even if it worked as simply more flirtation in its own right. He didn't exactly drag her off the floor, not that she needed much insistence, but his hand at her hip helped to move her along beside him, somewhat accounting for the influence of alcohol on her reactions, even if his own were not any deal better.

By the time they reached the lobby, there was a fairly large line leading up to the elevators, for a moment Tony contemplated the stairs, but having barely made it up the small number out of the bar, he instead chose another approach.

"Excuse me ladies and gentlemen, I am Tony Stark...official...Avenger business, much emergency, so wow, please...I must hurry." Walking, fairly abruptly through the line, parting, out of a mix of shock, awe, and a few idiots actually believing him, he saluted them all as the doors closed, leaving the pair of them in the affluent gold and mirror surroundings of the lift.

"I think this is the nicest of all my elevators."

As soon as the elevator doors closed on the rather shocked group, Neena let out another laugh.

"Why do I get the feeling that this isn't the first time you've abused your Avengers power?" She asked, moving to the side of the elevator and leaned back on the golden rail that extended all around the mid section of the elevator, the gun on her right hip clicking against the metal a few times before she found a comfortable position as the elevator made it's way up. Was the elevator spinning? It wouldn't have surprised her, though Tony had only owned the hotel for just a few hours she wouldn't have put it past him to come up with spinning elevators somehow.

She held her head for a second, raking her nimble fingers through her mess of black hair trying to keep her feet from falling up underneath her. Then it seemed that just as soon as the doors had closed, they had opened once more, letting them exit to the floor where Tony's supposed room was. She moved herself back by his side, putting an arm around him a bit and let her own hand wander down to squeeze his ass teasingly as they continued down the hallway.

Thankfully the suite was accessed by keycard, so Tony could avoid fumbling with any sort keys, particularly as her rather insistent attentions were rather distracting, which earned her a false 'stern look,' before he opened the suite up to them. If the rest of the hotel had been unneccesary, then the level of decor in the suite was to the point of absurdity. Even Tony Stark's eyes were drawn by the chandelier hanging in the 'living room' of the suite. His eyes were drawn to the bar area at the far end of it, past the loungers and fire place, although he restrained from searching it. What did draw his eye, was, past the stairs leading to a grand table, and then past that the bedroom, was a deactivated device.

Moving towards it, and with some difficulty up the stairs, Tony looked at it for a moment, before finding what was most definitly the start button. Then, unlike normal, he had to try a few more before it actually worked, a stream of chocolate suddenly arising from the fountain. A childish smile spread across his face, before context caught up with him, and he turned and grined at Neena.

"You know...you could always do with a little sweetening up."

Unfortunately, Neena's poor brain was unable to even comprehend the beauty and detail of the room. Instead, she saw a bar, a fire place, and then...having followed Tony with her eyes, the chocolate fountain. Her eyebrow quirked a bit as she crossed her arms across her chest, resting lightly just below her breasts.

"I didn't take you for the down-and-dirty type Tony. Looks like I've been proven wrong on plenty of occasions this evening...and I will deny I ever said that." She smirked as she walked over to meet him by the fountain. She noticed that beside the chocolate fountain, a few trays of fresh fruit had been laid out with an array of different types of toothpicks. She fumbled to grab one of them, her perception completely altered from the alcohol but finally managed to stab a strawberry, and then raised it to her lips without bothering with the chocolate. She locked eyes with Tony once more, and then popped the whole thing into her mouth rather slowly before pulling the toothpick out between her lips and gave him an 'innocent' wink.

"We have all these fancy showers in this place...gotta give them a challenge." He smirked as he approached her, post-strawberry bite, his eyes locked with hers, despite the slight drunken haze. There was little in the way of space between them, but it was close to nothing by the presence of his hands on her hips, pressing into her more so than before, a more hushed tone escaping his lips.

"I'm in the business of proving people wrong...sometimes they even enjoy it too." In the next moment his lips met hers, in a spur of the moment thing he hadn't even planned when he'd started talking, this time his hand at her back really did begin to mess with the bindings of her corset, even if he didn't even try to fathom the whole of it in his state of mind. It was a number of long moments before he pulled away.

"Talking of hot, running water, jacuzzi?"

Being forced to swallow her words of response as Tony's lips pressed firmly against hers, she let her body loosen up, unwrapping her crossed arms around her chest to loop around Tony's neck once more and kissed him back, feeling her torso pushing into him more and more as the moments seemed to drift on. A slight muffled sound of disappointment came from her throat, however, when Tony pulled away...however she was grateful to be able to have the chance to breath. She fiddled with the buttons on his white suit jacket (now with the black spot on it), staring up at him as her fingers undid them one by one.

