Marvelous Meditations #62

Nathan exhaled slowly, barely audible, but internally, he sighed far deeper.

Ilyana’s eyes—wide, curious, and far too innocent—felt heavier on him than they should have. He’d endured the stares of killers, soldiers, and people who thought they could measure his worth with a glance, but this? This was different. This was a child’s gaze, full of wonder and quiet scrutiny, and it dug into something he had long since buried.

It didn’t help that her blue eyes were just a shade off from matching Lily’s.

Nathan clenched his jaw, pushing the thought aside before it could unravel any further.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Ilyana moved. Without a word, she lifted a small hand and pointed straight at his arm.

Nathan followed her gaze downward and saw it immediately—the metallic gleam of his vibranium limb catching just enough light between his glove and sleeve to be noticeable. To most, it would’ve been an insignificant sliver of metal. But to a child as observant as her, it was something worth fixating on.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he flexed his fingers, the servos humming softly beneath the metal plating. He met her gaze and, switching to Russian, said smoothly, “This?”

Slowly, he raised his hand and pulled off the glove, revealing the sleek, dark vibranium underneath. The room’s dim light reflected faintly off its surface, emphasizing the intricate craftsmanship—Elihas Starr’s work at its finest.

“I lost my arm fighting a very bad man,” he said, his voice casual, as if he were describing an old scar instead of a missing limb. “A friend of mine made this as a replacement.”

Ilyana’s eyes widened, her fascination clear as she took a hesitant step closer. Then another.

She reached out without fear, her small hands brushing against his metal fingers before gripping them fully, her touch light but insistent. Nathan remained still, letting her explore, feeling the warmth of her palms despite the synthetic receptors in his arm not being an exact match for human sensation.

Starr had done impressive work—he could still register pressure, temperature, even the subtle vibrations of movement.

Nathan parted his lips, ready to say something, but the words stalled in his throat. He had no idea what to say.

Instead, after a beat of silence, he reached out with his real hand and gently patted her head, the gesture automatic, instinctual.

Then, retracting his vibranium fingers from her grip, he murmured in an attempt to scare her away, “Careful now. This thing might cut you.”

As if to prove his point, his fingers shifted seamlessly, the vibranium plates morphing into razor-sharp talons before melting back into their original shape.

Ilyana gasped—not in fear, but in sheer delight. And then, to his complete surprise, she began to clap, her face lighting up with excitement.

“Do another trick!” Ilyana demanded, her eyes alight with excitement.

Nathan stared at her, expression deadpan. “I’m not a magician, kid.”

Ilyana crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed with his lack of enthusiasm. “You made your fingers into knives! That’s magic.”

Nathan sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Before he could muster a response, a deep chuckle rumbled from the side.

He turned his head sharply, his glare landing on Logan, who was leaning back with a smug smirk, arms crossed over his chest.

“Look at you, bub,” Wolverine drawled, his voice thick with amusement. “Completely helpless. And all it took was a curious little girl.”

Nathan’s eyes narrowed. “Very funny.”

Logan’s grin widened. “Oh, I think it is.”

Nathan exhaled, tilting his head slightly in a silent plea. “How about some help?”

Logan feigned deep thought, rubbing his stubbled chin before shaking his head. “Not a chance. I’m enjoyin’ this way too much.”

From the side, another voice entered the mix, this one heavier with a thick Russian accent.

“I’m afraid there’s no helping you here.”

Nathan glanced over to see Nikolai standing with a knowing look, his arms folded as he observed the scene. He shifted his gaze to Ilyana and reached out, resting a large, weathered hand atop her golden head.

“Once she takes a shine to someone, she finds a way to worm into their hearts,” he said, his voice laced with both amusement and fatherly affection.

Nathan let out a slow breath, shaking his head with a resigned smirk. “That so?”

Nikolai chuckled. “Da.”

Silence settled over the room for a brief moment, but it was soon broken by the sound of the front door opening.

Alexandra had returned.

She stepped inside, brushing the cold from her sleeves as she looked around, her expression warm but expectant.

“The other households have heard of our guests,” she announced in Russian. “They wish to welcome Piotr and them properly.”

Nathan arched a brow. “And that means…?”

Alexandra smiled, clapping her hands together. “It means we are having a party.”

...

The night stretched wide over the farmlands, a deep, inky blue sky speckled with stars. The only source of light, aside from the moon’s pale glow, was the massive bonfire crackling at the center of the gathering. Flames licked high into the air, embers swirling like fireflies before vanishing into the night.

