LOOK AT ME!

The problem, which he was sure Matthew would come to appreciate even if he hadn't realised it yet, was that everybody knew each other. The world of the upper classes wasn't a particularly large one. Circles were small, especially considering how many individuals had no real employment to supplement their social lives with exposure to regular people. When somebody learnt a secret, they inevitably spread it at their club, or the next house they spent time visiting, or whatever else, and from there it would continue to travel until everyone knew but pretended not to.

So, considering that, it was best never to find oneself in a scandal of any kind. Of course, that was easier said than done. Mycroft managed, but he was hardly known for having fun. When you kept to yourself and didn't partake in nonsense, it wasn't quite so difficult to keep your name out of rumours where there was little of interest to be said.

"Of course, the benefit of the speed of gossip is that you yourself will hear things about others. Sometimes, this can be very useful. It certainly gives you an idea about what disgraced nephew or whatnot may be doing a tour of houses across the country as his family does their best to rid themselves of him while it all blows over."

Besides, he knew how to handle himself. He may not have been of this higher class, but he had been a member of society. People knew him, and they depended on him. He knew how to avoid a scandal. And even if he didn't, he wasn't the sort to put his foot in his mouth like that. "I appreciate the warning, but I've never been the sort to invite scandal."

Did he want to learn things about people, though? Perhaps once, as a working man, it may have been useful, but he was no Mycroft. His life was not one of listening and secrets. Matthew had always believed in honesty, and he didn't intend for that to change. "Is that what you do, Mr. Holmes?" There was more humor in his tone than accusation, but he was curious. "Listen to other people, waiting for mention of ruin?" He should pull back. He was risking offending the man he barely knew, and he didn't want to do that. Even so, that sounded like a terrible life. Always listening, waiting for something he could use. And what would he use it for? Sure, Mycroft laughed, and Matthew was in no rush to cause anything to sour between them, but it was...interesting.

An inch, a light year, the distinction didn't matter. Her cosmic travels had not erased her love for small blessings, small distances, small creatures. The empath listened, attentively so, as Taylor told her of her own travels when she was younger, and Mantis stifled a smile with a shake of her head, reassuring.

"It does not seem silly at all," she promised. Taylor grew up thinking she would never see anything beyond the planet where she was raised, and Mantis grew up thinking the same. Even though she called herself a Guardian of the Galaxy, the empath would never judge someone for being unfamiliar with space. Not when it was still new to her in many ways.

Taylor's next words warmed her heart, a smile spreading wide and bright, easily becoming a laugh.

"Maybe that just makes you remarkable," she replied, both teasing and genuine. She was a wonderful woman, kind and gentle, and, of course, she'd been on adventures that most people could only dream of. Not that Taylor was exactly jealous about that, because she didn't think she was Guardians material, but it was still beyond her.

"If my father had been there he would have stopped Mycroft pulling rank..probably would have avoided him coming in altogether..John would be the one to pull the rank, and I would have no choice but to listen" Amelia explained, "but I think you would like Watson, John doesn't take any of our shit" herself included.

"I am sorry to hear that your father died before you were enlisted..I know what it is like to be used..before I was taken hostage,mission gone wrong..Mycroft used me as a spy, to get information" a breath "I was good at it too. I was a Holmes who could use her looks, hell in heels is what they called me.. until my father decided that Moriarty was the nemesis he needed. Everyone has a weak spot Barnes, I was my fathers. The mission went wrong, Mycroft unknowingly signed my death warrant. Jim wanted the information I had, tortured me for it. Hung like a piece of meat for days..my father and uncle found me, barely alive, Jim however was long gone. And all Mycroft cared about was if I told his secrets" She would have taken that information to her grave, pointing to her shoulder with her head, with a huff of a laugh "so this..this is nothing.." it made sense why she was tough, because it had been wired and programmed into her.

He smiled faintly as she spoke again, appreciating the trust. It was a hard thing to come by these days, and he didn't take it lightly. He wouldn't break it. "Good to know." He looked at he wound as she uncovered it, frowning lightly. It didn't look good, but he'd take care of it.

Personally, he didn't mind that there hadn't been a third Holmes on location. He wasn't in the mood to deal with a shootout as well as more family drama. Not that he was a stranger to it, with a good amount of sisters, but his was never like this. "Sometimes the best sort of person you can have around is someone who doesn't take any of your shit."

He nodded as he began working on her wound, cleaning it as he listened to her. "Thank you," he said softly. Then he listened. He'd never been hell in heels, but he had been a ghost story. He was the thing people thought they saw when they looked over their shoulders. In some ways, depending on who he was behind, he still wished he could be that, but mostly he wanted to be away from that entirely. "When I was...you know, back then, all that mattered was that I got the job done. I wasn't a person. I was a weapon. And I was really good at being a weapon." He shrugged, not sure why he was telling her all of this. "But I never had my uncle as the one who made me into it, so who knows. Maybe it could have been worse." He said it lightly, trying to turn it into something better than it was.

She looks up at the skeleton too, one of the bipedal kind with massive legs and raised head full of teeth, and with a wry twist of her lips figures he's right. This isn't even the tallest specimen, and comparing it now to the memory of a subway station ... yeah, that ain't gonna happen. A soft breath gusts her lips, crossing that idea off the list. The other, however ...

