#@subsilvernight

“Of course.  May I ask if you were wishing to do anything else during the time you’re here?  I know your advisor told me you’d be in New York for a week, so…” Director Coulson let his sentence fade.

“I do not know.  I had hoped perhaps to have a word with Iron Man, and King Namor is to arrive tomorrow; we may wish to see a show.  I have heard very good things about this Hamilton play.”

“Hamilton’s amazing,” Director Coulson said, his smile becoming larger and much more genuine. “Lin-Manuel Miranda is a national treasure.”

“Your President had made some noise of wishing to meet with me, but I really rather would not; I have dealt with Mr. Trump before in business matters, and found him to be boorish and inelegant.  I rather doubt that attaining the presidency has changed matters.”  

“President Trump is currently at Mar-A-Lago, your Grace.  I’ll inform you if that changes,” the director offered, his mouth closing, lips becoming thin; ah.  Victor could read between those lines very well; there was no love lost, but the man would say nothing against his ruler.  Good.  

Several more agents joined them as the Director led the way through a private hallway, two women, one whose very essence radiated danger, much as the Black Widow; the other was younger, but she moved with an efficiency close to the first.  Probably her protégé.  “Agent May, Agent Johnson,” the director introduced them.  “Agent Mackenzie is waiting outside.”

“Excellent.   One moment, if you would?”  At the director’s nod, Victor gestured to the two diplomats waiting for him.  “Have my luggage delivered to the embassy; the Director has come to collect me himself, and I do not wish to insult him.”

“Yes, Lord Protector,” came the expected answer, and a few minutes later, he was in the bulletproof limo with Agent May and Director Coulson.  Agent Johnson was in the front passenger seat beside Agent Mckenzie. The ride passed pleasantly for some few minutes before Director Coulson cleared his throat, leaning forward from the rumble seat.

“I don’t mean to presume, Lord Protector, but I wonder if you’d be willing to talk about the incident last week?  In the bay?”

“What is it you wish to know?”  Victor answered pleasantly; the man was courteous and deferential enough, it was of no matter to speak to him about the occurrence.

“Dr. Richards’ actions,” Director Coulson began.  “Iron Man described them as being dangerous.  Would you agree with that assessment?”

“Reed is an obnoxious twit,” Victor replied.  “We have been at odds for a very long time, and unfortunately, I do not see that set of circumstances ever changing.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of your common history,” Coulson nodded.  “But Iron Man claims, and the footage bears it out, that he was willing to go through Iron Man to get to you.”

“That is Richards’ problem. Not mine.  Not unless he makes it mine,” Victor said, closing his eyes at the sound of the edge to his voice.  “Forgive me.  We do have a great deal of agitated history between us, and it is easy to slip into old thought patterns and habits when speaking of him or his possible intentions.”

“Of course.  I have the same reaction when it comes to certain people,” Coulson said easily.  “I simply want to avoid any unpleasantness between you and the FF during your stay if we can at all.”

“I give you my word, Director Coulson.  Any unpleasantness that arises will find the blame laid at their feet, not my own.  I am…I dare not say a new man.  But I am endeavoring to become a better man than I have been, and a large part of that change means that I do not begin physical altercations.  I may well finish them,” he added, chuckling, “but I refuse to allow others the satisfaction of knowing that they provoked me into swinging first, as it were.”

“Fair enough,” Coulson agreed, nodding.  “Okay.”

  His heart, the heart he hid as best he could, fell as he saw the protestors outside the Latverian Embassy. Dozens of them, holding signs that protested his reign over his country.  L.A.F.F., Latverian-Americans For Freedom.  He knew of the group.  Most of the time, they held non-violent protests, though his intelligence said that there had been a few altercations with his diplomats and the robots that guarded the embassy over the last few years.

“I hope that after tomorrow, they’ll be celebrating,” Director Coulson said softly as the gates of the embassy opened, the robot guardians keeping the protestors away.

“That is my hope as well, but I dare not count on it,” Victor sighed.  “They will instead begin a conspiracy theory that I am doing this only for good publicity, and that I must have some sort of nefarious plot, that I am drawing the wool over the U.N.’s eyes.  It is a fair assumption for them to come to.”

“You’ve never gone this far before,” Agent May spoke for the first time.  “You’ve never come to the U.N. to ask for aid before in anything, not even after the earthquake several years ago.”

“No,” he agreed; that natural disaster had been horrible, especially in some of the mountain region villages.  “No. Latveria takes care of its own.” Weeks of rescue efforts, then years of rebuilding.  He had refused all offers of aid, setting the robots to find and rescue those trapped under rubble, had rushed doctors from the hospitals of Doomstadt, including his own personal doctors, to the sites where they were needed.  

The car stopped, the door opened by one of the robots, the ambassador to the United States, Aleksander, coming to greet him, dropping to one knee deferentially as he got out of the car.  “Lord Protector.”

“Aleksander.  You may rise,” he nodded graciously.  “Have the rooms I ordered prepared for King Namor been so?”

“They have, my Lord.”

“Excellent.  The salt-water pool?”

“Is ready for him.”

“Good.  Director Coulson, I will expect you and your agents tomorrow morning at nine-thirty; my appointment with the Council is at ten-thirty.”

“Yes, your Grace.  See you then.”  An acceptable answer, as the car drove on to the circle to turn around he entered the embassy building, going directly to the throne awaiting him and taking his seat.

“Report.”

“The U.N. is curious, of course, and is already gathering the teams necessary for your request, my Lord. We have received several invitations for you from the Chernayan and Symkarian Embassies, and a request for an audience from Anthony Stark and Steven Rogers.”

“Iron Man and Captain America,” Victor said thoughtfully.  “When did that arrive?”

“Yesterday evening, sire.”

“Inform the Chernayan and Symkarian Embassies that I would be happy to visit and renew my acquaintance with Lady Finitaz and Mr. Daru at their convenience, after tomorrow. Inform them I will ask King Namor to accompany me, but he may or may not do so.  Do you have the number for Mr. Stark?”

“I do, sir.”

“Bring me a telephone.”

 Darcy put her makeup on very, very carefully the next morning, trying to keep her hands from shaking too much as she applied her eyeliner.  She was going to the U.N. to observe the meeting between Von Doom and the Elections Committee, along with Tony, Steve, Natasha and Clint, as the political liaison for the Avengers Initiative.  Her navy blue suit still fit her like a glove, accentuating her hourglass figure, her wire rimmed glasses adding a hint of sophistication, her eyes looking just a hint bigger than usual thanks to a clever trick with her makeup.

