This and That #44

Charles Xavier sat behind his desk, his fingers steepled together as his gaze shifted between Steve Rogers and Nathaniel Cross. His office, lined with towering bookshelves and adorned with rich mahogany furniture, was as refined as the man himself. The faint scent of parchment and old wood lingered in the air, blending with the soft crackle of the fireplace in the corner.

After a brief pause, Xavier finally spoke, his voice calm but edged with something unreadable.

"I understand the situation, and I am more than willing to help. However…" He trailed off, his frown deepening as he turned his full attention to Steve. "I must say, I find it rather disappointing that you felt the need to appear on television and speak for our cause before coming to me with this request."

The words were polite, but there was an unmistakable weight behind them.

"Make no mistake, Captain," Xavier continued, his tone soft but firm, "no one deserves to have their free will stripped from them—especially not a man like Sergeant Barnes. But it is… frustrating, to say the least, to see a conversation about mutant rights playing out on national television without so much as a discussion with those it concerns first."

Steve stiffened slightly, clearly caught off guard, but before he could respond, Nathan leaned forward in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, an easy smirk playing at his lips.

"That was my doing, Professor," he said smoothly. "Figured you could use the PR boost, what with everyone breathing down your neck these days." He tilted his head toward Steve. "And, in any case, Cap didn't exactly need much convincing. He was more than happy to do it."

Steve nodded, his face serious as he rested his hands on the arms of his chair. "I've spent years fighting Nazis, long before the ice took me," he said, his voice steady but carrying the weight of past battles. "Waking up to a world still drowning in bigotry was… not the most pleasant of experiences."

His jaw tensed, and for a moment, he seemed lost in thought. Then he exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little.

"I've wanted to say something about it for a while now," he admitted. "But there were… complications. SHIELD, politics, timing—it was never that simple." His gaze flicked toward Nathan, a small, almost reluctant smile forming at the corner of his mouth. "So, truth be told, I'm grateful he gave me the excuse I needed."

Xavier regarded him for a long moment, then nodded, the faintest trace of amusement breaking through his otherwise stern demeanor.

"Well," he said at last, "it seems that, intentional or not, you've done more for mutant relations in a single interview than most have in decades." His expression softened as he leaned back in his chair.

"And if that's the case, Captain Rogers, then I believe I can overlook my initial irritation." He folded his hands in his lap. "Now, let's talk about James Barnes."

Before the conversation could continue, Nathan leaned back in his chair and stretched, cracking his neck. Then, with an easy smirk, he interjected, "Well, seeing as you gentlemen have this under control, I'll excuse myself. I need to see how the kids are doing."

Xavier nodded knowingly. "You'll find them waiting for you in the Danger Room... however, please return to my office once you're done. There's something I must discuss with you..."

"Sure thing, professor." Nathan nodded and pushed himself up from the chair, but before leaving, he gestured toward the towering bookshelf that lined the wall.

"You don't mind if I…?" he asked, tilting his head toward it.

Xavier's lips curled into an amused smile. "Not at all. It's the third book from the right on the sixth shelf from the top—To Kill a Mockingbird."

Nathan gave him a sidelong glance but said nothing as he strolled over to the shelf. He reached up, fingers brushing along the leather-bound spines until they landed on the book in question. With a firm pull, the entire bookshelf shifted with a muted click, then smoothly swung open, revealing a hidden elevator nestled behind it.

Without hesitation, Nathan stepped inside. The doors slid shut behind him, and just like that, he was gone.

Steve, who had been watching the whole exchange, blinked, then let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "Neat."

Xavier's expression remained amused as he turned back to Steve, folding his hands atop the desk. "Now then," he said, his tone returning to business, "about Sergeant Barnes…"

...

The Danger Room hummed with idle energy, its massive walls lined with reinforced panels, waiting for the simulation to begin. In the center of the expansive chamber, Jean Grey, Rogue, Nightcrawler, Iceman, and Kitty Pryde stretched and warmed up, their voices bouncing off the metallic walls as they chatted.

Iceman—Bobby Drake—tossed an ice sphere from hand to hand, rolling his eyes dramatically. "You know what really grinds my gears? The last time I was late—by two minutes, mind you—Nathan gave me hell like I'd committed a felony. And now? Now he postpones training for two whole days? Where's the justice in that?"

Rogue smirked as she adjusted her gloves, shaking her head. "Justice? Sugar, you love arguing with him, and yet, outta all the times you started something, how many times did you actually win?"

Kitty Pryde snickered as she idly phased her hand through a nearby control console. "Yeah, Bobby, I seem to recall you going on some big rant about 'personal liberties' last time, and he shut you down in, what? Thirty seconds?"

"Fifteen," Jean corrected with an amused smile, not even looking up as she hovered a few inches off the ground in a cross-legged position. "He barely let Bobby get past his opening statement before turning his own words against him."

Bobby scoffed, dramatically clutching his chest as if he had been mortally wounded. "Et tu, Jean? You wound me."

Nightcrawler—Kurt Wagner—chuckled, his tail flicking playfully as he perched on one of the training platforms. "Mein freund, you're like a lamb walking into the lion's den every time. If you really want to argue with Mr. Cross, you need a strategy."

