Reach Out In The Darkness
by
Zerelda X
X-Men and Nick Fury belong to Marvel. Charlotte is mine. For entertainment purposes only. Big chocolatey thanks to Michele for RPing Nick for me.
Big thanks to Lomas who wrote the first draft and let me play with it. He's a real sweetie.
Standing in the shadows
Hiding from the light
Reach out in the darkness
And hold on for your life
Nick Fury, clad in a bathrobe, a gun in one hand, scowled as he answered his front door. "What the hell... Charlie?"
Charlotte stood in front of the door, hand raised to knock again. "Hi Nick, long time no see?" she said quietly, a question in her voice about the possible welcome he might offer her.
"Get in here," he growled, reaching for her arm. When she pulled back out of reflex, a momentary terrified look in her eyes, he bit back a retort to keep from sending her running off. Opening the door wider, he gestured her in.
Once inside, she looked around nervously, peering into the darkened apartment, one hand twitching on the hilt of the knife she wore on her belt. Dressed in black, she would have blended into the shadows if she hadn't been so pale. He almost didn't recognize her; she bore only a little resemblance to the woman who summoned him to a brothel nearly seven months ago. Logan's last contact with him said she was better, regaining weight and not cringing when he or Beast touched her. This woman looked like she would leave her skin willingly if startled.
"Come on, let's put some coffee on," he said, leading the way to the kitchen. "Then you can tell me what yer doin' here."
She followed him, staying well out of his reach, he noticed. "No, thank you, I don't want any. I want to see Victor Creed, today. Right now if possible."
Standing at the counter, his back to her, he froze. This is how it all started. "Ya don't gotta do that."
"Yes, I do. He's not going to beat me again."
"Beat ya? Charlie, look it's..." he glanced around at the wall clock "...three a.m. I ain't awake enough ta follow ya."
"I had to sneak out," she said softly, "and I wanted to be sure to catch you before you left in the morning."
"Ya caught me, but I don't know what good it'll do ya. Logan still keepin' tabs on ya?" He knew that, Logan and Beast both kept him updated with her condition. Not like they had a choice, he wasn't letting it go. Not a week went by he didn't get something from one of them about her condition, sometimes every few days.
"He is, but I wasn't sleeping anyway. I'm tired, Nick. I can't sleep because all I see when I close my eyes is Creed chasing me. I have to face him to put the nightmares to rest. He won the last round, he's not going to win this one." She leaned against the door jamb, still not coming near him.
Nick didn't say anything for a long moment, then he nodded. "Yeah, I know that feelin'."
Charlotte stared in his direction, but she wasn't focused on him. "I want to look into his eyes and know I'm still alive, that he didn't beat me. I'm not asking for a lot here. I won't pull any tricks on you this time. I just want to prove to myself I have more than the life expectancy of a fruit fly as Logan's wife."
He lit a cigar, using the effort to buy him time to think. She had a point, and a right, but maybe this wasn't the best thing in the world for her now. "It'll take me some time ta get it set up. You're gonna need approval. Make ya a deal. I'll get on this first thing in the mornin'. Be done by noon. But ya stay here until then, let me tuck ya in an' feed ya. Deal?"
"You're not going to call Logan, are you? This isn't his problem." Before Creed happened in to wreck her life, she would've made a smart ass remark about tucking her in. Now she didn't so much as smile.
"I ain't callin' anybody I don't have to ta get you on the ship." He paused as her eyes finally focused on him. The look in them chilled him deeply. "I know how it feels, Charlie."
"I know you say that now, but you're a lot like Logan. You'll do something you think I need rather than what I ask for. I want to hear you say specifically that you, or anyone else connected with you, won't call Logan."
"No, I ain't callin' Logan." His good eye flared in anger at the implication he was lying to her. "Satisfied?"
She reached out to a chair just to sink into it, her shoulders sagging with exhaustion, head cradled in her hands. "Thank you, Nick," she whispered.
His anger melted away at her collapse. God only knew how long she'd been running like this. "Be right back."
Returning after a few minutes, he paused at the doorway. She hadn't moved a muscle. "Charlie?" He held out his hand to her. "C'mere."
She raised her head and wiped her eyes. "What?"
"Come on."
