The morning sun pierced through the sheer curtains, casting gentle golden rays into the spacious guest room. Kitty groaned as consciousness returned with a thunderous headache pounding in her skull. "Ugh… what hit me…?" she muttered before slowly pushing herself up and sat up, her tangled hair falling over her face as she rubbed her temples.
Her bleary eyes landed on the two redheads sprawled across the king-sized bed beside her. "Angelica?" she croaked, nudging the girl beside her. "And… Natalie?"
Angelica lay on her stomach, snoring softly, her arm flung over Natasha—or Natalie, as they knew her—who was curled up like a cat in deep sleep.
Kitty blinked. Then memories began trickling back like a broken faucet, "Oh no... last night..." she muttered.
It all started with the Manhattan pub night. She, Jean, Anna, Angelica, Natalie, and Diana had decided to let loose and have some fun. The girls ended up having a spontaneous drinking competition. Kitty remembered losing first, followed closely by Angelica, and a blurry recollection told her the final showdown was between Anna and Diana.
She winced as memories began stabbing their way into clarity.
Then came the conversations—carefree, drunk, and utterly without filter. She remembered giggling and slurring, telling Natalie about how jealous she was that Jean and Anna had Ethan. She might've even said he was the ultimate dream guy during their Xavier days. Angelica had laughed and admitted she had a crush on Ethan too but had been shocked that he was actually dating two women at once.
Angelica groaned awake beside her before rubbing her forehead. "Why do I taste whiskey and regret?"
Kitty asked. "Do you remember what we said last night?"
Angelica blinked blearily. "Said? What did we—?"
Kitty leaned in, whispering with urgency. "About Ethan. We told Natalie… everything. About him. His powers. About Jean and Anna. Oh my God…"
Realization slammed into Angelica like a freight train. "I said I had a crush on him… and called him a playboy…" she whispered and mortified. "Oh no… I told her he learned magic too!"
Before she could bury herself under a pillow, the door opened, and Jean walked in—hovering three mugs of coffee and hangover soup with her telekinesis.
Jean had a faint smirk on her face as she saw the half-conscious state of the three women.
"Good morning, my hungover disasters," she said cheerfully, setting down the mugs on the nightstand.
Kitty groaned. "Please kill me."
Jean arched a brow. "Why would I do that when Anna's already got enough blackmail material to last a lifetime?"
Angelica groaned and grabbed her own coffee from Jean, "She recorded it, didn't she?"
Jean gave them a sly smile before handed kitty her mug, "Oh yes. Every slurred confession. Every drunken compliment. Every 'Ethan is so hot I'd marry him even if he was an alien overlord' moment. It's apparently her new treasure."
"What?!" Angelica jolted with her face paled.
Kitty buried her face in her hands. "I'm never drinking again."
Jean smirked and turned to leave. "Freshen up. You all reek of tequila and bad decisions."
"Jean, wait!" Kitty called, now fully awake and panicking. "There might be a mistake. Last night... we told Natalie stuff. About Ethan."
Angelica nodded quickly. "Yeah. I told her about his evolutionary powers... and maybe a bit about the magic. And your relationship."
Jean's smile dropped. Her eyes narrowed slightly. "What exactly did she ask, and what did you tell her?"
Kitty looked sheepish. "She just kept asking about Ethan. Like, weirdly interested."
Jean clenched her jaw and turned to Natasha, who was still asleep. The telepath extended her mind brushing gently against Natasha's mind, probing to see what, if anything, she might remember. But the moment she entered her mind, Jean blinked in surprise.
So many thoughts… scattered, layered… multiple languages overlapping. Russian, English, even some Ukrainian…
Jean winced and pulled back before frowning. 'Is it the hangover? Or is her mind naturally like that?' She'd never tried reading a hungover mind before—it might simply be the chaos of intoxication. But the instincts of a telepath told her something was off.
Natasha stirred before her eyes fluttering open. "Ugh... Where am I? What happened?"
Jean immediately smiled and offered her coffee. "You're in Ethan's guest room. Had a wild night. Do you remember anything?"
