This was a brand new experience for Bailey. When he was Spider-Boy, he was only ever photo'd by people looking to dob him into the government. Now he was on red carpet, a sea of lights illuminating him entirely. He was wearing a bright red tuxedo with his glowing lightning bolt taking the shape of his lapels. He was alone, mostly to not draw attention to Simms or Christina. Simms had entered quietly a few minutes ago. Despite the Courage of Achilles keeping him on target and smiling and winking for the camera's, throwing a few buddy thumbs up, frankly, Bailey was bricking himself underneath. But as Achilles had told him before "Courage isn't a lack of fear, it's simply not letting fear stop you from doing what's right." and Simms had told him "Tonight ain't about any of us. It's about making the masses feel safe... As well as giving us the opportunity to network with other heroes." Making his way to the main lobby, he saw people making their way to lifts and up the grand staircases towards the ballroom. He nervously looked around, not quite sure exactly what to do by himself.

"Cap, good to see you again." The familiar voice of Captain Jordan came from behind him. "Loving the tux. Looking snazy." Hal said, before heading up the stairs. Bailey stood watching the other Lanterns walk up the stairs, before looking around once more and following.

****

Just as Otto finished fixing his costume, he would hear the sounds of a someone outside the window _{"I did NOT do what i did at General Techtronics just to be called "A Wannabe" by some door-jerk with delusions of grandeur. And who else but a heroine or a god would show up riding a giant Kangaroo? I thought that would have sealed the deal, but NoOoOoOo. There's gotta be a kitchen or... Bathroom! Come on, hot-stuff."} before suddenly, a woman with a long, flowing, red ballgown and a red mask fell through the window behind him, landing on her face "Dammit! I'm ok!" Christina shouted back reassuringly. As she did, another man expertly vaulted through the window wearing what looked like a full suit of greek battle-armour, his breastplate a brilliant shining silver, leather skirt with polished brass spangles that shone like gold, a helmet with a red plume out of the top. As Jason helped Christina up, the pair looked at Otto. "Don't worry, Citizen, we are Superheroes. Well, i'm a Superhero, he's a-a-a-a... God... Demi-God- Whatever... We are supposed to be here, regardless!" Christina stammered as the pair walked out of the bathroom. "Come on Jason, we are raiding the hors d'oeuvres then i'm teaching you to tango." Jason looked entirely out of his element and shot Otto a puzzled look as they walked past.

****

As Bailey finally made it into the ballroom with all of its splendor, he saw all of the different heroes, heroines and rich debonaires around. He was partly hoping to see maybe some old friends he recognized... But considering what happened previously, it was probably for the best that the likes of T'Challa and Susan WEREN'T here. Slowly wandering around, he made small, meek waving guestures to others, hoping that someone, anyone would approach him with something to say, because gods knew he had no idea. "Hi, i'm a superhero who can crush tanks with my bare hands, but mostly my brovado is a facade for having ABSOLUTELY no idea what i am doing or what's going on. What trauma's brought you to put on spandex and fight the mentally ill? Mine was being tortured and brainwashed by some freaky lady from a different timeline who turned me into a mutant spider-monster. I know, right, ain't it always the way?"

He walked past several people, most of which he didn't recognize. A few from those forum posts Christina was always showing him. Frankly, he was disappointed he couldn't see Zach Zatara around. He was hoping to get some pointers on using magic. Nope. Oh well. Before he could get much further, a glass of champaign seemed to be forced into his hands. "Excuse me, no i'm not old en-" But before he could finish the waiter was gone, back into the sea of faces. He stood looking down at the drink for a second. He was... Physically old enough... And he had the Wisdom of Solomon... That made him mentally old enough. A little sip wouldn't be the worst thing. Bringing the drink to his lips, he took a sip. The sour, bubbly squirt of expanded instantly in his mouth as he swilled it around. VERY sour. Nope, didn't like that. Did not like that at all. And that wooden aftertaste wasn't helping anything. He non-challantly approached a table and put the glass down, before taking a few steps away. That's when he saw Christina, 2 glasses of champagne in one hand, a cocktail sausage sticking from her lips as she slowly reeled it in and Jason's hand in the other hand, rushing towards the waiter that had just missed him. "Chr... You!!!" He called, trying not to use names here. Christina quickly swallowed what was in her mouth already and took a long drink from the Champagne, before rushing to Bailey.