Her hesitation nearly broke his heart again as she gingerly placed her hand in his large one. He led her out the door and down the hall to a guest room. The bed had been turned down on one side, the pillow fluffed a little. "Yer exhausted. Try ta get at least a little sleep." He squeezed her hand gently, feeling her tense up again. "Yer safe here. Not even Creed could get inta this place, even if he was loose. Just keep reminding yerself o' that. Okay?"
"Okay." She smiled a tiny bit. "I'm sorry to put you on the spot like this, but I didn't know any other way."
"'S okay. My fault, anyway."
"You weren't the one who went crazy and decided to hunt Creed down. It's not your fault, it's mine. You tried to talk me out of it.
The hell it wasn't. There was no way he'd ever forget the sight of her lying unconscious on the floor of Creed's cabin, raped and beaten nearly to death, bathed in blood and grime. All because she'd gotten the drop on him. Him! He should've expected it. He was the professional, not her. "We'll argue 'bout it in the mornin'. Ya just get some sleep."
Charlotte pulled off her jacket with an absent nod. "If you hear a scream, it's just me running from a nightmare. You wouldn't happen to have a teddy bear around, would you?"
He chuckled. "Sorry, that's Dugan's place. Got an extra pillow, though."
"I'll have to go to his house the next time," she answered. "I'll take the pillow. I need something to hold on to."
"Okay. Want one of mine?"
Considering this was the most likely the first time she'd felt safe away from Logan, she wondered briefly if he'd mind being a teddy bear, but she let it go unsaid. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble, please? I promise, I won't ask for anything else."
"Hell, you can have whatever ya need, Charlie." He left to get a pillow from his own bed, bringing back a blanket while he was at it.
When he returned, she had her boots off and was curled up on top of the blankets, the dull black edge of her knife peeking out from under the pillow near her head. He silently set the extra pillow down and spread the blanket over her.
"Thank you, Nick," she said again, feeling like a broken record, but that was all she could think to say. That, and 'thanks for not spanking me,' but she wasn't going to give him any ideas.
"Just sleep. We'll talk in the mornin'." He patted her shoulder, then left, leaving the door cracked open a bit so he could keep tabs on her.
She pulled the pillow into her arms, squeezing it against her body, her nose buried in it. His scent was comforting, the shaving cream he used, faint traces of cigar smoke. For a moment she longed for Logan to be with her, but he would never have allowed her to do what she wanted, needed, to do. He didn't seem to understand why she felt so empty, that something had been taken from her she hadn't known she possessed in the first place.
Or perhaps he did, and he was still trying to protect her despite it. Goddammit, she wasn't a porcelain doll. She was tougher than this; she'd prove it to Logan, and to herself.
Now that the second step had been taken, the first step being her getaway from the watchful eye of her husband, she felt she could sleep a little. She'd deliberately kept from consciously thinking about this idea, hoping to keep anyone from guessing what she'd do. Creed being in SHIELD's tender care might have thrown some off, but not everyone.
Her eyes grew heavy; she snuggled into her makeshift teddy bear and let herself drift off. Nick was on sentry duty; she heard the murmur of his voice in the other room. Nothing would hurt her.
~*~*~*~*~
SHIELD Helicarrier
MAXIMUM SECURITY
Agent Dawson was edgy. There was no getting around that.
They had their guest locked down, adamantium bands wrapped tight around his wrists and ankles. The cell, a steel cubicle of five by seven feet, was cloaked with a psionic shield, and the bars were enhanced with enough raw voltage to send any normal man to Hell in a cinder. It was also set to exert magnetic force on the bands to stick the prisoner down, then juice him back into submission if he ever got out of hand.
This was no ordinary man. He was a mutant.
He was also fit with an inhibitor collar, and it was set to inject him with tranquilizers every two hours. The only way he was getting out of that little slice of paradise was by divine intervention.
Still, Dawson was jumpy.
Gritting down on his teeth, berating himself for acting like a fool, he checked his plasma rifle for the millionth time. It was still set on extreme lethal force. With his post, he had no choice but to use anything but that very setting. Many times before, other projects and agencies had this man under control, or so they thought. All they had to show at the end of the day was an empty prison cell, and all their personnel slaughtered, torn to pieces.