"I'm afraid that it might get a little too steamy in here for you to handle." She mused before abruptly walking away from their close and intimate encounter in an effort to find the bathroom in this mansion of a suite. Her instincts told her bathroom, but finding the bathroom was a trick in it's own.

Finally finding the bloody thing, Neena sat herself down on the edge of the jacuzzi, pressing a few buttons to get the water hot and rolling before adjusting herself slightly on the edge of the jacuzzi so that she was able to slip off her leather pants, belt of guns and ammunition, and black heeled shoes, revealing thin black nylons that ran up to just above her knees, clasped with an even thinner string that connected to her black boy-shorts underwear. Like hell she was going to get her leather wet.

Watching Neena undress with his signature grin, finally shedding the suit and shirt which she had already undone. He paused for a moment to admire her form, the curve of her rear not quite fully covered by the sensual display. Just as she straightened up, fully out of her leathers, Stark chose the moment to strike. A slight laugh from the billionaire pre-empted him slightly, as he shoved her into the bubbling water, still underwear clad. His own laughter was cut short however, as the combination of his momentum and intoxication caused him to fall in after her, unlike his female companion, not completely rid of his outer clothing, leather belt, trousers and all.
He returned spluttering to the surface a moment later, although he still continued to laugh, having succesfully got the jump on her, even if he'd 'suffered' for it.

Neena let out a gasp of surprise, only to be greeted by the quick-approaching hot water forcing her mouth closed to keep from choking. She surfaced, to just see the very end of Tony's nice dress shoes fall into the jacuzzi only to have him surface just moments later. It was her turn to pounce, however, and she quickly had his back up against the wall of the tub, her own legs wrapping themselves around his sides a bit as she was now practically sitting on his lap, facing him.

"You're a dick." She said light-heartedly, her black lips then going to the hollow of his neck, assaulting the exposed flesh with a series of soft kisses up until she reached his jawline where she then met her lips with his once more.

"Oh...you're not the first to think so." He managed before their lips met again, the hot, and scented, bubbled water of the jacuzzi lapping around them, the uncomfortable feeling of the full lower half of his outfit in hot water forgotten to the press and feel of her form and lips. His hands roamed over her, tugging at times, on what little clothing she had left, before finally breaking their kiss, even if his face remained mere inches from her's.

"I told you I didn't try, wrong again," The smirk spread across his lips, before those same lips worked their way down her neck, becoming increasingly sensual as they moved 'south.'

"Again, I will never admit it." She smirked, feeling her neck tilt back more and more as Tony's lips took their turn on her neck, unvoluntarily letting out a series of soft exhales through her nose. Her hands did some wandering of her own as she felt the muscles in his chest, then down to his torso until she found the hem of his suit pants where her fingers danced teasingly.

"Glad I'm not paying the drycleaning bill." She said, finding her fingers unfastening the button that kept the air-filled pants from practically being able to float away in the water.

Bishop stepped solemnly off the boat, nodding to the captain as he made his way down the busy dock. Most of the workers paid him no attention, while others merely chanced a glance. It wasn’t surprising. Most people wanted to get out of Cuba, almost no one ever wanted to be smuggled in. But that was exactly the situation Lucas Bishop found himself in. It didn’t bother him as much, finding himself in this strange land. Hell, it was all strange to him, the land, the people, the time, merely being able to walk where he wanted, do as he wanted. It was exhilarating. But he hadn’t lost sight of what was important, his mission. The Mission, and now that he was here, he felt something he didn’t think he’d feel. He felt calm.

Striding down the dock, Bishop felt the high Cuban sun beat down against his neck and face. He pulled open and pushed up the sleeves on his worn black-grey hoodie, revealing his black tank-top. He stopped for a moment, just a moment to take it all in. He felt his skin soaking up the sun’s rays and, more importantly, the solar energy being stored up in his system. He hadn’t used his powers much since arriving, not wanting to draw attention to himself or disrupt the natural flow of time by changing things too early. Not that it would matter soon. He was about to make the biggest impact on the time flow he could possibly make and he hoped to God, Osiris and Thor that it would shift everything for the better.

