Chapter Five: Thorn Tree in the Garden
Greenwich Village, New York. Somewhere in the Not Too Distant Past
I: Victor
For a man who had been run over by a tank, slowly, three days before, Victor Creed was in good shape.
He still felt like ten pounds of shit shoved into a five pound sack.
All of his wounds had healed completely, but he was left with pain and stiffness that permeated his entire body.
No to mention it s pretty hard to sleep lying in a cot in a military hospital, without the benefit of any medical treatment, as your body slowly knits itself back together.
Now, had it been the kind of situation where there were a limited amount of medics and medicine, he could have understood them leaving him without treatment to heal on his own, but the hospital was miles from the combat zone, and both well-stocked and well staffed.
The only explanation then, was that it didn’t matter to whoever was in charge that he probably outranked every grunt in the place, or that he had been getting torn to pieces for Uncle Sam since 1910, they didn’t treat him because he was a mutie.
Some of the guys on the ward with him felt bad, guys he didn’t know, and since it was a UN operation, guys who didn’t even speak English, some of them, those who could get out of their beds tried to help him.
There were these two younger guys who ripped some of their bed sheets into strips to make bandages for him, and there was one older guy, the Australian in the bed next to him, who shared his food, his water and his painkillers.
Then, when the Sarge showed up to check on his people and found Major Creed hastily tied together with makeshift bandages in a bed so saturated with blood that the mattress was dripping onto the floor, he raised six kinds of Hell until Victor got some treatment.
And beat up the administrator in charge so badly that he ended up being admitted to another floor.
All in all, though, it had been a shit experience and Sabretooth vowed that he wasn’t going to put a uniform on again until Uncle Sam was willing to treat him like a marine, not a hired mercenary.
He could definitely see why Jimmy took his uniform off after Weapon X, and had been working solely in the private sector ever since.
The worst part of it, though. Victor thought, as he dragged his tired old bones and his duffel bag up the six flights to his apartment would be coming home to a dark and empty flat, with nothing in the fridge but a can of beer and a desiccated apple to suffer alone and in silence.
This is the price you pay, Creed, for being what you are.
Nobody loves you when you’re Sabretooth.
But when Victor unlocked the door of his apartment, the lights were on, and he smelled food cooking.
“Stripe?”
“I’m in the kitchen, Victor. Ah’m nearly done, ah started right when ah found out your flight landed.”
The place was immaculate, just the way he liked it, and the table was set.
And there was Stripe, in the kitchen.
She had an apron over the long skirt and sweater she was wearing, and she had three pots on the stove and something in the oven.
“Oh, Victor, you look terrible! What did they do to you, now?”
“You wouldn’t wanna know, baby.”
“Well, I’ll have dinner ready in another half hour. Do you want me to get you a drink?”
She was about to zoom over to the bar.
“I’m just gonna take a shower, and take off this goddamn uniform. What I wish I had, not to sound too much like my runt brother, is a cold beer.”
In less than thirty seconds, there was a frosty, sweating can of Molson’s in his hand.
“Ah drove over the border to Niagara Falls to get that, because I know you don’t like the stuff they import here to America.”
“Baby, you drove from Manhattan to Canada to buy me a case of beer? Why do you go to all this trouble for the likes of me?”
“Because ah love you, Victor.”
She just looked up at him, with her eyes all shiny with love and happiness that her man was back home in one piece, and as usual when they were together, things stirred in Sabretooth’s soul that he thought were dead and buried, forever.
“I love you too, Stripe. You’re the best thing that’s’ happened to me in fifty years.”
Greenwich Village, New York. Victor Creed’s Apartment, Right after the events of last chapter
Unlike his brother, who had several pairs of Levis that were older than the girl he was living with was, Victor Creed was usually very particular about his clothes, and his appearance.
Commonly, it took him two or three hours in the morning to bathe, shave, comb his hair, and dress.
Sabretooth also liked to keep things tidy and neat in his surroundings.
Even when Stripe was around, he had a maid come in once a week to keep everything shipshape.
He had wit left in him, then, to observe that there was great irony in the fact his life would end in such a messy way.
Home, they say, is the place you go when they won’t take you anywhere else.
He considered going back to Pa, but when Victor rode away from that homestead in 1905, he promised himself that although he might come back to visit, he would never live there again.
There were few places on Earth he hated more than that God-forsaken mountain.
Lying in a tubful of bloody and rapidly cooling water, Victor scratched his matted, greasy hair, thoughtfully, and pondered his options.
In the past week he had jumped off a building, caught the A-train right between the eyes, and tore three bums to pieces just because he could.
Usually, Victor wore dark glasses for effect, but now, he was wearing them because he was blind.
Sabretooth, furious at himself for crying over Stripe, yet again, ripped out his own eyes, in anguish.
Under the bandages over his eyes were two bloody, empty sockets.
He had blinded himself earlier that week, but his healing factor was so busy dealing with his more serious injuries, it hadn’t gotten to his eyes yet.
His legs remained twisted and smashed, and his chest was still little more than a blood-filled, bluish hematoma of shattered ribs and half-healed flesh.
Those insults had merely been the capper in Sabretooth’s dogged campaign to murder himself.
He figured that the only way he could accomplish it was to overwhelm his healing factor such that it couldn’t keep up with the damage he was doing to his body.
Following a few weeks of binge drinking, not eating, and inflicting random puncture and gunshot wounds to himself, followed by these more drastic measures, he felt very close to achieving his goal, and had dragged his broken body into the bath such that the hot water might ease the pain of his passing.
On the floor beside the bathtub was a Glock, a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black, and his cell phone.
As death approached, the mortal terror that all living things feel at the end of their lives overtook Victor Creed, and with it, the first time he had felt fear in decades, came a stunning moment of clarity.
Victor, you fucking idiot, there is another way.
Do you really want to do this, Vic? Leave Jimmy and Stripe alone in the world? And what about Pa? He buried your mother, he buried Jimmy’s mother, what if he has to bury you?
He’s an old man; the shock could kill him.
Then your baby brother, he really would be alone in the world.
Remember what you told Stripe?
Leave and never look back.
Never look back.
Victor reached for the phone, and called the only number he knew at the X-Mansion.
Rogue’s cell.
“…wait a minute, Logan.”
“Cantcha tell them to call you back? I been tryin’ to tell you this since we were in Howlett, darlin’!
“Ah can’t! It’s Victor! Somethin’ must be wrong! Hello, Victor?”
“Hey, Stripe. I gotta talk to Jimmy.”
“Victor, you sound awful!”
“I’m just drunk, baby. Nothin’s wrong.”
Jimmy must have heard, because he was on the phone, pissed off.
As usual.
“What the fuck are you doing, you fuckin’ asshole?”