"Ya know I'm gonna get the fuck outta here, don'cha, frail?" The growl was muffled, slurred from the effects of the tranquilizers, but there was no mistaking the unbridled fury behind it. "When I do get outta this shit hole, ya fuckwit, yer the first," the voice rasped again, this time slightly less slurred, more intense, a deadly purr.
Chills ran down Dawson's spine as he checked the bright LCD display of his watch. It's another 45 minutes before Victor Creed was scheduled to get another shot, and already he could hear how quickly he was recovering from the last dose. The killer's body was building up an immunity, speeding up his healing factor. It would be time to change drugs soon.
He knew there was no way Victor Creed could know who was watching him, or who he was, but it was uncanny the way the psycho would make it all seem so personal.
"First you, then Fury. 'M gonna make that sonufabitch scream!! Ya hear me? SCREAM!!"
Shivers raced down Dawson's spine as Creed exploded in a fit of rage. Dawson couldn't actually see Sabretooth face to face, but his cell had hidden cameras placed throughout in strategic positions, so Dawson had no trouble seeing him on the security monitors. Just like every time he threw a fit, someone in the control room flipped the switch over to magnetize the bands and hold him into place.
Creed's eyes blazed angrily, his shoulders and arms bunched uselessly as he strained against the adamantium bonds. Foam lined his mouth, spittle flying from his mouth as he screamed savagely at one in particular.
"'M gonna fix you, Fury!!! Yer gonna get yers!!!"
Dawson shuddered slightly in revulsion as he looked at the animal they had caged up. No one was allowed into this particular cell block. Col. Fury's orders.
"But y' know what, frail? After I kill you, Fury, an' any other fuckers that get in m' way, I ain't stoppin' there." The air was filled with a dark rumble as Creed laughed. "When I'm done here, I'm goin' after the bitch ya fucked this mornin'. Musta been a good one, I can still smell it on ya."
Once again, shivers tore down Dawson's spine to mix with his anger. Unbelievably, Creed knew about his wife, and he was threatening her. He had to bite down hard not to snap back. Straining his will to the utmost, Dawson managed to stand still, not moving.
"Ahhhhhh. Hit a spot, did I, frail? Shitty trainin' yer gettin' these days. Can smell ya." Once again, the air was filled with that dark, hated rasp as Creed laughed.
"Well, fuckwit, was it the wifey, or yer girlfriend? Naw, don't matter none to Daddy Creed. All the girlies scream for me. Gonna make her scream, asshole. Mebbe I'll be nice, an' make her smile before I kill her."
A cold rage flared through Dawson. He knew how dangerous Creed was; a certified psychotic in every sense of the word. He was one of SHIELD's main customers. Required reading for every cadet.
"Hey fuckwit, just who am I goin' to be killin'? Yer girlfriend, or yer wife? I like to know these things. Attention to detail makes it so special, ya know?" Creed laughed loudly at his own sick joke, clearly amused and nearly free of the drug's influence.
The agent bit down on his own tongue as hard as he could to keep himself from saying something stupid. Never talk with a prisoner, he heard in his head, you're not here for their entertainment. He repeated it over to himself, hoping it would make his immediate irritation go away. 'Yeah, like I have a hope in hell,' he thought.
Another laugh floated out from the cell to taunt him again. "Wha'sa matter? Cat got yer tongue? Don't ya worry, Sabretooth will, right after I gut ya." More raucous laughter. "Is she somethin' to look at? Or just an ugly bitch ya managed to pick up one day. You can tell me. Don't be shy. Doc Sabretooth is in the house cell. Ya might as well share," Creed said in a friendly, confidential tone. "I ain't goin' nowhere, least not yet."
Dawson's rage bubbled up again. The strong urge to disarm the cell door and blast the killer to pieces seemed very enticing right now.
Inside the cell, Creed sniffed the air experimentally. "Tell ya what, asswipe. I like ya. How's about I get out, an' we both go see yer girl, mebbe have us some double trouble? Promise ya, it'll be fun. A real scream."
The knuckles on his hands white from gripping his weapon, Dawson whirled around at the main cell door. "SHUT THE FUCK UP!!" he screamed at the top of his lungs.