He made his way off the dock and into the streets of the city, his eyes wandering over everything they could see. The lights, the colours, the people. It was hard to believe that this would all be turned into a prison island for high level mutants by the Sentinels. According to the Elders, the natives had been shipped off to other countries or given free housing in the States in exchange for employment in the factories. The old images of those daunting buildings flared in Bishop’s mind’s eye, the red eyes in the distance of the huge behemoths. Then Bishop began wondering of his evaluation of the thoughts. They were old for him, but a possible future for those around them. They may even soon be nothing more than a figment of Bishop’s imagination, never to be experienced by anyone. Bishop smirked, despite the nature of the grim thoughts. Temporal causality messed with his head sometimes. He continued on toward his destination.

A short time later…..
Bishop stood at the end of the road, surveying the wreckage. The beachside house had been completely demolished, with police, firefighters and construction workers all present. Some of the local media was around, trying to get the scoop on what had happened. A younger officer was near Bishop, about a head smaller than the massive 6’11’’ mutant. He gingerly approached the suspicious officer.
“Perdone, ¿qué ha pasado aquí?” (Excuse me, what happened here?) Bishop had learned Spanish in the camps as a kid, seeing as he lived near the Latino quarter of the camp and many of his “childhood” friends had been Latinos.

“Fuga de gas. Eso es todo lo que estamos dispuestos a decir, señor.” (Gas leak. That's all we're willing to say, Sir.) The officer put his hand up and beckoned him away.

“El propietario?” (The owner?) Bishop asked, beginning to make his exit.

“Tony Stark.” The officer shrugged, indicating he did not know his whereabouts.

Bishop smiled a thank you and made his way back down the drive, his face now one of pure worry. He didn’t believe for one moment that it had been an accident. This was not supposed to have happened. In preparation for the jump back, Bishop had gone on a fact finding mission around the camp to find out all he could about the events of the past. One old man he’d found knew the details very well, knowing names, places, dates, everything Bishop needed. It was all too good to be true. When pressed as to how he knew, he’d merely waved away the questions, simply telling the younger mutant to trust him. He’d described the events leading up to the execution of Fury vividly, including where the Avengers and other heroes would meet before for the rescue. This house, Tony Stark’s house. But the old man had not said anything about there being an attack. Why wouldn’t he have? He’d been right about other events so far. What was different now?

It hit Bishop as he reached the main road. He was different. His presence in the past had shifted things just enough that things were beginning to occur slightly differently than the past had recorded. It was like he was a stone dropped in a still pool. Even though it was but one action, his jump back, it was enough to cause ripples along the timeline. That’s why he had stayed hidden until now. He couldn’t risk causing further changes until the lynch point, Fury’s death. He hurried into town, now on the trail of the hero, The Iron Man Tony Stark.

It didn’t take long to find out. While asking in a souvenir shop, he’d overheard a couple saying that the famous Tony Stark had come in and bought up their hotel to another vendor. They couldn’t believe it was really him. He casually asked them where it was as he was a big Stark fan. They pointed him to the large beachfront hotel and Bishop made a beeline for it. A few moments later, he stepped into the lobby area, the other tourists coming and going on their holiday, unconcerned by Bishop’s presence. A maître di stepped up to Bishop and politely quipped,

“Is there something I can do for you, Sir?”

Bishop sized up the smaller gentleman and was bemused at being called Sir twice in one day. He looked down at the smartly dressed man and urgently as he could, requested,

“I’d like to see Tony Stark, if he’s in. I’ve got a future investment that he may be interested in…”

Senator Robert Kelly was up to half a bottle of motrin a day, an uptick in usage noted by close staff members during the escalation of events in the past few weeks. From a junior Republican Senator from California with a small seat on the Intelligence Committee, to powerful Senate leader and an early favorite in an upcoming wide open Presidential election. Taking on the Sentinel program from it's early proposals in Senate committee hearings on the issue of defense spending, Kelly knew it would rise and fall on the back of another issue. A new kind of terrorism: metahumans.

Some were patriots, some were heroes, some geniuses. There were also villains, and masterminds, and chaotic. Mass protests broke out in Italy because of metahuman damage to private property, all of it adding to anti-government protests on record levels of jobless and poverity. That was with no more than a damn fist fight breaking out.

Many pundits said that the metahuman issue represented a step up onto the main stage of American politics for Senator Robert Kelly. waiting in the DC lawyer's office vacant of anyone, the reception's office just outside just as empty, Rorbert Kelly lamented that narrative deeper than he'd let it burn into his brain before. If the metahuman issue represented anything to Kelly, he would tell you, it was representative of escalation.

Few forces of nature seemed as destabilizing as all the power that appeared to randomly appear in only God knew who. Threats against their very ways of life. Kelly trusted in the need for a force such as the Sentinels. He'd rather have Iron Run it, but with the technology the military and CIA had of Stark's it was "almost as good" the boys in uniform told him.

