Collaborators (Tony Stark & Jean Grey)
Between this (Cap & Iron Man RP), and this (Cable & Tony email exchange of insanity), and this (classic Scott Summers freakout), and this (communication from Wanda Maximoff) -- well, it's been a busy day for the muses.
Crossposted to shadeof_grey
Tony looked in the mirror behind the desk, adjusting the Windsor knot in his silk tie. "So is this SHIELD business? Avengers' business?" He looked over at the woman who stood, shifting a little uncomfortably, by his desk. "Or X-Corp business?"
"Well," Jean answered. "That would be the question, wouldn't it? You're running SHIELD now, and I'm running X-Corp and -- dammit," she said, looking down at her bare shoulder, "I think you tore my bra strap. Can this conversation wait until I've got all my clothes back on?"
"Be my guest." Tony shrugged and leaned back against the window seat, his back to midtown Manhattan's best view, like they had all the time in the world. "But really, Jeannie, are you telling me you and Cyclops never talked business in the nu --"
"Don't." And she threw a shoe at him. She didn't even have to pick it up to throw it. That was an impressive woman.
It hit him on the chin. Ouch. "Right, right." Tony spread his hands. "We all have our sacred cows. Mine is my late, sainted mother. Yours is the chronically adulterous Boy Scout that you were briefly married to."
The shoe jerked out of his hand and struck him one more time on the arm, before flying back to Jean. She slid it onto her foot and stood before him, arms folded, perfectly composed. "X-Corp business," she said. "There's a certain young lady writing letters to the editor in Wundagore, talking about how she's a 'longtime admirer' of the Avengers, particularly Steve Rogers and Anthony Stark." She raised an eyebrow. "I'd be very surprised if you hadn't noticed."
"I do try to keep track of all of my admirers. But I have so many. . ." She gave him a stone glare, with those green and gold eyes. He had never seen the Phoenix, personally, but he wondered if it could really be that much scarier. "Wanda Maximoff is a mutant," he said. "Or we assume she's still a mutant. She's in Europe. That would be your bailiwick, wouldn't it?"
"She's one of yours," Jean answered, gazing at him as though she were trying to read a message written on his forehead. "Or she was."
Tony shrugged. "I never knew her that well." It was supposed to be a cagey disclaimer, but it unnerved him to wonder how true it really was. Wanda had always just been Wanda -- until the day that she wasn't. "You should go talk to her. You can make a neutral assessment of the situation. You weren't here when --" He shook his head. "You've known her since you were kids."
"I knew her when we were kids," Jean answered. "There's a world of difference. And I don't work for you. You don't get to send me on missions."
"I'm not sending you. I'm asking you. Because I trust you."
She rolled her eyes and let out an audible breath of disgust. "Wanda doesn't," Jean answered. "Why should she? And of course, no one trusts you anymore, which is why you're out of the question. Isn't there someone --?"
Tony tried to look struck, as though the idea had just hit him. "Well, there is someone. And of course, she'll trust him -- everybody trusts him --"
"Oh, oh, I know!" said Jean, putting up her hand in a parody of girlish enthusiasm. "Mister Sinister!"
Her tone was so dead-on that Tony couldn't hold back a laugh, and then he thought about the whole situation, and he laughed again.
"This is funny to you?" Jean demanded. "I'm glad this is funny to you. My son hates me, my daughter is involved with an indestructible creep, and my husband is having a nervous breakdown. But you get a nice little joke out of it."
"It's not a joke," said Tony, fighting back the next wave of laughter. Not quite successfully. Gaining his composure, he said, "But is kind of funny." Then he started to laugh again. "Mister Sinister. Agent of Shield. I'm just trying to imagine the look on Cable's face --"
"You're unbelieva --" She looked down and put a hand to her forehead, remembering -- "You really told him you were putting Essex on a team with Deadpool?" And Jean started to laugh. She leaned backwards, half-seated on the edge of his desk. Tony walked toward her, so that when she looked up, he was standing very very close. A bright smile of relief crossed her face. It was a very nice face. It was a very nice smile. "So the whole thing is a joke? Thank God."
