The X-Project

Nathan goes to a not-unexpected person in seeking help finding a certain reporter.


"Please tell me you have alcohol hiding around here somewhere," was Nathan's greeting as Wanda opened the door. "This is one of those 'hair of the dog' days. Also, please tell that Gavin's off making himself useful somewhere else. I think if I saw him right now I'd have to punch him in the face on principle." He paused, summoning a brittle smile. "Oh, and hi."

"Hiding? Nate, when do I ever hide the copious amounts of alcohol in my home?" Wanda stepped back to allow him to enter, shaking her head as she shut the door behind him. "And Jake is out and about, probably doing something nefarious to my future shoe collection. And ..." She stopped, eyebrows raising slightly as she got a good look at him. "My," she remarked quietly, "aren't we the pair?"

"You could say that. Although at least I look like I just let someone smack me. You look like someone hit you in the face with a gun or something." Nathan slid off his coat, dropped it on the nearest chair, and sat down. "And now I don't know where to start."

She held up a finger as she trotted over to a dark wooden cabinet; inside, rows of bottles of various sizes and shapes glistened as Wanda looked over them. Finally, she pulled out one, grabbed two glasses and headed over. "First, a drink. We both could use one." Wanda gave him a wry smile as she sat down hear him. "Ironically, right on the nose about how I came to look like such a beautiful mess."

"Yes, well, I have seen the women in my life get clubbed by guns a number of times. I'm familiar with the pattern of damage." He took the glass with a nod, but then stared down into it for a long moment. "You... haven't been using your access to the X-Men database to do any browsing lately, have you?" he asked, his voice a bit unsteady - then shook his head, telling himself to be more direct. "There was a report I added a little while back. About a consulting trip with SHIELD. Did you read it?"

"I try to read the files every now and then," Wanda confirmed, nodded, suddenly glad that she had read that particular file now. She doubted Nate would enjoy rehashing everything just for her sake. "I'm going to assume that the Puerto Rico 'trip' has something to do with your stopping by today?"

"Apparently, they've now established that I'm not-dead. I suppose I could have done something more to prevent that," Nathan said, his voice sounding a little hoarse now, "but I wasn't really thinking about how to do that. I suppose I can't, really, given Elpis... I'm not precisely a public figure, but I'm more visible than I used to be. The problem is, Trask apparently knows that they know I'm not dead, and that they're planning to look for an opportunity to do something about that. So she sent a team to try and grab me in Morocco."

Wanda grimaced and took a large sip of her drink. "Obviously, they failed in their mission," she commented, "but as it is Trask, I can only assume that it was not easy." She swirled the amber colored drink around in her glass and wisely kept the thought that 'if she saw Trask next, the other woman was not walking away' hidden in the back of her mind. "What happened?"

"Believe it or not, I appear to have acquired at least a pair of guardian angels." Nathan sipped at his drink, then concisely summarized the events at Casablanca's port, telling Wanda about Hark, shooting the woman from behind to save him, and about Merryweather, killing Moses and then fleeing. "... and according to Hark, they were breaking a promise to my mother by stepping in to help me," Nathan finally said, an edge to his voice that he couldn't quite hide. "Yes," he said, before Wanda could react. "My mother. Bets on whether she's out there alive somewhere, pulling strings?"

"I politely refuse to place any bets on anyone's family matters," she said, "simply because it always seems to be a sucker bet. Alive or in the past, your mother seems to have forged some powerful connections. This promise of theirs sounds intriguing. Did they say more about it?"

Nathan shook his head, staring down into his drink again. "Hark said they shouldn't be there. Merryweather talked to Monet, instead of me... I don't know," he said somewhat helplessly, "maybe they were supposed to leave me alone? You've twigged to who they must be, right?" Gray eyes looked up, met hers. They'd talked about what he'd seen last summer, that near-death vision when he'd been drowning. "They're Esther's followers, I think. The ones Gideon mentioned, in that memory he took away from me."

"Wonderful," Wanda sighed, leaning back in her chair. "I have no idea what that means, to be honest. Oh I know that they're your mother's followers but what does it all mean? What puzzle is your mother forming from all of these pieces? Or perhaps it is more prudent to ask how she's moving the pieces on the chess board. Alive or gone, she's manipulating things behind the scenes - do you have any idea of what the end game might be?"

Nathan's laughter was pure unadulterated bitterness. "You've got to be kidding me." He tossed back the rest of what was in his glass, grimacing. "Since when have I had any fucking idea whatsoever about my family, or what they want? I think it's safe to assume that it involves screwing someone. Most likely by using me as a tool, because doesn't it always?"

Without being prompted, Wanda refilled his glass and her own. "Do you want to know the funny thing about knowing you're a chess piece is?" she asked, running her finger around the rim of her glass. "You might not understand the rules of the game or the goal but you know you're a pawn. And sometimes the pawn becomes the most important piece in the game." She shrugged. "One of these days, you'll figure out why you're being moved around the board and knowing you, you'll break the rules of the game and kick the queen's ass."

"I laugh in the face of your optimism." Another healthy swig of what she'd just poured in his glass. "I'm about to turn forty-three in another week or so, Wanda. If I haven't jumped off the board by now, I don't think I have much chance of it."

Wanda grinned at him over the rim of her glass. "Forty-three young, is it? Oh come now, Nathan Dayspring. This is why pawns come in groups of eight - it might be family issues for you Nate but you just happen to be considered family by others who have your back. You might not be able to jump off the board but there might be a chance to turn the game back to your favor. And for the record, I think I have used up my chess references for the rest of the year."


Nathan snorted and took another sip of his drink. "So put your money where your mouth is. Or where your optimism is." He shrugged. "I know we had no luck, looking for Hark. But Merryweather took Monet she was a reporter. Surely there's got to be something to find about her. And, well... you are the spy."

"Well, I do have the trenchcoat to prove it," she laughed, winking, before she sobered. "A reporter, hmm? British? That name certainly sounds it. I shall channel my optimism, my money - or time, anyway -and considerble good looks into this. I cannot promise what the results will be but if there's truth to her statement, then there'll be information on her. I'll reverse enginer from Morocco and see what I can find for you."

"Australian, actually, or so Monet thought. A freelancer, she claimed, but one with an interest in mutant stories." Nathan took a deep breath, then let it out. "Thank you, Wanda," he said quietly.

Wanda reached out to briefly touch his wrist. "For you? Anytime. Now, come along, there's more drink where this came and you look like you could use at least another half a bottle in you. I think Jake brought me some cupcakes, probably to persuade me not to hurt him after he stuffed my favorite pair of shoes into the back of the toilet. In baggies, mind, but still."