Set a Thief to Catch a Thief #22

Nathan stirred awake, his body instinctively moving before his mind caught up. His hand reached out, silencing the alarm a second before it rang. The familiar routine brought a fleeting sense of normalcy, but it was quickly overshadowed by the absence beside him. His fingers grazed the cold sheets, finding the other side of the bed empty. He lingered there for a moment, a wry smile creeping onto his face, tinged with a trace of melancholy.

Turning to the nightstand, he noticed a neatly folded note propped against the lamp. He unfolded it, his eyes scanning the elegant handwriting.

I have to head back to Symkaria immediately, but my men will stay here for one more day to tie things up. You can catch a ride with them back to New York or with the X-Men. Until we meet again. Love, Silvija.

Nathan exhaled softly, shaking his head with a bemused expression. "Gone just like a dream," he muttered under his breath, the familiar sense of déjà vu settling in his chest. It was a feeling he'd come to expect when it came to Silvija, always on the move, always just out of reach.

He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment longer, the note resting loosely in his hand before he set it down. Rising to his feet, Nathan moved through the motions of his morning routine. A quick shower washed away the remnants of sleep, and he scavenged through the scattered MREs, finding something passable to eat.

The taste was as bland as ever, but it filled the void.

With his gear secured, Nathan picked up the Muramasa Blade, its weight more assuring in his grasp than the whispers flooding his mind. The weapon was more than just a tool—it was a symbol of his resolve, a tangible reminder of the path he'd chosen.

...

Nathan's boots crunched against the gravel as he approached the outskirts of the town, his eyes scanning the horizon. It didn't take long to spot the sleek form of the X-Men's jet, its engines humming softly as Warren Worthington—Archangel—guided the rescued mutant children onboard.

A serene yet focused expression marked Warren's face as he gently ushered each child, his metallic wings glinting in the morning sun.

A few paces away, Wolverine stood sentinel, arms crossed, his gaze watchful and protective. The tension in his stance was palpable, a guardian ever on alert.

Nathan made his way toward him, the Muramasa Blade resting securely on his back. He came to a stop beside Wolverine, taking in the scene before speaking.

"Are you heading to New York?" Nathan inquired, his tone casual yet purposeful.

Wolverine's head turned slightly, his eyes narrowing as they flicked between Nathan's face and the sheathed sword. His expression was a blend of suspicion and curiosity, the corner of his mouth twitching as he finally spoke. "What's it to you, bub? Did your pals leave you stranded?"

Nathan met Wolverine's gaze with a deadpan look, unphased by the gruffness. "They offered to take me home, but it'd mean a considerable detour on my account." He shifted his focus to the jet, watching as the last of the children boarded. "There's no need to trouble them that much, especially since I have something to discuss with you."

Wolverine's eyes narrowed further as he considered Nathan's words. A beat passed before he gave a curt nod. "Alright, bub, but you better behave yourself. And keep that thing in its sheath." His gaze dropped to the Muramasa Blade, the wariness clear in his voice. "Whether you're in control of your actions or not, we're gonna have a problem if I see so much as the glint of its blade."

Nathan smiled faintly, recognizing the veiled warning for what it was. "Understood," he replied, his tone even. "No trouble from me."

Wolverine gave him a long, appraising look before turning toward the jet. "Good. Let's get moving. We don't have all day."

...

In the jet's cockpit, Nathan settled into one of the rear seats, his movements calm and deliberate. He unfurled a length of white cloth and began wrapping the sheathed Muramasa Blade, each fold precise, a ritual born from necessity. He'd grown accustomed to the blade's insidious whispers, the dark allure urging violence, but experience had taught him that caution was paramount.

As the jet began its ascent, the hum of the engines filling the cabin, Nathan turned his gaze toward Wolverine. "So, did you think about it, Logan?" he asked, his tone steady, yet probing.

Wolverine's brow furrowed, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Think about what?" he responded, his voice tinged with irritation.

Nathan raised an eyebrow, his expression cool. "Whether you have a traitor or someone capable of infiltrating your home without alerting your telepaths."

Wolverine let out a heavy sigh, the weight of the question evident in his demeanor. "I've been trying not to think about it," he admitted, the frustration in his voice clear.

From the pilot's seat, Warren's head snapped toward them, alarm etched across his features. "A traitor? What is he talking about, Logan?"

Wolverine shot Nathan a look of annoyance, as if silently reprimanding him for his timing. Nathan, however, met the gaze with a blank, unyielding stare, his expression devoid of apology. Wolverine could only grunt, his shoulders tensing as he turned to Warren.

"You know how this whole thing was a setup to get to me?" Wolverine asked, his voice low and gravelly.

Warren's frown deepened, concern shadowing his eyes, but he nodded in acknowledgment.

Wolverine sighed again, a sound laden with resignation. He gestured toward Nathan as he spoke. "He thinks that someone close to the mansion—or inside it—had to know I'd be the one to respond to this particular distress call. And honestly..." His voice trailed off, a grim expression settling on his face. "I'm of the same mind. The timing was too good, with everyone else out on missions of their own."

Warren's expression turned sharp, his displeasure evident as he responded, "I understand where you're coming from, but to consider that someone in our team is a traitor..." He trailed off, the discomfort in his voice clear. The idea of betrayal within their ranks was hard to stomach.

