Marvelous Meditations

Nathan leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as his sharp gaze locked onto Steve. "I'm guessing you have some questions," he said, his tone calm but edged with challenge. "So, go ahead. Ask away."

Steve nodded, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a neatly folded piece of paper. He unfolded it, his eyes scanning the text. For a moment, his expression hardened, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. With a quiet sigh, he crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it into the wastebasket by the door.

"Fury prepared a list of questions," Steve explained, his tone tinged with regret. "But now that I've looked at them, I don't much like the way they're worded." He rubbed the back of his neck, his posture relaxing slightly as he met Nathan's eyes. "How about we start by getting something to eat or drink? For what it's worth, keeping you waiting wasn't my idea. I only just got to the station."

Nathan tilted his head, a faintly amused smile tugging at his lips. His eyes narrowed slightly, assessing Steve with an almost predatory curiosity. "I'm fine," he said, his voice low and deliberate. "This whole routine? I've been through it more times than I care to count. Rattling the guy you want to question, keeping him locked in a box to make him nervous…" He paused, his gaze sharp and unwavering. "Though I can't tell if this is the good cop routine or if you're actually being genuine."

Steve chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair. "I like to think I'm always genuine," he replied with a small smile. "You're right to be suspicious. You've got every reason to be. But here's the thing—" He nodded toward the door behind Nathan. "In the end, you're free to walk out that door. I wouldn't lift a finger to stop you."

Nathan rolled his eyes, his smile fading into something more cynical. "Maybe you wouldn't," he said dryly, leaning forward slightly and resting his forearms on the table. "But let's be honest—how long do you think it'll be before I find myself in another room just like this one?"

Steve didn't flinch at the jab, his calm demeanor unwavering. "Maybe," he admitted, his voice steady, "but I'd like to think we can work toward avoiding that. You've got a reputation, son, and so do I. We don't need to waste time pretending this is anything other than what it is."

"And what exactly is this?" Nathan asked, his tone sharp but not unkind, his eyes narrowing as if daring Steve to answer.

Steve leaned forward, his blue eyes locked onto Nathan's with a quiet intensity. "This," he said firmly, "is two men, two soldiers sitting across from each other, trying to decide how much they have in common and whether they can trust each other."

Nathan studied Steve for a moment, his face giving away nothing, but there was a flicker of something—amusement, perhaps—lurking beneath the surface. Slowly, he leaned back in his chair, his arms folding across his chest. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"There's no beating you, is there?" Nathan said quietly, the smirk lingering for just a moment longer. Then, with a resigned exhale, he added, "Let's just get this over with."

Steve nodded, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp and unwavering. "I knew you'd come around," he said, his voice calm but carrying a trace of warmth. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. "Alright then. Let's start from the beginning."

He paused briefly, as if carefully choosing his next words. "One would think you're a vigilante, the way you handled those thugs and that maniac flipping cars, but you're clearly not."

Steve's blue eyes locked onto Nathan's with a piercing intensity. "You've been flying under the radar ever since your discharge from the service. Quiet. Off the grid. And then, out of nowhere, you break that silence by intercepting a load of Chitauri tech. Why?"

Nathan shrugged casually, his demeanor unchanged. "To get Fury's and SHIELD's attention."

Steve frowned, his brows knitting together as he processed Nathan's blunt response. "And why's that?" he asked, his tone a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. "What do you stand to gain from Fury and a bunch of spooks breathing down your neck?"

Nathan held Steve's gaze, his expression blank, unreadable. Then, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, he said, "Because I want to use SHIELD—and Nick Fury—to achieve a goal of mine."

For the first time in their exchange, Steve blinked in surprise, caught off guard by the audacity of the statement. He quickly recovered, though, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Now we're getting somewhere," he said, leaning back slightly. He studied Nathan for a moment, his voice softening as he continued, "So tell me, son—what is it you're trying to achieve, exactly?"

Nathan's tone remained calm, but the weight of his words carried a sharp edge, like the crack of distant thunder before a storm. "To drag a monster," he began, his voice steady yet brimming with conviction, "a monster protected by the shadows of this country, into the light."