"OK, so that gives me a direction to work in." Another sigh, hand rubbing the back of her neck. Legs stretch out, heels resting on the floor so her toes point straight up, less scientist and more kid on a school bench. "They'd have to be careful, with the genetics thing, I mean. Not to step on InGen's or Biosyn's toes. Not just the industrial secrets but, well ... they won't want anyone mentioning the body count."

Thera takes a deep breath, one that's trying to switch away from the idea of finding a venue - it's still a plan, but the more she thinks on it the bigger the task begins to seem.

He hates to be so vague, especially as someone who has always known just what he wants out of life, but he thinks it's fair to say that he's been in something of a funk lately. There's been some discussion with Parker-Genix, but that's consultation, and it doesn't help him get a job. It really doesn't help with the museum. Maybe he should go back into the field, but who cares about digging fossils anymore? Well, he does, of course, but no one's going to fund that. His passion, his favorite thing in the world, is a dying art, and it kills him. That, though, isn't something he needs too get into right now, not with her.

They're both tired, both worn out. It's clear in the way they're both sitting on this bench like they're waiting outside of a courtroom for their hearing to continue. In a way, maybe they are. "We've gotten this far without anyone worrying about the body count. Jurassic Park became Jurassic World despite the fact that it was a monumental failure before it even got the chance to open to the public." He pauses, shrugs. "But that's not my problem. Maybe they'll go with something different."

When Loki's hand rises to rub at his throat, Mantis notices immediately. She refrains from making comments, though. The trickster god seems to be the kind of person that would hate being viewed as vulnerable, so Mantis looks away, as though she has not seen anything. She wants to make sure both Thor and Loki feel comfortable enough. It might take time, and she knows this. Trust is earned, not bestowed.

Thanos did assume he was the biggest, smartest, strongest being in the galaxy. Mantis knows this because she held his mind in her grasp. Her consciousness had mixed with his as she held him down, and she had felt the way he saw himself, the way he saw the cosmos, the way he fully believed he was saving the universe. The self-righteousness had made her skin crawl.

Loki's small smile helps banish that feeling to the back of her mind, though. Mantis returns the smile, hers a little bigger, a little brighter. She agrees. Thanos really was neither.

Still, as much as her pity bothers him, it is better than staring. Better than commenting. Both of which have not been the case for everyone. They very well may end up ruing this day when Loki is done licking his wounds, but for now he does not seem so pose so much of a threat for most. Right now, the God of Chaos is weary.

The labyrinthine workings of the phantom’s mind reminded Iskandar of more tangible passages contracted by the shah so many years ago, which perhaps also contributed to an uncalled-for restraint. What was he thinking? Iskandar could only guess, but something told him that this being— whether human, demon, angel—understood more than he let on.

Bah. Why should Erik concern himself so with these human emotions when it had been made quite clear that Erik was no human? What kind of Phantom worried himself over the concerns of men? But was the Phantom not born from the concerns of others? Oh, how he tired of these games. He was a man of puzzles, but he had never asked to have the weight of man on his shoulders.

But then he asks for her help and her stomach lurches, a strange thrum of determination palpitating in her chest as she nods firmly.

“Yes, of course. I’ll help you.”

Time isn’t on their side, so they’ll need to act fast. There has to be a way to get him out of this room without being too conspicuous. Carefully pondering their options, Lucy glances at the gurney, eyes lighting up with an idea that may just work.

But she agrees, and he cannot say that he isn't flooded with relief, and with more gratitude than he can say. It's always the case, these days. The amount of people willing to help them seems to only be getting smaller, so he will never take for granted anyone that will help.

Except, he's looking at her, and he follows her eyes to where they catch, and though he isn't any less grateful, he does feel a little less relief. It isn't like he hasn't had to do worse, but the idea isn't exactly thrilling. Still, it's the best they have, and now isn't the time to be squeamish.

After that, they fell further down the rabbit hole as the inevitable discussion of children was laid right out in front of them. Bucky explained that he used to want kids, but now he didn’t know as it hadn’t even seemed to be a possibility, and he just couldn’t see it. Then he asked if he should return the question, or pretend she didn’t ask at all, and she shook her head, “I don’t want our relationship to be like that. I spend so much of my life hiding. Doing my job, being my job. When I’m with you... I want to be a person. I want to be real, even if it’s difficult or uncomfortable. But the truth is... I don’t know if I can have kids, Bucky.” She sucked in a breath after that, afraid of what his response might be.

Back to kids, now. He might have preferred to talk about his family, but this was something that needed to be talked about at some point. Every thought rattling around in his head was coming out, and maybe that was a good thing. He listened to her, truly giving her his attention, and he nodded. "That's funny. I was just thinking the same thing. I figure the chances of even one of us being able to have kids is just about zero. I don't know what they did to me, but even if it wasn't intentional..." A pause. "I don't know. The Russians sterilized the girls they used for their projects. I don't feel like that makes my chances very good." Maybe she meant can more emotionally, but either way, he doubted it.