"Captain Marvel!" She called, giving him the french air-kiss on each cheek as a formal greeting. "Fancy seeing you at this swanky shindig! This prim and proper party! this... Bouncing Box Social." She laughed.

"How much have you drank so far?" Bailey asked.

"It's fine, i'm not sure you can even get drunk. So, i think you should have as much as you want." He watched Jason take a swig of the Champagne, seeming more confused than anything.

"That good, Jason?" Jason took another swig.

"Dionysus would be... Probably most pleased by this wine... And the popping is most peculiar. Like a frothing gyser."

"It's called Carbonation, Boo. Those Gauls may be barbarians, but they know their stuff." Christina poked his nose as she called him Boo, she then sauntered over to a nearby Ice Swan sculpture and picked up a small piece of the ice that had broken off, before dropping it into his Champagne. "There we go. Champagne Akratos." She said, before slowly swilling the champaign around in the glass, causing the ice to mildly dilute the Champagne. Jason took another swig, seeming to prefer it this way. She looked at Bailey. "Old Greek tradition. Although they used to use Snow." She smiled. "Hey, if i'm gonna have an ancient greek honey, then momma's gonna do her research to keep her sweet baby biscuit happy." Bailey nodded, impressed. "Right, you stay here, i'm gonna go see if i can find Starfire, i wanna know if that slashfic of her and Warbird i read the other day holds any water. She seems the approachable type."

"I am curious to meet Thor. Father told me of his legendary strength. I wish to test it." He smiled.

"YES!" Christina's smile stretched from ear to ear. "We need to get you and Thor into a pose-off. Like that scene from that film i showed you about the castle in the sky?"

"I've told you before, the straps on my armour are made from the finest leather, i cannot simply "Burst Them With My Rippling Muscular Prowess" As you put it." He sighed. She put a finger over his lips.

"Shhhh... Let your momma dream." Jason stared awkwardly at Bailey, as if asking how to respond, Bailey had just as little idea.

---

It had been half a day or so onboard the helicarrier and Bond was still, even now, amazed at the size of the thing. By all accounts something of this magnitude should have been spotted over a dozen times, but the crew onboard were obviously professionals. Not to mention their cloaking technology, far surprassing anything close he'd seen in Q-lab. The preliminary tests on an 'invisible car' were less than satisfactory to say the least. He could only assume that as per the usual modus operandi of SHIELD - their tech had been backwards engineered from some captured alien craft.

He'd been given his own room aboard the craft - one that served as a prison cell in the small period of time while the operatives onboard verified that he was, in fact, who he said he was. He'd insisted they use the analogue communication device rather than their onboard computer to get through to M. Bond had stressed that it was of the utmost importance that his name and whereabouts were not mentioned. He doubted Scaramanga could intercept encrypted communications coming from SHIELD to MI6, but somewhere in the back of his mind he worried about the extent of this mans power.

Unfortunately for him, the operatives on hand did not heed his advice.

M was contacted through the usual SHIELD channels. A direct call through a computer more advanced than any consumer had had the chance to come near touching that reached a modified rotary dial phone - one that only rung when something of the utmost importance had to go to M. She was informed of the situation and verified that James was the double-oh agent he said he was. Shortly after he was given free roam of the ship, and Felix had taken him to the mess hall for a much needed meal.

"It's not exactly foie gras, but it'll do." Said Leiter, sliding his tray onto the table and taking a seat on the plastic chair. Bond did the same opposite him, tucking into his burger. He was no snob, and in this moment he was much happier to see the plain, straightforward meat sandwich over anything fancy.

The two exchanged the usual small talk agents do after a successful mission, followed by the expected patter Felix expected from someone new to the helicarrier. Finally the conversation drifted to what personal details they felt secure enough to give each other - usually talk of pop culture or sports. Despite their mutual connection through bloodshed they were both experienced enough to know this proved nothing in the long run.

"So, what now? Your boys work over the agent and I continue on my merry way?"

"Not sure. Have you got any other leads to follow?"

"None at all. Maybe the girl who sent me after you, I've got a tracker on her, but I fear it might be walking into a trap. Scaramanga let us live in Kowloon he had us dead to rights."