Almost as good? More comforting was the idea of the Sentinel initiative involving more than just man sized robotic suits. That technology had mixed with a handful of 'projects' going on under the CIA and NSA. The result had been a secret squadron of Air Force and 'civilian' personnel. It was considered by other nations as an olive branch when America agreed to put direct supervision of the squandron under SHIELD. Fury had been American, but he was respected across the board. So was General William Stryker an American, whose brother Colonel George Stryker was a primary technical director on the project.

Kelly had played no small part in getting General Stryker elected to the position. Waiting was never an easy thing for the Senator, even when meeting with an old colleague and friend like General Stryker. Their meeting place was seen as ordinary, even if now it was anything but. Reports had come in about Stark, about a metahuman group getting together. Some analysts called it a larger metahuman concentration of force than the Avengers had been.

But Fury's disappearance was troubling, and people were asking a lot of questions. Even the President's staff was upset about rumors that maybe they weren't getting the real story; or all of the real story. It was a fire that was starting to burn a few homes here and there, and Kelly needed to put it out before the whole city was up in flames.

"Stark met with Mystique."

An answer. That was General Stryker, Director of SHIELD's, way of greeting the senior Senator. The question had been fuel for some of the political fire going around town on the issue of the Sentinels, and if maybe initial reports of lightning strikes had been unauthorized work by the CIA or NSA. A lot of flaming talk about trying to assassinate a US civilian that some didn't think represented a lethal threat to the US or it's interests.

Until it was verified he met with Mystique. "Yes...I can certainly see how that would change the math on Tony Stark. Is he listed, then?"

"Now he is. So too is Mystique." The General walked in and closed the door behind him, his dress uniform free of lint, far from the dirty work. "A signature strike was ordered. We knew Stark might be collateral damage, but his associate with Mystique and the Brotherhood, of the Genosha Remnants, made him an acceptable loss. No offense to you, Stark."

Both men laughed at Stark's expense, though Kelly's laughter did not linger long. "If only we'd gotten him. Now they're all there. Now it's going to get a little more serious."

Where Kelly seemed uncomfortable due to the events in the last few days, Stryker appeared unbowed. "We knew where we were headed. We knew because we knew what we were doing then, as we do now. Fury's methods were well intended, but they were radical and they were far too trustworthy of metahumans. A terrorist is one thing. A metahuman terrorist would be a blood bath. Citizenship does not protect a sniper killing innocents just because I can't bring him before a court before doing what's best for the protection of safety and order. That's all these individuals are: extreme threats to the protection of safety and order."

"What's Fury got? I never agreed that Fury needed to be imprisoned."

"Sure you did. You get every action report. You had the eyes to see where it was headed. Then he plans to leak out delicate details of the Sentinel initiate itself? Fury made his choice."

Fury was a traitor? To the metahumans?...it left Kelly bitter. Irritated. His need for another dose of motrin growing quickly. "Fine. Then clean him up, and bury it."

"What about the school?"

Kelly blinked. "Xavier's?" When the General nodded, the Senator gave the matter a second thought. If there were children present..."Only if any known X-Men makes a move with this group."

---

"I just sent you a text. Keep it in your pocket for later. We may need a ticket out."

It was one of the longer phone chats that Natalia had with the man codenamed Hawkeye in a year. If it seemed short, then such was the heart of a spy. Ramonoff told herself what was impossible when she agreed to work with Jean Grey. The computer driven data of those sessions had been the basis for most modern psy-blocking technology. They worked very well for most telepaths. They were worthless against Jean Grey.

Just as worthless as what Natalia told herself was impossible before the sessions began. It was Natalia who initially teased Jean as a way to get under her skin, one telepathically linked mind to another. Every thought a piece in the puzzle game that was a telepathic link where secrets were kept. Natalia knew that now. She didn't know it then.

If only she'd known the rest back then. Her first hour in Cuba was spent opening that link again, a wonderful part of her returning from death. But just as quickly Natalia started to see other things in Jean. But trying to focus on them telepathically was like staring at the sun. There was just no chance in getting to see or feel or know just what it was she'd seen with those 'sun spots.'

Maybe it was that mystery, or the euphoria that came with the link. It was easy to imagine a telepathic link as something intrusive or encroaching. And yet after it was gone it was difficult to feel anything but lonely in a way you never knew existed before you'd met and connected with that person. Getting it back so randomly was a happy thing. And Romanoff did what she always did with happy surprises; she approached them suspiciously.

