"Remind me again, Peter, what internships do you have lined up for this summer?" Harry said this midway through an egg salad sandwich and an equally-thick conversation on vacation plans.

"Um, let's see…" Peter scratched the side of his face as he thought. "Well, Oscorp - naturally."

"Duh." Harry chuckled and went for another bite.

"Then, Baxter Building Corp - not too sure about that, but, hey, worth a shot," Peter continued.

"Not sure about getting in, or…?" Harry swallowed. "Or is it the whole government think-tank-thing?"

"Little of both," Peter replied. "I mean, most of the guys at Baxter have PhD's and stuff, how the heck would I keep up?"

"It's just an internship, man, you're not competing with them," Harry said.

"Well, yeah, but… whatever, Stark Industries is what I'm gunning for, anyways."

"You and every other nerd in America," Harry said, leaning back in his chair.

"Yeah, well, how many other nerds are out there working with…" Peter frowned as he reached. "I dunno, high-density semi-liquid alloys! On a regular basis."

"It's not a contest, dude," Harry said, smirking.

"Doesn't hurt my chances, though, huh?" Peter replied.

"Yeah, probably not. Personally," Harry continued, "I hope you end up in Stark, too. I mean, yeah, my dad loves you and would love having you in his labs 'til you go to school, but…" He snorted. "If you got in with Stark, it would be like sophomore year all over again."

Sophomore year. The year of the Stark Expo, a.k.a. the Greatest Weekend Of His Life, a.k.a. the Weekend Harry Would Never Let Him Forget Because He Almost Barfed From Excitement In Harry's Dad's Jet On The Way There. "It would not! Harry, c'mon," Peter said.

"Okay, okay, fine. But you can't deny it would be cool as hell to be working for Tony freakin' Stark, you know?"

"I probably wouldn't be working directly with him, Harry," Peter said, patting down the possibility. "I mean, it would just be an internship. He's probably too busy."

"Who is, Peter?" Peter's aunt May entered the kitchen with a basket of clean, unfolded laundry in her arms, and she placed it on an open chair.

"Tony Stark, Aunt May."

"Oh, the one that's always flying around in that suit of his." There was a knot of worry or dislike in the sentence.

"Yeah! Just like Superman!" Harry said, and he laughed at his own joke.

"No, not like Superman," Peter said, frowning. "Last I checked, Superman was a reporter, not an inventor, and he doesn't need an armored suit to fly. Also? Superman is a comic book character. Tony Stark isn't."

Harry snorted. "Fanboy."

"God, shut up!" Peter said, though his outrage was only half-real.

"Well, the way I see it, there's not much job security in working for a man like that, super-hero or no," May said, beginning to fold the laundry and set it on the table between them all. "It's all so reckless."

"The suit's just publicity, Aunt May," Peter said. "He had that press conference after the A.I.M. terrorist scam thing."

"A.I.M.? Hey, if you don't get an internship at Stark, maybe you should give them a try!" Harry said. "Not much competition there."

Peter just rolled his eyes. "No way."

"Well, whatever. Stark's still using the suit," Harry said, and shrugged. "Hey, it's good publicity. I think it's a smart move."

"Well, I just don't like it," May said. "Zooming around New York doing god-knows-what. I'd be worried sick."

"It's not you in the suit, May," Harry said.

"Yeah, totally not worth worrying about," Peter said, trying not to laugh nervously, nor to think about the not-pajamas shoved in his pajama drawer.

The cameras were flashing like sequins on a dress as Tony Stark took to the stage. He flashed a few peace signs, a few smiles, before standing behind the podium and waving down the applause. "Easy, folks, easy. S'just me, let's chill." Laughter, excellent. "So, as they said earlier. I need no introduction. There is, however, a guy here that more than deserves one. Just backstage, actually. He's one of the most brilliant minds I've ever had the pleasure to meet - and, trust me, folks, I mean it - and now's your turn to meet him: Doctor Reed! Richards!"

Richards took to the stage like a small dog to a swimming pool, shielding his eyes and smiling awkwardly as he shook Tony's hand for the cameras. He looked perfectly insecure at the podium, Tony thought. Very endearing, in an old-school nerd kind of way.

"Uh, yes, thank you for the, um, introduction, Mr. Stark," he began, and needlessly cleared his throat. "I'm, uh… delighted to be a part of this collaboration between, uh… NASA and Stark Industries. With Mr. Stark's, uh, very generous sponsorship of this program - tentatively titled the Midgard Program, tentatively - we can, uh, look forward to… enormous advances in the development of, uh… not just space travel, but science in general."

The rest of the speech went similarly roughly, punctuated by smatterings of light applause until Tony took over again and wrapped the thing up with the energy of a game show host.