"Of course it's a joke," he assured her. "No self-respecting superhero team would have Deadpool. He'd just annoy everybody until he decided to run from a firefight and go crawl back up Cable's ass. Pardon my lang--" Before he could get the sentence out, her hand moved up to slap him, but he grabbed her wrist in time. As long as she wasn't resorting to powers, she wasn't any match for him. "Easy, Jeannie, it's like your boy says. Violence isn't a means of -- ahhh" If she had wanted it to, her knee would have connected with a very sensitive area that was not, at the moment, shielded by iron. As it was she just got his thigh, but it still hurt.
"If I want to hurt you, you'll know it," she said, sliding away from him, back toward the window. Stark Tower had a very good view of Manhattan, entirely one-way. The office was entirely protected from any surveillance except, of course, Tony's own. Turning back to him after looking out the window for a moment, she said, "You're serious about Sinister? Why? My son may think you're a moron, and my husband may think you're a villain, but I know you aren't either of those things. So why would you let SHIELD take on someone like that?"
"Tell me, Jean," he said, stepping closer to her. "If your son and your -- husband --" he said, emphasizing the word that she had used twice now to refer to a man who had cheated on her, watched her die, and then taken up with his mistress before the body was cold (not that it ever stayed cold, and no one should have known that better than Cyclops) -- "If your son and your husband think Sinister should be destroyed, why is he still around? The way I recall it, Cyclops disintegrated him, and yet --" Tony shrugged. "The man has admirable goals, for the most part. He just has no ethics to go with them. This way, he'll be closely watched, and his research can serve a good end. And if we can't handle him, we can Hulk him."
"I have no idea what that means."
"Exactly."
She turned and stared him straight in the eyes. He let her, for a good thirty seconds. "Jean Jean Jean," he finally said. "This is the most secure room in the most secure building in New York City. Do you really think I haven't installed safeguards against telepathy? Although, I must say, I don't know whether to be insulted or flattered that it took you this long to notice."
"All right." Jean took a step away from him. "Whatever. This isn't in my hands. I have to catch a plane to Wundagore."
"Not exactly." He nodded and went back to the mirror, straightening his tie again. "You have to catch a plane to Bucharest, and a train to Transia and a bus to Wundagore. I'd lend you a Quinjet, but we've agreed this isn't Avengers business and besides - as far as Wanda's concerned, you should just appear to be ordinary travelers. It's going to be enough of a shock seeing Tommy and Billy -"
"Her sons?" Jean blinked.
"Yes, the four of you will be able to travel more or less unobserved. Interestingly enough, as long as his identity has been public, no one ever seems to recognize him when he's out of uniform."
"Him?" Jean repeated.
"Steve Rogers, naturally. We agreed that you'll need to go with someone who Wanda knows and trusts -"
"But Rogers is -"
"In SHIELD custody. And SHIELD, to coin a phrase, c'est moi.."
"What are you going to do?" Jean demanded. "Put nanites in Captain America's blood so that he doesn't escape?"
"No," he said, evenly. "I'm going to put an unarmed man under the supervision of the world's most powerful telekinetic. Who I trust implicitly. Do you see a problem?"
"I --" She shook her head. "No. No problem here. But so, he gets there, we check Wanda out, then what? Bring him back and throw him in a cell?"
"Like I said, Jean, I trust your judgment. Implicitly. Maybe --" Tony walked back to the window. "Maybe they'll fall in love. Maybe they're already in love. Maybe Steve and Wanda can stay in Wundagore and be happy and not cause any problems for anyone else, and just be happy. That's all Wanda wants, you know. For everybody to be happy."
Jean stepped up behind Tony and put her hand on his shoulder. "This is all very strange."