The Avengers away team, as she was thinking of them this morning, were all in mufti; Tony in a divine cream colored suit with a sky blue tie, probably Italian, Natasha in a suit not unlike hers, though she was sure that ‘Tasha’s had special pockets for hidden weapons.  Clint and Steve both wore suit pants and blazers, though they had both skipped the ties. ‘Tasha smiled when she saw Darcy coming, holding up a hand and twirling a finger; dutifully, Darcy slowly turned around.  “Lovely. You are lovely and professional this morning,” Natasha began, then looked down at her feet.  “And those are good shoes.  Expensive enough to respect, cheap enough to leave behind if you have to run.”  Darcy looked down at her Sandro Mary Janes with a sad smile.

“Yeah, that was kind of my thought,” she sighed in agreement.  “But better to lose the shoes than my head, right?”

“Exactly,” Natasha nodded before turning on the men.  “We will meet you all at the car.”  Darcy took Natasha’s left arm, and the two women walked on toward the elevator, leaving the men slightly gobsmacked before they caught on and caught up with them.

 They entered the building through a private underground garage, riding up in an elevator that smelled slightly of freesia.  The floor they got off on could have been in any luxury office building, the carpet a soft muted gray, the walls fairly nondescript, a muted green wallpaper with a darker green zigzag line pattern.  The art that was hung here and there were landscapes, for the most part, though they passed by more than one photograph study as well, again, landscapes.  The Sahara.  The Congo.  Madripoor. The Alps.

They weren’t the first arrivals in the conference room they were led to; a few diplomats were already seated at the long oak table.  They looked up as the group entered, but turned their attention back to the laptops and tablets in front of them when it was obvious they were observers rather than participants.  Tony took a seat in one of the chairs lining the inner wall, and the rest followed suit, Darcy at the end farthest from the door and away from the windows at Clint’s insistence.  

While they waited, Darcy took a selfie for her Instagram and Twitter, #U.N. #she blinded me with political science, then switched to her audio recorder app; she wanted to record what was said so she could go over it later.  It was only about another five minutes before the room started filling up, other diplomats arriving both as more observers and the committee itself. And then they walked in.

Darcy had never met Namor or Doom, but the moment they entered, the room fell silent.  Both men carried themselves with a regal presence, aware of their importance, aware of their stature, they both had a confidence in their body language that could easily be mistaken for cockiness.  Doom was, of course, in his armor, but instead of the normal green cloak that he seemed to be so fond of, he wore a deep royal purple tunic and cape over it, the tunic belted at the waist, his metal boots and gloves trimmed in ermine.  A heavy looking, thick linked golden chain hung around his neck, a medallion falling from it square in the midst of his chest; the crown jewel of Latveria, his chain of office.

Namor, on the other hand, was sin on two legs.  His black hair was slicked back, and he smirked as he looked around the room, wearing a dark gray suit, Hugo Boss, if she wasn’t mistaken, though his feet were bare, as was his custom due to the wings that sprouted from his ankles.  He took a chair just to Von Doom’s left, and Darcy noticed as he passed behind Doom that one hand rose, just a bit -- was he actually patting Doom on the back?  Giving the man reassurance?  Interesting. “Namor his friend?  Patted his back maybe prior 2 conf.  Consider later,” she scribbled on her notepad.

“I wish to thank the council for granting me an audience on such short notice,” Doom began, still standing at the head of the table, his voice rumbling and deep, and oh God maybe Namor was sex on LEGS, but Doom’s VOICE was sex for her ears.  “I understand that this was very much an inconvenience, and I wish you to know that I personally, and the Latverian people, appreciate your time.”  He took a seat beside Namor, and the committee began questioning him directly.  What did he want to see happen?  How long a time frame did he project from beginning to end? Would he allow investigational and educational teams into Latveria?  Those questions and more in the same vein went on for about an hour, Doom answering them all patiently, sometimes taking a few seconds to consider his words before he responded, but never once becoming short or irritable so far as Darcy could tell.

When the meeting was officially over, some members of the committee lingered for a few minutes, speaking to Doom or Namor quietly before leaving the room with the other observers. Darcy gathered her things, but Clint brushed against her arm, flattened his palm and pushed out; wait, that motion meant, so she didn’t get up.  Finally, the only people left in the room were Doom, Namor, and the Avengers group. Tony got up first, extending his hand. “Ruler Protector Von Doom.”

“Mr. Stark.”  The two shook hands, and then Tony shook with Namor as well before Doom spoke again.  “I was very glad to see you and your colleagues here.  But I do not think I recognize the young lady beside Mr. Barton? Have the Avengers grown again?” Darcy’s mouth grew dry as Tony turned, jerking his head.  Slowly, she rose and went to stand beside him, barely remembering to drop a discreet curtsy before the two kings; well, Doom was practically a king, wasn’t he?

“Our political analyst, Darcy Lewis,” Tony introduced her.  “She’s a firecracker.”

“Indeed,” Namor murmured, his sea green eyes deep, but just a little cold, if she didn’t miss her guess. Aww, sexy, no.  “You have a way of surrounding yourself with beautiful women, Anthony.”

“It’s a gift,” Tony smirked.

“An honor to meet you both, your Majesty, your Grace,” Darcy managed to say as Namor took the hand she extended, raising it gently as if to kiss the back, though he never actually did so. “I’m so glad to have the opportunity.” She offered her hand to Doom next; he didn’t affect the same flirtatiously courtly manner as Namor, however, only shaking firmly.  He had brown eyes behind the mask, she noted, and they looked very tired.

“A pleasure, Miss Lewis.”

“So,” Tony clapped his hands and rubbed them together, “did you both get the invitations?”

“We did,” Namor replied, inclining his head.  “I do not speak for Victor, but I for one would be happy to attend your soiree, Anthony. You always throw the best parties.”

“Awesome, show up anytime between eight and ten.  How about you, Doom?”

“I…appreciate the invitation, though I must reluctantly decline; let us be frank, Mr. Stark, my presence might cause your other guests some discomfort.”  Doom’s mask tilted downward just a fraction as he spoke, and Darcy could read between those lines.  She could read between those lines all too well.  He didn’t expect to be welcomed, and rightfully so; he had done horrible things.  More, he knew he had done horrible things.  And, she realized, he was ashamed.

