For once, Summers had enough sense to keep his mouth shut.
He sat with one hand still near his throat, his visor angled towards Lucius with the same rigid dislike, but he did not rise, nor did he bark. That alone was an improvement. Jean remained standing beside him, jaw tight, eyes hard, looking like she was one insult away from trying something stupid for a second time. Xavier, by contrast, had found the shamelessness to sit there as though the request he was making was something normal. The old man had the moral hygiene of a sewer rat.
Storm interested him more.
She had not said a word since the little choking lesson, but Lucius had eyes. Her posture remained controlled, and the static in the room had finally bled away, yet her attention was no longer with Xavier. She was looking at Lucius now with a different kind of focus, not approval exactly, but interest sharpened by disagreement. He could almost see the split behind her eyes. She was in Xavier's camp for the children, for the school, for the idea of giving young mutants somewhere safe to learn without ending up dissected or shot. Xavier's politics were merely the cost of entry.
Wolverine was simpler to read.
The man had settled back against the wall with the cigar in the corner of his mouth and an approving smirk that was not trying very hard to hide itself. Not only had he presented the man with decent tobacco, but he had also throttled the pompous cyclops in front of everyone. Such combinations of good breeding and public service were rare.
Shadowcat was thinking too loudly with her face. Lucius could almost read it without telepathy. Her eyes kept flicking to the table, the walls, the angle of his shoulders, and then to her own hands as though she were calculating what phasing through his chest or the floor might accomplish if things went wrong. It was not a bad instinct. Just a useless one against him.
Lucius let the silence stretch until it had become mildly rude even by his standards, then rose from his chair at a measured pace.
Every eye in the room followed him.
He adjusted one cuff, then looked at Xavier.
"I hope I never see your ugly mug again, old man." His tone stayed perfectly level. "The same goes for anyone naive enough to follow your masochistic little creed and mistake surrender for virtue."
Scott's shoulders stiffened again. Jean's stare sharpened. Xavier merely received the insult with that infuriating professor's patience, which deserved a slap on principle.
Lucius turned his head towards Wolverine.
"You, on the other hand, are always welcome, bub."
Logan took the cigar from his mouth and gave a small nod.
"Appreciated."
Lucius left the meeting room without another glance behind him. He stepped into the corridor, let the door close, and walked towards the lifts while the hotel's muted luxury settled around him again.
He took the lift up, returned to his suite, and stood in the sitting room for a few seconds with his hands in his pockets, thinking.
Xavier had confirmed exactly what Lucius had suspected. The man wanted stability more than justice. He wanted mutant rights so long as they came wrapped in compromise and approved by people who would happily fit collars when they believed the cameras were pointed elsewhere. Worse, he seemed genuinely convinced that asking the victim to calm the room counted as wisdom.
Lucius found that offensive on several levels, but he also found it useful.
If Xavier was nervous enough to come in person and beg for restraint, then the damage SHIELD had taken was deeper than a few angry headlines. That meant Fury was cornered, politicians were sweating, and the public mood remained raw enough to matter.
It also meant Tony Stark might be thinking about recent events with a little more clarity than usual.
He crossed to the bedroom, opened the wardrobe, and changed into a cleaner suit. He chose dark charcoal, a white shirt, and no tie. Civil enough for meeting the Playboy.
Then he teleported.
-
The shift snapped the luxury of New York away and dropped him outside the Malibu mansion under bright California light. Sea air hit first, bringing salt, warmth, and open space. The house sat across the cliff with the sort of arrogant confidence only the very rich built into architecture.
Lucius approached the entrance at a normal pace.
Somewhere behind the walls, cameras would already be feeding his image to JARVIS.
That assumption proved correct almost immediately.
Inside the workshop, Tony was bent over the partially assembled Mark II when JARVIS interrupted the rhythm of tools and thought.
"Sir, you have a visitor."
Tony kept one hand on the frame and did not look up at once. "Unless the visitor is pizza delivery, a Nobel committee, or a group of blondes, tell them I'm busy."
JARVIS did not miss a beat. "The visitor is Mr Noctis, sir."
Tony straightened so fast he nearly clipped his shoulder on the lift arm.
For half a second, he simply stared at the nearest display. Then he took off the gloves, dropped them onto the workbench, and headed for the stairs.
"Well, that is extremely inconvenient for my schedule and excellent for my mood."
He found Lucius at the entrance a moment later.
Tony slowed just enough not to look startled, then closed the distance with a smile that was far more natural than the one Lucius had first seen in Afghanistan.
"You know," Tony began, extending a hand, "most people send a card after helping someone. I was going to send a fruit basket with a redhead."
Lucius took the hand. Tony's grip was firm, warm, and still carried a trace of stiffness from recovery.
"It is much better to meet under these circumstances," Lucius replied. "Less sand, fewer terrorists, and much better lighting."
Tony scoffed and stepped aside.
"Come on in. I would offer tea, but I'm not eighty nor British, so the house is regrettably understocked."
Lucius entered and let Tony lead him down towards the workshop.
The place opened beneath them in clean lines of glass, steel, tools, suspended systems, and enough expensive engineering to make most governments develop unhealthy emotions. Mark I stood off to one side like the preserved skeleton of a bad week that refused to become less personal. Nearby, the frame of Mark II was taking shape in stages. Plates, supports, open sections, and the chest piece.
Lucius approached Mark I first, looking it over with open interest.
"You completed the work from that cave."