"But nothing you can't handle."
"But nothing I can't handle," she repeated, and he turned to see the look that asked him what the hell she was getting herself into.
Crossposted to shadeof_grey
Tony looked in the mirror behind the desk, adjusting the Windsor knot in his silk tie. "So is this SHIELD business? Avengers' business?" He looked over at the woman who stood, shifting a little uncomfortably, by his desk. "Or X-Corp business?"
"Well," Jean answered. "That would be the question, wouldn't it? You're running SHIELD now, and I'm running X-Corp and -- dammit," she said, looking down at her bare shoulder, "I think you tore my bra strap. Can this conversation wait until I've got all my clothes back on?"
"Be my guest." Tony shrugged and leaned back against the window seat, his back to midtown Manhattan's best view, like they had all the time in the world. "But really, Jeannie, are you telling me you and Cyclops never talked business in the nu --"
"Don't." And she threw a shoe at him. She didn't even have to pick it up to throw it. That was an impressive woman.
It hit him on the chin. Ouch. "Right, right." Tony spread his hands. "We all have our sacred cows. Mine is my late, sainted mother. Yours is the chronically adulterous Boy Scout that you were briefly married to."
The shoe jerked out of his hand and struck him one more time on the arm, before flying back to Jean. She slid it onto her foot and stood before him, arms folded, perfectly composed. "X-Corp business," she said. "There's a certain young lady writing letters to the editor in Wundagore, talking about how she's a 'longtime admirer' of the Avengers, particularly Steve Rogers and Anthony Stark." She raised an eyebrow. "I'd be very surprised if you hadn't noticed."
"I do try to keep track of all of my admirers. But I have so many. . ." She gave him a stone glare, with those green and gold eyes. He had never seen the Phoenix, personally, but he wondered if it could really be that much scarier. "Wanda Maximoff is a mutant," he said. "Or we assume she's still a mutant. She's in Europe. That would be your bailiwick, wouldn't it?"
"She's one of yours," Jean answered, gazing at him as though she were trying to read a message written on his forehead. "Or she was."
Tony shrugged. "I never knew her that well." It was supposed to be a cagey disclaimer, but it unnerved him to wonder how true it really was. Wanda had always just been Wanda -- until the day that she wasn't. "You should go talk to her. You can make a neutral assessment of the situation. You weren't here when --" He shook his head. "You've known her since you were kids."
"I knew her when we were kids," Jean answered. "There's a world of difference. And I don't work for you. You don't get to send me on missions."
"I'm not sending you. I'm asking you. Because I trust you."
She rolled her eyes and let out an audible breath of disgust. "Wanda doesn't," Jean answered. "Why should she? And of course, no one trusts you anymore, which is why you're out of the question. Isn't there someone --?"
Tony tried to look struck, as though the idea had just hit him. "Well, there is someone. And of course, she'll trust him -- everybody trusts him --"
"Oh, oh, I know!" said Jean, putting up her hand in a parody of girlish enthusiasm. "Mister Sinister!"
Her tone was so dead-on that Tony couldn't hold back a laugh, and then he thought about the whole situation, and he laughed again.
"This is funny to you?" Jean demanded. "I'm glad this is funny to you. My son hates me, my daughter is involved with an indestructible creep, and my husband is having a nervous breakdown. But you get a nice little joke out of it."
"It's not a joke," said Tony, fighting back the next wave of laughter. Not quite successfully. Gaining his composure, he said, "But is kind of funny." Then he started to laugh again. "Mister Sinister. Agent of Shield. I'm just trying to imagine the look on Cable's face --"
"You're unbelieva --" She looked down and put a hand to her forehead, remembering -- "You really told him you were putting Essex on a team with Deadpool?" And Jean started to laugh. She leaned backwards, half-seated on the edge of his desk. Tony walked toward her, so that when she looked up, he was standing very very close. A bright smile of relief crossed her face. It was a very nice face. It was a very nice smile. "So the whole thing is a joke? Thank God."
