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Although quiet drives were rare things, he found the pickup of the protectee from the small airport just north of the Capital District of New York, and the subsequent drive into Albany, to be a landscape of gentle, green rolling foot hills that seemed to melt into the Hudson River valley, with the Catskills Mountains hazy in the distance. 

It would have been downright relaxing, if not for the protectee, and the reason for their presence. The handheld encrypted radio bleeped into activity, breaking the quiet drive.

[i]“We have a problem.”[/i]

The man seated behind the driver of the large, black, General Motors SUV gave a wry smile, and brought the radio closer to his mouth to answer, “What problem?”

[i]“She’s here, but she isn’t alone. Fucking Magneto came with her.”[/i]

Greg Joseph found his eyebrows perk at both the mention of the man, and the way in which the Agency analyst on the other end of the radio said it. [i]Fucking Magneto[/i], the senior analyst said, and he found himself not blaming them for it.

Joseph found himself pausing before responding, exchanging a look from the Special Agent in the front passenger seat, before turning his head to the right, to the man seated quietly in the seat behind the front passenger seat, eyes perking at the protectee, “News to you?”

“I had no idea, no. I just knew she was coming.” 

Everything about Paul Bailey told the former US Army Intelligence and Law Enforcement turned CIA Mutant Desk Chief that he was being honest. A soft sigh escaped him before the radio went back to his mouth, Joseph taking another pause as his mind raked across the files and reports in his mind. “…we don’t normally see her alone, do we?”

Even the Special Agent in the front passenger seat looked back at his boss, a curious look on the Agent’s face. [i]What are you getting at?[/i] Their senior analyst’s feminine tone softened, as her mind played catch-up, [i]“Jean Grey?”[/i]

He didn’t have the patience for them to find it, themselves, “Think about every time we’ve seen her go through a Krakoan Gate. Is she ever alone?...no, right? Never? Meanwhile, Ororo Munroe sneaks out and surprises our analysts on the subway, or pops into Wakanda, or Kitty Pryde is boating around the world's oceans, or Emma Frost is strolling through gates solo like she owns the world…why is this woman different? Why is she never alone?”

“Could be coincidence,” the tall, blonde, former college athlete Special Agent in the front passenger seat offered.

The senior analyst came back over the radio, [i]”…she’s either always with teammates, family, or children. Or…”[/i]

“Or the woman who zapped an entire star and killed an entire solar system of people because she got godly levels of bitchy isn’t someone they want walking around the world alone.”

A surprise voice chimed in, the man next to Joseph, the woman’s former brother-in-law, “She’s not like that.” Even the driver peeked back in the rear-view when Bailey spoke up, as the thin man with the crown of brown hair on a quickly balding head shifted slightly, realizing every eye in the vehicle was on him, now, before continuing, “…I lost the love of my life, my wife. I lost my children.” 

There was a knife’s edge of emotion deep enough for Paul Bailey to lose himself in, but Bailey took a slow breath before speaking more, “I knew her parents. I knew every sister and brother. I knew every member of that family. None of them ever spoke of her like that—not even remotely. And I knew her, myself. She’s not like that, Deputy Director. I would have told those Shi’ar aliens the same thing when they murdered my family, and her’s, adult and child alike. I would have died too, had I not been working late that night. Whatever this Phoenix did, it wasn’t Jean Grey. My wife and our babies bet their lives on that. They killed them all anyway. Justice, they called it, I was told…I don’t know about this Shi’ar Empire, Deputy Director, but I should hope MY government, THEIR government, wouldn’t be so quick to assume the same horrible thing.”

The car slowed to a stop outside the four-story over-a-century-old red-brown brick building that shared the entire city block with the cement parking garage that acted as secondary parking for New York State government buildings in the area. The corner space of the old red-brown brick building was The Hollow, a bar and restaurant popular with both the state government employees from their state buildings surrounding the street and the lawyers from the US District Court just a block down the street, across the 797 Interstate that divided Albany from the riverfront of the Hudson. They stood outside on the sidewalk, staring into the backseat of the long, black, American-made SUV. 

“…okay,” Greg Joseph said, nodding, “Let’s do this.” The tall, youthful, former college athlete of a Special Agent was out of the car, first, not saying a word, just opening the back passenger seat to let Paul Bailey out.

Bailey got out, immediately embracing the sister of his late-wife, and aunt of his late-children, Jean Grey. Joseph watched for a second, until he looked past the two, and saw the man still staring at him. [i]The mutant,[/i] Greg Joseph corrected himself in his thoughts as he got out, putting on his best Sunday morning church of a smile. “Greg Joseph, Mutant Desk Chief,” he walked right up to Erik Lensherr, offering his hand, same as he always did, same as his daddy always taught him to do when meeting someone for the first time. Friendly, but respectful, firm. Same as he taught his son, he thought, as he looked at Paul Bailey and the woman, again.

“It’s okay.” Jean smiled at Paul, doubtless telepathic words passed between them as they stared at one another, Jean slipping her arm into Paul’s, pointing them down the sidewalk and heels clicking on pavement as the two started walking, towards the end of the city block, towards the car park, casting bright green eyes over her shoulder, at Magneto, then, to him. “Hello, Mr. Joseph. I hope we’re not keeping you too busy? Thank you for bringing Paul.” 

He nodded, that Sunday church steps smile cemented on his features, the Texas in his accent as clear as the sunshine of the day, “Yes, Ma’am, one of the few times the Mutant Desk gets to do something so wholesome. We’ve been busy the past year since the uh…what do you call it? Birth of your nation?” He asked, not wanting to just call it ‘that Krakoa thing’, looking to the man keeping pace with Bailey and Grey next to him to answer the question, to Lensherr.