Disclaimer: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Sorry about the delay, this was a bitch to write. And that said, this should probably be read the way you’d take a shot of espresso: eyes open, attention paid and on the count of three. One, two, three- GO!

Marie’s got a boyfriend.

“You in place, Gumbo?”

Marie’s got a boyfriend.

“Great, where’s the elf at?”

“Yeah, Kurt’s been to Stark Towers, he can bamf here once ya get Potts.”

Marie’s got a fucking boyfriend, you dickhead!

“Yeah, everything’s fine here. Nuthin’ t’ worry about, Blue Bitch’s still sedated out back. Be in touch-”

And he hung up.

Tried to tell himself that his head is actually in the game, though he knew it was a Massive Fucking Lie. Because-

Marie’s got a boyfriend. Marie’s got a boyfriend. Marie’s got a boyfriend. Marie’s got a boyfriend. Marie’s got a boyfriend!!!-

“Logan?” Rogue asked then, twisting in the pilot seat to look worriedly at him. He felt his gut twist in guilt at the sight.“You say something?”

boyfriendboyfriendboyfriendboyfriendboyfriendboyfriendboyfriend-

“No, darl’- Uh, Marie. Didn’t say nuthin’.” He popped the claws, tried to look badass. “Just stay sharp, okay? This might get rough-”

And immediately he turned away from her. Went back to sounding off weaponry in his head, hoping that Stark didn’t make too much of a fuss when he realised he’d been had. He kept his eyes glued to anything but Marie, knowing he didn’t wanna look at her now she was outta reach-

You are such a fucking dumb-ass, his inner Wolverine growled.

By de time Ah’m finished, Remy thought, they gonna be able to see this place from space.

And he grinned, turning the collar of his coat up against the chill ocean breeze. Switching off the thermal imager now they’d identified which room Pepper Potts was at. Also already planning which of Stark’s expensive-as-shit cars he was gonna total first for the bastard laying hands on his innocent, defenceless Jubilee. Behind him, fourteen year old Meghan Gwynne was leaning against a hotdog stand, waiting for him and Kurt to collect Potts so she could teleport them all back to the Mansion. The distance being too great for Kurt to manage on his own. Remy wished he hadn’t had to bring de petite, she was too young for this shit, but if it meant he got Jubie back he supposed he would live with it-

Though he knew he’d never hear the end of it if his belle femme found out.

“Are you ready to do this, homme?” he asked then. Turning to the elf, holding his hand out. A glowing Queen of Hearts charging between finger and thumb.

“Remy,” Nightcrawler deadpanned, “I vas born ready.” For some reason he’d decided to wear sunglasses even though it was dark out; Clearly he’d been watching Reservoir Dogs again. “Now let us do zis fuckink thing-”

And without another word he pulled the Cajun into a bear-hug, teleporting them away from the beach and into the Mansion. Leaving behind the tell-tale whiff of brimstone in his wake. An early morning surfer blinked, clearly unsure that he’d seen someone disappearing into thin air, and Meghan grinned.

“Extra credit assignments rock,” she murmured.

Because by now she could hear the sound of gunfire from across the bay…

“Sonofafuckingbitch!”

And Kurt grinned brightly as he bamfed into the Mansion’s front room. Kneeing one of the goombahs guarding Pepper Potts in the balls, slashing at another with his tail. Picking up an umbrella from the stand beside Pott’s chair and swinging it like a rapier, unable to prevent himself from smiling rakishly as another massive BOOM! Spilled out from Stark’s garage, followed by a triumphant Cajun bellow of “laissez les bon temps roller!”

I love it ven a plan comes together, Wagner grinned.

A massive hole appeared in the floor to his right then, through which Gambit’s glee-filled face could be seen. Kurt’s grin widened as he saw what looked like Stark’s prize 1948 Vincent Black Shadow Motorcycle go careening past the bay window of the massive room, followed shortly by the remains of Stark’s 1957 250 Testarossa Ferrari sports car. And then his Bugatti Type 41 Royale. For a second he and the goombahs were awe-struck, astonished by the sheer scale of automotive destruction-

And then Kurt recovered, taking his shot and bamfing through the room with acrobatic grace. Taking out three-four-five! heavily armed men before sweeping Stark’s damsel in distress into his arms and bamfing away. The red-head seemed startled- “There there, meine Suesse,” he muttered, “I have you-” And then they were out of there. Kurt’s thoughts already on getting the woman to Pixie, his mind focussed on picking up Gambit before he blew himself back to Westchester or caught the attention of the military, whichever came first. Had he stopped for a second he might have wondered why this Daken fellow he’d been warned about hadn’t appeared while he was saving Pepper-

But it didn’t occur to him. Because right now he was on a roll…

The man heard his private phone beep, pulled it slowly from his pocket and read the text he’d just received. Potts broken out, it said. Stark no longer on-side. Caved and squealed to X-Men. Move forward with the publicity phase of the campaign?