Before Wolverine could respond, Nathan leaned forward, his voice calm but firm. "It's that sentiment that allows most covert operatives to succeed. No one wants to doubt the people they care about," he said, his gaze steady as he let the weight of his words sink in.

"But then again," he continued, his tone softening, "you might not be dealing with a traitor. It could be brainwashing, or telepathic coercion. You mutants have seen things... I'm sure you know what I'm talking about."

Wolverine's eyes narrowed, a thoughtful hum escaping him as he considered Nathan's words. His gaze shifted back to the mercenary. "I still don't see how any of this is your business, bub," Wolverine said, his voice gruff and guarded. "Where are you going with this?"

Nathan's lips curled into a faint smile, his demeanor composed. "It just so happens," he began, "that I run a security company—Maximus Security. For a discounted price, I can help you get to the bottom of this issue." He crossed his arms, leaning back slightly as he added, "When there's suspicion of a mole, an unbiased set of eyes is necessary. Me and my men can be that for you."

Wolverine studied Nathan, his skepticism evident in the furrow of his brow. "So, you want us to hire you?" he asked, his voice heavy with doubt.

Nathan raised a single finger, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "For a very discounted price," he said smoothly. "Consider it a token of goodwill toward what could be a very... fruitful business relationship."

Wolverine scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "And what if it's not a mole? What if it's someone on the outside?"

Nathan met his gaze with a blank, almost bored expression. "Then that's even easier," he replied. "I'll find whoever's been dodging your security systems and poking around your mansion in no time."

Wolverine's eyes narrowed as he regarded Nathan with a mix of disbelief and annoyance. "We've got a mansion full of telepaths and mutants with super senses. And you think you can do better?"

Nathan let out a weary sigh, his gaze unwavering. "Not too long ago, I made a living hunting down and neutralizing telepaths and mutants with super senses." His voice was calm, almost matter-of-fact. "I know how someone like that thinks. I know how to catch them red-handed."

Warren's eyes widened at Nathan's revelation, but it was Wolverine whose reaction was more visceral. His expression twisted in anger as he stood up and stepped toward Nathan, his voice a low growl. "You what?"

Nathan raised his hands in a placating gesture, his demeanor unshaken. "Relax," he said. "I was a soldier. Black ops. The kind of stuff they sweep under the rug." His tone darkened, a flicker of bitterness creeping into his voice. "Mostly, we hunted down dangerous mutants with criminal records you wouldn't believe."

Wolverine's gaze hardened, his jaw clenching. "Mostly?"

Nathan nodded, his expression grim. "It was like that until it wasn't," he admitted. "Children were involved. That's when I stabbed the commanding officer of the task force with a knife and ended my military career."

The cockpit was silent for a beat, the weight of Nathan's confession hanging heavy in the air. Wolverine's rage simmered just beneath the surface, but he didn't lash out. Instead, he studied Nathan, trying to read the man behind the calm facade.

Warren turned to Wolverine, his brow furrowed in concern. "You're not seriously considering this, are you?" His tone carried a mix of disbelief and apprehension.

Wolverine let out a long, weary sigh, running a hand through his hair. "You know what they say, bub—set a thief to catch a thief." His gaze shifted back to Nathan, eyes narrowing slightly. "But the final decision isn't mine. That's up to Chuck."

He sank back into his seat, his posture relaxed but his voice firm. "I'll talk to him... try to convince him to give you the benefit of the doubt. But you'd better be ready. Bring a resume, and be prepared to answer a hell of a lot of questions."

Nathan gave a slow, deliberate nod, his expression calm and measured. "I can live with that."

With that, the conversation lapsed into silence, a tacit agreement hanging in the air. The hum of the jet engines filled the cockpit as they soared toward New York, the tension slowly dissipating as the journey continued without further incident. Each of them, lost in their thoughts, prepared for the challenges that lay ahead.

...

As the jet touched down on the verdant grounds of the X-Mansion, the soft hum of the engines winding down marked the end of their journey. The rear hatch lowered, allowing a gust of fresh air to sweep through the cabin. Nathan rose from his seat, adjusting the sheathed Muramasa blade slung across his back.

Wolverine stood at the exit, his arms crossed as he watched Nathan approach. "You wanna meet Chuck now?" he asked, his gruff voice cutting through the quiet.

Nathan shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Not today. I've got a few things to take care of first. I'll be back in a few days."

Wolverine gave a slight nod, his expression unreadable. "Suit yourself, but don't take too long. You're not exactly top of the trust list around here."

Nathan chuckled softly. "Fair enough." With that, he descended the ramp, his boots crunching softly against the gravel path leading to the mansion.

As he walked across the lawn, his gaze drifted toward the rescued mutant children being guided into the mansion by Jean Grey.

They looked tired but relieved, their eyes wide with a mix of curiosity and wariness.

Among them, Nathan's eyes lingered on Daniel. The boy met Nathan's gaze for a brief moment, his expression one of quiet gratitude.

Nathan gave a subtle nod before turning away, his shoulders feeling a little less heavy than usual. He pulled his coat tighter around him and strode toward the front gates, disappearing into the city beyond.

He had places to be and people to visit.