"You're not wrong there, chief. I say wait until we can get some info out of this guy and sit tight here before you go off getting yourself killed. Not my decision though, the director has requested to speak with you."

Bond raised an eyebrow. "The director, huh? I guess I'm finally moving up in the world."

"I wouldn't look too pleased." Felix checked left and right quickly to make sure no one could overhear him, then leaned in and whispered. "The guys a real hard-ass. I guess you've got to be to run a place like this, but don't expect him to pull any punches."

---

Once a spy always a spy. it was hard to turn off his penchant for information gathering. Finally they approached the main man.

"Like what you see, Mr. Bond? How does SHIELD compare to your standards across the pond?" Boomed the voice of Nick Fury. He spoke with authority, yet one that was relaxed enough to know he didn't need to force anything to gain it.

"Let's just say I'm glad you're on our side." He held out a hand for Fury to shake. Fury almost smiled as he returned the gesture, it had been a long time since anyone had bothered with such formalities with him. He'd always enjoyed working with the Brits, they held themselves to a standard most other countries had stopped bothering with. "And if the rest of your field agents are anything like Felix then I'm sure America is in good hands. I doubt I'd have made it out of China without his quick thinking."

"Well that means a lot coming from a double-oh, especially one without any proper missions under his belt." Fury's comment was cutting, but something underneath the surface told bond that this was probably the closest thing to a compliment he could expect to receive from the big man. "Regardless, I've had my people speak to M. Unfortunately I wasn't available at the time, it's been too long since I've had the chance to speak to her, how is she doing?"

"Is 'good' ever the word to describe how M is doing?"

"You make a fair point there, Bond. Regardless, I'm glad SHIELD is getting the opportunity to work with MI6 again. We've been far too insular over recent years." He tapped a few keys without looking and a large holographic image was projected just behind him. "We've got your agent simmering in a cell right now and we'll get our best men on extracting as much information from him as possible. I'm sure Agent Leiter already let slip just who these guys were working for."

Felix looked nervous. Bond rushed to his defence. "Yes, I'm afraid it was pertinent to the mission at the time. HYDRA was it?"

Fury shot a glance at Leiter that would send a panther scurrying away. "Correct, HYDRA, despite our efforts, seems to have returned. We aim to squeeze as much info out of our man as possible. Possibly set up a web of sources before they can close the gap. It's a good job you brought him back this has really given us a leg up."

"I've got to say it was all Felix's doing, director. I was content to get out of there in one piece." He took a look at the screen, it was displaying a map of a city along with some scrolling text. "Although, if I could make a humble request - I was actually in Kowloon hunting the man hunting me. Scaramanga. I can only assume that HYDRA being so close behind him means they're working together. It might be in our mutual interest if you can squeeze any information out of him about my assassin and I can go and deal with my problem with a leg up."

"Consider it done. Now, onto the matter at hand." Fury gestured towards the map. "M has given us permission to make you an honorary SHIELD agent, Bond. Congratulations, we don't normally allow limeys through the door."

Bond smiled. "I can only assume this comes with some strings attached. Hows the pension plan?"

"Fantastic. You'll be living in Cabo by the time your hair turns white. We've got a mission for you, one that fits your skillset rather than our usual branch. We need a scalpel for this, not a hammer."

"Sounds interesting."

"Oh it is, Mr. Bond." He reached into his coat, pulling out a brightly coloured strip of paper. "We've got you a ticket to the Therapeutix Annual Gala. This years theme is superheroes. SHIELD needs a man on the ground, someone to take note of any important individuals you might see there - anyone that could be an asset or, worst case scenario - a threat."

Bond smiled. There were far worse missions to go on than attending a party - especially one where the alcohol is free and not free of alcohol.

---

---

He'd suited up before he'd been dropped off inside his Aston Martin on the outskirts of New York City. He wore a midnight-blue Tom Ford suit tailored in London; a single-breasted jacket cut close through the waist, matching trousers pressed razor-sharp down the leg, a crisp white shirt and a dark navy silk tie secured with a subtle silver tie clip. The outfit was understated enough to disappear into a room full of billionaires, politicians and celebrities, yet cut well enough to be remembered afterwards. Bond considered that the hallmark of any good suit. It had been specially made to conceal his shoulder holster, along with having enough room to fight in - as were all of his suits provided by MI6.

