Early the next morning
As Arthur came down the stairs, he was met with a sight that instantly erased any trace of sleep: Jean was in the kitchen, wearing one of his white shirts, the first few buttons left open.
She turned when she sensed his presence, a soft smile on her lips.
"Arthur, you're awake," she said gently. "I made breakfast for the two of us. I was going to wake you if you were still asleep."
Arthur smiled and walked over.
"I didn't expect you to know how to cook," he said with a chuckle.
"I may not be as good as you, but I'm quite confident in my cooking skills," Jean replied.
Arthur stopped behind her and wrapped his arms around her in a back hug.
"Really? Your words don't sound very reliable," he teased.
"You'll just have to trust me," Jean laughed.
"Gwen already left for university. And after breakfast, I want you to come downtown with me. I don't have classes to teach today," she added.
"Sure, let's go," Arthur replied, stepping back.
Jean rarely had moments like this—free from the responsibilities of the Xavier Institute. Now, she wanted to experience what she never truly could: the small pleasures of an ordinary girl—walking around, eating out, shopping for new clothes with someone she loved.
"I need to buy clothes, by the way…" she commented playfully, tugging at the hem of the shirt she was wearing.
"It'll look like I'm your prisoner if I keep wearing your clothes every day."
Arthur pretended to think it over.
"I don't see any problem with you wearing my clothes. Actually…" He leaned closer and whispered in her ear, "I have some really nice things I'd love for you to try."
Jean laughed, lightly shoved his shoulder, and carried two simple but well-prepared plates to the table.
"Buon appetito, Arthur…" she said as she sat beside him.
"Let's see… it looks normal, smells great, but… what about the taste…" Arthur murmured.
"Could you stop that and just eat already?" Jean raised an eyebrow at him.
"Of course, madam," Arthur laughed as he began to eat.
---
Elsewhere in the city…
While some people woke up refreshed and had already exercised (or something close to it), others were crawling out of sleep like resurrected zombies.
Tony Stark stepped out of his bedroom yawning, scratching his head, eyes half-closed.
"JARVIS… how long was I asleep?"
[Over twenty hours, sir.]
Tony stopped in the middle of the hallway.
"TWENTY hours?! That's legally a coma, isn't it?"
[Technically, yes. However, you gave explicit instructions not to be disturbed while sleeping.]
"But twenty hours, JARVIS?! What if I'd been kidnapped again?!"
[Considering your history, that was a reasonable possibility. Still, your last instruction was: 'Let me sleep until I forget my own age.' I merely complied.]
Tony grumbled as he grabbed a glass of morning wine.
"Any calls from Pepper?"
[Negative, sir.]
Tony made a frustrated face. He had expected Pepper to come running after such a long "disappearance." But no—perhaps she was already used to his insane vanishing acts.
[On the other hand, Colonel Rhodes made ninety-six calls and sent fifty-three text messages.]
"How sweet. Call him now."
As soon as the call connected, Rhodes's voice burst through the speaker.
"Thank God, Tony! You finally answered!"
"Why? Thought I'd been kidnapped again?"
There was an awkward silence.
"Man… that's literally your biggest trauma. You really joke about that?"
"Humor is my therapy, Rhodes. Anyway, tell me—why the panic?"
Rhodes cleared his throat.
"Look… I… kind of 'borrowed' one of your armors."
"Hm… which one?"
"The Mark II. The all-silver one. I know you like it, but it was for a good cause!"
Tony grinned mischievously.
"Nothing a little compensation can't fix. Bring all the wine bottles you've hidden in the secret cabinet behind the fridge."
"You knew about that cabinet?!"
"Rhodes, please. I'm Tony Stark."
"Damn it…" Rhodes muttered. "Was that emotional blackmail?"
"Of course not. Just regular blackmail."
Those bottles were Rhodes's prized treasures, and Tony knew it.
"Three bottles!" Rhodes shot back, already regretting it.
"Five!" Tony countered instantly, smiling like a Vegas gambler.
"Four!" Rhodes replied.
