Marvelous Meditations #67

Nathan nudged Savin’s limp body with his boot, watching for any sign of movement. Nothing. The man was out cold.

He let out a slow exhale, rolling his shoulders as the tension in the room settled. Then, his gaze drifted to Killian, who was lying motionless a few feet away. Nathan’s eyes narrowed.

“You can stop playing dead. I’m not gonna kill you.”

A beat passed. Then Killian stirred, shifting slightly before pushing himself upright. His suit was charred, his face bruised, but his eyes burned with fury as he met Nathan’s gaze.

“Then why are you here?” he demanded, his voice hoarse but steady. “And who the hell are you?”

Nathan shrugged, his expression unreadable.

“Doesn’t matter.” His tone was almost casual. “And it really shouldn’t concern you.”

Then, he smirked. “As for why I’m here, it’s just like I told Stark—I was protecting an asset.”

Killian’s expression darkened. His fingers twitched like he wanted to lash out, but he held himself back, choosing instead to study Nathan with a calculating glare.

“All this… for her?” His lip curled. “Even when you already have Extremis?”

Nathan didn’t respond, but Killian could see the answer in his posture.

A scoff. A slow shake of the head.

Killian’s hands clenched into fists. “I don’t know who you are,” he growled, “but you just made a very powerful enemy over a replaceable asset.”

For a moment, Nathan just stared at him, expression blank. Then, to Killian’s growing irritation—he laughed. A quiet chuckle at first, before it grew into something more amused, almost mocking.

Killian’s face twisted in rage. “What the hell’s so funny?” he snapped. “Do you have any idea what’s coming? I’ll have this entire country in my pocket soon!”

Nathan shook his head, exhaling like he was tired of humoring a child’s tantrum. “You keep saying that word—anonymity.” He gave Killian a slow, pointed look. “You’ve been throwing it around so much, I think you actually convinced yourself you’re some kind of mastermind lurking in the shadows.”

He took a step closer, his smirk fading into something far colder. “But let’s be real.”

He tilted his head, his gaze sharp and cutting.

“This whole thing? Your empire? It didn’t come from the mind of some unseen genius pulling strings from the dark.” Nathan’s tone carried no anger, just quiet, undeniable certainty. “It started because you were desperate for respect you could never earn. You needed people to see you as something bigger, something better.”

He let that sink in, watching Killian’s jaw tighten, his fury simmering beneath the surface.

Then Nathan gave him the worst thing of all—a look of almost pity. “And that’s why you’ll never really be in control.”

Killian’s expression twisted further, his pride and fury warring beneath the surface. His lips curled back in a sneer, but the weight of his defeat hung heavy in the air.

“Say what you will,” he spat, his voice thick with venom. “You took nothing from me. But I will take from you.”

He clenched his fists so hard his knuckles turned white. His body trembled—not with fear, but with the sheer force of his rage. “You’d better kill me right here and now,” he snarled. “Because if you don’t, I’m coming for you with everything I have.”

Nathan merely let out another dry laugh, shaking his head like Killian was little more than a minor inconvenience.

“Can’t be bothered to worry about you, pal,” he said, his tone utterly dismissive. “You’ll be dead soon anyway. You just don’t know it yet.”

The words hit like a gut punch, but before Killian could react, Nathan turned slightly, throwing a glance over his shoulder. His smirk lingered, cold and effortless.

“Still,” he added, “I can squeeze a little more out of you before then.”

He waved a hand lazily in the air as he started walking away. “I'll tell you what... survive Stark, and maybe I'd be inclined to spare you a second glance... so keep struggling until. It’s fun to watch, and very much lucrative....”

Killian’s whole body tensed, veins bulging at his temples as heat radiated from his skin. His breath came out ragged, his control slipping as his body flared with Extremis. Then, his eyes landed on a pistol lying a few feet away—Savin’s.

The urge to grab it was instant, his fingers twitching at his sides. The thought of putting a bullet through the back of Nathan’s skull sent a surge of satisfaction through him.

But just as quickly, his hands began to shake.

His body remembered what his pride refused to acknowledge—the brutal, one-sided beating he had just suffered. Every aching muscle, every sharp pulse of pain was a reminder of how utterly outmatched he had been. He knew how that fight would end if he made a move now.

Slowly, his gaze shifted to Savin, still lying unconscious on the floor. A flicker of disgust crossed Killian’s face, his lip curling as he muttered under his breath,

“Useless.”

With that, he turned away, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. As he walked off, his voice dropped into a quiet snarl.

“Just you wait.”

...

The night air was thick with humidity, the distant echoes of chaos still ringing behind them as Tony Stark and Maya Hansen hurried through the uneven terrain outside Killian’s hideout. The only sound between them was the rhythmic crunch of gravel underfoot—well, that and the occasional exaggerated sigh from Stark as he checked the tiny, garishly pink watch strapped to his wrist.

Maya stole a glance at it, perplexed.

The watch was unmistakably a child's—plastic, decorated with cartoon princesses, and absurdly out of place on Tony’s wrist. She had seen him grab it on their way out, but she hadn't questioned it. Frankly, her mind was too occupied with the whirlwind of the past few minutes—Nathan Cross, Extremis, Killian’s wrath—to dwell on whatever bizarre habit this was.

Stark, however, was laser-focused on the watch, tapping its scratched surface and muttering under his breath.

After a few more minutes of silence, Tony finally spoke, keeping his eyes on the watch as he walked. "Okay, so spill it. Who was that guy back there? I mean, obviously, he’s got some fun party tricks—glowing eyes, energy guns, whole ‘intimidating presence’ package—but something tells me he wasn’t on Killian’s payroll.”