And then, because Daken was a sick little bastard, what looked like a blood-stained smiley face, holding two thumbs up.

Visibly, the man sighed.

He should have known that this would not go quietly. Not when Tony fucking Stark was in the mix. He just couldn’t quite believe that Stark had willingly given Potts’ location away. The boy genius been so ridiculously careful with her since the organisation had taken Emma Frost-

But then maybe he was tired of being careful by now.

The thought triggered another sigh.

The man pulled his hand out of his pocket then, checked his Rolex. Dawn. Which meant that if they went public with phase two then half the news birds in the city, and the NYPD and the tourist fliers, would be in the air to witness the publicity phase of the campaign, as Daken termed it. And report just how rabidly the X-Men had gone out of control. He probably wouldn’t get a better chance than this and he knew it: He just couldn’t shake the feeling that he was going to regret letting Daken force his hand. Since he was not the sort of man who liked to be rushed. But he sighed anyway. Nodded. Then sent Daken a simple You have a go as his secret service handler darted forward- “Here you go, Senator,”- easing him into the limo and away. He watched the streets go by, wondering why felt so uneasy-

Because Norman Osborne couldn’t shake the feeling that his morning was about to get a whole Helluva lot more complicated than he’d initially thought…

Meghan Gwynne wasn’t really an X-Man.

She was Welsh for crying out loud! her nickname was Pixie! She had wings and naturally pink hair and she produced a cloud of hallucinogens when stressed which looked a loooot like fairy-dust. She wasn’t the type of person you sent into combat; she wasn’t even the kind of person you took with you when you wanted to complain to a manager in the mall. And she was only fourteen years old, which was way too young for this shite. So when the giant, scary, Logan-looking git with the wicked claws yanked her from behind the hot-dog stand where she was hiding, she did the sensible thing-

She took him where he told her to. After all, she’d been to Stark Towers on a field-trip before. She just hoped Mr. LeBeau and Mr. Wagner would forgive her by the time they got back to the beach with Pepper Potts-

Because she didn’t think Mr. Stark would be happy with Daken stealing his new, shiny metal suit-

It was breaking news.

Callum stared, horror-struck, as the jets sped through the air in Manhattan. Pulling manoeuvres no human would have been able to match, dancing and turning through the air with astonishing grace. The morning traffic crews had picked up the story and now half of New York was following it: Someone was engaging in a high-speed, jet-powered dog fight over the Five Burroughs-

And if his eyes didn’t deceive him that someone was his girlfriend. He recognised the marks on the plane- it was the, what did they call it? The Blackbird. And it was currently playing chicken with an Stark Industries plane. The guy beside him, the kinda camp blond who could ice up anything, grinned brightly at him, sipping his coffee. “Aren’t you proud of your girl?” he asked him. Gesturing to the screen like Marie had just gotten on Wheel of Fortune. Callum didn’t answer; he merely glowered at the TV-

Because when Marie came home she would have a looot of explaining to do…

“We there yet, dar- Rogue?” Logan asked suddenly, making her jump.

Also making her look up from the Blackbird controls for the first time in an hour.

She nodded tightly, trying to ignore the way his weird-shit, guilty-looking behaviour was effecting her- Didn’t really work, but Hell, she tried- And gave him a strained little grin. Despite the fact that she’d sworn blind to herself she’d never smile at him again after Vegas. “Sure shug- uh, Logan,” she muttered. “We’re heading in for our final descent now. Trajectory’s locked onto Stark Tower now. Kurt and Remy in position?”

“Yeah, the elf’s just gone in.” He was standing behind her, his nearness painfully distracting even through the pilot seat’s back. Fucking hormones, she thought resentfully. Ah swear they’ll get me killed. “Gambit wanted to go in like the 51st Airborne over what Stark did to Jubes-” he continued, shaking his head, “but I managed to talk him out of it- Told him that we’re tracking the girls’ GPS coordinates, that they’re gonna be fine-”

And then suddenly he trailed off. Frowning- no, glowering- at the dash.

Which was, Marie knew from bitter experience, an Apocalyptically bad sign.

Because a tiny, glowy plane-shaped icon had appeared on the Blackbird’s central monitor. And it was soon joined by another glowy, dot-shaped icon which appeared to be trailing the first. Both were blinking on and off, rapidly turning from green to red and then back again. Making an irritating pinging noise which Marie associated with more aerial dog-fights than she cared to remember. And (more ominously) her first, terrifying mission flying the Blackbird at Alkali Lake. Rogue frowned, watching as the red alert sign appeared on the view screen above her- Right next to the words opponent engaged. And emergency manoeuvres recommended. And, somewhat redundantly, fasten seat belts now.

They both thought it but only Logan said it.

“You have gotta be fucking shitting me,” he snarled.