“Keep that up, Jimmy. Do not react to what I’m about to tell you. I’m hurt real bad. Dying. My body’s so smashed up, my healing factor can’t keep up. If you got anything like an ambulance there at the mutie hospital, I need it. And bring Raven’s kid. He usedta be a priest. That hasta be good enough.”
“Alright, Victor.”
Victor hoped his brother wasn’t as calm as he sounded.
“You remember any of the way I used to be, Jimmy? When you were a kid? Back when I was just a mean, ornery, two-tone motherfucker of a son of a bitch, not the devil on Earth?”
“Yeah, Vic.”
“If I live, you’ll see it, again.”
“Hey, darlin’, we’re outa beer. Take my keys, and go get me another case, huh? If they don’t have Molson, get Foster’s. Alright?”
“What about Victor?”
“He’s just drunk. I’ll take care of it.”
Victor heard a door open and shut.
“What the fuck is the matter with you, you stupid son of a bitch? What about Marie? What about Pa? Don’t you fucking dare die over there, you hear me! I’ll never forgive you, if you fucking die like this!”
Victor could hear him running down the hall.
He laughed.
“What’s the matter, runt? You gonna miss me?”
“You’re my brother, Vic. Nobody kills you but me.”
***
Time meant little to Victor, in his state.
He had a drink, the water got cold, he let some out, ran some hot water.
Had another drink.
Around that time, he could hear some commotion from the front door.
“Mein Gott!”
“Victor? Where the fuck are you?”
“In the bathroom, Jimmy.”
Jimmy didn’t get there first, the first person to get there was the Grey broad, the doctor.
He could smell her, and hear the squeaky wheel on the stretcher.
“Oh, Jesus! Oh my God! Logan, don’t come in here! Kurt, I need your help.”
“You two can’t lift him by your…Oh Christ! Victor!”
Jimmy was trying to lift him out of the bath, all on his own.
“Since when can you pick me up, runt?”
“Awww, fuck you, Vic. You ain’t heavy. You’re my brother."
***
The next thing Victor knew, he was in the ambulance. Or the medical van, whatever the fuck.
It was very cold.
“He’s in shock.” The doctor was saying.
Victor heard the familiar words Nightcrawler spoke, in Latin, the half-forgotten words.
The oily cross over his bloody forehead.
He was in the ambulance, or whatever the fuck, now, and the doctor broad was sticking needles in him, and things like that.
It all seemed very far away, but he stopped her from putting the mask over his face.
“Vait, Jean. He iss conscious. I am listentink, Herr Creed.”
“Bless me Father, for I have sinned. And I ain’t got time to tell you how much. But if it’s bad, and it’s wrong, and it’s evil I’ve done it. Killed everything that walks, crawls, or flies. Worse. Much worse.”
“Yes, Herr Creed. I know. Do you repent?”
Victor had to think about that.
“I dunno if I’m sorry I did any of it, for my sake, Elf. But I’m sorry for my Pa, and my Ma, that their son is a monster. I’m sorry for everything I did to my brother, whether I meant to hurt him, or I did, anyway. I’m sorry I couldn’t save my wife, that I let her down when I promised to protect her. I’m sorry that Stripe had to fall in love with a man like me. The only reason I don’t wanna go to hell, is that I know I’d never see any of them again. I deserved to be damned, if anybody does. But they don’t. And, I'd kinda like to see my Ma again. I wish to God I hadn't been such a hellbound bastard, if she'll knwo that I'm in Hell, and that she'll never see me again. Is that repentance enough, Elf?”
“Yes, Herr Creed. I absolve you of your sins. In ze name of Ze Fazzer, and of Ze Son, und of Ze Holy Spirit. Amen.”
Victor smiled.
He said his mother's name.
After the doctor put the mask over his face, Victor slipped away.
II: Jean
Jean Grey did not, as a general rule, have a lot of sympathy for Sabretooth.
But, you would have to be more of a psychopath than he was not to feel sympathy for the wreck of a human being that Logan and she wheeled into the infirmary.
He had died on the way, right after Kurt gave him absolution.
Jean used the defibrillator on him, four times, at full voltage.
Just before they reached the Institute, she got a weak pulse.
Hank McCoy was on call, and waiting.
They went to work on the dying giant, immediately.
Jean had never seen such massive trauma to one person.
Victor Creed’s body was a bullet-riddled, torn, ragged, mass of tortured, bruised flesh, and twisted, shattered bone.
There was scarcely an inch of him that had not suffered massive trauma.
His face, too, was wreckage.
There was a bloody white band tied around his head, and under it were staring, empty sockets and torn flesh.
“Jean. He tore out his own eyes.” Hank said.
“I know.”
“Suicide.”
That was all Logan said.
He was still there, and Jean really didn’t have the heart to ask him to leave.
“What?”
“He’s tryin’ to overwhelm his healin’ factor. He figures if he keeps beatin’ his body up bad enough for long enough, it’ll just give up the ghost.”
“Why would Sabretooth want to commit suicide?” Beast wanted to know.
“He has his reasons.” Logan said.
***
Drs. McCoy and Grey treated Sabretooth the way they would have any patient coming into their infirmary in that kind of shape.
They removed the bullets from his body, repaired what was left of his internal organs the best they could, generally bathed him, stitched him back together, dressed his wounds, set his bones, and put him on an IV with fluids and antibiotics.
It took over four hours, even with Creed’s incredible healing factor helping them along.
He responded well to treatment; all his healing factor needed was a little push, and all his body needed was a little rest.
What surprised her, though was the way Logan just sat quietly in a chair by the bed.
Jean was still washing up when she heard Sabretooth speak for the first time since they had brought him in.
“Jimmy?”
“Right here, Vic.”
"Good."
He lifted the corner of the bandages over his eyes.
“Can you see, yet, Mr. Creed?” Jean asked.
She sat by the other side of the bed, and listened to his heart with her stethoscope.
It was beating quite normally.
“I can see light. Nothing else. At least I got eyes again.”
“Logan seems to think that you inflicted all of the injuries you suffered on yourself.”
“I had a little help from Mr. Colt. And from the A-Train. And the pavement six or seven stories down. But nobody pushed me. I jumped off the roof, and threw myself under the train, shot myself and ripped my eyes out. I tried to cut off my own head, but I passed out from losin’ too much blood. Ya see, Doc, when you heal up as well as I do, suicide gets very, very messy.”
“You almost succeeded. What made you change your mind?”