But it was Jean. Really, really, it was Jean Grey. And how could the girl Natalia knew hide something? It was so unthinkable for Jean Grey, of all souls, to hide something. Unless there was a good reason? But was that enough of a reason for Natalia? Some good reason she would never know. If it was a good reason, after all. A lot of risk. Or Natalia could just ask Jean the next time she saw her in person.

So she did. At three in the morning, Jean Grey broke down in Natalia's arms and admitted everything in a language forbidden to all but two people in creation; the two of them. At five in the morning, Jean was asleep and Natalia was haunted by some of what it was she'd heard and experienced hours before. Two hours before the briefing, and Natalia was waking Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, and Thor. Both to get them up and moving, and to tell them that she suspected there was some part of that cosmic entity left in Grey.

Then she was gone before any of it could be processed. Natalia had little time for full conversations with any of the Avengers. She needed a danish, and to prepare for the outbrief. At six fifteen she knew Jean was awake, and moving. Since Natalia could only hope the rest of them were as well, she went back to a pesky phone conversation. That was finished two minutes after 0700, when the next briefing was set to occur.

Lucky her everyone was present and seated when she walked in. Even Stark.

Natalia started the only way she knew how. Directly. "Information narrows Fury's location down to two targets: one in England, one in the U.S. We'll have to divide ourselves. Those going to England include Tony, Calvin, Domino, and myself with Hawkeye set to meet us once we're wheels down. Those going to the U.S. include Thor, Hank, Steve, and Jean. UK target is a prison, US target is a private air strip. Vehicles will be waiting just out the hotel front doors in an hour to take you to the jets. That's it. Please remember one group will likely be rescuing Fury, while the other group will likely be walking into a death trap. Thanks."

The Widow smiled faintly at the group, before moving behind the seated Jean, and leaning over to whisper something in the telepath's ear. For a moment all Jean seemed capable of was staring, until finally she nodded to the former spy. That was Natalia's chance to try to cleanse her mind, force it into observation mode rather than continuing to think the same cycle of thoughts hyperfocused on Jean Grey's plan, and how much the plan made Natalia feel things the Widow thought she and her heart were long past.

Collaboration between Zacharius and YoshiSkittlez

---

The sun had hardly been up for more than a few moments, streaking into Tony Stark's hotel room suite and onto Neena's naked figure below the sheets on the bed.

Suddenly, the tranquility of the morning was abruptly broken by a rather loud, yet appropriate song which quickly startled Neena awake. Her hand instinctively shot underneath the pillow where she usually kept one of her pistols, but upon finding nothing...panic began to set in until she realized that...she wasn't in her room. Doing her best to ignore the song, she tried to rack her mind for some sort of memory...anything.

She remembered drinking with Thor and Tony, and then going to the dance floor. After that it was all a bit fuzzy. A spinning golden room, something to do with chocolate and...water? Groaning as her head continued to throb angrily, she pulled herself out of bed to realize she was completely naked.

"Oh god dammit." She tore the white sheet off of the bed and wrapped it around her body, holding her head as she left the bedroom to search for her clothes.

Tony was sitting on one of the, admittedly very comfortable, chairs in the living area, the small coffee table before him holding not only enough coffee to keep a whole army on high alert, but a selection of various breakfast food items. At the appearance of a bedsheet-clad Neena, he turned to her, smirking slightly.

"How's the memory? Or head, I can't imagine either are great."

Upon meeting the face of Tony Stark in the mysterious hotel room, her eyes narrowed slightly.

God dammit Neena, HIM?

"Go jump off of a balcony." She said a little heatedly towards him, ignoring the fact that food had been laid out and continued to search the suite for her clothes. She eventually found the majority of her outfit folded neatly on the drier, which she got dressed in almost immediately. If she hadn't been in such a foul mood, she might have appreciated the slight warmness of her clothing, not to mention that they had been obviously cleaned as well. Coming back into the main room, now fully dressed and no trace of the bed sheet, she stopped by the table next to Tony and grabbed an apple off of the fruit tray.

"You're awfully cheery for being hung-over..."

"Eh...call it...experience." He replied with a slight smirk that suggested that wasn't entirely the whole reason even as he bit into a croissant, rather enjoying the look of frustration she had given her situation moments before searching for the gathered, cleaned and dried outfit she had been wearing the night before.

"The music had to be loud...I apologize, to get you up at 6, wouldn't want to be late for our suicide briefing." He continued with somewhat less bravado, his eyes moving from her to the unlit fireplace as he contemplated, probably something deep and meaningful.