He paused, his piercing gaze locking with Steve's as his eyes turned cold, the faintest flicker of restrained fury glinting within them. "To dispel any notions of heroism people might have about him. To ensure that when I finally put a bullet in his head, he's buried in an unmarked grave, with no one to mourn him."

The room fell heavy with silence.

Steve's pause was deliberate, longer this time. He had encountered men who spoke of revenge before, but something about Nathan's calm delivery—his quiet intensity—made it clear this wasn't a fleeting vendetta. This was something deeply personal.

Although Nathan's tone hadn't wavered, Steve could sense the simmering anger beneath his words, a barely restrained hostility aimed at this unnamed man.

Steve's frown deepened as he finally asked, his voice measured, "And who is this man, exactly? What has he done to warrant such a fate?"

Nathan's jaw tightened ever so slightly, but his expression remained unreadable. "He deserves worse than what I'm planning," he said, his tone still eerily composed. "But that's all I'm willing to say for now. Maybe," he added with the faintest trace of a smirk, "if we get to know each other better, I'll tell you more."

Steve studied Nathan for a moment, his years of experience as both a soldier and a leader telling him that pressing further would yield no results. With a soft hum of acknowledgment, he gave a small nod.

"Alright," Steve said, his voice steady. "We've established what you want from SHIELD. The question now is—what can you offer in return?"

Steve's gaze swept over Nathan, assessing him with the precision of a man who'd spent decades reading people. "You've got quite the military record. One of the best I've seen. Are you offering your services, perhaps?"

Nathan let out a scoff, the sound devoid of humor. He leaned back slightly in his chair, shaking his head. "I've had my fill of following orders," he said dryly. "Two lifetimes' worth, actually."

Steve raised an eyebrow at the cryptic remark but said nothing, waiting for Nathan to continue.

"No," Nathan said, his voice firm. "What I offer is intel. On threats SHIELD doesn't even know exist yet. Enemies lurking in the shadows, using resources your people haven't even begun to understand."

Steve's expression didn't change, but there was a shift in his posture—a slight lean forward, a subtle sign that Nathan had piqued his interest. "Intel like what?" he asked.

Nathan's lips curved into a faint smile, his eyes glinting with calculated confidence. "Let's just say I have my ear to the ground in places Fury hasn't even thought to look. And I know things—dangerous things—that your organization would kill to get their hands on."

Steve leaned back slightly, his arms crossing as he regarded Nathan carefully. "That's a bold claim," he said evenly. "Care to provide an example?"

Nathan leaned back in his chair, a glint of something sharp and calculating flashing in his eyes. He tapped a finger on the table as if considering his next words carefully, then finally spoke, his voice calm but deliberate.

"How about we start with something simple?" he said, the faint trace of a smirk tugging at his lips. "Howard and Maria Stark. I know who ordered the hit, who pulled the trigger, and—most importantly—where to find them."

Steve froze for the briefest of moments, the weight of Nathan's words settling in the air between them like a heavy fog.

Nathan didn't miss the subtle shift in Steve's posture, the faint narrowing of his eyes. His smirk widened slightly. "For starters," he continued, "I can give you the name of the hitman and his current location. A little freebie, if you will."

Steve's expression betrayed only a flicker of surprise before his usual stoicism took over. He gave Nathan a measured nod. "And in exchange?"

Nathan leaned back even further, his arms crossing casually over his chest. "A favor."

Steve raised an eyebrow, his voice steady but edged with skepticism. "A favor? You asking for a blank check from SHIELD, son?"

Nathan chuckled softly, shaking his head. "No, not from SHIELD. From you."

Steve's expression hardened, his jaw tightening as he processed the request. "From me?"

"Relax," Nathan said with a dismissive wave of his hand, as if he'd anticipated Steve's reaction. "I'm not asking for a blank check, Captain. It'll be something reasonable—something that doesn't go against your morals or put your life in danger. And," he added, leaning forward slightly, his gaze locking onto Steve's, "you're free to refuse the favor when I come to collect."