“Lord Protector, perhaps just a token appearance?”  She heard herself say before she thought.  “At least amongst the main party.  Tony’s penthouse is huge, surely we could find a quiet space for you to people watch, at least.  And I would love to hear more about the changes you’re planning in Latveria.” His mask shot towards her, those tired brown eyes flaring, seeking, searching through her long enough that her lips parted, intending to apologize for the intrusion.

“Perhaps, Miss Lewis. I will at least consider it.  And I do indeed appreciate the invitation, Mr. Stark.”

“Call me Tony, Mr. Stark was my dad,” Tony said, a little flippantly.  “You’ve got my number; if you plan on flying, call first so I can have the security measures turned off on the jetpad.  See you tomorrow night.”  He flipped his glasses back down, giving both men a grin, before taking Darcy’s arm and heading for the door, the rest of the group following them out of the conference room and toward the elevator.  “Good job, Sparky,” he said lowly.  “Did you see what I saw?”

“I think so,” Darcy breathed.  “He’s tired, Tony.  And he’s lonely.”

“Everybody’s lonely, honey. In their heart of hearts.”

“Yeah.  Yeah, but…but you’ve got Pepper now, and you’ve got us,” she said, glancing over her shoulder to see how close the others were.  Still about five feet back.  “And you’re loved, Tony.  You really are.”  She couldn’t see his eyes through his sunglasses, but his lips and nose twitched, just a little, and his grip on her arm tightened.

“Thanks, Artoo.”

“No problem, Threepio.”

“Dammit, I’m Han,” Tony sighed as the others caught up.  “Or maybe Lando.”

“Yes.”  The elevator stopped, and Natasha stepped out first, her grip firm, leading Darcy to the apartment she shared with Clint rather than going to Darcy’s.  Clint met them at the door with Natasha’s vodka and iced glasses, taking Darcy’s bag and shoving her gently toward the couch.  

“So,” Natasha began after all the glasses had emptied once.  “The date went well?”

“Yeah,” Darcy sighed, holding her glass out for ‘Tasha to refill.  “Really well.  We…shit, I’ve got the party at --“

“Nope.  Secretary of State canceled it, due to the new developments,” Clint interrupted.  “Keep going.”

“We talked about getting together again later this week,” Darcy said after a second.  “We had fun, it was a good time, I mean…I think he likes me. I think he really likes me.”

“Who could not?” Natasha purred.  “You were lovely.”

“He held my hand,” Darcy added, blushing.  “Took his glove off for the second --“ Clint choked, vodka dribbling out over his lower lip, and both Darcy and Natasha looked at him, waiting for him to breathe.

“Wait,” he said between coughs.  “Wait, what?”

“He took his glove off and held my hand?”

“You’ve touched --“ Clint coughed again.  “-- Victor Von Doom?  You’ve touched his skin?  He has skin?”

“Oh for God’s sake, Clint, he’s not Darth Vader,” Darcy sighed, but when she looked at Natasha, she saw how carefully blank her expression was.  “What?”

“Doom doesn’t do that,” Natasha said quietly.  “Doom never takes off his armor in public.  Any part of it.  I have known of him, I have watched him, I have studied him, at various times, for various employers, looking for weaknesses, for slips.  Darcy.  He never, never, removes any piece of the armor at any time.  Not even in his castle.  Perhaps in his bedroom, he is human, he must sleep, but…no.”

“Well, we held hands during the first act, and it was okay.  Kind of weird, because his glove is…it’s metal, but it’s really super flexible. Not uncomfortable, it didn’t bother me or anything.  Then I went to the bathroom at intermission with Jennifer, we came back, we all had some wine, we settled in for the second act…yeah.  Yeah, he had his glove off through the whole second act.  But it was dark, and pretty private.”  Both the spies were looking at her now as if she’d grown another head.

“Well,” Clint recovered first.  “So you guys went out last night and then…”

“Yeah.”  Darcy nodded, slumping backwards against the couch. “Then I got a call at five this morning saying he had to go, that the New Soviet were pushing their luck.”

“And you didn’t come tell us,” Natasha said.  “You just got up and went to work.”

“I asked if he wanted me to get Tony or Steve, he said no.  That the Avengers showing up could make the situation even worse,” she sighed. “My hands were, they are, tied. There’s nothing the Avengers can do. There’s nothing I can do.  It’s up to the Kremlin now.”

Natasha filled her glass again, raised an eyebrow at Clint when he pushed his glass closer.  “You choked.”

“I was surprised,” he retorted.  Natasha snorted, but refilled his glass.  “Thank you.”

“It is after midnight in Latveria now,” Natasha said, picking up her glass.  “Have you heard from him since this morning?”

“No.”  Darcy tried to keep her lip from trembling, and thought she’d done a fairly good job of it.  “He’s probably way busy.”

“No news is good news,” Clint added.  “No news means he’s not out there on the front lines, no news means nobody’s infiltrated Castle Doom.  Because if the New Soviet were able to get an assassin in there, they’d be crowing about it.”

“Were you seen with him last night by anyone?”  Natasha asked suddenly.

“We were at Hamilton, ‘Tash, it was crowded as hell.”  The spies exchanged a look, and Darcy looked back and forth between them.  “What?”

“Take it that you were, then,” Clint said.  “Listen, you don’t leave the building without at least three security agents for a while, okay?”

“What?  No, we had one date, we’ve never been seen together before --“

“Crimson Dynamos,” Clint said brusquely.  “You and ‘Tasha approached him and Namor at the party.  You went inside with him.  You came back out with him.  You’re a legit target, Darce.  At least three agents, I’d feel better if you didn’t go out without an Avenger or an X-Man for a while, to be honest.”

“There were other observers besides the Dynamos,” Natasha added.  “I know there were.  And you had a nice long conversation with him outside, in clear view, while everyone else was busy.  I am not scolding you; I am pointing this out.  They know who you are.  They know he has shown interest in you, and they know that you are a member of our support staff.  You are likely a high priority target now for an extraction and kidnapping team.”

“Christ,” Darcy muttered, holding out her glass again.  “Top me up.”

“He has likely thought of this now as well,” Natasha went on.  “If things went as well as you think they did, it would not surprise me to wake up tomorrow morning to see the building flanked by Doombots.”

“Oh, surely not, he’s got to know what kind of fit Tony would throw over that,” Darcy argued. “You want to talk about a pissing contest, Christ, Doombots versus the Iron Legion, Tony’d go batshit.”  Natasha shrugged, sipping her vodka.  

