"We're here."
The taxi driver's voice pulled Jean from her thoughts. She looked up and saw, through the window, the front of Arthur's house.
The same house she had sworn to herself she wouldn't set foot in again anytime soon.
After paying the fare, Jean stepped out, adjusted the red hair falling over her shoulders, and took a deep breath of the cool evening air.
"It's been a long time since I was last here…" she murmured, crossing her arms as she stared at the gate as if it, too, held memories to return.
She rang the doorbell. The chime echoed briefly before footsteps sounded from inside.
The door opened.
Arthur appeared, casual in a simple T-shirt, a hint of surprise in his eyes.
"Jean?"
"Surprised to see me?" She arched an eyebrow, a crooked smile tugging at her lips.
"A little. I figured after last time you'd have added my house to your list of places to avoid."
"Oh, come on, Arthur." Jean placed a hand on her hip. "It wasn't that bad."
"Not that bad?" He crossed his arms. "Last time you were here, half my backyard turned into a crater and the electrical system caught fire because of Scott. I took cold showers for a week."
Jean tried to hold back a laugh—and failed miserably.
"Okay, maybe it was a little bad. But in my defense, you provoked it."
"Oh sure, absolutely. I merely mentioned that telekinesis is great for opening wine bottles and that eye lasers are only useful as signal flares, and you all decided to prove me wrong by destroying half my house."
"It was a minor scientific accident," she said with theatrical dignity.
Arthur huffed, though a faint smile slipped through.
"Right, right. Come in before you decide to renovate the gate too."
Jean laughed as she walked past him with the air of someone who still had everything under control.
"I promise not to destroy anything. For now."
---
A few minutes later, in the backyard.
"Want something to drink?" Arthur asked, already opening the kitchen door.
"If you still have anything that doesn't explode, I'll take it."
He rolled his eyes and went inside. Jean used the moment to take in the place. Even after all this time, everything looked the same—the immaculate lawn, the wooden bench where they had once talked for hours, and that irritating tranquility only Arthur's house seemed to have.
"Here," he said, returning with two steaming cups.
"Tea?"
"Matcha," Arthur replied, handing one to her. "It's amazing. And try not to lift the cup with your mind this time, okay?"
[A/N: Matcha tastes similar to a Brazilian drink called chimarrão.]
"Very funny."
Jean took the cup and studied the green liquid. The aroma was subtle, almost hypnotic. Curious, she brought it to her lips and took a sip.
Her eyes immediately lit up.
"Oh my God… this is delicious!"
Arthur rested his chin on his hand, watching her with a satisfied smile.
"Told you. Matcha is practically the elixir of calm. Which means maybe you should drink five cups. Maybe more, considering you teach children."
"Comedian, part two." She rolled her eyes but took another sip. "Seriously, why have you never made this for me before?"
Arthur raised an eyebrow.
"Jean, did you forget that, aside from that party at Tony's, the last time we saw each other Wolverine was trying to turn me into carpaccio?"
Jean blinked a few times before bursting into laughter.
"Okay… fair point. But admit it—you provoked Logan."
"I just said he looked like a grumpy raccoon. I didn't think he'd take it personally."
"Arthur, you called him a raccoon in front of everyone."
"So? It was a term of endearment."
"A term of endearment? To Logan? And worse, knowing he still held a grudge against you?" Jean teased.
"The past should stay in the past," Arthur replied immediately.
Jean laughed, resting the cup on her knee. "I missed this… your terrible attempts at diplomacy."
Arthur smiled faintly. "And I missed your dramatic entrances—blowing up gates, lighting things on fire with your mind, and ruining my homeowner's insurance."
She glanced at him, her smile almost tender.
"You should be grateful. I keep your life interesting."
"And I keep your therapist employed," he shot back, taking a sip of his tea.
Jean let out a clear, crystalline laugh and shook her head. "Touché, Arthur. Touché."
They fell silent for a moment, listening only to the distant hum of the city and the soft rustle of wind through the trees.
"So…" Arthur broke the quiet in his usual casual tone. "Did you come all this way just to compliment my tea, or is this an official visit from the most beautiful redheaded mutant on the planet?"
Jean smiled, resting her chin on her hands.
"That depends. Are you going to offer me another cup?"
Arthur sighed.
"I knew there was a second motive."
---
---xXx---
Inside a black aircraft carrier slicing through the clouds above the Atlantic, a symphony of technological lights and sounds echoed through metallic corridors. Massive screens, monitors, and control panels blinked endlessly, projecting holograms, satellite images, and real-time surveillance feeds.
It was as if the entire world were being watched from there.
And in a way, it was.
Hundreds of agents in dark uniforms moved back and forth, their attire discreetly bearing the silver eagle emblem. Beneath it, the well-known letters:
S.H.I.E.L.D.
Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division.
The invisible heart of global security.
At the center of the command room, a stern-looking man observed everything from an elevated platform. The blue glow of the monitors reflected off his leather coat and the black eyepatch covering his left eye.
Nick Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.
As the crew worked, a firm female voice echoed behind him.
"Director Fury, we've got something interesting coming out of New York."
Nick turned his head slightly, immediately recognizing the voice—Maria Hill, his most trusted second-in-command.
"Define 'interesting,' Agent Hill," he replied, eyes returning to the sea of lights below.
She stepped forward and handed him a tablet. On the screen, shaky footage showed a masked figure swinging between the city's buildings—agile, graceful movements, clad in unmistakable black, white, and pink.
The video had clearly been recorded by an excited civilian, judging by the cheers and applause in the background.
"A new vigilante," Hill explained. "Civilians have already started calling her 'Spider-Woman.' She showed up on Fifth Block, stopped an armed robbery, saved a hostage, and disappeared."
Nick took the tablet and watched for a few seconds. His eyes narrowed as the glow from the video illuminated his face.
"Hm."
"Should I open a file?" Hill asked.
Fury swiped his thumb across the screen, pausing on a clearer frame of the girl. Even through the mask, it was obvious she was young. Very young.
"How old would you say she is?"
"Eighteen, maybe nineteen. Hard to tell because of the suit," Hill replied after a brief assessment.
The director exhaled lightly and handed the tablet back.
"So just another kid with superhuman reflexes and too much of a justice complex for her own good."
Hill crossed her arms. "Kid or not, she's drawing attention. It's already the most shared video in the last few hours. If she keeps showing up, she'll have half the press—and every bounty hunter in New York—chasing her."
"And the other half trying to sell toys with her face on them," Fury muttered, turning toward the main display.
Hill kept her gaze on him, waiting for orders.
"Want me to send a reconnaissance team?"
Nick considered it for a moment. The steady hum of the carrier's engines filled the silence.
"Negative," he finally replied, in his characteristic tone—half annoyed, half calculating. "As long as she's not blowing anything up, killing anyone, or attracting aliens… S.H.I.E.L.D. has more urgent matters to handle."
Hill raised an eyebrow. "Such as?"
"Such as making sure Stark doesn't turn military satellites into personal propaganda projectors."
A small smile tugged at her lips. "Fair enough."
Fury turned back toward the reinforced windows, staring at the dark sky beyond.
"But keep an eye on her," he added, his tone more serious now.
Hill nodded and moved off to carry out the order.
Fury remained where he was, the tablet still in his hand.
The video of the girl—of Spider-Woman—frozen mid-swing between skyscrapers.
He shook his head slightly, muttering to himself:
"Too brave for her own good… or just dumb enough to step into this world."
---
(End of Chapter)