“I thought about my Pa. And Jimmy. And how she would feel if I was dead. That made me think. If I can’t live without that little girl, and fucking stupid old fool I’ve somehow become, I can’t, then I’m going to have to change my ways. Straighten up and fly right. I figure I can get back in good with the G. As long as Eddie’s still in charge of S.H.I.E.L.D Covert, he’ll let me slide back in. I might have to do ten years in the salt mines, though. Doin’ what I’m told. Keepin’ my nose clean. It’s gonna take a whole fuckin’ lot of that to convince you people, and Jimmy that I can tread the upward path. Maybe in five years, maybe in ten. But that’s not a long time for a man like me. And Stripe, she’s young, yet.”
Jean didn’t know what to say.
This was a side of Victor Creed she had never seen, before.
Logan rocked backwards on his chair.
“So, you’re gonna turn over a new leaf, huh, Vic? Be one of the good guys?”
Sabretooth laughed.
It was a harsh, joyless noise, and rumbled up through his bandaged chest like a growl.
Not a pleasant sound.
“Jimmy doesn’t remember, but I used to be a different man. Oh I was still a mean, violent son of a bitch and a born killer who had little use for anybody on God’s Green Earth, and didn’t care whether any of ‘em that wasn’t of me an’ mine lived or died. Whether it was me that killed ‘em, or not. But I wasn’t a monster. I wasn’t an animal. I wasn’t Sabretooth. I was Major Victor Logan Creed, of the Marines. Special Forces. I had a brother, a Colonel Howlett, of the same, who thought I was kind of asshole, but he was still my brother. I lived in Japan, and I had a wife. She was a mutant, too. A Nymph, named Matsuko. And you had a wife, Jimmy. Do you remember?”
“I remember Itsu, Vic. And I remember, a little, what you were like before Matsuko died. You were no picnic. You were still a son of a bitch. But at least you were a man.”
Sabretooth lifted his bandages again.
His hard amber eyes focused on Jean’s face, and she knew he could see, again.
“You look shocked, Dr. Grey. Didja think I was born this way? My mother married a preacher named Zebediah Creed, when I was five. He did nothing but beat us up, and terrorize us until I was 13. Ma tried to stop him from pulling out my teeth and claws with a pliers, and he cut off her head. Right in front of me. That started the ball rolling. When the C of H got to my Matsuko, that finished it. They tortured her, and they raped her, and they used fire at hot metal to disfigure her. But she didn’t die. She healed. Into a broken, twisted, crippled thing. She begged me to put her out of her misery. So I did. After that, for about fifty years, I never had any use for what my Pa used to call the world of men, and men’s things. I never had a reason to be anything more than an animal. A mad animal. I do now.”
Jean had no idea what to say.
“I believe you, Victor. I believe that every man deserves a second chance.”
That was Charles.
Jean had not even notice him entering the ward.
He was always there when he needed to be, and he always knew what to say.
“I figured you would, there, Charlie. You been tryin’ to get me on the upward path for decades. But what about you, Jimmy? What about the Sarge?”
“You know, Vic, I think I’d go a long way towards believing you, and so would Eddie, if you were to tell us what you knew about Magneto’s big plans.” Logan commented.
Victor Creed laughed, again.
“You’re a real fuckin’ piece of work, runt. Are you trying to bullshit me, Jimmy? Because that would be funny. I’ll tell you what. You bring the Sarge here, and sure, I’ll spill my guts. But not before I get some fuckin assurances that you’re not all just gonna dump my ass back out in the snow.”
“You have my assurances, Victor. Whether or not Director Blake accepts you back into the federal fold, you may stay here, as long as you need to. And I will do whatever I can to help you.”
“Charles!”
“Jean, if I turn this man away, a man who needs our help the most, then everything I have taught you has no meaning.” Charles persisted.
“But he’s…he’s?”
Another laugh from Sabretooth, this one containing genuine mirth.
“The Bad Guy? The Man In the Black Hat? You know what the difference is between the Good Guys and the Bad Guys, doc? The color of your uniform and who signs your paychecks. I’ve done worse shit for Uncle Sam since I joined the Marines in 1910 than I ever did as a freelance merc. You know what they did? Gave me a chestful of fucking medals and promoted me. Wake up and smell the fuckin’ coffee, sweetheart.” Victor Creed advised.
Charles glanced at Jean, and they continued to speak, telepathically.
You see, Jean? Do you see why I say Victor needs my help the most?
I see. But doesn’t he seem beyond hope?
Would Kurt have given him absolution if he was beyond hope?
That's different. Kurt thought the man was dying. And its' not as if Creed has much to work with. What, he can rehabilitate himself enough that he's more Eddie Blake than Satan Incarnate?
It's something, Jean. There are may people who do not see the Comedian as a monster. His daughter, who reconciled with him decades ago. Her mother, who loved him, and probably still does. His paramour, who teaches at this school. Director Blake is a violent man and so is Mr. Creed; violence comes to them just as naturally as breathing. Something inside both men is cracked, the way a doll gets when a spoiled child throws it against a wall. But there is a difference. Victor has suffered too much, as many of our kind have, and he no longer believes that there is kindness or mercy in the world for him, so he sees no reason to show either to the world. He has let the animal in him take over much of the man. But, although the Major’s soul is wounded, it is not yet broken. He may not believe in mercy, but he holds a hope to find it. The Comedian found that hope in the Silk Spectre, and in their child, and, eventually in the reconciliation between the three of them. Sabretooth has found that hope in Rogue.
Where there is life, Jean, there is hope. No one is beyond it.
Meanwhile, the conversation between Wolverine and Sabretooth continued.
“Well, Vic, your terms seem reasonable to me. Jeannie, when do you think he’s gonna be back to his usual, horrible self?"
“At this rate of healing? First thing, tomorrow.”
“Then I got a phone call to make. You want to see her now, or after?”
“After. If it’s no dice, I don’t want to see her. But I want you to do me a favor, Jimmy. You’re my brother. My baby brother. I left a good job in a boomtown in Montana to raise you up to be a man, ten years eking out a living like a chicken scratching in shit on the top of that God-forsaken mountain. I saw you through four wars, and after Bill Stryker fucked us both, I made sure that you got back to Pa, to get your head right. You may not believe it, but I been lookin’ out for you your whole fuckin’ life. Nobody kills you but me. You owe me. Runt.”
“Maybe I do, and maybe I don’t.”
“You’re still a smart ass, ya know that? Yeah, well this is a favor you won’t mind doing me. I got nothing on top of my bones but muscle and blood. If the Sarge says no dice, if I can’t come in from the cold, I want you to get those pig stickers out and slice my head off, and then throw it far enough that my body will die before it finds it. I’m an old man. I’ve seen enough. Sure as fuck have done enough. If I got no future with Stripe, I don’t want no future, at all. Promise me, Jimmy.”
Jean was shocked, Charles looked sad, but she could see from the expression on Logan’s face that he was not even mildly surprised.
“I promise. Vic. After you’re gone, I’ll make sure you get back to Montana. Beside your Ma.” Logan replied.
