Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

15. Liability

It had taken nearly twenty minutes, but Creed was finaly putting the still limp body on the back seat of the car. He thoughtfully rolled the windows down so she could have some fresh air before covering her naked and battered body with some coarse blankets. Finally, he got in the car and drove away from the city. He wasn't exactly sure where he was going, but he knew he couldn't stay in the city, not with the woman's life still hanging on the line. If the Colonel got a new scentless unit to hunt him down, like in Dallas, the city would be his perfect hunting ground; but out in the woods... scent or no scent, they wouldn't stand a chance.

After an hour driving, he pulled over to check on the woman. Wilderness areas near California were mostly wide brush expanses and what he needed was a forest to give him cover. He opened the door to the back and brushed the hair off her face. At least she seemed peaceful. They still had a lot of ground to cover, especially before morning. That, if all went well, would be when the Colonel would come back to collect the woman's body and instead find the two dead staff guys. He would take at least one to two hours to put together a team to start searching, and as much as he might guess Creed had left the city, he wouldn't jump on that guess without first making sure. Unless he had enough men to run the chase in both fronts.

Creed sniffed Irbis. She still didn't smell dead, but she did stink of all the men who had raped her. He should have used the filthy bath and washed those offending scents off her, but it was too late now.

"Eenesh," he called as he once more checked for a heart beat. "Can ya hear me, girl?"

He pressed two fingers hard onto her neck, clenching his teeth at the absence of... His own heart skipped a beat. Was that... He put his ear to her chest, listening intently. It was! It was barely there, but he could hear it: a heart beat! Steady, if sluggish. This changed everything! He carefully checked her breathing and detected just a slight movement of air. She was slowly coming to. Creed banged the door and hurried to the driver's seat. He needed to get her somewhere safe, and fast. He didn't start the engine, though, his head thinking furiously.

Everyone thought her dead, and everyone would know he had found his woman dead. He was expected to go into a berserker rage and maim all the involved and if he didn't... there would only be one explanation. The woman was alive and he was falling back in order to protect her. That would not do. No. He had to take the risk and leave her alone, somewhere secluded, abandoned, where no one would find her. Then he had to kill everyone involved as fast as possible to return to her side. To make sure she did come back from her coma.

Right. A secluded place.

Irbis felt... ill. A monster flu with a high fever, making your bones feel like jelly and your muscles shiver painfully as your teeth chatter due to an inner cold that no amount of blankets can abate. Only one thousand times worse. Her stomach churned and she tried to open her eyes. She wasn't going to throw up all over her bed. Instead of obeying, her eyes remained closed and her whole body spasmed in a crazy shiver that worried her. She had never felt like this from the flu. She tried to move but her body ignored her mental commands, instead causing random flinching. What...

"Eenesh," that voice... "easy now, girl."

Her stomach tossed violently and she heard herself whimper. Then she noticed the arms, the body... it was holding her tight, warmly. Suddenly, she was certain they had been there, keeping her safe, for a long time and she relaxed. But it was a moment.

"I know ya can hear me, girl." Creed. Victor. She tried to open her eyes again. "Yeah, that's it, girl. I knew ya was stronger than that."

The embrace melted away and she felt a sudden panic fill her up, as if a sudden pain was about to pull her into hell. Breathlessly, she fought to open her eyes.

"Ya're safe here." The light growl underneath his voice was so soothing, protective.

When Irbis finally forced her eyes open, he was right there is front of her. She smiled, relief barely softening her shivering muscles. He was deadly serious though. What happened? She had meant to ask it aloud, but her throat didn't even make a sound. He clenched his teeth and she could see he was upset, even as his hand cupped her face gently. What had happened?

"What do you remember?"

Remember? For a moment, her memory was a blank. Then she remembered their night together, remembered how she had had three days to close the door on her Californian life before returning to... The mercs. It came like a flood, in no particular order, just shocking bits and pieces, burning pain and icy despair. Her stomach churned brutally and she was taken over by dry heaving.

"Easy, now. Easy..." His body was warm and strong as she leaned on him, his hand soothingly on her forehead as her body kept retching in vain. "Ya'll be fine now. Just fine."

Irbis closed her eyes and focused on that word. Fine.

"Ya've been out fer over 24 hours," he was saying as if from afar. "Here, drink this an' then ya gonna try an' eat somethin'. Yer body won't start recoverin' till ya start feedin' it proteins it can work with. Hey, are ya listenin' t'me? Eenesh?"

