Outside the party, the night air was sharp, almost electric. Tony took a deep breath, letting the cold fill his lungs, and loosened his tie, releasing the tension accumulated from a night of forced smiles and superficial conversations.
Happy, who had just parked the car, approached holding the keys.
"Tony, the car is exactly as you asked. The front is facing inwards."
Tony didn't respond immediately. He just stood there, silently observing the empty street, the wind tousling his hair.
"And what are you doing out here?" Happy asked, eyes narrowing in curiosity.
He frowned. From experience, he knew that whenever Tony left a party early, a woman was usually involved. But tonight felt different.
Tony picked up the keys and answered with a faint, almost defiant smile:
"I'm heading home. You can send Pepper back later."
"Oh, and tell her I came back alone. No company."
Happy scratched the back of his head, confused, but didn't press further.
Tony suddenly turned to him, his voice firm:
"By the way… Happy, what about that guy? You didn't see him tonight?"
"I don't know… I haven't seen him since the press conference."
"He saved Pepper's life. I haven't properly thanked him yet."
"You mean Phil Coulson?"
"Yes."
Tony didn't linger with explanations; he needed to go home first. Resigned, Happy returned to the party without further questions.
---
Inside the hall, Arthur remained seated, observing the crowd, when something shifted. A presence entered the room like a silent breeze, almost imperceptible, yet it seemed to shape the space around it.
Jean Elaine Grey. Teacher at the Xavier Institute, future greatest telepath in the Marvel Universe, and host of the Phoenix Force. Though the cosmic entity lay dormant, her presence radiated a subtle, powerful force. People nearby instinctively stepped back, almost unaware, guided by some primal instinct. A few recognized her; most simply felt the weight of her quiet authority.
She moved forward with hesitation, aware of the aura that kept the curious at bay, yet driven by genuine interest: admiration for Arthur. Nothing more.
Arthur observed her, catching the caution in her eyes, the restrained curiosity, and the faint glimmer of anticipation.
"Sit," he said, smiling gently. "I'm bored and alone. Let's drink and talk."
Jean hesitated, but there was sincerity in his voice. She seated herself, keeping a straight posture, though relaxing slightly the rigidity of someone who had spent a lifetime under the gaze and guidance of Charles Xavier.
"Mr. Morgan… you're not afraid of me?" she asked, her tone laced with caution.
"Why would I be? Planning to devour me or something?" Arthur replied lightly, maintaining his smile.
Her face flushed slightly. So confident… so straightforward… she thought. She moved a little closer, curiosity piqued.
"What would you like to drink? They practically have everything here."
"I don't know much about drinks… Mr. Morgan."
"Then come with me. Perhaps a cocktail?"
Shortly after, a glass was placed in front of her. Arthur raised his own:
"To a toast!"
Jean sensed there was no manipulation. No hidden agenda. Just a genuine desire to share a moment — something rare for someone accustomed to being treated as either a weapon or a threat.
After a few sips, she began speaking, her voice tinged with curiosity and caution:
"Mr. Morgan… I'm a fan of your books. My favorite is Harry Potter."
Arthur raised an eyebrow, surprised but intrigued.
"Harry Potter? I thought you might lean more toward something scientific or serious."
Jean smiled with a mix of irony and melancholy.
"No. I like Harry Potter. Because… I see something in it that reminds me of our situation."
Arthur leaned forward, intrigued.
"How so?"
She glanced discreetly at some ordinary people just a few meters away.
"Muggles… they don't know, they don't understand, but they must survive in a world that doesn't accept them. And we… mutants, we're like them. We live hidden, feared, misunderstood."
She paused, taking a deep breath, her eyes staring into the distance, reflecting on her own life and the constant influence of Charles Xavier.
"But there's a difference. Muggles, despite their ignorance, try to resist. They find small ways to survive, to maintain hope. We… sometimes forget to fight for ourselves. We rely too much on what others expect from us. What Xavier expects. What Magneto wouldn't approve of. What the world would tolerate."
Arthur absorbed her words attentively, sensing the weight of years of training, responsibility, and loyalty in them.
Jean blushed slightly, the result of both the alcohol and the honesty they shared.
"Putting Magneto aside… you, under Xavier, still rely too much on what the old powers think. You should focus on earning the trust of the people, not just appeasing the powerful. If you follow orders blindly… you'll never learn to act for yourselves." Arthur said softly, looking at her.
He knew she wouldn't be easily swayed. But each sentence planted small seeds of doubt — not about him, but about the system surrounding her. Seeds that, over time, could grow.
They spent nearly thirty minutes talking about many things she probably wouldn't have opened up to anyone else about.
For some reason, she seemed to trust Arthur. Perhaps it was his demeanor, or perhaps she subconsciously sensed his intentions, realizing he bore no ill will.
She observed him, wary yet curious. She felt there was something different about him. Not a savior, not a manipulator, just someone capable of listening, questioning, and perhaps provoking reflection she had long avoided.
---
[End of Chapter]
A/N: Final version of the chapter