Tony raised an eyebrow, satisfied. "Deal. Colonel Rhodes, you still have the soul of a cheap negotiator."
"But let's be honest," Tony added, leaning back, "you didn't call me just to confess you became an armor thief, did you?"
"If you really wanted to make it right, you'd bring the Mark II back."
His tone was playful, but the gleam in his eyes said: I'm testing you.
Rhodes sighed. "About that… the Mark II is in the Army's possession now. They want to… 'refit' it."
"Tragic news!" Tony exclaimed dramatically, clutching his chest. "My child has fallen into the government's hands. Such a cruel fate."
Despite the words, Rhodes noticed there was no anger in his voice—and that surprised him.
"You're not mad?" he asked, genuinely confused.
Rhodes remembered well the last time someone tried to "improve" a Stark weapon. Tony had torn up a billion-dollar contract just because the client suggested tweaking the missile design.
Obadiah had nearly had a stroke back then.
"You can keep it, Rhodes," Tony said casually. "But now you owe me. And change its name. No more Mark II. I don't repeat outfits—and I hate copies with the same name even more."
Rhodes blinked. "Wait… you're giving me the armor?"
"Consider it a gift… in exchange for a few more bottles of your finest wine."
Knowing there was no way out on top, Rhodes sighed and chatted for a few more minutes before hanging up.
Tony stretched like a well-fed cat, satisfied with the negotiation.
"JARVIS, open the roof."
[With pleasure, sir.]
Tony grabbed his wine, put on his sunglasses, and headed to the terrace, ready to enjoy the morning sun like a true bon vivant.
The breeze was perfect. The weather ideal. The feeling? In one word: wonderful.
That's when a familiar voice sounded behind him:
"I thought you were lost in your workshop, but here you are, roasting in the sun."
Tony turned with a lazy smile. "Pepper. Came to see if I was still alive?"
"Actually, I thought you'd been kidnapped again."
Tony looked offended. "Please, don't joke about that."
Pepper walked up to him, with Natalie and Happy right behind her.
"Want to sit?" Tony offered, patting the lounge chair beside him.
Pepper sat down and studied him closely. "Hm. You're… different."
Tony removed his sunglasses and smiled. "Better-looking? Finally noticed?"
"No. Just… different."
She watched him like someone trying to solve a puzzle. There was something new about Tony—or rather, something that was no longer there.
Natalie crossed her arms, silently observing him.
Happy grumbled, "He's just more relaxed. And more full of himself than usual… so nothing new."
But Natalie said nothing. She was too focused.
The symptoms of poisoning have diminished…? she thought. He looks far too well. This doesn't make sense.
She suspected Tony was hiding something. Or perhaps he had simply given up fighting.
She would need to report all of this to Nick Fury—but for now, she would keep observing.
Pepper finally smiled, relieved.
The Tony she knew seemed to be back. The tired eyes, the defensive sarcasm—everything had given way to an almost… healthy calm.
"Well, I have to get back to work. I just stopped by to check if you were still a functional human being."
"I'm more than functional," Tony said, winking.
Pepper rolled her eyes with a small smile and stood up. "See you later, Tony."
Before she left, Tony couldn't resist asking:
"So… do you have time for dinner with me tonight?"
Pepper glanced over her shoulder, the corner of her lips curving into a soft smile.
"Sure. But I want you to wait for me. I might take a while."
Tony shrugged, relaxed.
"No rush. I can wait all night… or at least until JARVIS tells me to go to sleep."
She laughed, shook her head, and walked away with that stride that made Tony forget, for a moment, that he had already built a suit capable of flying at supersonic speed.
The house fell silent again.
Tony looked up at the sky and snapped his fingers.
"JARVIS, how about the compatibility test for the new element?"
[It is stable, sir. No issues detected so far.]
"Perfect…"
He rubbed his hands together like someone about to open a Christmas present.
"Create a new folder. Name it 'Mark VI.' I've got too many ideas and itchy fingers."
The emergence of the new element was not just a solution to his problem, but a rebirth for his armors.
More power, more possibilities and, of course, more style.
---
(End of the chapter)