Natasha held her head and groaned. "I remember going to the pub. A drinking competition. After that, it's a blur."
Jean studied her carefully. "Do you remember what you talked about?"
Natasha frowned before pretending to think. "Not really. I think I challenged Diana to a shot duel? Or was it Anna?"
Jean looked at her for a second and then nodded slowly. "Well, no worries. You're safe here."
Kitty and Angelica sighed in relief.
Jean gave a small smile. "Alright then. Go freshen up. There are spare clothes in the closet, and breakfast should be on soon. I'll be downstairs."
Just as she turned to leave, she looked over her shoulder with a smirk. "Oh, one more thing Kitty and Angelica, Anna labeled your drunken confessions as 'valuable treasure.' So don't be surprised if she uses them as memes."
Both girls let out matching groans of embarrassment as Jean chuckled and closed the door behind her.
As Jean's footsteps faded, the room fell silent. Natasha sat still for a moment, her eyes lowering as she took a deep breath. Her posture changed—relaxed but alert. Her entire demeanor shifted from carefree and groggy to the one with calm precision of an operative processing new intel.
She scanned the room, noting every detail. The location, the layout, the decor—this was Ethan Carter's home.
She was the first operative to be this deep inside his personal space. And last night, she'd gained critical information.
Her eyes flickered briefly with satisfaction. She took another sip of the coffee, letting the warmth clear her mind. She rose from the bed with fluid grace, heading to the closet for a fresh change of clothes. Kitty and Angelica were still bemoaning their mistakes, but Natasha barely paid attention.
'Evolution powers… magic… telepathy… regeneration… That man is more than what he appears. And now I'm one step closer to understanding him.'
With her poker face in place, Natasha rose and began to freshen up alongside the other two girls. But even as she laughed off the embarrassment and joked with Kitty and Angelica, her mind remained focused.
...
The soft rustle of curtains being drawn caught Jean Grey's attention as she stepped into the room.
She blinked, taking a moment to process the scene.
Anna stood silently near the window and her fingers lightly gripped the curtain's edge, parting it just enough to peer outside.
Jean tilted her head, curiosity sparking in her chest. "Anna?" she called softly as she stepped forward.
"What are you looking at?" Jean asked gently, stepping beside her.
Anna didn't look back immediately. Her emerald-green eyes remained fixed beyond the glass as she replied in a low, "Take a look outside… but don't move the curtain too much."
Jean walked closer and leaned beside her, following Anna's gaze.
Anna spoke in a low voice. "Black sedan. Parked about thirty yards from the gate. Been sitting there since sunrise."
Jean's eyes followed Anna's gaze. Sure enough, hidden partially by trimmed hedges and the shadow of a lamppost, was a sleek black car with dark-tinted windows.
"Could be nothing," Jean offered, but her voice lacked conviction.
Anna shook her head. "Nah. That's the same one from last night. After we left that Manhattan pub. It tailed us. I thought maybe I was imagining it—or maybe just some rich prick heading the same direction. But then it shows up here. Just sittin' there, watchin'."
Jean's lips thinned. She closed her eyes and focused. Her mind extended like an invisible wave, moving outward, reaching toward the car, trying to find the surface thoughts of anyone inside.
Jean opened her eyes sharply. "I can't read them."
Anna's expression darkened. "Seriously?"
"Something's blocking me," Jean confirmed, stepping back and folding her arms. "A null field… or maybe neuro-blockers."
"The chips?"
Jean nodded grimly. "Yeah. The same kind used by the military when they raided Xavier's mansion… remember? They emit micro-signals that scramble psionic frequencies—like white noise for telepaths. I haven't sensed them in a long time, but this feels the same."
Anna let the curtain fall back into place. Her jaw tightened. "This ain't no casual stalker."
Jean took a deep breath. "It has to be Stryker. Or someone working for him."
Anna moved away from the window, pacing slowly across the living room. "But why now? We've been livin' out here for years, mindin' our own damn business. Why show up today? What's changed?"
Jean turned and walked toward the couch, "Maybe he just found us. Or maybe something changed."