Tony watched his eyes move over the weld lines, the reinforced joints, the changes between the crude original and what the workshop version had become.
Tony's smile shifted a little.
"Yeah, turns out surviving on scrap metal and spite gives you perspective. Also, a fairly unhealthy amount of motivation."
Lucius turned to Mark II and pointed lightly at the chest section.
"That already looks better."
Tony folded his arms. "That because it is better, or because this one doesn't look like it was assembled by a drunk blacksmith with a hostage situation?"
"Both." Lucius let his gaze travel across the unfinished armour. "Cleaner lines, better weight distribution and less panic in the structure."
Tony studied him for a moment, then tipped his head.
"You've got a good eye."
Lucius smirked.
"I am an engineer, Stark. I know how to appreciate beautiful machinery. Unless it's painted red and gold."
Tony pointed a finger at him. "Nothing wrong with those colours."
Tony stepped to the side of Mark II and rested a hand on one of the support rails. "Still working through flight stability, control response, heat management, a couple of structural weak points, and one tiny, insignificant issue involving the possibility of turning myself into a guided missile with emotional baggage."
Lucius's eyes dropped briefly to Tony's chest, then back up.
"Maybe one day we will compete over who makes the better armour."
Tony's brows went up.
"Oh, we're doing that already. Great, I just got home, and I already have an arms race."
Lucius lifted one shoulder.
"After you explain the energy source, of course."
Tony's mouth twitched. He did not answer at once. Instead, he tapped a finger lightly against the workbench and gave Lucius a look that was half amusement and half professional caution.
"Let's call that one a second date topic."
Lucius gave him a playful look back. "At least make sure that one comes with dinner and wine."
Tony moved around the bench and gestured towards a pair of chairs near one of the side tables.
Lucius did not sit immediately. He reached into his inventory instead and took out some vials.
Glass began appearing on the table, one vial at a time.
Tony fell silent.
Ten health potions, then, twenty large stamina potions. Lucius placed them neatly in rows with the same calm precision a banker might have used for bonds. Light caught through the red and gold liquid. By the time the last vial was set down, the side table looked more expensive than it was.
Tony stared at the collection.
"Well," he said after a second, "that is both generous and slightly offensive."
Lucius placed the final stamina potion down and gave him a smirk.
"I thought you might prefer to have some in stock."
Tony looked from Lucius to the row of vials and back again.
"That is a deeply inappropriate assumption. I assure you, I neither need nor use those potions."
Lucius gave him a deadpan look. "You know I am the only supplier, and I know your driver, Happy, was it?"
Tony wisely ignored the jab.
Lucius's mouth curved. "I am staying at the St. Regis for this month, and I wanted to ask if you know a good attorney. A real one, not someone who folds the moment SHIELD clears its throat. I intend to deal with what they did to me and to my property."
Tony's expression changed at that. The humour stayed, but something colder moved behind his eyes.
He glanced at the potions again, then at Lucius.
"You want the amount in cash, like you usually do?"
Lucius waved it off.
"They are gifts, Stark."
Tony held his gaze a moment, then gave a short nod.
"All right. Gifts." He looked back at the rows of vials. "Weirdest gift basket I've ever received, but not the worst. I'll send the attorney to you."
The next stretch of conversation moved more easily.
Tony talked about captivity in pieces rather than a straight line, moving from the convoy and the blast to the cave, Yinsen, the first days with the electromagnet in his chest, the box of scraps.
Lucius listened, then tilted his head. "Somebody leaked the convoy route or sold it. That attack was too clean to be luck."
"I know." He leaned back and rubbed his jaw once. "I've got the satellite phone. JARVIS is tracing the call routes and cross-referencing numbers. Still building the list. Whoever did it, they knew enough."
Lucius nodded once.
Tony's gaze dropped briefly to the workshop floor, then lifted again.
"In two days, I'm shutting down weapons manufacturing." He said it like he had repeated it to himself enough times that the weight now sat properly. "The board's going to love it."
Lucius gave a low hum and leaned back.
"If you are serious, I will buy as much of your stock as I can when it dips. It would be nice to have a regular income."
Tony looked at him deadpan.
"Your potions cost enough to qualify as biological weapons. I don't think you're at risk of poverty."
Lucius nodded thoughtfully. "That is a beautiful compliment. I will treasure it."
"You shouldn't. It was an insult."
"It can be both."
They talked for nearly another hour.
Tony got up to point at part of the Mark II, or to show where he had changed something from the cave version, or to mutter abuse at an engineering choice he had made three hours earlier and already hated. Lucius walked the line between listening, prodding, and enjoying the fact that genius looked much healthier when it was fed, rested, and no longer chained to a wall.
By the end of it, the sea outside had shifted towards late afternoon brightness. Lucius stood.
Tony rose with him and walked him back towards the entrance.
At the door, Tony paused.
"I mean this," he said, and for once, there was nothing performative in it. "You helped keep me alive over there. Whatever else is going on, I'm not forgetting that."
Lucius regarded him for a moment.
"Good. Gratitude is rarer than money."
Tony gave him a look. "You say that like you bill for both."
"I do bill for both. One simply takes longer to collect."
That got a real laugh out of Tony.
"I'll have the attorney contact you at the St. Regis."
Lucius inclined his head.
"Then I shall let you return to your dangerous romance with powered metal."
Tony leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. "And I'll let you return to whatever it is you do when you're not causing federal nightmares."
Lucius smiled faintly.
"Mostly profit."
Then he was gone.