It's really a good job that Rogue chose to pack well. Not that he hadn't had someone at the Tower pack a few things for her from there. Mostly, the plane ticket is just a token. As soon as she gets to the airport there's a personal chauffeur waiting to take her straight out onto the tarmac, where one personal jet with the words 'Stark Industries' emblazoned on one side waits - with a very familiar figure stood around by the stairs, chatting away with his pilot and one of the cabin crew.

There's a small tray nearby, with a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice and two glasses. Maybe it is just a ride to JFK that he's offering, or-- maybe it's something else.

He won't spot her right away, it's someone who taps him on the shoulder as soon as Rogue and her chauffeur exit the terminal building and he spins on his heel to greet her. The usual smile isn't there, at least not yet. Telltale signs of his uncertainty about the whole arrangement. Who was to say that Rogue wouldn't appreciate being whisked off for a week in the sun?

"You made it."