Near the fire, a long wooden table was laden with food and drink—hearty loaves of bread, steaming bowls of stew, roasted meats, and bottles of homemade vodka. The scent of charred wood mixed with the rich aroma of food, creating an intoxicating warmth that wrapped around the gathered villagers and guests alike.

Music filled the air. A few men with well-worn instruments played a soulful, ancient tune, their fingers moving expertly over strings and keys. A woman, her voice deep and haunting, sang an old Russian folk song—something that carried the weight of generations.

Her voice wove through the night, tugging at something deep in the bones of those who listened.

The younger X-Men had scattered into the celebration, blending in with the locals. Bobby was already halfway through a mug of something strong, thinking no one had noticed. He was laughing as he tried to mimic the footwork of the village dancers.

Jean, Kitty, and Rogue—Anne-Marie, as she preferred outside of missions—moved in perfect rhythm with the music, their movements light and unrestrained, caught up in the moment.

Kurt, however, was still.

He sat next to Nathan, his usual energy absent, his golden eyes reflecting the firelight as he watched the others dance. There was something distant in his expression, a longing that he wasn’t voicing.

Nathan, for his part, sat back with a cigarette between his fingers, watching the scene unfold. He was content just observing—until he felt someone approach.

A young woman, likely in her twenties, stopped before him. She had soft features and warm eyes, a shawl draped over her shoulders. She smiled, tilting her head.

“Would you like to dance?” she asked, her accent thick but melodic.

Nathan exhaled slowly, offering a polite but firm shake of his head. “Not tonight.”

The woman looked a little disappointed but didn’t push, giving him an understanding nod before stepping away.

As she disappeared into the crowd, Kurt finally spoke, giving Nathan a sideways glance.

“That’s the fifth one now.”

Nathan raised an eyebrow, taking a drag of his cigarette. “And?”

Kurt shrugged, his tail flicking idly behind him. “You should appreciate the chances you get, mein Freund. Some people don’t have them.”

Nathan huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “What chances are those?”

Kurt’s expression darkened, his golden eyes narrowing as he turned his head slightly toward Nathan.

“Do I really have to say it?” he asked, his voice quieter now but no less pointed. He gestured vaguely toward himself, the meaning behind his words as clear as the fire burning before them.

A few feet away, Logan and Piotr had been engaged in their own quiet conversation, but at Kurt’s words, both of them fell silent. They didn’t turn, didn’t make it obvious, but Nathan could tell—they were listening now.

Nathan chuckled, low and rough, shaking his head as he tapped the ash from his cigarette. “So what, you think I got invited to dance and you didn’t because of the way we look?”

Kurt didn’t answer, but his stare said enough. It wasn’t bitterness, exactly—just a quiet, resigned understanding of the way things were.

Nathan exhaled through his nose, picking up the beer bottle next to him and taking a slow swig. The firelight caught on the faint scars lining his face as he set the bottle down, his fingers drumming lightly against the glass.

“Kid, why don’t you take a look at me yourself?” he said, his voice almost amused. “Other than my height, I’m nothing special. Just an average-looking guy.”

He lifted his metal hand slightly, the dim glow of the fire catching on the vibranium surface before he flexed his fingers and let it drop back to his lap. “Add a couple of scars to that, and I’m not much to look at either.”

He let out a slow sigh, his gaze flicking toward the fire as if watching something only he could see. “They didn’t ask me to dance because of my looks, elf.” His tone was quieter now, more measured. “They did it because they’re curious. Not every day you see someone show up in a place like this, accompanied by a general of the Russian army.”

Kurt scoffed, his tail flicking behind him as he looked away. “That doesn’t change the fact that you’re blowing chances I’d never get.” His voice was quiet but firm, carrying the weight of unspoken frustration.

Nathan let out a slow breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose before resting his elbows on his knees. “You don’t get it, do you?” He gestured toward the women twirling near the fire, their laughter mingling with the music. “Impressions are everything. I made mine the moment I rolled in at the head of a convoy full of Russian military. That’s the version of me they see.”

He turned to Kurt, arching a brow. “What about you?”

Kurt scratched the back of his head, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I… don’t know.”

Nathan stared at him blankly before deadpanning, “You’re the gloomy blue guy with the yellow eyes.”

Kurt shot him a sharp glare, baring his fangs slightly. “Danke for stating the obvious.”

Nathan exhaled through his nose, shaking his head in frustration. “I’m not saying that’s what you are, you dumb idiot. I’m saying that’s what you look like right now. But I know that’s not all there is to you.”

Kurt didn’t respond, his expression unreadable, but Nathan wasn’t done.

“You’ve got one of the most interesting abilities out there. You’re clever, you’re quick, and you’ve got a good sense of humor when you’re not sulking.” He leaned back, his vibranium fingers tapping idly against the bottle in his hand. “But there’s no way those girls—or anyone else—would know that just by looking at you.”