To go with this was a pair of clear contact lenses, the kind even the most acute eye couldn't detect on inspection. These served as a real-time HUD - spitting out information with facial recognition, heart-rate monitoring, building schematics, and a variety of other tools that would no doubt come in handy if the metaphorical shit hit the hypothetical fan.

He pulled up to the door where a long queue had been forming, full to the brim of those dressed their best - in one way or another. Some in suits, some in costumes, some in both. He handed his keys off to the valet, and straightened the sleeves of his suit jacket as he stepped onto the lavish red carpet. One of the bouncers quickly unhooked a velvet rope to allow him through as the other stopped a short young chap wearing an ill-fitting tux at least 2 seasons out of fashion over his rather high-tech looking superhero costume from getting past. Bond shot him a wink as he was turned away despite his best efforts to argue otherwise.

He avoided the pacing sentries of waiters expertly trained in their movements across the lavish space. He was never a big fan of champagne - or any sparkling or carbonated alcohols for that matter. And while the canapes did look delictable he refused any offered for fear of spoiling his breath. An event like this was just the place to make first impressions, and gather information - and one couldn't do either effectively with bad breath.

Instead he manoeuvred his way over to the bar, taking a seat at the far end where he could keep one eye on the entrance and the other on the room itself. Old habits died hard. A man in his profession quickly learned that the best seats were rarely the most comfortable ones.

The bartender looked up from polishing a crystal tumbler. "What can I get you, sir?"

Bond took a moment to survey the impressive collection behind him. Scotch from the Highlands, cognac from France, bourbon from Kentucky and enough champagne to bankrupt a small country. "Any chance you've got haig and haig?"

"Unfortunately not, sir. Although I commend your taste."

"Ah, well then. When in Rome do as the Roman's do. How about a tumbler of Four Roses Single Barrel? Neat, please."

"Not a problem."

The glass arrived a moment later. Bond lifted it slightly, taking in the aroma before allowing himself a small sip. He slipped the bartender a nice tip, despite his objections that the bar was free. Bond had been in enough bars to know that keeping one of the staff sweet meant information was easy to come by, and more importantly, drink. No doubt he'd get preferential treatment once the bar started to become more busy.

He let the conversation around him wash over him as naturally as the music. Politicians making promises they had no intention of keeping. Industrialists discussing markets. Scientists trying to explain their work to people far more interested in the food than the future of mankind.

His contact lenses quietly went to work. He scanned the room, washing his vision over unimportant hero after unimportant hero. Most of them had very little information, and if any none of it was very interesting. Then he began searching for the businessmen.

Names drifted across his vision, along with a surprising number of tax investigations. One gentleman currently explaining the finer points of renewable energy had apparently once attempted to steal a tank. He wondered if any of this was useful for SHIELD. Fury seemed much more concerned with getting a good look at some of the bigger heroes, none of which had been spotted yet.

A movement at the opposite end of the bar caught his attention. Rather than because it drew any attention it was for the opposite reason, it was because it was so subtle. She was beautiful, with dark hair complimenting her mediterranean features and a stunning dress which was a deep shade of burgundy, the colour of old wine, cut elegantly without ever straying into extravagance. A pair of modest silver earrings and a matching bracelet completed the look.

He watched her without watching her. She'd somehow managed to claim the only other stool at the bar with an unobstructed view of every entrance and exit to the ballroom. Better still, the mirror behind the bottles offered a reflection of almost the entire room without requiring her to turn around. Not many people thought like that.

Bond allowed himself another sip of bourbon, studying her reflection rather than the woman herself. She wasn't chatting with anyone - other than ordering a drink. She wasn't scanning the room nervously either. She simply watched, taking the measure of the crowd with the sort of patience usually reserved for hunters.

He zeroed in on her with his contact lenses - sending minute movements that began to scan her appearance. No match. None at all. Sure that made sense for some of the more masked heroes wandering around, but for someone with their entire face visible?

The bartender wandered back over. "Another, sir?"

Bond glanced down at his glass before nodding. "And whatever the lady's having."

"Sorry, sir, which lady?"

Bond looked back and she had disappeared. This night just got more curious by the minute.

"Never mind." He picked up his drink after thanking the bartender and moved away from the bar.