“Perhaps he will not send them overtly,” she said.  “But if you do not hear from the Latverian Embassy offering you extra security within, say, the next forty-eight hours?  I will be very surprised indeed.  And what do you think that security will be made of?”

“Doombots,” Darcy sighed, collapsing against the sofa.  “God. Tony will be livid.”

“Well, if nothing else, you’ll be able to tell just how much he likes you,” Clint grinned.  “What would you say, Tash?  Three if he’s really into her?”

“I would feel better if he hired someone, but yes, at least three,” Natasha said, stone-faced. “Perhaps the best of both worlds; perhaps --“

“Not Wade.  Just not Wade,” Clint said, looking up at the ceiling and pressing his hands together as if he were praying.  “Oh please God not Wade.”

“You’re both horrible,” Darcy grinned.  “First, again, one date, hello?  Second, he’s got a little more on his mind than me right now.  Third, hiring somebody?  Like who?”

“Deadpool,” Natasha said frankly, and Clint dropped back against the couch, shaking his head violently.

“No, no, no, no, no, not Wade, just not Wade, I don’t care who else --“

“I have heard that Creed is available; who would you rather, then, Deadpool or Sabretooth?”  Natasha asked, raising one eyebrow.  “The worst thing about Wade is that he talks too much.”

“Too much?  He never stops!”  Clint exclaimed.  

“And Sabretooth is apt to lose his humanity and try to kill everyone,” Natasha snapped back.  “Wade will shut up if you are firm enough.”

“What about LeBeau? I’ll call him myself, you’d like Remy, Darce, he’s long and tall and made out of sex,” Clint offered.

“Yes, because her beau is going to hire someone who would try to charm his way into her pants,” Natasha pointed out.  Darcy sat back with her vodka, pleasantly buzzed, waiting for the two spies to stop arguing.

“Guys.  It doesn’t matter because he’s not going to do any such thing,” Darcy said quickly when both of them had paused.  “One date, you guys, I’m not a princess, I’m not anybody important.  He barely knows my name.”

“Would you care to place a wager?”  Natasha offered, and Darcy considered.  If Nat was sure enough that she was willing to bet on it…because Nat didn’t bet unless it was a sure thing.

“Okay, maybe, but at best it’ll be a single Doombot.  I actually think it might be one or two of his Latverian Embassy heavies, if anything at all.”

“We will see,” Natasha said, winking.  “Probably by morning.”

  Intelligence briefings, meetings with his allies and their generals along with his own, working out a cohesive united defensive strategy that would save as many lives and materiel as possible, calculating with his military advisors how much ordnance and how many super tanks and operations teams to drive them could be spared, as well as how quickly the reinforcements would arrive at their destinations, all these things had filled his time from the moment he had arrived home.

Now, however, all that was left was the waiting and the hope that the New Soviet would realize what a mistake they were making; the EU had already issued a condemnatory statement against the aggressive movements and escalation in Ukraine, the UN were trying to open up diplomatic relations.  Hopefully, this would all have been for naught.  For now, all that was left was to wait and see.  He gave orders that he was not to be disturbed save for an emergency, and went to his rooms.  He had been awake for over 24 hours, and though he could remain conscious and coherent for up to four days, he preferred not to if it was not necessary, even if it was only late afternoon.

He took a shower, soaked for a bit, then went to bed, closing his eyes and breathing deeply and rhythmically in order to invite sleep.  Then Darcy’s features passed behind his eyelids, and he sat up, cursing as he picked up the phone beside the bed.  It took several minutes for the international call to go through, but eventually she answered.

“Avengers Initiative, this is Darcy Lewis.”

“Darcy.”  

“Victor,” she said, and he could hear the relief in her voice.  Damn.  

“I hope this is not a bad time,” he began.

“No, no, I just sat down behind my desk.  How are you? Is everything okay?”  

“I am exhausted,” he admitted.  “And once we hang up, I intend on sleeping until either a servant wakes me, or I wake on my own.  But I am well, so far.”

“Good.  Stay that way,” she said firmly, and he had to chuckle at the cheek of the young woman giving orders, even faux-orders, to him. “Seriously, though, I’m really glad you called.”

“As am I.  How are you?”

“I’m okay.  I’ve got a little tiny bit of a headache because I drank too much of Nat’s vodka last night, fair warning, don’t drink with the Black Widow, she can drink anybody but Steve and Thor under the table.”

“I will keep that in mind. You said there was a function you had to attend last night.  Were you able to avoid it, then?”

“Nah, it got canceled. The Secretary of State was too busy with the UN because of what’s going on over there.  It’s okay, I didn’t really want to meet the president’s kids anyway.”  He snorted.

“Inform me if the sons are rude.  The daughter is much better bred; she takes after her mother, the first wife.”

“Oh, I fully expect Junior and Nimrod to be douchecanoes,” she said airily.  “I actually got a gown that covers all the assets just for them.” It took a moment for him to parse what she meant, and his free hand grasped his coverlet tightly at the thought of either of the president’s sons being ungentlemanly with her.

“As I said, inform me,” he repeated himself, carefully keeping his voice steady.  “There are certain business dealings with Chernaya that I will gladly interfere in, should they need a reminder of how well connected you are.” And that reminded him.  “You have not left Avengers Tower, have you?”

“Not since yesterday morning, no, but I’m going to have to eventually.”

“If it would not be too presumptuous, would you do me the kindness of informing the Embassy if you do? They will send a security detail for you.  I have no fear for you within Avengers Tower itself; even if they are called away, Stark’s security team and his technology should be sufficient.”  Too, he would call Stark, he decided.  A subdermal tracker somewhere discreet would not go amiss, if she did not have one already.  She was, after all, an intimate of Prince Thor, and obviously a favorite of the team.

“If it will make you feel better,” she said after a moment.  “Guess I get to tell Nat she was right.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Natasha and Clint said last night they thought you’d want security for me.  Clint doesn’t want me leaving without at least three members of security, or an Avenger.  I told them I thought that was a little…” she paused.  “I don’t know, we’ve had one date, I thought it was a little soon for something like that.”

“In any other time, I would agree.  But this is a time of hostility, and the FSB do not play by the rules.”

“You know the Avengers would come for me, right?”

“That is not the point. The point is that nothing untoward happen to you to begin with.  You are a noncombatant civilian, but that will not stop certain agencies.”