She bit into her apple, chewing it while keeping her eyes on Tony but then felt them roll into the back of her head at his response.

"Yeah, can't wait." She said sarcastically. "Well...thanks for...whatever..." She gave Tony a half-assed salute as she headed to the door. She still had time to get back to her room, suit up in something more...mission worthy and still make it to the conference room in time for the meeting.

Tony's mind was elsewhere. That wasn't an insult to Natasha, not a mark of boredom, but a common occurrence. Unable, and unwilling, to pin down on one problem at a time, he gave the meeting the necessary attention for him to be an active participant, while his mind raced through others, one hand playing across the touch-screen wrist device on his left arm, working through memory as opposed to sight. The issue at hand, literally, was public image. Not a matter of vanity, but something he imagined would become a key part of the hopefully micro-war they were about to start fighting.

The US had been 'fortunate' in the past. Even if its wars and actions had been ambiguous or suspect, it's enemies were undoubtedly enemies of its way of life. It's armies had fought Divine Emperors, Genocidal Fascists and Communists, fundamentalist extremists and callous dictators. He already knew they would be deconstructing his own public image, but he wondered that kind of fight they thought they were in for with that one. The benefits of 24 hour news and the internet. Practically everyone in the nation had seen Iron Man throw a nuke into space that would have destroyed the city of New York. No matter that it was SHIELD that launched it, that was an American nuke. That alone should turn a few more heads, and that was one act, among one of the most ambiguous heroes they were looking to turn into terrorists. Even so, he wanted to hit them first before they hit him. Stark tech was superior to the government's, but not by too much, it wouldn't be long before they found the backdoors onto every .gov site currently hosted. That wasn't how Stark was going to hit them, however. Many who still worked at Stark Industries would undoubtedly take the fall, should the evidence be launched through those servers, instead, a quiet leak to a few people he knew to time it well, to not risk or waste it, were it to be proven simple paranoia for him to send it out. Unlikely, but possible.

He didn't turn his head to see it, but he new the screen on his wrist had turned to a rather unnecessary single 'button.' He debated the course of action for some time, there wasn't much risk of backfire, or maybe there was, but by this point the damage that could actually cause would matter little and less. What made him pause was the chance of terrible success, the US people were already divided, it could make matters worse, more violent, before they got better. His resolve hardened when he remembered the alternative was a peaceful people, united behind their government of increasing hate. The image was pressed. The signal went out. The raw footage, captured from the lenses recording in his eyes, from the moment he arrived on the beach to the end of his spat with Mysitque, clear shots of the drones bombarding his home included, would now be in the hands of those he trusted, not as friends, but do play their part in this plan. With that, yet another portion of his mental capacity focused on the meeting at hand.

"New York was a death trap, Genosha was a death trap. Sure the chances aren't in our favor, but when are they ever? Even still, there are worse ways to die than as heroes, even if the world doesn't see that." Now he really was sounding like a terrorist, well, Stark had no interest in earning himself those eternal virgins, at least not for another few decades of saving the world, this time, from itself.

After drinking heavily last night, Thor wandered the beach in solitude -- solitude which had been in short supply in recent months within Asgard. It was not that he intentionally abhorred or avoided the company of the others, but he sensed the undercurrent of other dynamics that were best left alone for the night, at least. Each had their own fears to confront, their own darknesses to reconcile before the battle to come, their own methods to prepare. Despite his lofty words at their meeting, Thor prepared himself by brooding.

Truth be told, the Thunder God did not fear for himself as much as he did his Midgardian allies. He had survived and triumphed over many cosmic foes over the span of many, many years. He did not feel that his end would be here, fighting this fight. However, he could not say he shared the same feeling for some of the others. From what he had observed in Midgardian politics, the momentum of the masses was key. Should that momentum ever fully turn against Thor’s allies, the Avengers would ever find themselves running. Hiding. Fighting a phantom war as outlaws. Hunted by their own. Not an enviable lot, that. But what more could be done, save fight and hope?

Every now and again, even a god had to have a bit of blind faith that ultimately Good would prevail, despite all odds.

Thor barely slept that night, but his was a constitution that did not require much. He was awake when the Widow came, and he received her tidings stoically. Yet another wrinkle to the situation. One that made Thor momentarily reconsider if the average humans of Midgard were completely in the wrong for wanting methods established for containing and controlling the super-beings of this world. His second thoughts ended when he reminded himself the entity in his mind was not of this world, but that did not lessen or completely invalidate his concern -- simply allowed him to put it aside for scrutiny another day.