Thor struggled for a while to decide what he was going to wear to the Therapeutix Annual Gala. He had never been to one before and instead of going as himself, as Donald Blake, he was going as Thor. Though taking in account recent realizations, he was going as himself. It was still difficult to wrap his head around the fact that he was the mythological god of Thunder. Until now it was just a persona of his. An alter-ego that he had so that he could still live a normal life while being a superhero. But now he wasn't sure which side was the alter-ego.

He decided to reach out to Coulson for help and through whatever means he was able to provide him an outfit that was perfect for a Gala, but still made his heroic and godly presence known. Though he could personally do without half his chest out.



“Well, I like it.” Jackee called from the bathroom as if she were able to read his mind. It wasn't hard. She almost knew him better than his parents did at this point.

“You don't think that it's too much?” He asked, wondering if it was too late to change.

“I think that's the point.” She replied before stepping out of the bathroom wearing her dress for the evening.



Thor turned around to face her and for a moment was left speechless before finally mustering up the strength to speak. “Wow.” He was all he could say.

“A man of many words.” She giggled.

“You're stunning. You look like you're wearing the galaxy.”

“Thank you, Thor.” She said with a wink. “Thank you for inviting me as your date. I know we haven't really put a label on what we are, but I appreciate this. I hope you're okay with it. There'll be a lot of eyes on us.”

“There'll be a lot of eyes on you.” Thor said as he stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her waist. “They won't even notice me.” He leaned in to kiss her.

The two pulled back and Jackee turned her head to call out to their mutual friend. “Kori, how are you doing back there?”

Getting ready together had been Jackee’s idea, really, and Kori had welcomed it. She had attended plenty of events with the High Evolutionary - he was always schmoozing - but there was no guarantee anything she knew translated from parties on space stations and luxury cruisers and other planets to a gala on Earth. Jackee had helped her pick her dress, buy makeup, and even sent her a few video tutorials posted online. Kori had practiced her makeup several times leading up to the event, partly because she wanted to look like she belonged and partly because it turned out to be fun to do makeup.

As they all got ready for the gala - Kori and Jackee commandeering the bathroom because of the mirror, and kicking Thor out to get ready in his room - there was a sort of air of nervousness from the two heroes, though for entirely different reasons. Kori still felt like she was finding her footing on Earth Prime; belonging still hadn’t quite set in. The impersonal nature of the open invitation from Therapeutix didn’t really help her feeling out of place as a guest.

Jackee’s voice calling her from the other room shook her out of her heavy thoughts. Kori looked at herself in the mirror, doing a half-turn to make sure the zipper had been pulled all the way up, and smiled. She might have been an alien princess, but Thor had welcomed her to call Earth home, and Jackee had already stepped up as a true friend. What did she have to worry about her place amongst them?

She swiped her thumb along her lower lip, sharpening the edge of her coral pink lipstick before strutting out to find Jackee and Thor wrapped up in each other’s arms. It was cute. They were cute. She couldn’t help a smile at seeing them; they were a perfect couple even if they hadn’t made anything official yet.

“Well?” Kori asked as she stepped out, giving a slow twirl that stirred the sequined waterfall of deep purple chiffon. Somehow, she and Jackee had managed to cobble together enough bobby pins to twist her fiery hair into a rather elegant updo. “Will I fit in at a fancy Earth party?”



Jackee had already seen Kori in her gown while they were getting ready together in the bathroom, but she was even more mesmerizing with the makeup. You wouldn't have been able to tell anyone that she was new to applying it herself. She whistled at her and said, “Wowww. You look gorgeous, Kori. Doesn't she, Thor?” She nudged him to get him to speak.

Kori left Thor almost as speechless as Jackee did. He was seeing a new side of them both, but this was the first time since her arrival that Kori looked like the princess that she was. “Yes, she does.” He gave her a light bow. “Your majesty, you'll do more than fit in. You and Jackee will absolutely steal the show.”

A warm flush bloomed across Kori’s cheeks at their reactions. It’s the exact response she was hoping for - the one she wanted - but somehow it still felt like a little too much. Maybe it was being referred to with a royal honorific. It had been so long since the status of her birth had been acknowledged with anything more than sarcasm at best. It wasn’t like it was the first time Thor had done it, yet every time he did it made her insides twist in the best way.

“I believe we are already late,” Kori noted, “Shall we go then?”