Anna moved toward the coffee table, "We need to talk to Ethan."
Jean nodded. "Before somethin' stupid happens. And we need to warn the others. Kitty, Angelica, Bobby. They're off-campus too now. If someone's makin' a list, they're on it."
Anna's gaze sharpened. "And they're easy targets if someone's hunting us."
Silence settled between them like a storm cloud. But then, Jean tilted her head, curiosity returning. "Where's Diana?" she asked.
Anna's lips curled into a knowing smile, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. "She went to the gym with Ethan. Wanted to blow off some steam."
Jean chuckled. "Let me guess. Last night didn't sit well with her?"
"Not at all," Anna smirked. "Most of the guys at the bar tried to hit on her. Again and again. She wasn't in the mood, and it showed. Poor fools didn't realize they were poking a sleeping dragon."
Jean laughed softly. "Good thing I used a light psionic suggestion to get them to back off."
Anna raised a brow, "Seriously?"
Jean smirked. "Learned from the best." She added with a touch of sarcasm, "Ethan calls it the 'blessed art of ignorance.'"
Anna's laugh was genuine. "God, that man's too clever for his own good."
The mood lightened slightly, though both women remained wary. Anna crossed her arms before leaning against the kitchen counter, her eyes thoughtful. "Do you think Diana will fall for him too?" she asked softly.
Jean turned and is surprised. "What makes you ask that?"
Anna shrugged, playing with the edge of a coaster on the counter. "Just a gut feeling. She's strong, proud, noble. But she's also… lonely, I think. And Ethan… well, he has a way of getting under your skin."
Jean hummed in agreement. They fell silent for a moment, both thinking about how things had changed since Ethan arrived. About how the women around him were drawn in—not because of some flashy power or arrogant seduction—but because of his presence, it's... Addicting.
Jean looked out the window again. "Do you think Diana would ever join us?"
Anna gave her a sly grin. "You mean the harem?"
Jean rolled her eyes with a soft chuckle. "Don't call it that."
Anna laughed again. "Hey, it's what it is." Jean then glanced toward the gym's direction outside. "Hard to say."
The curtain fluttered again as Jean took one last glance at the shadowy car parked down the block.
....
**Inside the Gym**
Diana stood near the far wall, her body turned slightly, arms rising above her head in a graceful stretch. Each motion was fluid and precise, honed by millennia of discipline and combat.
The blue tank top clung tightly to her upper body, the fabric struggling to contain the curves of her toned physique, especially around her chest, which was tightly bound beneath the elastic material. The shorts, snug and revealing, stopped just above mid-thigh, allowing every flex of her muscles to be seen as she shifted her stance.
Ethan kept his eyes on her as he rolled his shoulders and bounced lightly on the balls of his feet. He wasn't gawking — no, his gaze held a measure of appreciation. His arms moved in loose circles to keep his blood flowing, his breathing even. He narrowed his eyes as Diana turned to face him fully, her long dark hair tied into a high ponytail.
"You sure this dimension can handle what we're about to throw at it?" Diana asked, her gaze gliding over the reflective, infinite walls of the mirror dimension.
They're both inside the Mirror Dimension of the gym Ethan created, allowing them to spar without holding back.
Ethan gave a short, confident nod. "Of course. Whatever happens here, it won't affect the outside world. We can go all out."
"Good," she said, then cracked her knuckles, letting a small smile curl at the edge of her lips. "Because I don't believe in holding back."
He smiled in response, then bent slightly at the waist and slid one foot forward. His left leg came to lead, right leg back at a diagonal, forming a strong base. His upper body dipped low — not in submission, but in focus — while his left arm extended forward, palm open, fingers splayed slightly for quick reaction. His right arm coiled tightly near his waist, fist clenched, knuckles turned upward — ready to strike, to guard and to pivot. It was a stance that spoke of adaptability and balance.
Diana raised a brow. "That's a stance I don't recognize," she mused. "But I like it."
"I've picked up a few things," Ethan said casually, and his eyes tracking every twitch of her muscles.
