Marvelous Meditations #75

The dim lighting of Nathan’s safe house cast long shadows across the sparse but functional living room. The place was clean but lacked any personal touches—just another stop in a long list of hideaways.

Nick Fury sat on the worn leather couch, one arm resting on the armrest, his expression unreadable as he waited. The low hum of the city outside seeped in through the cracks of a half-open window, the occasional car horn breaking the silence.

Footsteps.

Nathan walked in from the kitchen, two bottles of beer dangling from one hand by their necks. He held one out toward Fury with a casual smirk.

“Drink?”

Fury’s only response was a sharp frown. “Pass.”

Nathan just chuckled, twisting off the cap with an easy flick and taking a long sip. “More for me.” He dropped onto an armchair across from Fury, ankle resting over his knee, sinking into the silence like it was a second skin.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Fury exhaled through his nose, his patience thinning. “Listen, I need to know—”

Before he could finish, Nathan grabbed the remote and switched on the TV.

The screen blinked to life, filling the room with the image of a grand ceremony. The camera zoomed in on the solemn face of Vice President Rodriguez, his hand pressed against the Bible as he repeated the oath.

Nathan took another sip, watching.

Fury’s eye flickered from the screen to Nathan, then back again, his jaw tightening. “…You planned this.” It wasn’t a question.

Nathan just raised his beer in a silent toast.

On the TV, Rodriguez lowered his hand. The room erupted in applause. The banner running along the bottom of the screen flashed bold letters:

“RODRIGUEZ SWORN IN AS PRESIDENT.”

Then came the speech.

Rodriguez’s voice was firm, laced with emotion but measured, practiced.

“President Ellis was a great man. A man of principle. A man who saw the dangers of reckless ambition—who dared to stand against those who used ‘science’ as an excuse to play God. He fought against illegal human experimentation, and that’s why he was killed.”

The audience fell silent. The weight of his words settled over the room like a thick fog.

“But make no mistake—this great nation will not bow to terrorism.”

The applause returned, loud and thunderous.

Rodriguez’s expression darkened. “For months, I have conducted a deep investigation—one that uncovered a ring of criminals embedded within our own government. A secret network that has enabled and funded these horrific experiments. And at its head—”

A pause.

Then, he said it.

“General Thaddeus ‘Thunderbolt’ Ross.”

The room on the screen erupted. Journalists fired questions. Camera flashes sparked like gunfire. The political landscape had just been set on fire.

Nathan finally spoke, his voice calm as he swirled his beer bottle lazily. “He’s not pulling punches, is he?”

Fury’s face was unreadable, his fingers steepled together as he processed what he had just heard.

Nathan smirked as he took another sip of his beer, letting the silence stretch between them.

Fury’s face was a battlefield of emotions—disbelief flickered into shock, then burned into anger. By the time his gaze locked onto Nathan, his expression had settled into something lethal. A glare so sharp, so unwavering, that for a moment, it seemed like he was willing Nathan out of existence.

Nathan just drank, unbothered.

"You want to know what I want," he mused, rolling the bottle between his fingers. "That’s what this is about, isn’t it?"

Fury’s silence was all the confirmation he needed. But Nathan didn’t wait for an answer anyway.

"I want Ross ruined." He tilted his head slightly, watching Fury’s reaction. "That’s what I want. But you already knew that, didn’t you?"

Fury exhaled through his nose, his jaw tightening.

"The real question is—what do you want?"

For a long moment, Fury said nothing. Then, in a voice that was eerily calm, he finally spoke.

"I want a lot of things," he admitted. "One of them being a world where the President of the United States isn’t in the pocket of some revenant."

Nathan chuckled, low and amused.

"Rodriguez isn’t in my pocket. He just owes me a favor." He swirled the beer in his hand, watching the foam settle. "And this? This is him repaying it." He exhaled through his nose. "If I really wanted to push my luck, maybe I’d ask him to throw mutants a bone—to settle a debt of my own. But that’s about it."

He leaned back against the couch, arms stretched along the backrest, completely at ease.