"Of course it's a joke," he assured her. "No self-respecting superhero team would have Deadpool. He'd just annoy everybody until he decided to run from a firefight and go crawl back up Cable's ass. Pardon my lang--" Before he could get the sentence out, her hand moved up to slap him, but he grabbed her wrist in time. As long as she wasn't resorting to powers, she wasn't any match for him. "Easy, Jeannie, it's like your boy says. Violence isn't a means of -- ahhh" If she had wanted it to, her knee would have connected with a very sensitive area that was not, at the moment, shielded by iron. As it was she just got his thigh, but it still hurt.
"If I want to hurt you, you'll know it," she said, sliding away from him, back toward the window. Stark Tower had a very good view of Manhattan, entirely one-way. The office was entirely protected from any surveillance except, of course, Tony's own. Turning back to him after looking out the window for a moment, she said, "You're serious about Sinister? Why? My son may think you're a moron, and my husband may think you're a villain, but I know you aren't either of those things. So why would you let SHIELD take on someone like that?"
"Tell me, Jean," he said, stepping closer to her. "If your son and your -- husband --" he said, emphasizing the word that she had used twice now to refer to a man who had cheated on her, watched her die, and then taken up with his mistress before the body was cold (not that it ever stayed cold, and no one should have known that better than Cyclops) -- "If your son and your husband think Sinister should be destroyed, why is he still around? The way I recall it, Cyclops disintegrated him, and yet --" Tony shrugged. "The man has admirable goals, for the most part. He just has no ethics to go with them. This way, he'll be closely watched, and his research can serve a good end. And if we can't handle him, we can Hulk him."
"I have no idea what that means."
"Exactly."
She turned and stared him straight in the eyes. He let her, for a good thirty seconds. "Jean Jean Jean," he finally said. "This is the most secure room in the most secure building in New York City. Do you really think I haven't installed safeguards against telepathy? Although, I must say, I don't know whether to be insulted or flattered that it took you this long to notice."
"All right." Jean took a step away from him. "Whatever. This isn't in my hands. I have to catch a plane to Wundagore."
"Not exactly." He nodded and went back to the mirror, straightening his tie again. "You have to catch a plane to Bucharest, and a train to Transia and a bus to Wundagore. I'd lend you a Quinjet, but we've agreed this isn't Avengers business and besides - as far as Wanda's concerned, you should just appear to be ordinary travelers. It's going to be enough of a shock seeing Tommy and Billy -"
"Her sons?" Jean blinked.
"Yes, the four of you will be able to travel more or less unobserved. Interestingly enough, as long as his identity has been public, no one ever seems to recognize him when he's out of uniform."
"Him?" Jean repeated.
"Steve Rogers, naturally. We agreed that you'll need to go with someone who Wanda knows and trusts -"
"But Rogers is -"
"In SHIELD custody. And SHIELD, to coin a phrase, c'est moi.."
"What are you going to do?" Jean demanded. "Put nanites in Captain America's blood so that he doesn't escape?"
"No," he said, evenly. "I'm going to put an unarmed man under the supervision of the world's most powerful telekinetic. Who I trust implicitly. Do you see a problem?"
"I --" She shook her head. "No. No problem here. But so, he gets there, we check Wanda out, then what? Bring him back and throw him in a cell?"
"Like I said, Jean, I trust your judgment. Implicitly. Maybe --" Tony walked back to the window. "Maybe they'll fall in love. Maybe they're already in love. Maybe Steve and Wanda can stay in Wundagore and be happy and not cause any problems for anyone else, and just be happy. That's all Wanda wants, you know. For everybody to be happy."
Jean stepped up behind Tony and put her hand on his shoulder. "This is all very strange."
"But nothing you can't handle."
"But nothing I can't handle," she repeated, and he turned to see the look that asked him what the hell she was getting herself into.