“If it’ll put your mind at ease, sure,” she said lightly.  “You’ve got enough to worry about right now without adding me into the mix.”

“Then I will make the arrangements momentarily.  Thank you for understanding.”

“Oh, I don’t have any problem with being safe,” she laughed.  “You’re welcome.  And you should probably get some sleep, and I’ve got to earn my paycheck, so --“

“Of course.  Was this a good time?  May I call again?”

“Anytime, Victor.  And especially if you have to go add a personal touch, okay?”

“I remember.  Have a good day, Darcy.”

“Good night, Victor.” He hung up, called the New York embassy and gave the requisite orders for her security detail if requested, debated…it was still fairly early…and decided not to call Stark until later. Besides, if push came to shove, there were magical means of finding her.  He was able, then, to lie back and eventually sleep.

  The intelligence that came in overnight was not promising.  The strengthening push into Ukraine, the troops now crossing Belarus, pointed toward the New Soviet’s determination to reconquer the smaller countries.  Belarus could be forgiven; their position was unenviable, and while Victor knew they were playing both sides against the middle, he also knew that they could not possibly stand before the might of the troops currently passing through their country. He gave the orders for the immediate air transport of several brigades of Doombots to help defend Poland’s eastern border, with promises of more as soon as he knew more about the Ukrainian situation.  He also gave the orders for the supertanks, already loaded onto the special express trains, and their operators to make the journey to Lublin and Bialystok for assignment. Those destined for Ukraine and Romania were already en route.

A teleconference with the generals, exhibiting the latest Doombot models and pointing out their strengths, took up a few hours, and then another teleconference with Chancellor Merkel, President Macron, and President Mattarella regarding the efforts the EU had made to convince Russia to stand down.  He did not comment on the absence of Prime Minister May and President Trump; it was only to be expected, after the Brexit, and of course President Trump likely did not even know there were currently tensions.  Nor, to be honest, did Victor think the man would care. Ukraine was far enough away that the U.S. could ignore it, though he had an idea that the First Lady was likely keeping a very close eye on the situation.  She was from the region, after all.

Now he paced in his control center, waiting.  He felt somewhat bound by his determination to change; were he the Doom of five years ago, he would have gone to the front and decimated the armies with a few spells, driven them forth from the soil of his allies and shown no mercy.  He could feel the energy, taste the triumph…but no. “I am not that man any longer,” he growled to himself between gritted teeth.  “I am better.  I am stronger, I am more than I was.”  But the words did nothing to curb his desire to see something destroyed by his hands.

He swallowed his irritation, and began reviewing the currently available freelance enhanced humans or mutants who might be acceptable to Darcy as a bodyguard.  She could not be followed by a Doombot all the time, and while the embassy’s security was top notch, they were all human. He did not like their chances against more Crimson Dynamos or perhaps Black Widows.

Sabretooth was not an option, due to his instability.  Certainly he was supposedly “cured,” but he had seen Victor Creed in his murderous frenzies, and he would not risk Darcy in that manner.  Elektra was a possibility, save for the fact that she had a price of her own on her head, one that would never be called off.  Deadpool was annoying, and too easily distracted.  

He studied videos of the last current possibility for a long few minutes, the high angular cheekbones, the saucy grin, the insolent grace, the lean, muscular body.  His upper lip lifted into a sneer, watching him attempt to charm every woman he met.  Did he dare try to hire this one?  What if Darcy found him attractive?  What if, since he was unable to court her properly right now, she allowed that charm to disarm her?  He pushed himself away from the control panel, paced the room again, glancing every so often at the loop of the man in action leaping to provide cover for a child, defending an elderly man, sweeping a handful of foes into unconsciousness with a few well placed blows.  Finally, he stopped, folding his arms over his chest.  

He was fond of Darcy. She seemed fond of him.  They were not sworn to one another in any way, they had not even begun to scratch the surface of any type of relationship. Hiring someone to guard her was not for his benefit, it was for hers.  Her association with him was what would place her in jeopardy;  he was therefore honor bound to ensure her safety.  Out of the available possibilities, this was the best option.

And besides, if she gave way to the flattering rogue’s charms, if she could not remember who had hired him and why to begin with, then it was simply not meant to be.  He sighed, then picked up the phone.  

  The welding arc flashed blue, hotly hypnotic, as the Clash screamed about knowing one’s rights, the thudding bass enough to feel it in his feet as he worked, mouthing the words along with the song.  He had just finished the line of weld when the song cut off abruptly, and he cut off the welding torch, flipping up his helmet.  “FRIDAY?”

“Sorry, sir, but you didn’t hear me the first eight times I called your name,” his AI said.  “Lord Protector Von Doom is on the line for you.”

“Oh.”  Tony wrenched the helmet off, wiped his forehead on his arm. “How long do I have before Pep wants me for the dinner thing?”

“Two and a half hours, sir.”

“Right, and my alarm is --“

“For an hour and a half from now.  Shall I put Lord Doom through, sir?”

“Yeah.  Yeah, patch him in.”  He laid his tools to the side, got a bottle of water from the mini-fridge and downed it, waiting.

“Mr. Stark.”  Doom’s voice boomed, even when he wasn’t meaning to. He’d have made a hell of a front for a metal band.  Literally, Tony thought to himself, grinning.

“Vic!  Good to hear from you.  How’s Europe?”

“Holding together for the moment.  May I have a word?”

“Sure.  You need a hand out there?  I don’t mind,” Tony offered.  “I owe them a courtesy call after the other night, to be honest.”

“I promise you, Mr. Stark, you are first on the list should reinforcements be needed.  I’m calling regarding Miss Lewis’ current security measures.”  Tony blinked.

“She lives in Avengers Tower, man, we’re not going to let anything happen to her,” Tony began, a low growl of discontent rumbling in his belly.  What, he didn’t think the Avengers could keep her safe?

“I’m well aware, but she does have to leave the tower from time to time, Mr. Stark, and while your security teams are top-notch, they are human,” Doom said.  “Humans, unenhanced humans, well trained humans, are very well and good against most of the FSB or human extraction teams.  I am more concerned for mutant and enhanced threats. I have a bodyguard candidate in mind for her.  I am calling to ask if I might rent the gentleman a suite of rooms in the Tower, so that he is always at hand.  This is only temporary,” he added.  “Until the unpleasantness here is over, and the New Soviet come to their senses.”

“Who’ve you got in mind?” Tony asked, taking another swallow of his water.

