Two days later, both delegations returned to their respective worlds.
In the X-Men universe, in the underground conference room at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.
This conference room was much smaller than the one upstairs. A newly added layer of dark gray lead sheeting covered all four walls, and three emergency lights were set into the ceiling.
Charles Xavier sat in his wheelchair, his hands folded over his knees, his pale blue eyes sweeping over the people around the table.
Cyclops, Scott, sat to his left. His red quartz goggles gleamed dully in the dim yellow light, and his jaw was clenched into an extremely tight line.
Phoenix Girl, Jean Grey, sat beside Scott, her long crimson hair spilling down behind her shoulders. Her pale green eyes were lowered, fixed on the stack of meeting records on the table that had yet to be put away.
Storm, Ororo, stood beside the window, her silver-white robe hanging to her ankles, her long black hair stirring slightly in the breeze leaking through the window's gap.
Wolverine, Logan, leaned in a corner with a cigar between his lips. He exhaled a cloud of gray-white smoke, his hands in his pockets, his expression gloomy, saying nothing.
Beast, Hank, sat at the other end of the table. The sleeves of his dark blue suit were rolled halfway up his forearms, exposing the thick, blue-furred arms beneath. Profound exhaustion roiled in his amber eyes.
Iceman, Bobby, leaned beside the door with his arms crossed, a thin layer of ice crystals forming on his fingertips, his expression carrying the unease peculiar to the young.
Blink, Clarice, huddled on a folding chair in the farthest corner of the conference room. Black hair fell from beside her shoulders, hiding most of her face and leaving only her pinkish-purple eyes