---

Coulson had arranged a limo for the three of them. If nothing else, it did preserve Jackee and Kori’s hair from the wind while flying. The ride was lively with chatter - speculation of which heroes might show up, whether the heroes would show up dressed in formalwear or their costumes, what the party itself would be like… The ride went quickly and before they knew it, they’d pulled up in front of the venue and the driver was opening the door for them to exit.

As Kori stepped out, she was surprised by the opulence of the place. Clearly this was not where the real research happened - this was just an event space, but it seemed no expense had been spared whenever it was built. One thing that had surprised her by Earth was the lack of unity in style. Even different buildings on the same street might look wildly different. Homogeny was rare - something she was used to being far more common especially with the more advanced space-faring worlds she had visited.

When she was done taking it all in, she reached back to offer Jackee and Thor a steady hand as they got out, standing slightly to the side to give them enough room as they exited. She was glad they didn’t seem to be late as there were other cars just arriving with guests as well, despite the fact that the party sounded to be in full swing inside already.

Thor took a deep breath to get the last of his nerves out before reaching for Kori's extended hand. He stepped out of the limousine and looked ahead at the red carpet leading into the Gala and the numerous fans and reporters behind the velvet ropes hoping to get a glance or shot of their favorite heroes. This was all overwhelming to him. He reminisced on the days where he fought crime in the shadows of Metropolis while wearing a simple hoodie. Tonight seemed a far cry from that.

Thor turned and extended his hand for Jackee's to help her out of the limo. She held it as she stepped out into the night air. Last year she would've never imagined herself being at an event like this, especially as a superhero's date. Her life and career had taken a drastic leap that no one would have expected. She was happy, but wondered if her life would have ever turned out this way if she hadn't managed to save Donald that day after his first bout with Toyman. She shook the thought out of her head and put on her best smile.

Thor extended his left and right elbow so that Jackee and Kori could lock arms with him. Jackee was his official date, but he also didn't want Kori to feel alone. “Shall we, ladies?” He asked. Jackee stood to his right and looped her left arm into his right and nuzzled into his shoulder.

Kori snaked her arm through Thor’s, smiling at him and then looking past to Jackee as she cozied up to him. She’d been relieved when Thor had invited her to join them in attending. She’d gone back and forth on whether she wanted to attend alone. She’d never been to anything like this sort of party on Earth, and she’d learned from experience that much of the generally accepted customs on other worlds didn’t translate to interactions on Earth; she didn’t want to make a fool of herself in front of whoever might be in attendance.

“Yes, let’s,” she agreed.

Reporters sidelined by velvet rope clamoured for the perfect shot and shouted questions as they passed. It was a cacophony of “look here” and “who are you wearing?” and whatever else they thought was worth knowing about the two heroes and Jackee as they passed. Kori caught a few shocked expressions amongst the reporters, though she figured it was the fact one of their own was on the arm of the now infamous Thor.

M A R T I A N M A N H U N T E R
M A R T I A N M A N H U N T E R

The Therapeutix Gala
New York City, USA
@King Kindred@ThatDeercat@Half Pint@mattmanganon
J'onn couldn't help the small sigh of relief he let out once he saw Thor and Kori arrive. While casually mingling with people and just watching them talk was pleasant, not having many topics of his own to talk about quickly made most of the conversations tedious. Questions about favorite supers only went so far and most of the supers around were unknown to him and swarmed by others wanting to talk with them. He started stepping forward to meet them, but then stopped. Thor wouldn't know him in this guise, it was meaningless then to seek to talk unless he wanted to reveal himself. And if he revealed himself...He swirled the un-drunken glass as he glanced around the room. There was still the potential danger of Therapeutix being after them for genetic research. But there was also...

It wasn't hard to picture the crowd as green-skinned Martians, though these were rather better behaved than the Martian Elites would allow themselves within their own, celebrations. Especially around the heroic guests they surrounded. Still, that keen interest was still, intense. Though with several heroes, it was at least more, dispersed than it had been with one solitary...

"Quite the specimen of manhood, isn't he."

"He's a feast for the eyes and keeps the peace. What more can he do, doctor?"