Over the past years, he'd devoted himself to perfecting his martial abilities — not just as a warrior with powers, but as a true hand-to-hand fighter. He studied various forms: Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, Krav Maga, Muay Thai, Silat, Wing Chun, and countless others.
In this spar with Diana—where they rely solely on physical strength and martial arts—Ethan will be able to sharpen his own skills. With her thousands of years of combat training, he can absorb her techniques, adapt, and continue to grow stronger.
As Diana slipped into her own stance — her feet angled, one hand in a defensive guard while the other floated near her waist like a snake ready to strike — she asked, "Then tell me… why didn't you use this mirror dimension during the Darkseid invasion?"
Ethan shrugged lightly, though he didn't relax his posture. "Maybe I forgot."
Diana's eyes narrowed slightly. Her expression said what her lips didn't: You're lying.
And she was right. He hadn't forgotten. He had chosen not to use it.
The truth was, he wanted the world to see the Justice League rise. To witness the heroes stand tall in the face of darkness and defy annihilation. Using the mirror dimension to trap the parademons would've been efficient… but their battle will be hidden.
If Earth was going to believe in heroes again, they needed a spectacle.
And in his calculated mind, the invasion had been the perfect start.
Diana then launched forward like a bolt of lightning.
Ethan's body reacted, his left arm snapping upward to intercept her blow. Her fist connected with his forearm, the force reverberating up his limb like the impact of a steel mallet. But he held firm, in a heartbeat, his right fist swung toward her side — fast and sharp.
But Diana twisted her torso mid-air, letting the punch skim past her ribs, and in the same motion, she launched herself upward with one leg coiling before snapping out in a brutal spinning kick. Her feet connected with his back.
The sound echoed like a crack of thunder. But Ethan didn't budge.
He turned his head slightly, meeting her gaze with a calm that almost infuriated her.
"That all you got?" he teased.
Diana smiled, "Hardly." and landed gracefully, sliding back a few feet and staring at him. She had felt it — the density of his body, the way he barely reacted. He was holding back.
She didn't like that. "Don't patronize me," she warned.
"I'm not," Ethan said with a friendly smile. "I'm just trying to make this last more than ten seconds."
She didn't wait for another word — she rushed in again, this time faster, sharper and her fists become blur. Ethan blocked with minimal effort, letting her test his defense, observing her movements. She favored aggressive forward pressure, using her hips for rotational power. But she also adapted — weaving in and out with surprising speed.
He countered, not to dominate, but to flow with her rhythm.
A right hook met her shoulder — she pivoted and sent a jab toward his jaw. He leaned back, letting it graze past him. Their bodies were in motion, a dance of flesh and force.
Then, mid-combat, Ethan chuckled. "So… I heard some guys at the pub last night tried to flirt with you."
Diana growled as she ducked under a punch and swept low, aiming for his legs. He hopped lightly over her sweep.
"They ended up with broken noses," he added while maintaining his smile.
"They deserved it," she said flatly before launching a knee toward his ribs.
He blocked it with his forearm. "You don't like guys hitting on you?"
"Not when they have weak postures and disgusting eyes," she snapped.
Suddenly, Ethan surged forward and caught her wrist. With a smooth twist, he pulled her close — her body slamming into his chest. He locked his arms around her waist, holding her tight, their faces inches apart. Her breath hitched — not out of fear, but surprise. "What about my eyes?" he asked quietly in teasing tone.
Diana stared into them, and then, she jerked her arms downward, breaking from his grip with raw strength, and pivoted into a sidekick that slammed into his obliques. The impact pushed him back a step with a genuine expression of surprise crossing his face.
"Your eyes…" she said, stepping back into stance, "…are gentle. And beautiful."
His smile returned, "Flattery will get you nowhere," he replied before stepping forward again.
They resumed their fight — not with malice, but with growing trust. Every exchange of blows was a silent conversation, every block and strike a note in their evolving rhythm.
Ethan flirted shamelessly as he moved — feints that ended in palm brushes against her waist, dodges that brought him close enough to whisper quips. Diana didn't stop him. In fact, her smiles became more frequent. Her counters sharper. The bond between them deepened not through words, but through impact.