The problem of being tortured by a telepath, especially if you had never dealt with telepaths before, was that they could get pretty much any information they wanted. From what Irbis had said, though, getting information hadn't been their first priority. The Colonel had wanted her hurting, period. But what if the telepath had very simply erased the memories of the intel extraction? What if the reason for keeping her alive, and her body in fairly good state (not even a single bone or tooth broken!), was brainwashing the girl into becoming their little spy? A sort of Dalilah. How could Creed be absolutely certain they hadn't got every detail there was on his safe haven in Wausau? How could he be certain they hadn't implanted her with a 'kill him now' command that she wouldn't be able to override?

And the woman was no dummie; she knew she couldn't really trust her memories, not after having a telepath ransacking through her head for nearly two weeks.

"Dinner is ready!"

Creed looked away from the sunset, his vision plagued with black spots from watching the orangy ball slowly approaching the ocean, and looked at the bungalow. Irbis was standing at the door, waiting for him. She was wearing a T-shirt and loose fitting jeans, her dark wavy hair caught in a low ponytail. She was trying hard to act normally, but the dark rings under her eyes testified how much she avoided sleeping.

"You come?"

Creed got up with a grunt. The bungalow was in the middle of the Mexican nowhere so he could easily identify anyone approaching. He was known for heading North when things got rough, so he had figured taking the woman south would be a good idea. Especially after that killing spree he'd gone through back in LA... he better not show his face there any time soon. And as much as Mexican doctors might have a rep for being hopeless and third world worthy, the right motivation turned them into excellent professionals. Not to mention they at least knew how to work in less than perfect conditions. You get a doc all used to shiny technology, and he's as good as useless in the back country.

Irbis was already putting the fish stew on the plates when he came in and sat down. She smiled up to him. Well, at least she was smiling. She hadn't been able to do it for the first two days after coming to.

"So... we leave in three days, right?"

Nodding, Creed sat down. Mexico had been a good idea for keeping low over the first two weeks, but he would feel much more comfortable once he had stashed her away in a little cabin he owned in Canada. He just wanted her to be seen one last time by that female doc he'd gotten for her and to get all the results of her medical exams. Then they'd be off.

"I need to go to de market tomorrow." She sat down and tried to pretend the idea didn't upset her. "Is a long voyage to Canada and I want prepare some snacks."

"Sure. I'll take ya out there first thing tomorrow."

She nodded nervously and ate some of the fish. The first time he had taken her to the market to get some basic cooking ingredients, right at the beginning of their arrival, she had been such a frightened wreak that she'd thrown up. Twice. Nevertheless, the woman had refused to leave the place before the shopping was done. The reason to be afraid was in the past, she had said, and she would not give the assholes the satisfaction of ruining her life. Nevertheless, Creed didn't expect her to be at ease in the middle of a crowd anytime soon.

"What you think? I can make fresh bread and fatiated meat..."

Fatiated? Sometimes it felt like she had given up improving her vocabulary. "Sliced meat."

"Isso," she said with a dismissive hand movement. "And croquetes, fried chicken... ah, uns pasteizinhos de bacalhau. I never did before but I know you will love."

No doubt he would, whatever those were. She was a great cook after all.

"And maybe we can stop in a market in California," she said, a hand fleetingly playing with the golden cross around her neck. "In a area wid Portuguese communities? Maybe? Dey have dis chourisos dat are delicious. What you think? Is possible?"

Creed nodded, "sure."

He'd bought her the cross at her request. To replace the one she supposedly had had with her since she was a baby and which had been taken away from her when she had first been abducted and brought to the USA. It was the only thing he didn't quite like about the woman, really, this sudden religious streak, even if she swore she had always prayed religiously at least once a day. Still, the sooner they got away from churches, the sooner she'd stop having an excuse to go to one. Especially since he wasn't exactly letting her out of his sight, which meant he was forced inside the stupid places.

Irbis breathed out harshly and turned her head abruptly towards the window. Creed looked out immediately, wondering if she had seen something suspicious. But no, she hadn't. By now it was too dark outside for her to see anything. Probably just wondering how to stay up as long as possible.

That was something that worried him a bit, the way she would wake up from nightmares complaining that she physically hurt. If she dreamt that, say, her left arm had been skinned, she'd wake up in such pain that she actually had to bite down a scream if he touched it. He had never heard of telepathic torture sessions leaving that type of sequel. Then again, most torture sessions he'd heard about, or participated in (one way or the other), were usually everything but psychic matters, so maybe it was normal.

He glanced up from his food to check she was still looking thoughtfully out the window, her right hand holding the little gold cross. The whole thing had been just two weeks ago, he told himself, and the woman was stubborn enough to get over the whole drama and trauma by herself. She just needed some more time, that was all.

"Ya ain't eatin'."

