TM 189 -- If you could read my mind. . .
Jean Grey looks -- if possible -- even better than Tony has ever seen her before.
He doesn't say this, of course. He's pretty much resigned to the fact that, if Jean does decide to haul off and smack him in the face, it's not going to be followed (as it occasionally has in the past) by a tumble on the sofa in his well-appointed SHIELD office. They're broken up, apparently for good, and while it was Jean's choice, Tony is quite aware that it was his fault. He undercut her position at the Disney conference, reminding her that whatever they might be to each other personally, they're also politicians representing different interests. And even if Jean gets over being angry at him -- which he's pretty sure she hasn't, yet -- she's a smart enough woman to learn from this situation. After all, there is probably a reason politicians don't sleep with each other on a regular basis (besides the fact that most of them look less like Jean Grey, and more like middle-aged men who would just as soon be screwing twenty-year-old interns). It is, most people would argue, a bad idea to mix personal entanglements with political horse trading. Tony isn't sure that he would make that argument (politics are inherently personal; anyone who says differently is trying to feed you a line -- which Tony knows, as he's frequently been the one doing the feeding). Still, he can't blame Jean if she feels that way.
Still, he thinks as she crosses her legs in that exquisite designer suit, it doesn't hurt to look.
"You're lucky," Jean grumbles, looking up, "that I can't read your mind."
"Sorry," Tony taps his forehead. "National security."
She glares. "I can't help noticing nobody ever uses power dampeners on you."
He settles back into his chair, crossing arms behind his head. "Maybe you should call Bernie Rosenthal and get her to sue. Anti-powers ecurity measures of any kind violate your rights. Let's just hand Magneto the keys to the helicarrier."
"I'm not Magneto," she says shortly.
His mouth twitches. "I noticed --" He doesn't add when I was sleeping with you, but her glare says she didn't need to read his mind for that one. And while she's busy being annoyed about that, he tosses her a computer printout with a list of names. "Who's the weak link?"
"Hmm?" Jean looks over the paper and mutters, "John Allerdyce, Sarah Blevins, Anna Darkholme --" She looks up. "This is the Brotherhood?"
"Members we've identified or who have self-identified, or who we have a strong reason to suspect, yes. Who's the weak link?"
"Do you want to, are you saying -- you want to try and recruit a double agent, out of these people?" She looks at him, frowning. "I'm not saying this is a good idea -- a lot of these people are kids, Tony, stupid kids. I don't agree with what they're doing, but they don't deserve to be in danger from Magneto as well as from us. I still think there's a chance of Rogue coming back to the X-men or contacting Ray --" She pushes the paper away and shakes her head. "No. If you're asking me to involve Rachel in this mess, the answer is a strong, firm no. And not just because she's my daughter, although that ought to be enough for you."
"I'd certainly hate to involve Rachel," Tony agrees, keeping his eyes on Jean. "With everything she's been through recently." He thinks that her face colors, just a little. He doesn't have to say after what you put her through, after the hairbrained scheme I accidentally consented to helping you pull off. "But if you have another suggestion, some way we can avoid involving Rogue or your daughter. . ."
Jean stabs her finger at the printout. "Sally," she says, and it's Tony's turn to flush a little.
"Sorry?" he says, thinking of the girl in Minnesota who is definitely not his daughter.
"Sarah Blevins," Jean clarifies, and she looks smug enough that Tony knows the confusion was deliberate. "Goes by Skids. She's -- I've known her since she was a kid, when I was with X-factor. Skids isn't exactly an original thinker but -- she's resilient, she's got tactical smarts -- she worked with Cable and X-Force for a while -- and once she's convinced of something, she can be awfully tenacious."
"And, presumably, she's susceptible to being convinced by someone she admires, someone who had a formative influence in her life."
Jean crosses her arms and scowls. "You were thinking of Skids all along."
"Can't we just say, great minds. . ."
"You could just try saying what you're thinking, every once in a while."
"Jeannie, Jeannie. Just when I think you're going to make a good politician one day."
Jean jerks to her feet and walks toward the door. "You wouldn't know an honest impulse if it flew in your face and hit you with a repulsor ray." Then she turns back toward him. "Send me your file on Skids, and I'll see what I can add."
"Thanks, Jean. Knew you'd come through. Oh, and for the record?" He flashes her a smile. "You're looking damn good."
"Yeah," she says, "I guess dumping your ass agrees with me." And the door slams shut behind her.