Bobby grinned, pointing at him. "Exactly! And I do have a strategy this time." He cracked his knuckles. "I'm gonna march right up to him and let him know that this double standard is unacceptable. I will stand my ground and—"

Before he could finish, a loud clank echoed through the chamber as the reinforced doors slid open.

Nathan stepped inside.

His dark jacket hung off his frame, his ever-present gloves covering both his flesh-and-blood hand and his vibranium one. His cold gaze swept across them, and immediately, the room fell silent.

"Line up," Nathan ordered, his voice even but carrying enough authority to end the conversation on the spot.

Without hesitation, the young mutants scrambled into formation, standing straight as if they hadn't just been making fun of their instructor a second ago.

As the young mutants settled into place, it didn't take long for them to notice something different about Nathan. His right arm—at least what little they could see of it—wasn't flesh and blood. His sleeve covered most of it, but the sleek vibranium fingers of his new prosthetic were in plain view, the metal catching the dim light of the Danger Room.

A few stolen glances turned into full-on exchanges between them, silent questions passing between Jean, Rogue, Nightcrawler, Kitty, and Bobby. No one quite knew how to bring it up—Nathan wasn't exactly the type to offer personal details unless absolutely necessary.

Finally, Kitty cleared her throat and raised her hand hesitantly. "Umm… before we start, I have a question?"

Nathan crossed his arms, his good hand resting over the prosthetic one. His gaze settled on her, unreadable. "Make it quick, kid."

Kitty hesitated for half a second, but then pointed at his arm. "What happened to your hand? Are you okay?"

Nathan held her stare for a moment before answering in his usual blunt, matter-of-fact tone. "Got jumped by a bunch of neo-Nazis on my way out of here last week. This and that happened, lost my arm, got a new one."

The room went silent for a beat.

Bobby, despite himself, almost let out a snort. He leaned toward Rogue and muttered under his breath, "'This and that,' he says..."

Rogue shook her head, crossing her arms. "And I thought I had a bad week."

Nathan cleared his throat, bringing their attention back to him. "And yes," he added flatly, "that's also the reason training was postponed. So unless there are more questions, let's get this over with. I've got business to tend to."

Jean turned to Bobby, raising an eyebrow. "Weren't you about to give him a piece of your mind? Something about double standards?"

Bobby immediately shot her a glare but said nothing. His earlier bravado had all but evaporated, leaving only regret for ever having opened his mouth.

Meanwhile, Kurt raised his hand.

Nathan exhaled sharply, already bracing himself. "What is it?"

Kurt tilted his head, his tail flicking curiously. "Vait—so you lost your arm last week… and you're already back in here, ready to train us like nothing happened?"

Nathan shrugged, flexing the fingers of his vibranium hand as he spoke. "I did take a few days off—to get used to my new arm. Make sure I don't end up using too much strength and accidentally breaking someone's bones."

Kurt opened his mouth to respond but hesitated, clearly rethinking whatever comment had just formed in his mind. Instead, he settled on an awkward but sincere, "For what it's worth, I think metallic arms are very cool."

Nathan exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Questions, not opinions, Kurt."

Kurt grinned sheepishly but didn't argue.

Nathan let his gaze sweep over the group, pausing briefly to see if anyone else was feeling bold enough to speak up. When no one did, he gave a firm nod. "Seeing as there are no more inquiries," he said, his tone shifting into something far more businesslike, "let's get to it. We're doing one-on-one sparring today the old-fashioned way. No powers. Pair up."

A collective groan rose from the group—except for Jean, who simply cracked her knuckles, and Rogue, who smirked.

Nathan ignored the complaints and crossed his arms. "Unless, of course, you'd rather volunteer to go a few rounds with me instead?"

That shut them up quick.

"That's what I thought," he muttered. "Now quit whining and get to it."

...

Nathan moved through the quiet halls of the mansion, his boots barely making a sound against the polished floors. As he rounded a corner, he nearly collided with Steve Rogers, who was heading toward the exit.

"Got a minute, Cap?" Nathan called out, stopping just short of him.

Steve turned, arching a brow. "Do you need something?"

Nathan shrugged, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets. "I'll be getting some payback from HYDRA. Thought you might want in."

Steve exhaled sharply through his nose, tilting his head slightly as he studied Nathan. Then, with a hint of amusement, he asked, "Is that a rhetorical question, son?"

Nathan smirked, pulling a folded piece of paper from his pocket and holding it out. "Meet me here in three days. No costume. No shield. We'll need to be discreet."

Steve took the paper, unfolding it for a quick glance before tucking it away. "I'll see you there then."

Nathan gave him a brief nod and continued down the hall without another word. Steve watched him go for a second before shaking his head and heading out.

Nathan soon reached Xavier's office, rapping his knuckles against the door.

"Enter," came the calm, measured voice from inside.

Pushing the door open, Nathan stepped in, only to pause when he noticed Storm seated on the sofa, her white hair cascading elegantly over her shoulders. Her presence was unexpected, but he didn't let it show. Instead, he simply nodded in greeting before striding toward the chair opposite Xavier's desk and sinking into it.

He turned to the professor, cutting straight to the point. "I'm here, Professor. What do you need?"

...

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