Nearly a month had passed since Doom's broadcast shattered Jay's carefully constructed double life. The fallout was still settling like dust across his relationships.
The Fantastic Four had cut all ties. The X-Men were on better terms with him now, barely but even their gratitude came with conditions and suspicious glances.
SHIELD had immediately hired him as a "specialist consultant" the moment they realized how badly they needed his intel on Hydra's infiltration. Fury's pragmatism ultimately prevailed over his principles. Jay was useful. Not trusted. There was a difference.
Steve Rogers remained grateful. Jay had given him hope about Bucky, confirmed the Winter Soldier's identity, and provided a path forward. But Steve's hands were tied, any move to rescue Bucky would alert Hydra to their compromised status. So America's golden boy was forced to wait, knowing his best friend was out there, broken and enslaved, while Steve sat idle.
Tony Stark had begrudgingly followed Jay's advice about collaborating with Reed Richards. Together, they'd synthesized a new element that made the arc reactor safe and more efficient. Tony insisted on calling it "Badassium" despite Reed's protests. It had been Howard Stark's research, notes that Jay had passed to Reed months earlier, courtesy of Fury. Tony was alive and healthy, but their relationship remained purely transactional as gratitude mixed with wariness.
In Hell's Kitchen, rumors were spreading. A man in red with devil horns, swinging through the night and beating the hell out of gang members. Matt Murdock was making his presence known, one broken criminal at a time.
Luke Cage and Jessica Jones had made headlines recently with their new venture: Heroes for Hire. The controversy wasn't just about powered individuals charging for their services. It was about what it meant for everyone else. Insurance companies scrambled to create "superhero damage" clauses. Small businesses in their operating areas complained about being overlooked in favor of clients who could pay premium rates. But they were making it work, carving out a living helping people while navigating a system that had never planned for superpowers as a profession.
District X had been the biggest political shitstorm in decades. When Vice President Rodriguez proposed converting a Manhattan neighborhood for Morlock rehabilitation, Congress had lost its collective mind. Protests. Hearings. Death threats against anyone who supported it.
Media coverage split along predictable lines, conservative outlets calling it a "radical social experiment that threatens American values," while progressive networks hailed it as "a necessary corrective to decades of mutant marginalization." Corporate lobbyists worked overtime behind closed doors, framing the project as an existential threat to existing power structures and property rights.
The real backlash came from ordinary New Yorkers who'd been priced out of Manhattan real estate for years, now watching luxury apartments get demolished for "mutant housing projects." Property values in surrounding areas plummeted overnight. Local businesses shuttered rather than serve "those people." But with SHIELD backing, Stark Foundation's public support, and Fantastic Four endorsement, the project ground forward through layers of red tape and public outrage.
What nobody knew was the grease keeping District X's wheels turning. Every few nights, Jay slipped into private medical facilities through back entrances. A senator's daughter whose mutation made her skin transparent. A CEO's son with leukemia. A congressman's kid whose mutation was eating them alive from the inside out.
He healed them all, every single child whose parents had money and influence. The practice was invaluable, sure. Complex neurological cases, genetic disorders, conditions that would've stumped him months ago now resolved under his hands with increasing ease. But that wasn't why he did it.
The real reason sat heavy in his gut every time a grateful senator shook his hand or a CEO wrote another check to "Mutant rehabilitation programs." Parents who'd organized protests against District X, who'd called Morlocks monsters on national television, suddenly discovered compassion when their own children needed saving. Lobbyists who'd funded opposition campaigns quietly withdrew, their corporate masters now indebted to the man they'd tried to destroy. Congressional hearings that promised blood turned into photo opportunities, representatives praising "innovative solutions to the mutant question."
The Morlocks stayed safe. The Network stayed protected. His people got to live without looking over their shoulders every damn day.
Jay stood in his sparse safe house, looking at his packed travel bag on the bed. Five months of nonstop juggling. Time for a break.
Footsteps on the stairs. Bobby's timing was impeccable.
Bobby stood at the door, worn down but steady. "You really are somethin' else, kid," he said, Brooklyn accent thick. "Settin' up that District X thing, givin' the Network and them Morlocks more money than they know what to do with, and now you're just packin' up and walkin' away."
"Taking a breather, old man," Jay corrected, shouldering his bag.
"Why now, though? When everything's finally workin'?"
"Because it can run without me for a while. Network's solid. District X has momentum." Jay shrugged. "Sometimes you gotta step back."
Bobby studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "C'mon then."
At Bobby's pickup, the old man reached into the truck bed and pulled out a duffel bag. "Happy birthday, kid. Linda, Maria, Max, and Tom all chipped in."
Jay blinked and checked the date. He'd turned twenty-five today. Completely forgotten.
Inside the bag: a hand-knit scarf from Maria, forest green with gold thread. A thermos with "World's Okayest Mutant" etched in Linda's careful script, the joke was layered. She'd been calling him that since he'd accidentally healed her hangover and then complained about the headache it gave him. A photo of all five of them at the diner, taken during one of those quiet evenings when the world had felt manageable. Max had insisted on it, saying they needed proof that good things happened, too.
And at the bottom, wrapped in tissue paper like it was made of glass, a pendant on a thin silver chain. Tom's contribution. The man barely spoke above a whisper, but his care ran deep as bedrock.
Jay grinned, running his thumb over the compass face. "You guys didn't have to do this. But what about you, old man?"
Bobby's answer was to pull him into a quick, solid hug. "My gift is keepin' a home waitin' for you. You're family, kid."
"I'll call every week," Jay promised against Bobby's shoulder. "Even send stupid tourist photos and everything."
"Damn right you will." Bobby clapped his shoulder hard, then stepped back and wiped at his eyes without shame. "Now get outta here before I get all weepy."
Jay drove through the familiar streets of New York, catching glimpses of the city he'd helped reshape. Construction crews working double shifts on District X infrastructure, their work lights turning the night harsh and bright. SHIELD agents trying to look casual while obviously standing guard. Small protests still gathered at the site's perimeter, mostly older residents holding signs about property values and "neighborhood character."
But there were other changes too. A clinic that had opened three blocks from the construction site. A bodega owner who'd started stocking different products. Small cracks in the wall of hostility, letting light through.
At JFK, Jay returned his rental and made his way through the private terminal. SHIELD had arranged a jet, one of Fury's quiet gestures that said more than words.
The jet was smaller than the commercial planes roaring overhead, sleek and efficient. Jay settled into one of the leather seats and pulled out his phone, scrolling through his itinerary once more. Japan first. The contact there was already waiting, someone who'd been flagged as worth meeting. After that, the route got flexible.
He caught his reflection in the jet's window as it taxied toward the runway. Looked older than twenty-five, but that came with the territory.
Behind him, New York glittered in the darkness. Bobby would be telling the others by now that he'd gotten off safe. They'd mark their calendars, waiting for his calls. Family stuff.
The jet engines hummed, building power.
Jay closed his eyes and let himself smile.
Yeah. This was going to work out.
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