At the briefing, he was somewhat satisfied to hear the Not-Sorceress Grey would be with him. If the being inside of her wished to spread its wings, Thor would be there to see and gauge the level of threat. In the meantime, he would simply perform his role. He was not the commander here, nor did he feel it his place to contradict or direct plans. By cosmic design, he would help rescue Fury, or he would not, and then he would see where the next step lay. Hopefully the next step would not involve dismantling the American government. But if it was … so be it.

“A warrior should not face a death trap before properly breaking his fast,” said Thor, rising slowly from his chair. “I require a last feast of buttered hot cake, seared parts of porcine, and a tankard of Midgard coffee bean before departure. Any are welcome to join, or not. Regardless, I will be in front of this building within the hour.”

Thor strode from the room, destination -- the expansive outdoor patio with all its tables and chairs and a pleasant morning breeze. Once there, he sat (still in his beach clothes, by the way) and flagged down a servant to place his order, emphasizing the need for all possible haste. He ate quickly and with great appetite, whether any joined him or not. By the time his plate was scraped clean and the coffee drained dry, a low whistle could be heard sharpening from above.

Thor held his hand out casually to catch an incoming blurred missile, and the handle of Mjolnir deposited itself within his mighty grip. As he stood, a flicker of crackling lightning lashed over him, replacing beach attire for Asgardian armor and flowing crimson cape. The armor leant Thor inches in height and enhanced the breadth of his already broad shoulders and chest. He ignored the gasps and stares and cries of alarms (and surprisingly, a few ragged cheers), as well as the click-click-click of cellular phones and cameras. Their enemies already knew Stark had gathered allies here. Like Stark, Thor was not a man made for subtlety. There was little sense in hiding still. Let their enemies know who they faced.

Let them fear.

Thor headed for the meeting point, for the vehicles, his face grim, Mjolnir in hand. Ready for war.

Steve Rogers hadn’t slept a wink last night. The brief visit from Natasha was somewhat welcome in his brooding state, though the subject matter of their short conversation was quickly shoved into the back of his mind. The last thing he needed to think on was the fact that a potential ally could turn into a potential enemy given any sort of ‘trigger’ for the release of the hidden anger residing inside the beautiful Jean Grey. If that’s all that Natasha was talking about; anger; then he had no opinion. She had every right to be angry…they all did. After saying their goodbyes, Steve then returned to his shield, running a waxed cloth over the Vibranium steel to ensure maximum shine. When he left in the morning…he wanted to make damn sure that his enemies knew that Captain America had arrived.

---

Now sitting amongst his new-found group of allies, Steve was slunk down in his chair keeping his eyes down on the table and running his finger gently over the wood…anything to keep his mind distracted from having to look into the eyes of any of his friends…the eyes that would tell him just how frightened they were of this situation. The words that had been spoken last night on the beach struck hard with everyone…’death trap.’ Well…on the bright side he no longer smelt like ocean water, as during his restless night he had managed to take multiple showers, one to actually clean himself and the others in hopes to clear his jumbled up mind. He currently wore his Captain America suit, having discarded the ‘disguise’ he wore yesterday long ago but the hood was currently down, not seeing much of a point of wearing it right now anyway. At Thor’s request of a feast before their departure, he had realized that he hadn’t eaten anything either…not that his stomach would be able to handle it anyway. He glanced up at his friend, just about to stand when instead; Domino had beaten him to it, earning a distasteful type of snarl from Steve as he settled his body back into the chair.

Neena had arrived to the meeting a little on the late side thanks to the night she had before. She thought she could just get away with a change of clothes, but upon flashes of memories coming to her as she got ready, she was desperately longing for a shower. Now clean and clad in her usual black suit, she was with the others thinking over the same type of things she was sure everyone else in that room was. Who among them now would not be here tomorrow? Her attention was then immediately grabbed by Thor at his mention of breakfast, and her eyes looked upon the target she had intended on last night, before she shot a quick glance to the man who she had actually gotten into bed with. She stood with the Asguardian and walked with him to breakfast, not saying much on the way…not until they had both finished eating. They were heading in opposite directions, so that meant that one of them would reign victorious, and the other…potentially dead…though if she had to bet, it would be her buried six feet under before the Thunder God was. Could he even die?