“And you’ll take care of Stripe?”
“Till the day I die, Vic.”
“Good.”
Sabretooth yawned.
“I guess I’m gonna catch some shut-eye, here, Jimmy.”
“You do that.”
Logan sat there until it was obvious that Victor Creed had fallen asleep, and the he left the infirmary.
He came back with an old paper sack.
“These are his. A set of his S.H.I.E.L.D. fatigues. They got mixed up with my gear, and I never threw them out. He’ll need ‘em, in the morning.”
Logan went to leave, again.
“Logan, wait. Do you think he’s serious? About reforming?”
“Shit, Jeannie, me and Vic are both too old to reform. But he’s serious about changing which side of the cape he’s on. An’ about tryin’ ta act like a man, an’ not an animal. That’s as much as you can expect. And it’s more than I ever expected.”
“Will you go through with it? Killing him?”
“It’s what he wants. And I know how he feels. Someday, the boot might be on the other foot, and I might have to ask him to do it for me.”
With that, Logan took his leave.
“Charles?” she asked.
“Death can sometimes be a mercy, Jean. Do you remember asking me if, after everything, Logan could still love his brother, as much as he hates him?”
“You said you didn’t know.”
“I know now. Now, we’d better let your patient sleep. He has a long road ahead of him.”
III: Rogue
It was dark when Logan returned to their rooms, but it wasn’t late, yet.
All day, she had sworn she could smell him- Victor- and all the professors looked distracted and edgy.
Then, Logan returned to their rooms, having taken a shower and changed his clothes in the middle of the day.
But she could still catch the faint scent of two things that terrified her.
Victor, and blood.
Victor’s blood.
Magneto and Mystique, however, didn’t raise any idiots, so Rogue fixed Logan his dinner when he woke up from his nap and went to her dorm room to do her homework and went to bed at her usual time.
Logan went to bed early and when she came to bed he was sound asleep.
It was better that way.
She threw a couple of sandwiches together, quickly, and lifted a can of Logan’s beer, thinking he wouldn’t be angry in this case, and snuck out of the room with the beer and sandwiches in a paper bag.
She did so in her camisole and pajama boxer shorts, so as to look as if she was just raiding the big fridge for a snack, or going to watch the big TV not to disturb Logan while he was sleeping so soundly, in case anybody asked.
Rogue went downstairs, and then crept into the infirmary.
Under the familiarly unpleasant smells of soap, disinfectant and rubbing alcohol was a very strong smell of Victor and blood.
Panic began to crawl around in her guts like a virus.
She tiptoed past Dr. Grey’s office, where the lights were still on, and made her way into the ward.
All ten of the beds were empty but one.
Rogue snuck over to it, her eyes shining in the dark, like a cat’s.
She heard a low growl.
Her heart leapt.
He was, st the very least, alive, aware, and awake.
Then it stopped.
“Stripe?”
Rogue was at his beside, by then.
There were two white medical patches on Victor’s eyes, his chest was all bandaged up and both of his legs were in traction and in plaster casts up to his thighs.
“Victor, did Papa do this to you?”
“What are you doin’ here? I told Jimmy not to tell you I was here!”
“Ah sniffed you out.”
“Oh yeah. That’s right. You’re like us, now. Sorry I growled at you, Stripe. I didn’t recognize your new smell, right away. An’ I can’t see in the dark, yet.”
“He put out your eyes!”
“Erik had nothin’ to do with this. I put out my eyes. An’ did a whole lot of other awful shit to myself. I was tryin’ to commit suicide. I did pretty good, too. It’s never taken me this long to heal.”
“Why?”
“You. If there was no you in my life, I didn’t want it, anymore.”
“Oh, Victor, no! You can change. Ah know you can! The man who raised Logan, who was his brother and his friend for fifty years, he has to still be in there, somewhere.”
“That’s the way I figure. He still ain’t no picnic in the park in July. I never was a real nice guy, Stripe. I mean, I’ve pretty much always been a mean, ornery bastard and a real two-tone son of a bitch. But I used to be a man, and not an animal. I’m gonna give it a shot. For your sake. And Jimmy’s. He still needs me, the little runt.”
“Does that mean it would be alright if you and I saw a little of each other?”
“Hell no! Not while your father’s plan is still up in the air! And not until I know I can do it. Turnin’ back the clock on fifty years of Sabretooth to see if there’s enough left of Victor Creed ain’t gonna be easy. I may not be able to pull it off. Until I know for sure, and until we get Erik’s scheme put outa the way, there ain’t gonna be any you an’ me.”
“We? Who’s we?"
“I’m gonna see if I can get Eddie to gimme my old job back. I’m pretty sure he will. I’ll prob’ly get sent back into the Brotherhood as a double agent.”
“A double agent! If Papa finds out…”
“He’s gonna have a hard time killin’ me, Stripe. It took me a month of torturing my body to get this bad. Don’t worry about me. Worry about you.”
“I’m confused, Victor. Papa sent mah things. He talks to me on the phone. When ah told him ah was drivin’ around in Logan’s truck, he bought me a car and had it delivered. He’s not acting like we wants me daid.”
“He doesn’t. Somehow, he found out you’re turned permanently feral, and so he thinks that what he’s got planned won’t kill you. He’s wrong. I don’t know what to tell you, Stripe. Erik’s a little nuts. I was a guest at Hitler’s Hilton, and I saw my Ma die, right in front of me, so I can understand how that kind of shit would make you a little nuts. But your Pa, well he’s a lot nuts about what happened under the Nazis to Jews never happenin’ to mutants. He’s got tunnel vision about it. You really can't blame him for that, all things considered.”
“Are they going to put Papa in jail?"
“I’d say they’re gonna send him to Arkham, for awhile. But you know your old man. He’ll bust out, and think up a new scheme. One that doesn’t involve you. Look, Stripe, don’t worry about me. Or Magneto. Fuck, he could make the North Pole the South Pole and make the South Pole Detroit, if he wanted to. You just stay here with Jimmy, and finish school and learn how to control your powers from Chuck X. You and me an Jimmy, we got alla time inna world. Did you bring me food?”
Rogue finally relaxed.
If he was hungry, that meant he was going to be alright.
“Yes. And I stole some of Logan’s beer for you.”
“Yeah? I’ll tell him you made me do it. I’m starving. I guess they figured I was still too banged up to eat.”
Victor sniffed the bag.
“They’re fried chicken sandwiches. Ah made fried chicken the other night.”
Victor had demolished all the food and one can of beer, and he had just taken a sip of the other and put it on the wheeled table beside him when all the lights came on.
“What’s going on in here?” Dr. Grey demanded.
“Take it easy, Doc. Rogue just came down here to see me, and bring me something to eat, that’s all.”