"So now you need to ask yourself, Fury—what’s worse? A world where the President owes me a few favors… or a world where HYDRA owns everything?"

The question hung between them like a noose.

Fury’s jaw flexed, his hands resting on his thighs, fingers curling slightly—like he was deliberating whether or not to draw his gun right there and then. The air felt charged, a moment away from breaking.

Nathan saw it in his eyes. If Fury truly believed he could end things right now—if he thought, even for a second, that pulling the trigger would make the world a safer place—he wouldn’t hesitate.

But he wouldn’t. Because deep down, Fury understood the truth.

Despite the storm brewing in his mind, Fury’s voice remained steady. "I'm listening."

Nathan smirked, tilting his bottle slightly before taking another slow sip. He let the tension linger—let Fury stew in his own thoughts before finally breaking the silence.

"I’ve already sent documents that would bury Ross for two lifetimes." His voice was casual, almost lazy, but there was a sharpness underneath. "War crimes, illegal experiments—the kind of horror show that’d make even the most corrupt politician look twice."

Fury’s frown deepened as Nathan continued.

"Every news agency worth a damn has them by now. As we speak, they’re scrambling to verify their authenticity… and once they do?" Nathan shrugged, his smirk widening. "Some will publish them, some won’t. Either way, by tomorrow, the world is going to know what kind of monster Ross really is."

Fury exhaled slowly, the gears in his head turning.

"And what exactly do you want from me?" he asked, voice measured.

Nathan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Whatever it takes to make sure that impression sticks. And that it’s acted on." His gaze was steady, unyielding. "Ross has his claws too deep in this country, in the military, in the government. If there’s even the smallest chance that he could wiggle free, I need someone like you to make damn sure he doesn’t."

Fury closed his good eye, falling into deep thought. His fingers tapped against his knee—a slow, deliberate rhythm. When he finally spoke, his voice was unreadable.

"And what are you willing to offer?"

Nathan’s smirk returned, but this time, it was colder.

"HYDRA."

Fury’s jaw tightened.

Nathan took his time, watching him, letting the weight of the word settle before continuing.

"I’ll point you to their archives—a record of everything they’ve done, every dirty little secret, every move they’ve made to sink their teeth into the world. And more importantly…" he leaned back, taking a slow sip of his beer. "Every plan they have for the future."

Fury didn’t reply right away. But his frown deepened, his expression darkening into something unreadable.

Nathan took it as a sign to press forward.

"You don’t have to answer me," he said, standing up. "Do as I say, and I’ll know where you stand."

He tossed the empty bottle aside with a careless flick of his wrist, then grabbed the second one.

"Once Ross is ruined to my satisfaction…" Nathan let the sentence breathe for a second before finishing, "I’ll give you HYDRA."

He turned and started toward the exit, his footsteps slow, deliberate.

He’d only made it a few steps before Fury’s voice cut through the room like a knife.

"And if I don’t?"

Nathan paused. He didn’t turn around, but there was a slight shift in his posture—something almost amused.

"Then good luck dealing with HYDRA on your own."

He took another step, then added, almost as an afterthought—"I’m trying to do this the right way. But if it doesn’t work…"

His voice dropped a fraction, something cold and absolute settling in his tone. "I’ll take Ross down my way. And trust me, Fury—you won’t like that."

A beat of silence.

"No one will."

And with that, Nathan walked out, leaving Fury alone with his thoughts.

...

The bouquet of lilies rustled softly in Nathan’s grip as he stood motionless before the cold slab of stone. The name carved into it—Lilian Cross—wasn't one he’d ever spoken aloud. Not because it wasn’t real, but because it wasn’t hers.

Whoever built this memorial had given her his last name, though she had never carried it in life. It was a well-intended lie, and yet, one that still unsettled him.

But in the end, it didn’t matter.

It was just an empty monolith, a marker with no body beneath it. A placeholder for grief, a quiet space where he could come to lay his heart bare before stepping into the storms ahead—whether they were of his own making or someone else’s.