She snapped from her reverie with a weak smile and picked the knife but then she breathed out with resolve.

"I think we need to talk..." Creed frowned. Now what? "You say we go to Mexico and I say ok, now you say we go to Canada and I say ok, and..."

"What? Ya wanna stay in Mexico?" Like hell. Nice place and all, but it wasn't his natural environment. Couldn't be further, actually.

Irbis shook her head, though. "I think... dis is all wrong."

What the hell was she talking about? "I've told ya before, girl, leave the thinkin' t'me. Ya know it ain't yer strong suit."

She glared at him. She was getting better alright. He hadn't seen her glare at anything since he'd saved her.

"Dis," she dropped the fork and knife to gesture widely, as if encompassing the table and the bungallow. "You are practically babysit me for two weeks. You said you want me because I am convenient in cook and house clean and... and now sex. But dis, you babysit me, dis is not convenient to you. Is all wrong."

Creed shrugged. "It's only till ya're back on yer feet. 'Sides, I've told ya: ya're mine. I'm gonna make sure ya're back in top condition. So this whole inconvenience thing is temporary. Very much temporary."

If for one split second Creed had not believed the woman capable of fully recovering to her old self, he wouldn't have bothered. But she was stubborn and she was not willing to bow down to her weaknesses. She'd bounce back soon enough. The woman didn't seem convinced, though, and she shook her head.

"I can't fight," she grumbled.

"No, that ya can't," he agreed. "Ya're as helpless as a newborn."

That earned him a new glare. Two weeks of torture and all it took the woman was another two weeks for her spirit to start flashing back to its old self. Yeah, he'd chosen the right woman for the job. No doubts about it.

"What I am trying to say is dat... if your enemies want attack you, dey can use me. I'm a weak point to you."

Simple, logical fact. His instict, the one he'd been ignoring for quite a few months now, grunted an annoyed 'duh' that had Creed growling lightly.

"Why don't ya learn some English? The word is liability."

And of course he knew she was a liability!

"Isso," she blurted, obviously not bothering to learn the word at all. "If your enemies know you have me... I'm perfect for dey to attack to attack you. It doesn't interest if I am your woman near you or your woman away from you. If dey know about me, dey attack me, and you. So is obvious dat you should kill me, not help me get well."

Of course he knew he should kill her before someone else did! Of course he knew... And, for some reason he couldn't understand (beyond the obvious fact that his unconscious enjoyed aggravating him), Creed couldn't help but recall what he had told Logan... that he didn't have the guts to do what had to be done. To kill the woman. Native. Irbis.

"I'm sorry dat I say what you don't want hear. But I don't want dat you do a mistake because of me."

But it was no mistake because, unlike Logan, Creed had the guts to kill the woman. If he wanted, and right now he didn't want to. But he could still kill her anytime. He had killed Bonnie, hadn't he? Ah, Bonnie... She was already dead, his mind quipped in. Mercy kills don't count. Native hadn't been a mercy kill. Irbis...

Creed shook his head. Irbis's situation was completely different from Native's. First of all, any project goons that might be interested in Irbis thought her dead; every project goon who might've been interested in Native knew she was alive. And as for the mercs... so their expert torturer had gotten away, so what! He thought Irbis had died. Everyone thought Irbis was dead. Everyone! And, besides, they had matched Native up with the Wolverine, whom everyone wanted to use as their pet guinea pig. Irbis had matched up with... well, maybe not really matched up but... Anyway, there wasn't anyone interested in using him as a lab rat. They had never wanted him for anything other than doing their stupid dirty work. Be their personal hunting hound.

"I don't want dat someone uses me to hurt you."

What she meant was that she didn't want to have a target on her forehead, and being his woman sure as hell meant having a whole bunch of targets all over her.

"I'll keep ya safe," he grunted. The words bitter in their déjà vu. He hadn't been able to keep Bonnie safe. Anger growled in his chest. But he would do it for Irbis. She was his, damnit! He would keep her safe, no matter what!

Only he knew, better than anyone, he knew that no protection job was guaranteed, unlike a hit. It was always a simple matter of timing, no matter how many bodyguards and security measures the vic might pile up. A patient hitman would hold his ground waiting for the right moment to overcome the best protection. He'd done it thousands of times.

If she were targeted, Irbis would always be as good as dead. Unless he killed her first, of course, or unless...

Unless she were never targeted! That was it! It would only take killing everyone and anyone who might have the slightest grudge against him. Or who had ever heard of him. It wouldn't be an easy task, but it wasn't exactly impossible. He could do it if he wanted to. He could. There was no one gonna come and take away what was his, not again. They'd been doing it all his life! He'd work hard, getting something for himself – a name, a safe house, the perfectly rigged wheels, a woman... – and then someone just had to come and ruin it all for him. But not this time. Not with Irbis.

