Marvelous Meditations

The night air was crisp, carrying with it the faint crackle of the nearby fire. Walking outside, Nathan scanned the quiet encampment. His eyes quickly landed on Silvija, her silver outfit and hair gleaming like a beacon against the dark backdrop of the ruins. She was seated on a weathered bench near the fire, her sharp profile illuminated by its flickering light.

He approached her, his boots crunching softly against the gravel, and sat down beside her without a word. Extending his hands toward the flames, he let the warmth seep into his fingers. "Can't sleep?" he asked, breaking the silence as he glanced at her.

Silvija shook her head, her gaze fixed on the fire. "Night watch duty," she replied, her voice low but steady. "You?"

Nathan smiled wryly, leaning back slightly. "Can't sleep," he admitted, his tone carrying a hint of humor, though his eyes betrayed a lingering fatigue.

Before he could say more, he felt a sudden impact on his shoulder. Turning slightly, he found Silvija's head resting against him, her silver hair brushing lightly against his arm. He raised an eyebrow, his voice tinged with playful skepticism. "Is it okay for your men to see you like this?"

She let out a soft scoff, her breath visible in the cold night air. "They know I'm a human being, just like them. With a heart and feelings," she replied, her tone firm but not unkind.

Nathan gave her a half-serious look, his lips curving into a faint smirk. "Are you, though? Because from what I remember—"

Silvija cut him off with a light slap to his chest, her narrowed eyes glinting in the firelight. "Just shut up and let me enjoy the moment," she said, her tone half-exasperated but undeniably warm. "I don't feel like arguing with you right now."

Nathan chuckled, the sound low and genuine, his breath mixing with the cold air. "You didn't even let me finish."

She rolled her eyes, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "We are who we are, Nathan," she said softly, her voice carrying a note of finality. "And you? You nag at the worst possible times."

For a moment, the banter faded, replaced by a rare quiet that felt more like understanding than silence. Nathan's expression softened, turning into a genuine smile. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer, and rested his head lightly atop hers.

The fire crackled on, and for that brief moment, the world around them seemed to pause.

...

The motel room door creaked open, and Nick Fury stepped inside, his silhouette sharp against the dim glow of the hallway light. He paused, taking in the sight of Mariah Hill seated at the small desk by the window, her sharp features illuminated by the pale glow of her laptop. An old, worn journal lay open in front of her, and her brow was furrowed as she alternated between reading and typing.

Fury's voice broke the silence, deep and commanding. "What've you got?"

Mariah glanced over her shoulder, holding up the journal. "Not much yet," she said, her tone clipped. She stood and extended the book toward him. "See for yourself."

Fury took the journal, his lone eye scanning the worn cover before flipping it open. He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, the springs creaking under his weight, and began reading.

Meanwhile, Mariah returned to her laptop, pulling up articles and archived reports on Hell's Kitchen from nearly two decades ago. The soft tapping of her fingers on the keyboard punctuated the room's silence as Fury read.

A few minutes later, he frowned, flipping back and forth between pages. "Are you telling me a kid wrote this?" he asked, his voice low and incredulous.

Mariah nodded without looking up. "According to that journal? Looks like it."

Fury's brow furrowed deeper as he read aloud. "Image training… worst-case scenario planning... strategizing countermeasures for potential threats." He glanced at Mariah, his expression a mixture of disbelief and irritation. "This is the kind of training we drill into our covert ops. You're telling me some kid figured it out on his own?"

Mariah leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Not just figured it out. Practiced it. From what Sister Maggie told me, Cross wasn't your average kid. The journal matches up with what she said—methodical, calculating, way too mature for his age."

Fury closed the journal with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "So we've got a twelve-year-old prodigy who disappeared off the grid, grew up God knows where, and somehow turned into the kind of guy who's got people like me asking questions." He shot her a pointed look. "You meet with Murdock yet? Find out if he's still in contact with him?"

Mariah hesitated, her eyes flickering toward the screen before meeting Fury's. "No, sir. Not yet."

Fury's glare was sharp enough to cut steel. "And why the hell not?"

Mariah bristled but held her ground, her voice steady as she replied, "I doubt meeting with Murdock will give us much, but I plan to meet him soon." She hesitated for a moment before continuing, "Today, I focused on something else—something that might give us a clearer picture of who we're dealing with."

Fury's gaze flicked to her laptop and back to her. "Go on. Speak."

Mariah turned the screen toward him and began, "When I asked Sister Maggie about Nathan Cross's disappearance, she claimed not to know why he left. But she was hiding something—or outright lying."

She gestured toward the journal sitting nearby and added, "When she handed over the journal, I noticed something. It's missing a pages entries at the end."

Fury's expression darkened. "You're sure about that?"

Mariah nodded. "I took it to an expert. They confirmed the missing pages were ripped out—and recently. Most likely by Sister Maggie herself."

Fury rubbed his forehead, muttering under his breath. "That's… suspicious. But you'd better have something stronger to back it up."

