Rowan Family Apartment, Astoria
Saturday afternoon, two weeks after the Roosevelt Event
The living room looked like a United Nations summit that had been taken over by protective girlfriends.
Jean sat on the floor doing slow breathing exercises with the Phoenix curled in her lap like a housecat made of galaxies.
Carol had claimed the recliner and was pretending to read a magazine while actually running orbital scans for meteors that might theoretically threaten Queens.
Jen (human form, hair in a messy bun, wearing an apron that said KISS THE HULK) was helping MJ and Gwen set the table with a level of military precision usually reserved for hostage rescues.
Peter was on the fire escape, banned from entering until Elena Rowan gave the all-clear, because he had once called her "Mrs. R" and she had looked at him like he'd murdered her childhood pet.
Eli was in the kitchen with his mom, wearing noise-canceling headphones and happily chopping cilantro (he'd decided it didn't taste like sad today). Every thirty seconds he glanced up at Elena like she was the sun and he was a particularly anxious houseplant.
Elena Rowan was five-foot-two in socks, wore scrubs with tiny cartoon trains on them, and had the kind of calm that made gamma bombs nervous.
She was also currently plating arroz con gandules while humming a song that made Eli sway in place, eyes half-closed in perfect contentment.
The women in the living room were trying very hard not to vibrate out of their skins.
Jean broke first. "Do you think she hates us?" she whispered.
Carol's magazine crumpled in her binary-grip. "She smiled at me this morning. It was worse than when Thanos looked at me."
Jen set a bowl down with a click that cracked the table slightly. "She asked if I wanted coffee. I said yes. She gave me decaf."
Gwen clutched a napkin like a lifeline. "She called me mija and I almost cried."
MJ, who had been adopted into the Rowan household at age twelve after too many sleepovers, just patted their backs. "You'll survive. Probably."
The kitchen door swung open.
Elena stepped out carrying a tray of pastelitos. Eli trailed behind her like a duckling, hands flapping happily, cheeks flushed.
"Everyone sit," Elena said, voice soft but absolute. "We're eating as a family."
Five of the most powerful women on Earth scrambled for chairs.
Eli slid into his usual spot at the table. Elena placed a plate in front of him—exactly the right ratio of rice to pigeon peas, no touching foods, pastelito cut into perfect eighths—and kissed the top of his head.
Then she turned to the rest of the table.
The temperature dropped ten degrees.
"I want to make something very clear," Elena said, folding her hands. "Elias is fifteen. He is autistic. He is nonverbal when overwhelmed. And he is the center of my entire universe."
She let that settle.
Jean's Phoenix flickered nervously.
Carol's binary aura guttered like a candle in wind.
Jen shrank an inch without meaning to.
Gwen and MJ already knew the drill and just looked respectfully terrified.
Elena continued, "I have spent fifteen years learning every sound he makes, every texture he can't stand, every frequency that hurts him and every one that helps him fly. I know when he needs silence and when he needs pressure and when he needs his mamá to hold him until the world stops spinning."
Eli, oblivious, was happily lining up his pastelito pieces by size.
Elena's gaze swept the table and landed on each woman in turn.
"I see how you look at him," she said quietly. "I see how he looks at you. And I am not blind."
Carol opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "Ma'am—"
Elena raised one finger.
Carol shut up so fast she achieved escape velocity.
"I am his mother," Elena said. "That means I get to love him the most. Always. That is non-negotiable."
The silence was deafening.
Then Elena smiled.
It was the kind of smile that could disarm warheads.
"But," she said, "there is room for more love. If it is the right kind."
She reached over and tucked a curl behind Eli's ear. He leaned into her hand without looking up, perfectly content.
"The right kind," Elena continued, "means you ask before you touch. You learn his signs. You never, ever raise your voice. You carry emergency ear defenders and weighted blankets and the specific brand of strawberry milk he likes. You text me when he has a bad day before you text him. You respect that some days he will choose me over all of you and that is how it should be."
Jean's eyes were shining. "Yes, ma'am."
"The right kind," Elena said, voice dropping to something fierce and tender, "means if anyone ever hurts him, I get first shot. Then you can have what's left."
Jen let out a watery laugh. "Understood."
Elena looked at Carol. "Captain Danvers, you will not fly him above 5,000 feet without his noise-canceling headphones and a barf bag. He gets airsick."
Carol nodded so hard her hair glowed.
"Jean, the bird stays outside when he's overstimulated."
The Phoenix chirped indignantly from the fire escape, where it was sulking with Peter.
"Jennifer, you will not Hulk out in my apartment again. The last time you cracked my good platter."
Jen looked ashamed.
"Gwen, mija, you already know the rules. Same for Mary Jane."
Gwen and MJ nodded solemnly.
Elena took a breath.
"And all of you will remember that he is fifteen. There will be no kissing on the mouth until he is eighteen, or until he asks first and I say yes. Whichever comes second."
Five faces went scarlet.
Eli, mouth full of pastelito, looked up confused. "Why is everyone red?"
Elena kissed his forehead again. "Grown-up stuff, mijo. Eat your lunch."
Then she sat down at the head of the table, served herself last, and started eating like she hadn't just laid down the most terrifying maternal law in recorded history.
The harem stared at her in awe.
Carol recovered first. She raised her glass of guava juice. "To Elena Rowan," she said, voice thick. "Scariest woman in the universe."
Elena lifted her own glass, eyes twinkling. "To my son's very polite, very terrified girlfriends. May you always be this afraid of me."
They drank.
Eli tugged his mom's sleeve. When she leaned down, he whispered loud enough for the whole table to hear:
"Can they stay for movie night? We're watching Planet Earth and Jen does the best David Attenborough voice."
Elena looked at the five women who would willingly fistfight gods for her baby.
She smiled, soft and warm and absolutely lethal.
"Of course, bebé. They can stay forever if they want."
Under the table, five sets of knees went weak.
Eli beamed, clapped once, and went back to his perfectly arranged plate.
And that was the day the most powerful harem in the multiverse officially became the second-most important group of women in Elias Rowan's life.
His mother never let them forget it.
Not even once.
End of Chapter 5