“We didn’t realize you’d be hungry, already.”
“Would Jimmy be hungry, already?”
“Well…yes, but…”
“Then so’m I.”
“That’s not the point. Rogue, how did you know Mr. Creed was here?” Dr. Grey demanded.
Victor instinctively put his arm around her, pulling her against his bandaged chest.
Nobody but Logan and Professor X knew Rogue was a feral, and she was completely at a loss for what to say.
“Well, everyone’s been acting so odd, today. Logan went to bed early and he’s sound asleep like he’s just exhausted. And its’ not like him to take two showers and change his clothes twice in one day. Not the clothes he was wearing this morning were not in the hamper. I decided to take a look around, and see what was going on. When I came in here, I found Victor. Nobody had to tell me anything,” she quickly explained.
“Go back to your room, Rogue. Now.”
Rogue didn’t like Dr. Grey’s tone, and neither, for that matter, did Victor.
“Wait a second, frail! This is a school, not a concentration camp. An’ I’m a patient, not a prisoner. After this, I’m probably not gonna see the girl for months. Maybe even years. What's there gonna be between us, a coupla phone calls, now and then? I almost died today. Is it a fuckin’ crime if a sick man spends a little time with his girl?” Victor bristled.
“Don’t you mean your brother’s girl?”
“Well, not that it’s any of your fuckin’ business, but she’s ours. Ya now, kinda like you’re with One-Eye. And my brother. And Tony Stark. Except, in your case, Scooter looks the other way, and I bet neither him or Jimmy have no idea about Tony and I ain’t even sure what kinda bullshit you got Shellhead sold on.”
Victor spat those last words at Dr. Grey maliciously and Rogue could smell rage coming up in him.
If what he said was true, Rogue knew the same rage would come up in her every time she looked at Dr. Grey.
A snarl wanted to curl her lip, and the fangs that she didn’t quite have control over when she was angry started to descend and Rogue had to make a concerted effort to get them to retract.
“Goddamnit, Creed, my personal life is none of your business!”
“The fuck it ain’t, sister! Anything that affects my brother is my goddamn business! An’ your personal life is the talk of fuckin’ New York City. Every mask on both sides of the cape knows all about it. Except Scooter and my brother. The two biggest suckers in the world. You better ride that high horse back into your office, doll.”
“You know something, Creed? You’ve got a lot less room to take the moral high ground than I do! Rogue, I will be finishing up my work and going to my rooms in about an hour. By the time I leave this office again, you had better be back in bed!”
Dr. Grey gave Victor a dirty look, turned on her heel, and left.
“Is that all true, Victor?” Rogue demanded.
“Look at you, baby! You got fangs, just like mine. I figured it wasn’t all Jimmy.”
“Mine retract.”
“That would come in handy. I saw your eyes shinin’ in the dark. That’s from me, too.”
“But is it true, Victor? About Dr. Grey?”
“Stripe, you don’t know how that red devil of a woman has tortured poor dumb Jimmy since 1983. When she was your age, she was a little fuckin’ coke whore an’ a drunk with safety pins in her ears, paintin’ the town red with Tony Stark. It was Jimmy who got her on the straight an’ narrow, and if he hadda do it with his dick, it's because dick is the only thing a broad like that understands. He did himself a favor, runnin’ out on her.”
“So it’s true, what Kitty and Jubilee told me? About Logan and Dr. Grey? And Wednesdays?”
“That’s how she kept him on the string. He thought the bitch was really torn between him and Scooter, when all the time she was just havin’ a high old time with her good buddy Logan. He still doesn’t know about her and Shellhead.”
“Victor, everybody knows that! It’s all over town!”
“I know. After we go see Eddie. I’m gonna take the runt aside, buy him a beer an’ tell him what’s really goin’ on. He’s got a right ta know. And I don’t wanna see that whore bitch cunt in there gettin’ in the way of Jimmy bein’ happy with you. I didn’t share the only good thing that’s happened to me since 1946 with him just so The Great an’ Powerful Jean Grey could fuck it up for him.”
“But Victor, it’ll destroy him! It’ll just break his heart!”
“I know, Stripe. But somebody’s gotta tell him. An’ he already hates me. You better go back to bed. I gotta get some sleep, if I wanna be on my feet in the morning.”
“Victor?”
“Yeah?”
“Is it wrong for me to feel the way I do?... About you and Logan?”
“Of course not. Hell, Jimmy’s my brother and I’m his. Whether he wants to admit it or not, we’re practically the same guy. Listen, Stripe. Even since he was a little boy, Jimmy’s shared everything with me, and I’ve shared everything with him. Everything I have is his, and everything he has is mine. The good and the bad. Even with him hatin’ me, and me bein’ mad enough to kill him, well, that’s somethin’ we share, too. That’s just the way it is with us. That’s the way it’s always gonna be.”
Rogue wasn’t sure she completely understood what Victor meant, but it eased her mind a little.
“Ah guess ah’d better go. Victor, are you really going to call me on my phone, and talk to me every week?”
“I said I was, didn’t I?”
Rogue smiled.
That would certainly make things easier.
On both of them.
IV: Victor
The last time Victor had his S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform on was in 1996, when he was in Kosovo, and him and the Sarge, that is, Col. Edward M. Blake, USMC, Special Forces, had a falling out.
He was wearing it, though, when he went aboard the S.H.I.E.L.D Helicarrier flying over the general area of Westchester, the next day.
Victor has spent at least an hour brushing the tangles out of his hair that morning, and then he made sure he was properly shaved and dressed.
His boots were polished to a high shine, and he had to iron the black fatigues four times before his BDU’s looked shipshape enough for him to put them on.
With his hair pulled back, and his uniform back on, identifying him as not only a Level 10 Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. Covert, but also as Maj. Victor L. Creed, USMC, Special Forces, with a chest full of medals, Victor felt like he was getting somewhere, and looked the part.
Which was far less than he could say for Jimmy, who not only didn’t bother to put his uniform on, but he the only reason he wasn’t wearing the same clothes he had on the day before was because they had been too stiff with blood and gore.
“Christ, Jimmy, can'tcha at fuckin’ least button your shirt an’ tuck it in? Look at you, with your undershirt showin’! Your dirty undershirt. You are such a fuckin’ slob! Did you even comb your hair?”
“Not all of us can be beautiful, Vic.”
“Fuck you, runt.”
“Right back at ya, bub.”
Victor had to wait about a thousand years before he got in to see Mr. Director Blake, who was still on the phone when he sent into the office.
“Major Creed and Colonel Logan to see you, sir.”
The flunky looked terrified.
As well he should.
Of all three of them.
“He looks just the same.” Victor commented.
“Eddie never changes.” Logan said.
"Mr Director, sir? Colonel Logan and..."