"Loved the speech, by the way," he told Richards, during the reception afterwards. "Very Jeff Goldblum."

"I… hope that's a compliment," Richards replied.

"'Course it is," Tony said. "People love this stuff. Awkward Scientist is in this year."

"I'll… take your word for it," Richards said.

"Ah! And if it isn't the rest of the gang." Tony moved past Richards with his arms outstretched, approaching, of course, the lady first. "Ms. Storm, always a delight to see you. So sad you weren't asked to go on stage."

"Please, the credit's all Reed's," she replied. "I'm just one part of the team."

"A very attractive part of the team," Tony said, immediately following up with, "I mean, come on, there are guys out there falling over each other to get you on their projects. Though, I didn't imagine space travel was at the top of your priorities."

"If we want deep space travel to have any future at all," Susan replied, "it's extremely necessary for us to research the effects of low gravity and cosmic radiation on organic life. I'm here to fix any side-effects."

"Makes sense, makes sense," Tony said. "Care to explain the musclehead in tow?"

"Just here as my sister's guinea pig." Said musclehead pushed his way forward.

"X-Games just weren't extreme enough for you, eh?" Tony shook his hand warmly, nonetheless, a very believable grin on his face. "Nice work this year, by the way. Sean White had no idea what hit him."

"Thanks, man, I appreciate it," he replied.

"Also - is it John, now? Or still Johnny? Since this is a high-class operation, here."

"Johnny's fine."

"And you! Uh… Grimm, wasn't it?"

The man was bald and had somehow fit himself into a tuxedo. "Yep."

"I remember you. Valedictorian at Empire State University, right? Tried to get you on our team before Baxter recruited you," Tony continued. "Would've loved to see what you could have done for us. Always positions open for folks like you."

"Maybe next time," Reed said, finally butting back in. "When we get back from space, anyways."

"'Ey, Quill? C'mere and look at this."

Rocket had been navigating - well, more like babysitting the ship on autopilot - so Quill put down the shoes he was cleaning and climbed the ladder to the cockpit to see what it was.

"You seein' that?" Rocket continued.

"That" seemed to be a shiny something zooming serenely in the space before their dashboard.

"Looks like a guy," Quill concluded.

"Yeah. A shiny naked guy just hangin' out in the vacuum of space. No gear, no big," Rocket said.

Quill just shrugged, his mind still downstairs.

"And what the heck kinda ship is that?" Rocket continued. "It's a freakin' plank, how does that even work?"

"Looks like he's surfing, or something," Quill said, idly.

"Surfing? And, that would be?"

"S'a thing we do back on Terra," Quill said. "Usually on the water, though. Not space."

This time, it was Rocket that shrugged. "Eh, I've seen weirder."

"I am Groot," Groot agreed.

Speaking of weirder things, Bruce Banner, on his way to a conference in New Mexico, was pretty god damn sure he saw a guy on a motorcycle with a flaming skull for a head passing him on the highway as he drove.

Well, hell, it was a hot day, and he'd seen weirder.

"This couldn't be a better time, Erik. The public knows, now, that there are people out there, like us. If they can accept super-soldiers and thunder-gods, they can certainly accept us."

The two friends had met in the park for chess, and Erik ran a finger over one of his knights as he thought. "Do you even watch the news, Charles?" he finally said.

"Of course I do."

"Then you've seen what the politicians are saying." Erik moved his knight.

Charles did not reply immediately.

"They're demanding they be registered with the police. The government," Erik continued.

Charles moved a bishop. "That's not terribly unreasonable. It might even make things easier in forming support systems. Ways for us to find each other."

"You assume that all of them mean well?"

Charles had been holding back his mind, for the sake of a fair game, but the numbers on Erik's arm burned into his consciousness.

Erik knew. "Until I can be certain that this will not happen, that we will not be another scapegoat, I cannot agree. Nor can I come forward." Erik chose a rook this time.

"We cannot hide forever, old friend," Charles said, eventually.

"Until it's less dangerous? We must," Erik replied. "At least until that iron dolt stops parading about as if he's above the law and nobody else," he added, allowing a leak of snide distaste to come through.

"Quite fair," Charles said. "You do agree that we should at least know where our kind are, though, yes?"

The question was not as innocent nor as simple as it appeared, and Charles knew it. "What are you getting at, Charles?"

"Despite our differences, I do care enough to check in on you and your family, from time to time," Charles said. "When was the last time you spoke to Wanda and Pietro?"

Erik took his hands off the chessboard. "Charles, where are they."

"Working for the United States government as superheroes for the Avengers Initiative, last I checked."

"What."