Green hands pawed wherever wasn't covered by fabric in that 'uniform' J'onn knew Cay'an designed intentionally to be as it was! The hands grew bolder as more moon-water was drunk. His orders were to not move, but surely, surely the doctor wouldn't let them-

The champagne stem cracked in his hand, bringing J'onn back to the present with a wince. This was going to be hard to explain. Not to mention the fact that he also needed to stem the bleeding somehow. For now, he held the glass carefully so that everything seemed to still be together then turned away from Thor towards the bar. He just needed a napkin he could surreptitiously take home and some way to dispose of the glass discretely. Then, he could go back out there, enjoy tonight, and at least take comfort in knowing there were familiar, friendly faces around.

Fortunately, it was quite easy to locate where the bar usually threw away broken glass and to grab a leftover napkin. He just had to wait for the bartender to be focused with a customer before he took the risk of lowering the glass into the trash, using his telekinesis to make sure it made no loud crash. It was then he really noticed the man. At first glanced, he seemed quite ordinary, just at the bar for a drink. But there was a, watchfulness to him that exuded all the way to J'onn. A hunter's watchfulness. And if he was a hunter, what was his prey?

For a moment, he froze. Perhaps the hunter hadn't noticed him and he could leave. He did seem preoccupied with other things. However, if he had noticed him and he suddenly left, then J'onn would be suspicious for coming to a bar and not getting anything to drink, especially given that J'onn now had a napkin in his right hand. What should he-?

"Hey, you here to order anything?"

He blinked, then put on a slight smile. Caught by the bartender. Now he was on the hook. "A, club soda please."

He eyed him funny, but shrugged his shoulders. "Alright." Then went to prepare it.

J'onn just let himself sit on the bar stool, seeking hard to act relaxed given the circumstances.

---

Cay'an couldn't have been more thrilled when Thor arrived. If he hadn't come, then the whole night would have been a bust! And ooo, what pretty wrapping he'd come in tonight. Her mouth watered at the thought of unwrapping him and seeing the full package in it's glory. But patience was a virtue, and she couldn't have fun if she didn't get him first. The two members of his haram he had on his arms certainly were competition, but she was certain she could blow them out of the sand.

With that, she started forward, grabbing a grape from one of the offerings then walking in front of him, casually throwing it into her mouth once she was sure she had his eye contact. Then she walked on, giving him a slight beckoning call to come after her.

Unbeknownst to her though, there were some slight mental differences between an Asgardian and an ordinary human. Thor felt something like small ants within his mind as a war seemed to break out over whether the blonde woman with green eyes was simply beautiful or someone he wanted to follow on his own right this instance.

---

The White Mountains, New Hampshire

---

“So, no dress?”

“You’ll be representing the US armed forces, it felt prudent you rock up in a ball gown.”

“Well, sounds like their loss.”

Carol replied, her legs swinging back and forth as she sat atop the nearest available space, which in this case, happened to be someone’s abandoned desk.

“Plus, it was suggested it would help highlight that most of anyone else there is just a celebrity of a sort, you’re the real deal, officially sanctioned, American hero. Apples and Oranges.” Jim, who by this point Carol had adopted as the human member of staff she could get the closest to a full conversation out of, was rather busy at his own desk, fixated on the scroll of data on his screen as he kept up the chatter with Carol.

“Makes sense, I suppose.”

Carol stood up with a stretch, taking a few steps away from the desk, thankfully otherwise unoccupied at this particular time.

“I’m surprised they’re even thinking to send me, not that I’m complaining.”

She paused to look around the main floor of the Project, mostly abandoned for now. With a pause on operations for the moment most staff had made themselves scarce with the opportunity to take some actual time off.

“There was some debate about whether this sanctions the general state of independent ‘heroes’ too much, but I think they decided it was worse for the Warbird to not take centre stage.” Jim finally turned from his screen, his swivel chair doing a full rotation before he aligned himself properly to look at her, just as Carol was ‘adjusting’ a few of the personal decorations on another desk.

"Centre stage, no dress."

Carol picked up a photo frame from the edge of the desk, tilted it toward the light. Jim, younger, an arm slung around someone in a Cardinals cap. She set it back exactly where it had been, corner aligned to the same faint dust-mark.

"Different stage, different rules." Jim didn't look up from the screen, though the corner of his mouth gave him away. "Nobody's asking you to twirl."

"Shame. I've been practicing. Cheer Captain and all that."

She drummed her fingers once against the desk, a short percussive burst, then let her hand fall still.