“What? I can see that! I got eyes. What the fuck is the matter with you, Watkins, you're so fuckin' twitchy! Go on, get the fuck outa here. Go take a fuckin' nap with your teddy bear or somethin', just settle yourself the fuck down. Youse makes me fuckin' nervous. Christ almighty. Huh... No, Lar, I was talkin’ to one of my men. Vic and Jimmy are here….Look. I toleja not to marry that fuckin’ idiot, didn’t I? He did what…he cried?”
The Comedian started to laugh.
“He cried.? He catches you in bed with Wayne, and he cries? Jesus, what a fuckin’ pussy. At least the Bat’s a real man. What did he do…Yeah, well I woulda laughed at him, too…look, Lar, I gotta go. Vic Creed’s here. I’ll call youse right back. Just don’t feel bad about it, alright? It ain’t your fault that Danny Boy’s toast at fifty and you’re just gettin’ into your prime. Yeah…makes me wish the Doc was still around too…maybe , somehow, he’ll know you and Danny Boy are quits, an’ come back…well, you’re just lucky my grandson took after you and me and not Drieberg... See? I was right about you givin’ him my name, not fucko’s. I knew the kid was gonna grow up to be a Blake...Is your mother still mad at me...what, it's my fault the Infinity Formula don't agree with her...tell her to buy some Pepto, it beats gettin' old an' froggy an' dyin, anytime. Awright…Take it easy, kid. G'bye ”
The Comedian hung up, still laughing.
“Cries. What a pussy. And Sal, can youse fuckin' believe it? I jump through all these fuckin' hoops to get her on the real short fuckin' list of people who get Infinity Formula, and she finds somethin' to bitch about. And it's my fault. Everthing's my fault. The goddamn squid was my fault. You know why?"
"The coffee table." Logan chuckled.
"Everybody has a fuckin' cofee table! That's the first thing she said to me. Eddie, you stupid sunnuvabitch, if you hadn't tripped over that fuckin' coffee table, you would have won that fight with Adrian and you wouldn't have gone out the window and there would have been no squid. Shit, Cap and Supes and the Doc couldn't stop that thing! What the fuck was I going to do? Show it my cock? Women. Jesus Christ."
Mr. Director Blake lit a cigar.
"Somethin’ I can do for you, Vic? Jimmy here, he tells me you want to come in from the cold.”
“That’s right. I want my job back, Sarge. Even if I don’t get my promotion.”
“Do ya, huh? So, ya met a nice girl, and ya wanna impress upon her what a good guy youse is, huh?”
Victor shook his head.
“Runt, you gotta big mouth.”
“You want me to lie to Eddie?”
“Awww, I already knew. The walls in Chuck X’s place got ears. My ears. If it was all my dog and pony show, Vic, ya know I’d say sure. Without any intel. But Nick, he ‘s not your biggest fan, these days. You got something big for me to feed him?”
“You know anything about Magneto’s latest plot, Sarge?”
“Only that he’s got one.”
“Well, let’s say I know all about it. How many pounds of flesh would you want, Sarge?”
“About a hundred and sixty pounds of devious old Jew. Uncle Sam is getting real tired of Magneto and his bullshit. And that prick is making people like you and me look bad. There’s only so far guys like me can stick our necks out for the rest of us without getting read. We get rid of that fuckin’ asshole, who gets your average dickhead thinkin’ that all mutants are kill crazy commie subversive terrorist militia asswipes, shit quiets down for the rest of us. Now if you work with Jimmy, and you two make nice, and make sure I get Magneto locked up, I get out the big eraser and you get to be Major Creed, USMC Special Forces, S.H.I.E.L.D. Covert, Level 10, again. You bring me the old man’s head with the helmet still on it? We’ll make that Colonel.”
Victor didn’t have to think about it, twice.
Sorry, Erik.
You fucked with the wrong guy.
“Sounds good to me, Sarge.”
He offered the Comedian his hand, and Eddie stood up and shook it.
That was good enough for both of them.
“Good to have youse back, Vic. No matter how hard I try, I can’t find anybody as good at our job as you. Except me. An’ I can’t be everywhere at once. What about you, Jimmy? You think you can work with your brother, without rippin’ his face off, every day?”
Logan thought of Rogue.
And, deep inside him, something in his heart was leaping at the idea that somehow, someday, Victor and he could be brothers, again.
“I can if he can.”
“You’re the one who’s mad at me, runt.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
Victor was about to lay into the little jerk, but he thought better of it.
“Okay, so what have youse got?” Director Blake asked.
“Well, if you look at the list of crazy fuckers, I think this one puts Erik right up there with Crazy Jack Napier. Even the fuckin’ Joker would think this plot was too fuckin’ much. Erik has built himself a Doomsday Machine. I don’t know how. I’m not a tech guy. What I know is, when he gets in it, he uses his powers to create some kind of ray, or forcefield. You put a human, or a bunch of humans, in the path of the wave, and it’ll turn them into mutants. Now this is the part he’s foggy on. He’s not sure if he can turn everybody in the whole fucking world into mutants, all at once. So he’s gonna start small. He’s gonna sit the sunnuvabitch onna top of the Statue of Liberty. He’s not sure if he’s just gonna turn everybody at the UN into a mutant, or, what the fuck, maybe the whole city. Even the whole New York Metro Area. He must be drinkin’ Drano. But it works. He’s done small-scale tests. Most of the people he’s tried it on, they’ve died. A few have just become mutants. But Erik figures, ya can’t make an omelette without breakin’ a few eggs. The only thing is, every time he puts himself in as the guinea pig, it almost breaks his eggs. So he wants to use Stripe, instead. Marie Lehnsherr. His own daughter. Now, what she does is absorb other mutant’s powers, so he’s gonna transfer his to her, stick her in the machine, and he figures, since she’s absorbed Jimmy’s powers, including his healing factor, she’ll be fine. Bullshit. I’ve seen what the machine takes out of the old man, on the small scale. It might be hard to kill ferals, but we can still die. I figure, healing factor or no, the machine will kill her. And, how many people are living in the Metro area? About 20 million? You can say good night to about three-quarters of the ones who are human. Including masks, on both sides of the cape. This is the Big One, Eddie. If this shit is goes down, it’s going to make Veidt’s psychic death squid from another dimension look like a five car pileup on the Thruway.”
The Comedian shook his head.
“Whatta fuckin’ nutcase! Of all the fuckin' stupid shit ideas! An’ why do they always pick New York? Has he got his shit together, yet? I mean, can he do this shit, within the next coupla weeks? Months?”
“Fuck no. Right now he hasn’t got shit. It’s all small scale. I don’t even know if it’ll get off the ground. He’s had less crazy schemes that didn’t. No, I figure we got at least eight months, maybe a year before he can pull this off.”