Mariah's lips quirked into a wry smile. "I do, sir." She tapped on her keyboard, pulling up an article, then turned the laptop fully toward him. "I've been digging through old articles and police reports from the time Nathan disappeared. Found this."

Fury leaned in, frowning as he read aloud, "'Local thug found dead near St. Agnes Orphanage.'" He looked back at her, his expression sharp. "And?"

Mariah leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. Her smile grew slightly, half-amused, half-serious. "I pulled the police report. According to forensics, the stab wounds on this guy suggested he was killed by someone much shorter than him—either a dwarf… or a child."

Fury stared at her for a moment, his brow furrowing deeply as he processed the information. "You're telling me that a twelve-year-old might've taken out a grown man?"

Mariah shrugged, her tone dry. "I'm saying it fits the timeline. And if it's true, Cross wasn't just a runaway. He was running from something—or someone."

Fury's eye narrowed. "Then we need to figure out who or what—and why. Keep digging. And don't let Murdock off the hook tomorrow. We need answers, not more questions."

Mariah nodded, her expression turning grim as Fury straightened and headed for the door, his mind already working through the implications of what he'd just heard.

...

With his arm still draped around Silvija, Nathan turned his gaze upward, letting the starlight capture his attention. The expanse of the night sky shimmered like a tapestry of diamonds, a sight that tugged at a quiet part of him.

If there was anything he missed about his time in the military, it was the moments in remote, untouched places where light pollution was nonexistent—where the stars could be seen in all their brilliance. No skyline in the city could ever compare.

The silence stretched between them, comfortable yet loaded with unsaid thoughts, until Silvija spoke. Her voice was soft but curious, carrying a tone Nathan couldn't quite place.

"I have a strange question for you." She glanced at him sideways, her silver hair catching the glow of the fire. "Tell me, Nathan… where do you see yourself in twenty years?"

Nathan turned to her, his expression a mix of surprise and incredulity. "How am I supposed to answer that?" He gestured vaguely. "Sitting in your chair?"

Silvija rolled her eyes, her tone dipping into playful irritation. "I mean seriously. Answer honestly for once."

Nathan let out a quiet, bitter chuckle, the sound low and almost self-deprecating. "Honestly? Probably dead."

Her reaction was immediate—an exasperated glare, though her lips twitched in amusement. "Knowing you, that's a little too on-brand," she retorted, before sighing and softening her tone. "What I meant was… where would you want to be in twenty years?"

Nathan blinked, as if the question had caught him off guard. He turned his gaze back to the fire, the flickering flames reflected in his eyes. He seemed to weigh the words before answering, his voice quieter this time.

"I don't know," he admitted, a wistful note creeping in. "Somewhere far away. Less people, more greenery. Grass as far as the eye can see." He paused, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Maybe a house by a lake. A snowy mountain in the distance. And definitely… a dog."

Silvija watched him, her expression softening into something unreadable. "You've really thought about this, haven't you?"

Nathan gave a small shrug, the smile lingering. "Not really. Just something to keep in mind… in case I somehow make it to twenty years into the future."

Silvija leaned closer, resting her head more firmly against his shoulder. "You will. You're too persistent, just like a rash that won't go away..."

Nathan gave Silvija a look that was equal parts amused and affronted, his brows raised in mock indignation. "A rash that won't go away? Why, Silvija Sablinova, that might just be the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me."

Silvija let out a soft laugh and gave his shoulder a playful nudge with her head. "I meant it in the best way possible, of course," she replied, her voice dripping with mock sincerity.

Nathan scoffed lightly, shaking his head. "Well, no one's going to accuse you of having a 'silver' tongue, that's for sure."

Silvija chuckled at the jab, her laughter light and genuine. Nathan's expression softened as he glanced down at her, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "What about you?" he asked. "Where do you see yourself in twenty years?"

Unlike him, Silvija didn't hesitate. She already knew her answer. "I'll probably be—"

Her words were abruptly cut off by the sound of rapid, heavy footsteps pounding against the ground. Both Nathan and Silvija turned sharply toward the noise, just in time to see Wolverine barreling out of a nearby house, claws extended and his expression set in grim determination.

"We've got company," Logan growled, his voice gravelly and urgent. "A lot of cars. Full of people—and they're armed."

Silvija frowned, her silver hair catching the flickering firelight as she turned to Nathan. He shrugged with an air of casual resignation. "Super senses or something," he said, gesturing vaguely toward Logan. "Don't ask."

With that, Nathan stood up, the shift in his posture signaling readiness. Silvija rose alongside him, her movements fluid as she reached for her weapons.

"Well," she said dryly, her tone laced with wry humor, "looks like the moment's over."

Nathan smirked faintly, giving his weapons a quick once-over. "Yeah," he murmured. "Back to work."

The two exchanged a glance—an unspoken agreement passing between them—before stepping into the oncoming chaos.

...

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