“You be careful out there today.” Neena said finishing off a large bottle of water, careful not to smudge her freshly applied dark red lipstick. “Because I still owe you a dance…”

-Some Time Previously-

The meeting had yet to start, early as it was, and already Tony Stark had an appointment, to make, apparently. It wasn't that he was usually summoned by the call of simply anyone wishing to meet him, but this was an usual guest. With the night's activities, he had been unable to meet him previously, but he'd wanted to scope the man out before the meeting took place. Tony doubted there would be much time between that wrapping up and jetting off to save the world another time. The man was still in the lobby, watched over by both nervous and curious staff. A powerfully built man, Stark seemed hardly well matched as he approached the visitor, but he'd never let that intimidate him, perhaps it even brought out an element of stubborn bravery and indignation in him. Almost definitely.

"Tony Stark, although you might already know that." For once it was not arrogance that brought him to such an assumption, but simply the fact he was seeking him out, apparently rather intently. The man's appearance did little to suggest to Tony that he was simply someone looking for attention, or funding for a random scheme, no, this one might be fairly useful, critical even. He just had to work out what that would be in regards to. As he finished speaking, he offered the man his hand in the usual method of greeting.

"I don't make a habit of answering all calls to meet me, and I'm rather busy, saving the world and such, so I imagine we can make this quick...or at least direct?"

Bishop threw the magazine atop the pile on the courtesy table next to him. He had been waiting for hours for this mysterious Tony Stark and his patience was wearing thin. He had waited several months to get to this moment and now he was being kept waiting by the elusive playboy for “personal matters”, as the staff behind the desk kept informing him. He had finally considered storming past security and physically searching the rooms of the hotel, when a relatively short, bearded man stepped into the lobby, his eyes scanning the lobby before finally fixing on Bishop. The man stepped towards him with a slight swagger. Bishop stood up; his hulking 6’3” form standing almost a head over the approaching figure, eying him carefully.

”Tony Stark, although you might already know that.”

Tony extended his hand in a friendly gesture, adding swiftly,

”I don’t make a habit of answering all calls to meet me, and I’m rather busy, saving the world and such, so I imagine we make this quick…or at least direct?”

Bishop took the man’s offered hand, his shovel-like hand squeezing Tony’s hand tightly, holding him in place so he could hear what he had to say.

“Yes, I know who you are, Tony Stark. I also know what you are about to do, “save the world” as you put it. I know that you’re about to attempt a rescue of Nick Fury with several other heroes very soon. I also know that you will fail. I know this, because I come from a time in the future where mutants are herded into camps and branded with this mark.”

Bishop raised his free hand to point to the large M tattooed across his right eye, directing Tony to the branded M covering it.

“You fail, you, Fury and the others get executed and the Sentinel program goes national, leading to the subjugation of mutants all across the country. I've traveled back to try and prevent this from occurring. Is this direct enough for you?”

Bishop let his hand and drop, waiting for Tony's reaction. Bishop hoped that the fact he knew of Stark’s plans may lead him to believe his story. However, there was also every other reason for him to think that Bishop was simply a walk-in loon or an agent for the other side. Bishop almost smiled to himself, he’d been so preoccupied in getting to this moment that he hadn't really thought about what would happen after or even if he could really get Stark to believe him. He’d just have to hope. That was all he left.

A couple of years ago at Tony would have simply dismissed the man as insane, although that may still be the case in regards to mental state, he was more inclined to believe his story, or at least believe there were elements of truth to it. That didn't make it any easier to take, although Stark managed to keep his openly casual demeanor as they finished the handshake. He still had much to work on in letting people get to him, but not quite so fast as he was at aggravating others, there was at least that side to things.

"Few theories about time travel, not all my own. It time travel exists in the single dimensional sense, then you helping me to succeed is futile, because by doing so you would equally remove future you's motivation to travel back in time, thus trapping us all in a continual logic trap. What is more likely to have occurred, is you've hoped 'dimension.' I mean, we used to think that was impossible, but the science community has had a lot to thing about recently. If so, welcome to the best version of me, don't worry, we're on the case." Stark rattled off, like countless other times he bombarded those who stood against him, annoyed him or simply happened to be there, talking as much to himself a Bishop in front of him, although at the same time taking in his appearance. It was startling, although Tony could very much see the road the government was taking at this moment leading down to such an eventuality. On a road of bones, including his own.

"That said, we're about to wage war on the strongest and 'greatest' nation on Earth. I'm assuming you're not useless, due to the whole, being selected to come back and change the future, so, I'm not going to turn away good help where I can find it. I have some friends I'd like you to meet." Stark grinned slightly as he spoke, turning to leave, heading towards where both mission teams would be congregating to head out. There was an element of an unofficial goodbye to the whole thing, even for those they had only just met, at least it felt that way for Tony, but then, maybe he became a little dramatic when his life and the world were on the line.