The Comedian leaned back in his chair, and puffed his cigar.
“Who knows you went over to the X-Men, Vic?”
“Just them.”
“Nobody in the Brotherhood knows?”
“One guy did. He doesn’t know anything now except what two feet of cement tastes like.”
“Good. Here’s what I want youse to do. Go back to Lehnsherr. Make nice. Make him think that you’re all for his big plans. And when you get back in, I wanna know everything. What the fucker eats for breakfast in the morning, how many times he balls the blue broad at night. And, if this fuckin’ scheme of his ever comes to pass, you get in there with Jimmy and make sure it doesn’t. In the mean time, we’re gonna get ready for him. Maybe that shit with Ozzy and the squid got past me, but that was the last fuckin’ time. Whadda you think, Jimmy?”
“I think I’d better watch Victor watchin’ Magneto. Just in case.”
“You think I’m bullshitting you, ya little runt?”
Sabretooth extended his nails.
Wolverine popped his claws.
“Yeah, this is gonna go well. Don’t bleed on my fuckin’ carpet. I’ll rip you both a new asshole.” The Comedian chuckled.
“Well, runt?”
“You big stupid fuckin’ asshole, I mean ta watch your back, not stab you in it! You’re life won’t be worth a shit of Magneto finds out you’re a double agent. That would upset Pa, and Marie. Me, I don’t give a fuck, but I’ll keep an eye on you for their sake.”
“You’re all heart, Jimmy.” Victor said.
Reluctantly, they both retracted their weapons.
"That's better. Alright, you're dismissed. Hey, Jimmy, me and Steve are gonna go on a bar crawl in Brooklyn next Wednesday. Bullshit about the good old days an' all that. We ain't seen much of youse for five years. Ya wanna come?"
"What about the cops?"
"Cops? What cops? Fuck the cops! What are they gonna do ta the Comedian, Wolverine and Captain America?"
"Sounds good to me."
"What about me, Sarge?" Victor asked.
"Don't push your luck, Vic. Stay in touch."
***
The chopper from the Helicarrier dropped them off at McGuire Air Force Base, in Jersey, where Sabretooth convinced Wolverine to give him a ride back to the city.
“Hey Jimmy, turn down that alleyway right there, you can park right by those trash cans. Lets you an’ me go have a beer.”
“Don’t you think it might look suspicious to Magneto if he finds out you been drinkin’ with me?”
“Nah. He knows you’re my brother. Besides, they know me in this place. Nobody would be stupid enough to rat on me. C’mon. I’m buyin.”
The place was a dive and a shithole, but it was quiet, and as Victor explained, they knew him there.
He sat at his usual table, in the back corner, and Jimmy sat with him.
The barmaid brought a bottle of Jack Daniels and a pitcher of Guinness, and glasses.
“So, you think I should see her, Jimmy?”
“You did this for her, Vic. But Marie, she’s pretty confused, right now. She’s just startin’ to get a good grip on everything. You told her to turn away from you and never look back. And she’s had a real hard time doin’ that. Now, if you turn around and tell her, never mind what I said, it’s gonna fuck with her head even more than you already fucked with her head.”
Victor thought about that.
“And I haven’t quite proved myself to you that you’d let me see her, is that right?
“I do believe you love her, Victor. Enough to try and be the best man you can be. The man you usedta be, an’ not the fuckin’ animal you’ve become. But it remains to be seen if that’s gonna be good enough.”
“You’re right, Jimmy. I ain’t tried to be anything other than the most evil son of a bitch you’re ever going to meet for so long, I don’t know how it’s gonna turn out. And no matter how you slice the pie, I can’t be anything other than the man I am.”
“You had some times, Vic, if my fuzzy memory serves me right, when you weren’t so bad. And, considerin’ Marie is just about as bulletproof as you and I are, if she wants to take the chance on Major Creed I’d never let her take on Sabretooth, that’s up to her.”
They drank in silence, for awhile.
“Wouldn’t hurt for me to just talk to her. On the phone, you know?”
“That would ease both your minds. And no, it wouldn’t hurt.”
“Maybe just once a week. You’re busy Wednesday nights, anyway.”
Victor punched his brother on the arm.
He knew all about this Jean Grey thing.
Victor made it his business to know all Jimmy’s business.
The little runt had to have somebody looking after him, and Pa was too old and too crazy, after what life had done to him in 300 years and change.
“Sure I am. Busy gettin’ shitfaced. Eddie's probably worried about me. I know Cap is. I been gettin' so drunk on Wednesdays that Steve's had to carry me home.”
“Oh yeah? So Marvel Girl finally went off you, huh?”
Victor hoped that was the case.
It would save him having to break the little runt’s heart.
“No. Hell, I think she’s pissed at me that four months have gone by and I haven’t been around, Wednesdays. I just can’t do it, Vic. I can’t get back on that train. She’s married, now. Why do you think I'm drinkin' Wednesday nights away?”
Sabretooth couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
Jimmy had no fucking idea.
“Married? Jimmy, Jesus Christ! You and old One-Eye! I know what you’ve been up to. I keep my eye on you, little brother. You tell Stripe you’re thinkin’ of joinin’ the Avengers, and maybe they did ask you, but all you do Wednesdays is crawl bars with Steve Rogers, and sometimes Tony Stark. And then Cap has to shepherd both of your wasted asses home. That goddam Jean Grey, she’s a real piece of fuckin’ work, Jimmy. She acts like she’s such a great lady. My ass. She’s two timin’ you and Scooter, both.”
“What? What the fuck are you talking about?”
Logan jumped up, his chair scraping behind him.
Victor poured him another drink.
“Siddown, Jimmy! Listen to me. Just for once , fuckin’ listen to me. You can stick your claws through my head as soon as I’m done talkin’, but just listen for once, alright? Have another drink.”
“I don’t fuckin’ believe you.” Logan said, sitting down, warily.
“Yeah. I figured you wouldn’t. Not about Little Mrs. Perfect. That’s what gets me. I mean, hey, I’m no fool. I been on this planet long enough to know women gotta have it as bad as men do. Some more than others. It’s the fuckin’ hypocrisy that gets me. The way she acts like she’s soooooo fuckin’ tragic. Tragic, my ass. Ya know what’s tragic? Everybody thinks One-Eye, he’s got a problem. Yeah, he’s got a problem, alright. He’s the kind of guy who’s okay with gettin’ laid twice a week, maybe three times, and he married a broad who’s gotta have a cock in her before she can get to sleep at night. She’s his problem. And yours. She has you convinced you’re the only real man in her life, an’ what would she do without you? Like she’s Queen Guinevere and you’re Sir Lancelot, and Scooter’s King Arthur, and the love between you and her is a sin against your valiant king, but a sin heaven will excuse because of the divine purity of blah, blah, blah. Jimmy, you been had. She’s still bangin’ Tony Stark. Lemme rephrase that. She never quit bangin’ Tony Stark. I hear masks on both sides of the cape laughin’ about that all the time. What a coupla saps they are, Wolverine and Cyclops. Good old Marvel Girl has them both in her pocket, and she keeps Iron Man on standby, just in case. She’ll always be the Great and Powerful Dr. Jean Grey to you and Scooter. You love her. You fear her. You worship her. And she’s out there bangin’ Tony Stark. Six ways from Sunday. Jesus wept.”