"What's the fuckin' matter, frail?!" Creed shouted back, right against the cell door. "Scared yer girl'll get worked over by a real man fer a change?!'
The agent lost control. He began hammering the access code into the small keypad next to the door. He wanted nothing more than to blow Creed sky high. How dare the son of a bitch threaten his wife?
Dawson's ears hardly picked up the sharp bleeps and clicks as he pounded away the combination, in a complete fit on irrational rage. The sound of the access code being rejected jarred him back to reality as a sharp, metallic voice set inside the keypad spoke up.
-Access denied-
Instead of restoring sanity, it strengthened Dawson's resolve to kill the captive man inside the cell. Slowly, methodically, he started tapping in the code once more, taking great care to not make any errors this time round. His mind repeated each number as he was about to strike it. He ignored the voices yelling at him over his earphone to stop.
-Access denied-
A harsh, demanding voice whip-cracked from behind him, the familiarity of that voice overriding everything else. His training took back control as he found himself standing at attention.
"That's enough, ya damned rookie!" Nick Fury's voice ground the words out. "Them boys up in the monitorin' room saw ya blowin' yer top, an' they changed the code."
The agent thought to say something, but the look on his commander's face froze him up.
"Report ta Commander Dugan, he'll take care o' yer ass."
With an almost timid salute, Dawson marched away, convinced he'd just thrown his career in SHIELD away. He'd be pushing it too far if he were to say anything about leaving his commanding officer alone with a killer. He moved through the doors, the sharp hiss of hydraulics sealing him off from the cell block.
~*~*~*~*~
Creed has his ears pricked, wanting to hear just what the hell was going on on the other side. Even his ears had a problem with listening through that door. His nose was able to tell him just as much, if not more.
"So fuckin' close," he growled to himself. "Asshole was losin' it big time. Heard the li'l fucker tryin' ta get a shot at me. Fuckin' lousy security, Fury!" He knew the guard was gone, knew Fury stood right outside the door. He barely heard the order, but the nose never lied. The scent of rage was gone, replaced by another one, someone he'd like to kill, almost as much as he would the runt. Nick Fury.
Now that he calmed down, the magnetic hold was released. He rubbed his wrists as best he could, waiting for what would happen next.
~*~*~*~*~
Nick Fury was angry, irritated and slightly scared. Not for himself. For her.
'Dammit, how can that damned kid be so goddamn stupid?' Nick cursed Dawson's actions, thinking he could get away with being in the same cell as Sabretooth and walk out of there alive.
'Supposed ta have his damned ass knocked out, but he still spooks one o' my agents.' He chewed restlessly on the unlit stogie. 'Bastard's up ta somethin', I can feel it. This ain't a good idea.'
He stood outside the cell block door, trying to figure out way out of this. Why did he agree to this crazy scheme? He could think of a million reasons why it shouldn't be happening, and only one why it should.
'I'm gettin' too old for this,' he thought. Against regulations, he lit his stogie, drawing hard on it to get it burning satisfactorily. He had that familiar prickle at the back of his neck. Something was up. They had a collar on Creed, but the man could still use his senses. Creed knew he was out here, yet he hadn't squeaked once.
He now punched in the new code and stepped inside once the door opened. "Ain'cha gonna welcome me, Sabretooth?"
There was no response.
He stopped in front of the cell. "We both know I ain't stupid enough ta fall fer that li'l trick. C'mon, ya did a number on one o' my agents."
Creed was a braggart, even if he could backed up all his claims. Now he was silent, smirking at him. Nick thought back to the day they picked Creed up, all the threats he made before he was sedated and stuffed in here. That memory still gave Nick icy shivers down his spine, still gave him nightmares. Not because of the threats. Because of her. He'd seen a lot in his day, but that was something he never wanted to see again.
He was a good soldier. He shut up and followed his orders, when they made sense. He'd been told to do things that the average man would be sick over, but it was his job. It still couldn't compare to what it felt like when he found Charlie again, after Creed was done with her.
Logan had gone through Hell, fighting to get his wife back, but it was one sight Nick was glad to spare his friend. Just him, Dugan, and those pictures he buried in red tape along with her medical file, the only evidence left of what happened. Creed didn't remember a thing.