A dog barked in the distance. Outside, the western sky had grown dark and cold.

"Look, I agree dat I'm your woman." Damn right she was. "I am not trying to escape dat. I go to Canada and everywhere you want, serious. I just want dat you think well about... about all the consequences. I don't want dat you regret me."

Creed looked straight at the woman across the table.

"Ya listen t'me, and ya listen good. I do what I want, when I want to. I ain't got no regrets. If I want you, then I have you. That's all there is to it. Ya're mine, Irbis, and if anyone's stupid enough ta even look at you the wrong way, they're..."

It was then the idea hit him: "...dead. Ya're dead!"

She frowned, not following him.

"Irbis is dead," he explained. "There's no one gonna be lookin' fer you 'cause you're Irbis and Irbis is dead. All I gotta do is make sure no one knows I got myself a new woman."

Yes, it was that simple. It really was. He'd start with the Mexican doc that had been taking care of Irbis. He'd kill her off... though probably not right now, to avoid connecting her death to her most recent patient. And he'd have to wipe out any register of those medical tests too. But again, in a couple of months. First, he'd settle the woman somewhere safe, get her a new identity... yupe, that was it.

"Ya ferget ya ever had that name, Irbis, ya hear? I'm smugglin' ya inta Canada an' then I'll get ya a new identity and... Hell, I'll even let ya choose yer own name!"

And he'd be schizophrenic about it till the limits of insanity! Yeah, he'd create an entire life for her, with detailed school and work records, facebook, twitter, everything!

"I want dat my new identity is Portuguese," the woman blurted eagerly.

What was that obsession with her previous identity, damnit? Although, it could open up some interesting possibilities.

"Portuguese-Canadian," he perfected. Or Canadian-Portuguese, whichever.

"And please let me maintain my name of Isabel. I already had more names in half year dan… sei lá!" She gasped suddenly as an idea popped into her head. "Can I choose my apelide? My last name? Please?"

He nodded. He'd make it work. He'd split her life between the two countries and, if he played it right, he might even be able to get her actual official documents.

Are you serious, his appaled conscious still managed to prick him one last time.

Well, why the hell not? He deserved to have a woman pampering him, didn't he? Why did everyone else have a right to have their woman, their white picket fence home, their... fuck the children! Irbis, no, Isabel. Isabel couldn't have kids, anyway. She'd told the doctor that much when the doc had had suspicions that the heavy bleeding and cramps the girl had had a few hours after recovering consciousness had been caused by a spontaneous abortion. And why did he want to have kids? He didn't want a family, just a woman. One fucking woman all of his own. Was it that much to ask? Was it?!

Creed pointed a deadly serious finger at the woman opposite him.

"Ya're mine, ya hear? And there's no one gonna take ya away from me. Ever. I promise ya that much, girl. There's no one ever putting a finger on ya ever again."

It thrilled him to no end when she straightened herself like that, her eyes hard and determined. She was strong, his woman. So what if she couldn't fight? She had a spirit no one could break and a presence like no other.

"Don't make promises..." Creed growled at the uncalled for aggravation and she breathed out fiercely, glanced to the side, shook her head. "I believe you do all you can to protect me. Because I am your woman."

Damn right, she was.

If you have read through this story and enjoyed it, please consider leaving a review. Even if only a succinct 'I liked it', with 'it' referring to all of the 15 chapters. Or tell me which chapter you liked the most, or the least, as you prefer. But do drop me a note. (I answer all reviews, by the way.)

I'd like to take the chance to apologise to everyone who were expecting watching Creed go on a bloody rampage. It was part of the original plan but I just didn't like the way it came out, no matter how many times I rewrote it. So I gave up on it. Sorry if I disappointed you.

As I said at the beginning of this story, this is the last of the Irbis-Sabretooth Saga.

Unfortunately, my OC doesn't like to be idle and Creed likes the limelight so...

Next we've got House of M!

Have you read that issue where Magneto sends Sabretooth to kill the Black Panther? Didn't you think it was ridiculously easy the way the Wakandan king killed the supposedly deadly mutant? I did. So I figured there must be a reason for Sabretooth's sloppy performance. And, naturally, Irbis slipped into the stand alone.

Since M-Day was identified in X-Men vol.2 #191 as having happened on November 2nd, I shall post this 'anniversary' stand alone on the upcoming November 2nd.

And afterwards, my first Romy ever! ... Though Jubilee is set on seriously crashing their private party.