He poured himself a shot and drank it.
Meanwhile, his brother had this look on his face like he’d been poleaxed from behind.
“I see you ain’t takin’ this too well. I figured you wouldn’t.”
“How do you know that’s true?” Logan croaked.
“Well, as it turns out, me an’ Shellhead are both bangin’ Emma Frost. Both of us have been for the last ten years, off and on. Now Emma, she’s a crazy jealous bitch. It’s okay for her to spread it all over town, but she wants to know exactly who you’re fucking. I hadda just about kill her to pry her off me when I got involved with Stripe. Since she’s been gone, though, shit, did Emma come running back in a fuckin’ hurry. I mean, I’m just a man, little brother. I gotta do somethin’ with my cock. Anyway, I told her about how I sent Stripe off to be with you, until it was safe for someday you and me and her to maybe be a big happy family. And Emma laughs and says you deserve a good woman, because not only did it not take Jean Grey a month after you left to slide Shellhead into her Wednesday schedule, she never stopped fuckin’ him no matter what she told you. Or Scooter, presumably. Not only that, she tells me that Stark is under the impression that Dr. Grey had an open marriage and that you and One-Eye know about him, and One-Eye knows about both of you. Well, I got kinda curious, and I figured I’d better find out for myself. I started watchin’ Stark’s place. Watched his comings and goings off and on, for a damn long time. I saw it Jimmy. With my own eyes, I saw the woman goin’ in and out. Once or twice just about every week. Days. Nights. Like clockwork. An’ just in case they was just talkin’ medical research, a coupla times I Iooked in his fuckin’ window. Jimmy, I seen him givin’ it to her. Six ways from Sunday. I swear on Pa, life, and on my Ma’s grave, its’ the God’s own fucking truth. So, I wouldn’t worry about keepin’ her honest. If she wants you, and you still want her, give it to her. Save yourself the pain and suffering. I mean if ya love her, ya love her. So what she’s a little loose? Cyke obviously doesn’t care. Because if he didn’t know, at least about one of you, he’d be a fuckin’ moron. And Scott Summers may be a lot of things, but a fuckin’ moron ain’t one of ‘em.”
Poor Jimmy.
He put his face in his hands.
“How could she do this to me? How the fuck…? I love her, goddamnit! I’ve loved her since she was 17 years old!”
Logan’s words strangled in his throat, and he threw his head back, popped his claws, and roared.
Some of the patrons looked up, but none of them moved.
Victor had them trained.
He poured Jimmy another drink, which he downed in seconds.
Victor moved from his chair, and sat down beside Logan.
He didn’t remember, but Victor had been through this with him before.
“Take it easy, Jimmy. Don’t forget, when you got on the train when she was 17 years old, she was with Cyke and screwin’ Stark onna side, even then. Nothin’s changed, right? You always tell me I hold onto a broad too hard. Now you’re doin’ it, too. It ain’t like when we were young, Jimmy. Broads don’t do it for love alone. They ain’t like our Stripe. They do it because it’s Friday. Or because the sun’s shining, Just because the good doctor’s doin’ the job on Shellhead, that don’t mean she likes you any less. Hell, maybe she loves you too, it’s just Stark’s got somethin’ she likes. So what? What the fuck do you care, anyway? Don’t be so fuckin’ melodramatic.”
Logan heaved a great sigh.
“You don’t understand, Vic. I love her. I wanted to marry her.”
“I understand too well, Jimmy. You always go for broads with ants in their hot pants. You like ‘em cos they’re a little dirty, and a little bad, and then you get all bent outa shape when they act like it. Some broads ain’t the marryin’ kind. But, she’s already married, and nobody can tell anybody who they love. But, I’ll tell you what you can do.”
“What’s that, Vic? Or do I have to wait for you to publish your self-help book about healthy relationships?” Logan snorted.
“Well, if you’re still innarested in the broad, now that you know you can get rid of the pedestal you had her up on, you can still show her who the real man in her life is. Spelled M-A-N. When Wednesday comes, you be wherever it is you two used to meet up, and you really fuckin’ give it to her. Knock one right out of the park. You get down and do some serious screwing. Fuck that broad like she ain’t had it in five years, since you took a walk. You get in there and fuck her so that every time either Scooter or Shellhead touch her for the next fuckin’ month, all she can think of is you. You let her know that she can marry who she wants and fuck who she likes, but she belongs to Jimmy Logan, the Wolverine. And that you aren’t gonna let her forget it. Either that or you can cut her off at the pass and tell her, look, sister, I got your number, now. And you’re not gonna have me to make a sap out of, anymore. Either way, though, you gotta let her know that you ain’t lettin’ her get away with it. Not anymore. Because, you know better.”
For the first time in three decades, Logan actually smiled at his brother.
“You know what, Vic? That’s the first piece of good advice you’ve given me since 1974.”
“That’s only because you quit listenin’ to the words comin’ out of my mouth in 1974."
Jimmy's smiled faded fast, and he started to looking like a man who had just had the ground ripped away from under his feet.
"Somebody had to tell you, Jimmy. And you hate my fuckin' guts, already. Have another drink. You look like you need it.”
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Author's Chapter Notes:
In which Victor grasps blindly for his hellbound heart to discover it's desire, Rogue comes a little closer to what may be her heart's desire, and what may be Logan's heart's desire slips away from him, forever.
Chapter End Notes:
Sabretooth, of course is not a religious man, but he was reared on the stuff, wasn't he? And the cold hand of death can squeeze the damndest things out of a heart, even a hellbound heart like Victor Creed's. I don't know if he can find what's left of his humanity, which wasn't much to begin with, but I hope he does. As for Logan, I hate to see his heart break the way it has, but he's been building his castle in a swamp and wondering why it keeps sinking for too long. I'm sure you don't feel sorry for Jean, but I do. She's two people, remember, Jean and Phoenix, and both of them are brilliant, ruthless and driven, so much so that she forgets the nature of the feelings of mere mortals, including her own. As for Rogue, well, she may have occasion to seek refuge again in the instinctively protective embrace of Victor Creed, because the wrecking ball that's been set in motion might take smash her fragile truth to atoms in one fell swoop.