Steve studied him for a long moment, his blue eyes searching for any hint of deceit. "That's awfully generous of you," he said, his tone even, though there was a trace of suspicion lurking beneath it.

Nathan smirked again, this time with more amusement. "Only because I don't think you'll refuse when the time comes," he said confidently. "Consider it a gesture of my goodwill."

Steve leaned back in his chair, his arms crossing over his chest as he regarded Nathan with a mixture of wariness and intrigue. After a moment, he nodded slowly. "I'll keep that in mind."

Nathan tilted his head slightly, his smirk fading into something more serious. "So, what do you say? Are we in agreement?"

Steve let out a deep breath, his gaze unwavering as he gave a single nod. "Alright," he said, his tone firm. "Let's hear it, then. The name of the man who killed Howard and Maria Stark."

The night air was cool and crisp as Nathan stepped out of the police station, his breath forming faint wisps in the dim glow of the streetlights. The city hummed around him—cars passing in the distance, snippets of conversation from passersby, the occasional honk of a horn.

Nathan pulled his jacket tighter around himself, his mind replaying the tense meeting with Captain America.

He made his way through New York's bustling streets, weaving between pedestrians and dodging the occasional courier bike. Before long, he found himself in front of a modest corner restaurant, its neon sign flickering faintly. The place wasn't flashy, but it had the kind of quiet charm that suited his current mood.

Inside, the warm light and the faint hum of a jazz tune playing over the speakers felt like a small reprieve from the weight of the world he carried on his shoulders.

Nathan ordered a simple meal—a sandwich, and water—and settled into a corner booth, the faint buzz of other patrons around him a comforting backdrop. As he ate, his thoughts drifted back to his conversation with Steve Rogers.

Convincing Captain America that his best friend, Bucky Barnes, was still alive—and worse, being weaponized by HYDRA—had been anything but easy. Nathan had faced his fair share of intimidating men in his time, but there was something uniquely unnerving about the way Steve's expression had shifted when he brought up Bucky.

The rage in Steve's eyes wasn't the kind of anger Nathan was used to—it wasn't wild or uncontrolled. It was cold, focused, and utterly unyielding. Nathan had felt the weight of that fury settle on him like a vice, and for a moment, he wondered if the super-soldier might lunge across the table and hurl him into the wall.

Still, Nathan had held his ground. "Why would I lie about something you can easily check?" he had said evenly, though his palms were slick with sweat beneath the table. "If you don't believe me, all you need to do is go to the Hydra base in the Altai Mountains. Siberia. You'll find Buck Barnes there."

Steve's jaw had tightened, his fists clenching reflexively on the table. "How do you know this?" he had asked, his voice low but brimming with intensity.

Nathan had shrugged, doing his best to appear nonchalant despite the tension hanging thick in the air. "I've got my ways," he'd replied. "Let's just say I've spent a lot of time digging into HYDRA's dirty laundry. And I happen to have the exact coordinates for that base. I'm giving them to you because I think you deserve to know the truth."

Steve had leaned forward then, his piercing gaze boring into Nathan's. "If you're lying," he'd said, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl, "there will be consequences. Making light of my friend, treating him like some kind of joke or ruse to buy time—it won't end well for you."

Nathan had met Steve's gaze, his tone steady despite the knot tightening in his gut. "I'd hurry up if I were you. HYDRA's been using him. They've turned him into a weapon. And if you don't act soon, who knows what kind of horrible deed they'll force him to do next?"

Steve hadn't said another word after that, but the look he gave Nathan had been enough. It was a promise—a silent vow that if Nathan's information proved false, he would pay the price.

Now, sitting in the quiet of the restaurant, Nathan let out a slow breath, taking a long sip of his beer. He had no doubt that Steve would follow through on his word. But Nathan also knew he wasn't wrong. He had done his homework, piecing together fragments of information and cross-referencing every lead until he was sure he had the truth.

...

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