He didn't want to think back at all, but this was forcing him to, mostly out of guilt. Guilt because he was the one who led her there, and he didn't protect her when she needed it most.
That was what was really killing him. Now this. Damn woman. Why did she have to be so stubborn?
He knew why. She had to put an end to this. There was no going on until she did. The least he could do was make sure she came out of this without a scratch. He tapped his wrist communicator.
"All right, Dum Dum, get this animal tranked back down, an' then let her in."
~*~*~*~*~
The lights cut off abruptly, plunging the cell block into darkness. Creed's eyes adjusted immediately.
A whirring sound came from the collar around his neck as two needles emerged from the recessed ports. He gritted his teeth as they injected a tranquilizer directly into his veins, not giving Fury the satisfaction of a reaction to them. His eyes blinked predator yellow in the dark. 'Ain't gonna be cowed by yer cheap tricks, Fury,' he thought to himself. Something was going on, and it just happened to be more interesting than the frail losing control.
He relaxed and breathed deeply, letting his healing factor take over. Damned stupid laws, if you asked him. They could hold him, but they couldn't do anything that might endanger his life, like completely inhibit his healing ability. No, that would be cruel to the prisoner. Damn fuckin' frails.
Another deep breath. Calm. In total control. He could taste something in the air. Whatever it was, whenever it came, he would be ready for it.
'Yer fuckin' lucky ya have yer chicken shit lil' government toys ta back ya up, Fury,' he fumed inwardly, but held his facial expression impassive. This inscrutable crap the runt was always doing did have some use. Kept people guessing and hopping around like rats in a maze. He liked it that way. 'Be havin' yer guts fer breakfast if ya didn't. Almost had yer frail soldier.' Creed laughed at the memory. The kid lost it, but not soon enough. Then he would've been out of this place. But they managed to catch the fucker before he stepped over the line.
"Ain't my fault ya got rookies watchin' me," Creed said aloud. "Mebbe you an' me need ta have us a lil' talk 'bout that." Yeah, a little talk, face ta bloody stump that used to be a face. 'Yer good at this cloak n' dagger shit, but ya never beat Sabretooth. Think yer smart, but ya ain't. Make yer ass scream.'
Running his tongue over his teeth, he felt more of the drug wear off, but it was still too long. They were pumping him with enough to bring down a rhino. The collar whirred and twisted again, driving the sharp needles into the thick flesh of his neck, injecting more of the drug into him with an audible hiss.
" Fuck!" was all Victor Creed could snarl out before he felt the drugs washing into his bloodstream, blurring his senses, muddling his thoughts again. They shouldn't be doing this again so soon. Breathing heavily, he tried focusing his thoughts on the mental image of Nick Fury lying dead before him, fighting the blunting effect of the drugs, panting with the exertion of the mental battle, but it was harder than before. He would win. This is what he did. It never mattered what they threw at him, he was still better than anything they'd ever turn out.
Sodium arc lights burst into fiery life, forcing a whimper from his lips as the sharp light dug into his eyes with savage intensity, jagged knives of pain digging through to the base of his skull. He tried to shield his eyes from the light, but it was useless. Sinking to the floor disoriented, he squinted them shut and waited for it to pass, flashes of bright red and indigo residue floating behind his lids. He missed hearing the cell block door open again. It was only when the sound of footsteps managed to penetrate the haze of pain and drug induced confusion did he realized he was not alone in here.
Grunting in effort, he threw himself at those sounds, only to be magnetized to the bars again, the electrical defense system shocking him to a limp surrender. He focused on those footsteps as a lifeline. Two people. One heavy, he recognized those as Fury. The drug effect released a bit of its hold on him with the clean wash of hatred. 'Yer gonna get yers, Fury, I fuckin' promise ya.... yer gonna get yers...'
The second set was light and definitely unfamiliar to him, but he guessed them to be either female, or a someone very light in build.
Creed's moment of sane reasoning ended as the drugs fought to take control again. The footsteps stopped, there was nothing to concentrate on anymore.
It was then that the scent reached him.
That scent, sweet and musky.
It slid through his fogged brain like a hot knife, burning away the slow-witted confusion that held him tied down. He knew that scent from someplace.