“Remy LeBeau. Gambit.”  Tony choked, coughed, had to catch his breath.

“I thought he was upstate? In Westchester?”  He said when he could speak again.

“No.  He has left Xavier’s team, and is currently working as a freelance operative in Quebec City.”  

“Not New Orleans?”

“I believe he is persona non grata in the Crescent City at the moment.  Something to do with the Assassin’s Guild.”

“Yeah.  Yeah, um.  Let me put you on hold for just a minute so I can check the availability, okay?”

“Certainly.”  Tony made a cutting gesture over his throat at one of the cameras, and Billy Joel’s “Vienna” began to play, signaling that Doom was on hold.  “FRIDAY? Do we have anything?”

“The guest floor below the Avengers’ floor is currently empty, sir,” came the lilting answer. “The current market value for one of the guest suites is approximately $15,000 per month, due to the space, the limited availability of rentals in New York, and the location.”

“Okay.  Bring him back on.”  The music cut again.  “Vic, you there?”

“Yes, Mr. Stark,” came the irritated reply, and Tony grinned to himself.  

“Yeah.  I’ve got some room, I’ll cut you a deal because it’s for Artoo.  Eight grand a month, it’s a two bedroom suite with a hell of a view, access to the Avengers’ workout area and communal areas if he wants it.  Comes furnished, top of the line electronics, utilities, cable, and delivery service included.”

“Acceptable.  I will call you back after I speak to Mr. LeBeau,” Doom said after a second.  “I deeply appreciate your courtesy in this matter.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Tony said easily.  “Let’s do doubles next time you’re in town, me and Pep, you and Darce, huh?”  A long pause.

“I have no objections. Thank you again.”

“Sure thing. Later.”  He made the motion again, and the call cut off.  “FRIDAY.  Make sure one of the suites is deep cleaned,” he ordered.  “I don’t know when he’ll show, so, let’s get on it.”

“Yes, sir.  Shall I have groceries delivered as well?”

“No; wait on that until we know when.  Work up an invoice for the Latverian Embassy at eight.”

“Yes, sir.”  Tony hefted his helmet up, slid it back on his head, tightened the belt.  

“How much longer do I have to play, FRIDAY?”

“Approximately one hour, eighteen minutes, sir.”

“Awesome.  Bring back the tunes.”  

“You have the right…to free speech…as long as you’re not dumb enough to actually TRY it!”  The music picked back up right where it had left off.  Tony grinned, flipping his hood down and re-lit the welding torch, bending back over his work.

“All the celebrating,” Jane agreed.  “I’ve ordered dinner and I went downstairs to Michelle’s and got you a chocolate orange.”

“You’re the best,” Darcy said, following Jane out the door and closing it behind her.  The magnetic lock clicked, and she grinned at the nearest camera before heading for the elevator.  “I guess Tony talked to you?”  Jane’s ponytail bounced up and down ahead of her.

“Yeah.  He explained everything, and I’m supposed to start meeting with some of his people in the morning to try to find a new set of assistants. Seriously, I’m going to need at least three to handle what you do,” Jane sighed.  

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, boss --“ Darcy shook her head, brown hair flying.  “You’re not though.  For…for the first time in…”

“Four years,” Jane said softly.  “But I’m glad.  I’m really glad, Darcy.  I mean, I love you, you’re the sister I never had, but…”

“But I need to spread my wings.  I get you,” Darcy agreed.  “Well, the good news is I should definitely be able to afford my own apartment in a month or two, I’ve just got to save up for deposits and everything.”

“Yeah?  That is good news,” Jane agreed.  “Maybe next you’ll get a date.”

“Oh, shut up, I go out,” Darcy said, bumping shoulders with her friend.  It wasn’t long before they were having dinner, Alessandro’s from downstairs.  Darcy moaned just a little as she ate, the lasagna perfect, the breadsticks good and crunchy.  “I didn’t realize how hungry I was,” she admitted, taking a long drink of red wine.

“Isn’t that usually my line?”  Jane said, her smile quivering just a little. “Oh, this is going to be…it’s great, but I just know I’m going to miss you so much in the labs, Darce, I’m used to having you there…”

“Hey, now.  Like I said, it’s gonna be a couple months before I move out anyway, I’m still gonna be around,” Darcy insisted.  “And besides, I’m only five floors down from this floor and four down from the labs.  It’ll be fine, Janey, we can have lunch together, we can go to the movies, it’ll be fine.”

“Yeah.  I know, and I know…Tony said what you’re doing is absolutely essential, really, for the Avengers, it’s just…I don’t like change in my personal life.  It’s hard.”

“Awww.  I know,” Darcy soothed.  “But it’s not going to be that big a change.  It’s not.  And he promised me he would find you somebody good.  So it’s gonna be okay.”

 The next morning found Darcy up bright and early, her heels slightly muffled by the carpet of the building as she went downstairs to her office.  Instead of her baggy sweater over a tee over jeans, she wore a black pencil skirt that fell just below her knees, white blouse, with a sapphire blue jacket for a pop of color.  Her hair was up in a tight French braid, her bag replaced by the briefcase her Opa had given her for graduation.  She nodded pleasantly to the few people she saw in the hallway of her floor, and went directly to her office, the door now bearing a brass nameplate; “Darcy Lewis, political analyst.”  She couldn’t resist the smile that split her face, seeing it there, or taking a picture and sending it to her Opa and Oma.  She had called them the night before, but that, that sort of made it a little more real.

She had just sat down behind her desk, coffee at two o’clock, notepad and pencil before her, when someone tapped on her closed office door.  “Come in,” she called, and the door opened to show a stranger, an older woman with graying black hair.

“Good morning, Miss Lewis. I’m Linda, Linda Garrison.  One of the attorneys for the Initiative.”  Darcy rose from her seat, holding out her hand.

“Good morning, Ms. Garrison. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” the attorney replied, looking over the office.  “Just started?”

“Yes, just yesterday actually.”

“Ms. Potts said that she’s going to be adding more analysts?”

“Yes.  I’ll be heading the political team; of course we’ll leave the PR and the legal aspects to your team and PR, we’ll be offering political advice in regards to the different countries the Avengers might find themselves in,” Darcy explained.  Ms. Garrison nodded slowly, her smile fading a bit, but never quite leaving her face.

“I head the legal team. I don’t know exactly how much we’ll work together, Ms. Lewis, but just in case there’s any friction between your team and mine, I’m who you’ll come to.”