Slowly, Nathan lowered himself to one knee, setting the flowers down at the base of the stone. His fingers lingered on the petals for a moment before he exhaled, his breath visible in the cold evening air.

"This is it," he murmured, eyes tracing the inscription. "The beginning of the end."

He swallowed the lump in his throat before continuing.

"Soon enough, Ross will answer for his crimes."

His words hung in the air, but his voice lacked conviction.

Nathan’s gaze drifted to the horizon, to the dark clouds creeping in. There was a storm coming—one he’d spent years setting into motion.

And still, doubt gnawed at him.

His fingers tightened into a fist as he rested his forearm on his knee, shoulders sagging slightly.

"I don’t even know if this is the right thing to do," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "Or if it’s what you’d want."

The wind stirred, carrying the scent of damp earth and dying leaves. Nathan let out a slow, bitter breath.

"A lot of people are going to die."

He hesitated, then added, almost as if confessing to the stone itself—

"But the rest will follow. I’ll hunt every last one of them down."

Silence.

Only the distant creak of tree branches and the whisper of wind filled the graveyard.

Then, a small, humorless chuckle escaped him.

"Look at me." Nathan shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face. "Talking to a piece of stone like a damn fool."

His jaw tensed, and for a fleeting second, something almost vulnerable flickered behind his eyes.

"And the worst part?" His voice was barely above a whisper. "I don’t even know if I want you to hear what I’m saying."

His fingers brushed the edge of the gravestone.

"Because if you did… you probably wouldn’t approve."

A dry, almost bitter smirk ghosted over his lips as he exhaled, his breath misting in the cold air.

"And if that’s the case…" He swallowed, his voice rough. "Then I really wouldn’t know what to do."

For a long moment, he just knelt there, staring at the name, waiting for an answer that would never come.

Then, finally, Nathan stood.

Nathan adjusted his coat, exhaling as he cast one final glance at the grave. Then, without another word, he turned to leave.

But he didn’t get far.

His steps halted sharply, his senses prickling as he spotted a figure standing in his path—a woman, clad in an elegant blue dress that swayed lightly in the evening breeze. A flowing midnight cape draped over her shoulders, its hem barely brushing the damp earth beneath her feet.

But it was her mask that gave him pause.

A golden visage, smooth and expressionless, with hollow, sunken eyes—yet no openings through which to see. She stood motionless, her presence almost otherworldly, as if she had always been there, waiting for him to notice.

Nathan’s expression hardened.

"You’re Rogue’s friend, I presume."

The woman tilted her head slightly, then gave a slow, deliberate nod.

"And Lily’s."

Nathan’s frown deepened.

There was weight behind those words—too much weight.

She let the silence stretch before lifting a delicate hand and removing her mask. Beneath it was a strikingly beautiful face, framed by soft waves of dark hair. Her white, unfocused eyes were unsettling—not because they lacked sight, but because they seemed to see too much.

"My name is Irene Adler," she said, her voice calm, measured.

Nathan studied her for a moment, then scoffed.

"Well, I’d say it’s a pleasure—" he exhaled, shaking his head, "—but I’d be lying."

His posture shifted slightly, weight shifting to one foot in quiet irritation.

"Eavesdropping’s a bit rude, don’t you think?"

Irene’s lips curved into a faint smile.

"I do apologize," she said, not sounding all that sorry. "But this… conversation? I’ve already seen it. A hundred times over."

Nathan narrowed his eyes.

"Let me guess—you see the future. That’s how you know Lily."

Irene let out a small breath, shaking her head.

"Not the future," she corrected softly. "Every possible future."

Nathan’s frown deepened, but before he could respond, her gaze lifted toward the sky.

"Events that have yet to unfold are not carved into stone, Nathan Cross." Her voice carried an eerie certainty. "They are written in sand."

A breeze stirred, sending dry leaves skittering across the graveyard.

Her blank, ivory eyes darkened—not in color, but in weight.

"And I foresee a massive tidal wave."