“You want some good news? I can tell you the canapés are supposed to be excellent.”

“Now that’s the kind of intel I signed up for.”

He huffed something like a laugh and turned back to his screen, fingers moving fast over the keys, the scroll of data collapsing line by line into whatever shape he needed it in. Carol drifted the rest of the floor while he worked, past desks gone quiet, a corkboard still pinned with someone’s half-finished rota, the hum of an idle server somewhere behind a wall. She didn’t sit back down. Standing gave her somewhere to put the restlessness that talking hadn’t used up.

“Alright.”

Jim straightened, keys clacking through one last save, then stood and rolled his shoulders with the particular satisfaction of a man closing out a task list. “Come on. Let's get you sorted before anyone official shows up to hover.”

He led her off the main floor, down a corridor she hadn’t had reason to walk before, key card raised to a door with no markings beyond a small printed number. It clicked open onto a room laid out like a tailor’s fever dream, garment bags hung along one wall, a rack of accessories catalogued with more care than the file cabinets out front. Front and centre, already lit like the room had been built around it, hung the outfit.

Navy shading into something closer to violet where the fabric folded, a deep-cut bodice with a neckline that left no ambiguity about the tactical decisions involved, gold at the cuffs and collar in the sort of ceremonial excess usually reserved for admirals who’d never seen a deck in their lives. Epaulettes caught the light in small starbursts. A single glove, fingerless at the knuckle, sat displayed on its own stand beside a belt heavy with braid and buckle.

"You don't like it?"

"Jury's out."

She was already reaching for the hanger.

"Give me a minute."

Jim took the hint and turned himself toward the door, suddenly very interested in something on his phone. Carol disappeared behind the changing screen in the corner, fabric rustling, a muttered string of words which could have been reaffirming cheer chant designed to deal with the struggle of trousers having to fit both hips and waist. When she stepped back out the jacket sat exactly as designed, collar closed high, every button doing its assigned job.

She caught her reflection in the mirror propped against the wall and stood there a moment, turning her shoulder one way, then the other.

"Right."

Her hands went to the top button.

"Vision needs a rewrite."

"Danvers—"

"Relax, I'm not setting anything on fire."

Three more buttons went with a slight flex of power, until the collar fell open into something that would've given whoever briefed her a minor cardiac event. She adjusted the fall of the lapel with two fingers, tugged the fabric flat, checked the new line in the mirror.

"There. Now no one is going to mistake me for the Rear Admiral."

"That's not exactly the read the Pentagon's going for."

"The Pentagon can’t prove I didn’t lose them in flight if you don’t tell them."

She shot him a wink over her shoulder before heading towards the doorway, sweeping past him, using a few inches of flight to easily pat him on the head as she left.

“I won’t rat if you don’t.”

Then she set the mask in place, a modified version of her warbird mask, matching the colours of the rest of her attire, a golden and dark blue masquerade mask with just the hint of an Aqualine shape. Masquerade in style, it was as much propaganda as a disguise.

She didn’t wait for any further reply from the man before she was back in the main chamber. She caught her own reflection in the dark screen of a computer. Suddenly thoughts of her brothers, her father, were competing for a place in her mind that had been momentarily thinking only of the night ahead. Doubts niggled along with them. You can never replace them a voice that sounded a little too much like her dearest father wormed its way among the memories, and she felt the sudden urge to cover herself back up.

After a moment’s pause, she frowned at her own reflection.

“Screw you too.”

Then she was back in the air, a rush of movement around her as she soared into and out of the flight tunnel, back into the mountain air.

---

The Therapeutix Gala

---

“Look Up!”

The crowds and reporters outside of the Gala had only a moment to behold the newborn golden star bursting into life above them before the Warbird touched down, practically among them, at the far end of the red carpet.

As Carol stood from a pose that was half-kneeling, half a runner’s pose from where she had landed her eyes, hands and feet still burned with the same golden light, slowly easing to allow human eyes to discount the brightness and see the woman within. As she threw a casual salute to the stunned masses, that very same moment of suspense burst into cheers from the crowd and the clamouring of reporters for the best angle. Instead, Carol paused to take a few pictures with a few of the crowd screaming the loudest, before making her way towards the Gala entrance proper, her golden light slowly bleeding away as she did so.