“The same; I hope there won’t be any, though.  I can’t really foresee any,” Darcy said, and Ms. Garrison  nodded.

“Neither can I, right offhand, but one never knows, and it’s always best to know one’s peers and the chain of command.  Well. I’ll let you get to it, my office is up the hall toward the elevator if you should need anything.”

“Thank you, Ms. Garrison. Good meeting you.”

“And you.”  Darcy nodded, shook hands again, waited for the woman to leave before sitting back down at her desk.  “FRIDAY, is there a way to engage do not disturb on this floor for the individual offices?”

“Yes, Miss Lewis. Would you like me to?”

“Give it another half hour, and then yes,” Darcy ordered.  “Jane, any member of the actual Avengers Initiative, and Ms. Potts can override, but that’s it.”

“Yes, Ms. Lewis,” the AI agreed.  “May I ask if the coffee provided was adequate?”

“Yes, it’s fine for now. I’d like to put in an order for a two pound bag of Thunderbolt French Roast starting next week, please.”  

“Yes, Miss Lewis. Weekly or bi-weekly delivery?”

“Ah…biweekly for now, I’ll reevaluate once I figure out how much I actually need?”

“Excellent.  Will there be anything else?”

“Not right now, FRIDAY, thanks so much.”

 Her first real day of work as a political analyst went well, she thought.  She read through the various articles and watched the news clips that had had aggregated over the last six months about the political situation of Latveria, taking careful notes, until lunch.  During her lunch (a very nice lunch of fruit and soup, thanks, she’d had all the carbs the night before) she made notes regarding what she wanted her team to do from day to day, mainly research on what Pepper had called the short-term assignments, the political and social thoughts of the various countries of the world on the Avengers and whether they would accept assistance or not.  “FRIDAY?” She asked once she was done with that.

“Yes, Miss Lewis?”

“What were the date parameters of the Latveria search that Tony ran?”

“Mr. Stark ordered a search for news stories regarding Doctor Doom and the political situation in Latveria between six months ago and two days ago, Miss Lewis.”

“Okay, new search, please. Same parameters except go back one full year, and update with any new stories that have shown up in the last two days,” Darcy ordered.  “And keep it updated with new stories until further instructions.”

“Yes, Miss Lewis. That will take a few minutes, I’m afraid.”

“That’s fine.  Thank you, FRIDAY.”

“You’re very welcome, Miss Lewis.”

By the end of the week, she had the zero draft of her report, she had reviewed a dozen resumes for the team that had been sent on to her by Pepper, and she had a rough idea of how the countries in the EU and some of the Eastern European countries viewed the Avengers.  She felt it was a good start.  There were a few sticky points that she wanted to work out, but overall, it was a good start.

 She spent the weekend combing through thrift shops and secondhand stores, looking for businesswear that number one, would fit, number two, wasn’t all black or gray, and number three, was good enough quality that if it didn’t fit, but could be tailored, she would be willing to make the investment.  She could do some things, taking hems up or down, for example, but she preferred to let professionals deal with the jackets, for example.  

Monday morning, she was in her office at eight-thirty, sipping coffee and looking over her notes regarding the actual national status of Atlantis.  Was it a country?  It wasn’t recognized by the UN, or by more than two or three other countries, one of which was Latveria, which was amusing as Latveria was a landlocked postage stamp, actually, in the middle of Eastern Europe.  But Greece, Italy, and Greenland all three recognized it as a sovereign nation, and King Namor had given several interviews…she should really look into that. If the Avengers had to deal with something rising from the sea, which they had already done on several occasions, they should really have at least a working relationship with Atlantis.  But how?  They didn’t exactly have an embassy, it was common knowledge that most Atlanteans would die if exposed to air too long.  She’d have to think about that.

“Miss Lewis, Mr. Stark and Captain Rogers have just gotten off on your floor, they seem agitated,” FRIDAY warned her.  

“Thanks, FRIDAY. Unlock the door for them, would you?”

“Certainly.”

A few seconds later, Tony and Steve came into her office, both in mufti, which gave her the chance to appreciate Steve in jeans, thank you Dr. Erskine.  “Really sorry about this, Darce,” Steve began as Tony pushed past him on the way to the coffee machine.  He looked as if he had just rolled out of bed, possibly head first. That was definitely yesterday’s AC/DC tee he was wearing, and --

“Tony, are you still in your pajama pants?”  Darcy asked.

“Maybe.  At least I’m wearing pants, be grateful,” he said, picking up one of her novelty coffee cups.  “You’ve got Rebel and First Order and Imperial coffee cups?”

“May the Force be with you,” she said, and he snorted.

“And also with you, Artoo.”

“Does that make you Threepio?  Because you’re the snarkiest bastard in the building.”

“HA!  No.”  He poured himself some coffee, choosing, she noted, the “I run so I can keep up with the Doctor” cup.  “Steve?” That got her attention.  Tony was using Steve’s name.  Not Cap, not Capsicle, not Captain Tightpants.  Steve.  Tony was being serious, or at least trying to.  He turned her office chair around, sitting on it backwards, while Steve hovered near the doorway.

“Okay.  Steve, close the door, get some coffee if you want, then sit down.  Tony. Seriously.  What’s going on?”

“About twenty minutes ago, I got a phone call,” Tony began as Steve, bless him, followed orders. “From the Latverian Embassy.” Both of Darcy’s eyebrows went up. “Doom is coming here, to New York, tomorrow.  His bees are working overtime, because he wants to set up a meeting with the UN and ask, formally, for UN assistance in…” Tony looked at his coffee, took another sip, shook his head.  “He wants to reset his government, I guess.  Change Latveria from, let’s face it, a dictatorship ruled by a literal iron fist, to a constitutional monarchy.”

“Are you serious?” Darcy said when she could find her voice.  “That’s…that’s nothing short of amazing.”

“Yep.  That’s what the guy on the other end of the line said.  I was informed because he wants to ensure that the Avengers know he’s coming on a diplomatic mission.”

“Okay,” she said slowly. “I haven’t had time to do more than a zero draft of my report, but I can email it to you, no problem.”

“And you’ve got time to finish it, Darcy, I’m not trying to rush you, but I -- we,” Tony corrected himself, looking guiltily at Steve, “want your general impressions and conclusions.”  Darcy took a deep breath, blew it out.