Maya hesitated, pulling her thoughts away from Nathan and back to the conversation. “I don’t know exactly,” she admitted. “But his name is Nathan Cross.”

Tony slowed his pace. The name struck something in his brain, a spark of recognition just out of reach.

“Nathan Cross…” he muttered, rolling the name around in his mouth like a bad aftertaste. His brows furrowed as he repeated it again, this time with a hint of irritation. “Nathan Cross… why does that sound—”

Then it hit him like a freight train.

His eyes widened. “Oh, that son of a bitch.”

Maya blinked at him in surprise. “You know him?”

Tony let out a dry, almost incredulous laugh, rubbing his forehead. “Not personally, but yeah, I’ve heard the name. And not for any reason related to our predicament...”

Maya frowned, intrigued despite herself. “Then how?”

Tony turned to her, exasperation written all over his face. “Because, Dr. Hansen, that gun-toting glowstick happens to own a ridiculous chunk of my company.”

Maya’s mouth opened slightly in surprise. “What?”

Tony gestured dramatically. “Yep. Back when I first got out of the weapons business—y’know, trying to be a responsible human being—stock prices tanked. Everyone freaked out except for Nathan freaking Cross.”

He shook his head, still processing. “Bought up a ton of Stark Industries stock when it was at its lowest. No idea how he pulled it off, but every time I tried to track him down to buy those shares back, he was gone. Like a ghost. We sent emails, made calls, even sent some very polite, not-at-all-threatening representatives, and nada.”

Maya absorbed this information, her mind racing.

It seemed Nathan Cross wasn’t just a war hawk or a man hungry for power like she initially thought. In addition to owning his own company and having some of the most brilliant minds under his employees, he's even sitting in the background of Stark Industries all this time, holding a significant share of its future in his hands—and he had never once reached out.

Tony groaned, throwing up his hands. “And then, boom, outta nowhere, he shows up tonight—kicking ass, throwing out cryptic one-liners, saving my life, which, by the way, I do not appreciate without my permission. Seriously, does anyone in my life listen to me?”

Maya ignored his dramatics, staring ahead, deep in thought.

Nathan Cross…

She had worked with some of the world’s most powerful people, but she had never met anyone quite like him. Now, more than ever, she was beginning to realize—Nathan Cross wasn’t just dangerous.

He was playing a long game.

And she had no idea what his endgame was.

Tony gave Maya an exasperated look, throwing up his hands. "And now you're not listening either. Fantastic. Love that for me."

Maya barely reacted, her mind clearly elsewhere.

Tony let out a long, dramatic sigh. "Alright, fine. Since you don't wanna talk about me—which, by the way, is a tragic loss for both of us—let’s talk about you instead." He tilted his head. "What’s next for Dr. Hansen?"

Maya hesitated before shaking her head. "I don’t know." Her voice was quieter now, edged with uncertainty. "Killian’s too unstable to work with. He’s already tried to kill me once, and I doubt that was a one-time impulse." She glanced at Tony. "And Cross… he’s a complete wild card. I don’t know what his endgame is, but right now, he’s got my entire life’s work in a chokehold."

Tony raised a brow at that, ready to make a quip about unstable geniuses and bad life choices, but before he could, his attention was yanked away by a shrill beep from the ridiculous pink watch on his wrist.

He stared at it, then back at her. "Quick question—what’s the mileage count from Tennessee to Miami?"

Maya blinked at him, thrown off by the sudden shift. "It’s… about 820 miles. Why?"

Tony grinned, wiggling his fingers in anticipation. "You’ll see." He took a step away from her, squared his shoulders, and raised a hand. "Alright, countdown time."

"Five… four… three… two… one…"

…

…

…

Nothing.

Tony frowned.

Maya arched a brow.

He cleared his throat and tried again. "Five… four… three… two—"

Still nothing.

Maya gave him a skeptical look. "Is this supposed to be funny, or—"

Before she could finish, a distant whistling noise cut through the air. Then, with a sharp whoosh, a battered red-and-gold gauntlet shot out of the sky, closing in fast.

Tony barely had time to lift his arm before the gauntlet slammed onto his hand with a magnetic clunk, locking into place. A second later, the rest of the armor came streaking in—piece by piece, metal plates snapping into position with rapid precision.

The chest plate slammed into him hard enough to make him stumble, boots clamped around his legs, and the back thrusters whirred to life.

Everything was going smoothly until the final piece—the face cover. It came hurtling toward his face at high speed.

Tony’s eyes widened. "Oh, not again—"

With reflexes born from experience, he caught it mid-air just before it could smash into his nose. Letting out a relieved breath, he popped it on with a click.

Maya crossed her arms, unimpressed. "That would have been cool if not for the awkward countdowns."

Tony scoffed, adjusting his stance as the repulsors hummed beneath his feet. "Tough crowd." The thrusters fired up, lifting him a few feet off the ground—though not as smoothly as he’d hoped.

He wobbled in the air, stabilizing just in time to avoid faceplanting into a tree.

Maya just shook her head.

Tony gave her a two-fingered salute. "I’ll send someone to pick you up. Get you somewhere safe. But for now—" He angled his body upward. "I gotta run."

With that, he blasted away, leaving a trail of sparks and a lingering echo of repulsor, just barely keeping himself above the ground.

Maya stood there for a moment, watching him disappear into the darkness.

Then, with a sigh, she turned away, already trying to figure out what the hell she was supposed to do next.