Before Kurt could say anything, Nathan reached out and placed a firm hand on the back of his head, tilting it toward the dancing crowd.

“You want some of that?” His voice was low, steady. “Then get up and do something. Dance, sing, do a damn flip, teleport across the fire for all I care. Let them get curious about you too—and then let them get to know you, the real you.”

For a moment, Kurt just stared at the dancers, the firelight flickering in his golden eyes. His tail curled slightly behind him, betraying his lingering hesitation.

“Couldn't you have said that in a nicer way?” he grumbled, though his expression had softened.

Nathan arched a brow, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Less talk, more flips.”

Kurt let out a snort before flashing a sharp-toothed grin. Then, with a sharp bamf and a puff of sulfuric smoke, he was gone.

He reappeared right next to Bobby, snatching a sizzling cut of meat from the younger mutant’s plate just as he was about to grab it.

“Hey, that’s mine!” Bobby squawked, staring at his now-empty hand.

Kurt grinned, holding up the stolen prize. “Come and get it.” And with another bamf, he vanished again, popping up a few yards away with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

Bobby didn’t hesitate. “Oh, it’s so on.”

A slick sheet of ice formed beneath his feet, and with a quick motion, he propelled himself forward, skating toward Kurt with a determined expression. Kurt only laughed, disappearing and reappearing unpredictably, just barely dodging Bobby’s attempts to grab him.

Their antics drew immediate attention, laughter and cheers rising from the gathered villagers. Nathan noticed some of the girls whispering among themselves, eyes following Kurt as he zipped around. This community had long been accustomed to Piotr and his brother before him, and while that familiarity didn’t guarantee anything, it certainly helped.

Whether it was enough for one of the girls to get past Nightcrawler’s unusual appearance, Nathan didn’t know—but he sure as hell had a better shot now.

From the side, Logan chuckled, his gruff voice cutting through the crackling fire. “Nice work with the elf, bub.”

Piotr nodded in agreement, arms crossed over his chest as he watched his teammate weave through the crowd. “Da. Kurt is one of the brightest, most optimistic people I know… but he has moments like those.”

Nathan took a slow sip of his beer, watching as Kurt cackled and dodged another ice ramp. “He’s a good kid,” he said, voice dry. “He just needs a little bad influence.”

Before anyone could say anything, a small figure emerged from the crowd, walking toward Nathan with unmistakable purpose. Ilyana Rasputin.

Her hands were tucked behind her back, her steps light and deliberate, like a child who thought they were being sneaky but wasn’t fooling anyone. Her face, however, gave her away—her expression practically glowed with mischief.

Nathan, still nursing his beer, raised an eyebrow. “What you got there?”

Ilyana beamed up at him, rocking on her heels before finally revealing what she’d been hiding—a single dandelion, slightly crushed from being clenched in her tiny fist.

Nathan exhaled through his nose, shaking his head in mild amusement. He’d spent the better part of the day being mercilessly hounded by her, and by now, he knew that any attempts to keep his distance were utterly futile. The kid had latched onto him like a particularly stubborn barnacle.

“Is that for me?” he asked, extending his hand toward her.

Ilyana nodded eagerly—then suddenly shook her head. “No, come closer.”

Nathan hesitated, flicking a glance toward Logan and Piotr. The two men merely shrugged, both of them looking far too entertained for his liking.

With a long-suffering sigh, Nathan leaned forward. “Alright, let’s see where this goes.”

Ilyana’s grin stretched even wider as she reached up and tucked the dandelion behind his ear. She took a step back to admire her work, then clapped her hands together in delight. “There! Now you look like a princess.”

Nathan stared at her, blinking slowly. Behind him, Logan let out a low chuckle, and Piotr outright laughed.

“Well,” Nathan muttered, exhaling through his nose, “I feel like a princess, alright.”

Ilyana giggled, clearly pleased with herself, before stepping even closer and tugging at his sleeve insistently. She didn’t need to say a word—she simply pointed toward the bonfire, where the rest of the villagers and young mutants were still dancing and celebrating.

Nathan turned back to Logan and Piotr, hoping for some kind of assistance.

Logan, predictably, pretended he hadn’t noticed anything.

Piotr, however, smirked and said, “You better do it, comrade, or she’ll start crying… and then you’ll answer to me.”

Nathan let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. “I guess this is one dance invitation I can’t refuse.”

Ilyana beamed, grabbing his wrist with surprising strength and pulling him toward the fire.

Nathan let her drag him away, already resigning himself to his fate.