“Okay.  General impressions and conclusions?  He’s been working on this for at least the last year,” she began.  “Slow outreaches to surrounding nations, specifically Symkaria and Chernaya. Definite rebuffs toward Putin’s minions; there was a minor diplomatic dustup last year when he and a couple of his robots personally dropped off four Russian agents on the front steps of the Kremlin.  It was…interesting, at least for a few days, over there, but thankfully, nobody got stupid.” She paused to sip her coffee, then continued.  “He’s allowing at least some of his subjects to visit Chernaya and Symkaria now, and he’s put down two attempted coups by a couple of his colonels, both of whom would have probably wanted to keep the police state.”

“That…maybe it’s just me,” Steve said slowly.  “But if you wanted to make your country free, why wouldn’t you just do that?”

“Because they wouldn’t know what to do with freedom, Steve,” Darcy explained.  “They still don’t.  It’s going to take at least a couple of generations before the general populace understands the difference between what they’ve always had, and what they have the chance for.  Even a constitutional or parliamentarian monarchy is better than the despot he’s been.” She drummed her fingers on her coffee cup, trying to think of how best to explain.  “They’ve lived under a very harsh rule all their lives.  They don’t know anything but toe the line, don’t speak badly of Doom, or life in Latveria, or else you disappear.  Allowing small groups to go experience what life is like in Symkaria and Chernaya for a week or two at a time lets the people see the difference between the countries.   He’s lifted the ban on speaking favorably of other countries, yes, that was an actual law for thirty years, you couldn’t speak well of the United States or Canada or the EU if you were in Latveria. He’s upgraded the common standard of living for most of his people, if you’ll give me a second?”  She picked up her tablet, ran a before and after image search on Google, handed it to Steve.  “On the left, you’ll see a common Latverian farm in 1990.”  A small house that could barely be called better than a hut. Four people, man, woman, two children, standing in front of it with blank expressions.  “On the right, you’ll see that same farm last year.”  The house behind the family, which now numbered eight, had obviously been expanded, a real metal roof rather than tin sheets on the top, there was a truck and a four door sedan in the background.  “He imported, at his own expense, a work truck and a car for every Latverian farming family last summer.  Gave it to them.  Flip the screen.”  Steve did so to look at a line of trucks painted in bright, cheery colors, the people standing in front of them smiling broadly, dark skinned and haired, dressed in Latverian folk costume.  “That’s a tribe of Latverian Romani.  He’s always been partial to them, his mother was Roma.”

“He’s buying his people things?  Why didn’t he do that before?”  Steve asked, handing her the tablet, his face blank.  “Why didn’t he try to improve their standard of living before?”

“I don’t know.  What I do know is that in the last year, maybe year and a half, I haven’t finished all the research yet, he’s been making huge strides in improving the standard of living and expanding and opening human and civil rights in his country, and that by itself is amazing.  For someone to just…turn themselves around like this? It doesn’t happen.  It really doesn’t happen.  Not without some form of intervention, not without something happening personally to open their eyes to what they’ve been doing.”

“So he got Jesus?” Tony asked, and Darcy threw her hands in the air, shrugging.

“I don’t know if it’s Jesus, Odin, or Baba Yaga kicked the fear of her into him, but the results speak for themselves.  Victor Von Doom has been making changes in his country and in his rule for the last year. Maybe you guys could go over to Empire State and see if there are any recent Latverian students who are willing to talk to you?  I don’t know that they would, but it’s a possibility.  All I know for sure is that the news stories currently coming out of Latveria, Symkaria, and Chernaya all point to a massive change in the governmental outlook, and the quality of life.”

“Huh.”  Tony sipped his coffee again, leaning back in his chair, his eyes half-closed.  “Steve?”

“I mean, I think it’s great,” Steve said slowly.  “If he really is sincere about all of this, it’s great.  Knowing that maybe in a time of world crisis, we could perhaps ask Doom for backup?  Would be a huge advantage, honestly, because he’s almost as smart as you, Tony.”

“Please, tell me more about how clever I am,” Tony smirked, and Darcy rolled her eyes.

“Be serious.  But on the other hand, what if --“

“IT’S A TRAP,” Darcy and Tony said at the same time, and Tony picked it up.  “Yeah.  It could be. Or it could be he finally took a page out of his old pal Namor’s book, and decided to build instead of destroy.”

“I know you want to believe, Tony,” Steve sighed.  “I know you do.  And honestly? I do, too.  I’d love to have another ally, especially in Eastern Europe. But I can’t just…say I’m from Missouri, I guess.”

“Look at it this way, Steve,” Darcy interjected.  “He’s doing all the right things, and has been for a year.  He’s invested tons, literally tons, of money in fixing his infrastructure and his people’s way of life.  And now he’s coming to the UN for help.  He’s not stupid, not at all.  He knows he can’t just say, okay now, let’s vote on who you want to represent you. The UN is going to want to send teams over there, they’re going to want to investigate themselves.  Can you open your mind enough to give Doom the benefit of the doubt until the UN finishes their investigation, at least?”

Steve was quiet, looking down at his hands for a long minute before his shoulders rose and fell, and he nodded.  “I won’t say I don’t want to be cautious,” he said, looking up at her.  “But we can give a man a chance.  Everybody deserves at least one chance to change.”

“Great,” Tony said, standing.  “Then I’ll call the Embassy and let them know that the Avengers recognize and approve of Lord Protector Von Doom’s visit to the UN, and any unpleasantness will not be started by the Avengers.”

“And give them my office number, would you, Tony?”  Darcy interjected.  “If I’m your political liaison, they should call me from now on.”

“Fuck.  You’re right, Lewis.  My bad.”  He had the good grace to frown, at least.  “You just started the job, hell, we just created it, that’s probably why…”

“No, I’m not mad,” Darcy hastened to reassure him.  “You’re right, it’s not as if we’ve made a big deal about the new position or anything yet.  We can make an announcement after Doom leaves.  We don’t want to upstage his visit, that wouldn’t be prudent.”

“Right.  Okay.  Get with Pepper on that, she’s got the embassy numbers.  Cap, you good?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, rising as well.  “Thanks for your time, Darcy.”

“Hey, it’s what I’m here for.  My advice, honestly, cautious support and observation is the best way to go in this. If he’s for real, we’ll know it; it’ll take the UN at least a year, maybe two, to get the elections set up. If he’s not, he’ll fuck up and show the autocratic DOOM IS BETTER THAN YOU PEASANTS crap again.”  She grinned, bumping fists with Tony.  “Villains, real ones, can’t help themselves, they have to feed their massive ass egos.”