Creed inhaled again, taking great care to place that scent. He could smell Fury, that he was sure of, but the unknown scent was still there. There was no mistaking it, or the reek of fear intertwined in it.
Fear. Icy, exquisite fear. Victor Creed know all about fear, and whoever the owner of this exotic scent was, he/she was oozing fear.
He couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he knew this scent. He let it go, content for the moment to use it as a beacon back towards his own sanity, such as it was. Whoever this was, he would find out soon enough.
The magnetic lock down was released. He fell heavily to the floor and remained there. Another deep breath made him stronger, that wonderful aroma feeding him. The fear was like mother's milk.
"Ya wanna tell me what yer doin' here, Fury? Scared I'm gonna fly the coop?" he growled at the door. No answer. He didn't expect one.
Again he breathed in the surrounding scents. He could smell anger from Fury, so he was hitting something, while the other scent still held fear. Creed grinned. That sweet scent was also mixed with Fury's. Very closely mingled. He could use that.
Relaxing, allowing his muscles to ease, Creed called out again. "Ya ain't answered me yet. Scared I am gonna run?" The anger was still present in Fury's scent, but no more than before. Creed nodded to himself. He had expected this much. The key to this little puzzle lay in that other scent.
"Don'cha worry none. I ain't gonna leave the party till I get what I'm here for." A low sneering chuckle escaped him. "Mebbe I'll let yer lil' friend watch."
Fury's scent immediately spiked, then simmered down very slowly.
Creed smiled, satisfied. "So tell me," he purred in a slow, soft voice." Yer friend, we play before? Ya never really brought friends along with ya, 'cept yer asswipe toy soldiers, an' they don't mean shit ta me."
This time it was that alien scent that spiked up, but it wasn't in anger like before. It was with fear. Creed cursed the gaping hole that was his memory. There was something going on here that was vitally important to the SHIELD director, and Victor Creed was willing to bet his life that it involved the owner of that strange scent. Fury remained silent.
"C'mon Fury. This ain't no way ta treat an old friend. Ya been here fer what, ten-fifteen minutes, an' still ya ain't said what I did ta get a visit this time. That ain't hospitable of ya. M' disappointed."
Ignored again, he addressed the other presence in the room. "Hey, I know ya from someplace? We meet before? Or are ya a fan?"
His nose told him whoever that was, and he was sure it was a woman now, was determined not to say anything. For a moment, the fear was gone. His mystery woman had some spunk after all.
He chuckled to himself. Damn stupid frails were all the same. Predictable. Her hesitancy to say something hinted that chances were good they'd run into each other before. He shook his head again to clear it. If he could only do something about the mush in his brain.
A tendril of telepathy touched his mind carefully. Victor sighed in anticipation, doing nothing to frighten it away. He would get his answers.
"Since ya don't wanna talk, I'll talk. I'll tell ya all 'bout yer friend here," he said. There was another whiff of anger from the woman, mixed in with the fear.
"Me, I know ya slept with Fury here, ya got his stink all over ya. My bet? Yer a woman. Fury here's a dickhead, but he ain't no fag. Probably why he never gets any. Free advice fer ya, Fury. Bet he fucked ya good once he got his hands on a woman. Least he tried. You ain't one o' them toy soldiers he's gotta order on their knees ta blow him off." Now there was angry scent of an enraged male in the small room, but that didn't stop Creed. "Always knew SHIELD was full o' frails an' faggots."
The psychic touch was still there. It felt good.
"Ya know, Fury, I said it before, an' I'll say it again. Ya ain't been the greatest o' hosts. Lots o' other places woulda treated me special. Nice bed, good eats, even throw in a fucktoy fer kicks." The soft touch tightened, then loosened quickly. Not just a fan, but a fan he made a lasting impression on. They all came back for more. "Too bad ya ain't servin' beer in this joint. Thought we were friends, ya know? Friends are supposed ta share. Shame on ya, frail." His voice was pitched low, heavily loaded with sarcasm.
He knew he got something out of Fury a few minutes ago, but the advantage was fading. He trusted his nose, and it told him the anger was fading despite his taunts. It was time to switch to the woman.
"So, girlie, ya like messin' round in m' head?" Once again, that scent changed. The owner was determined not to give anything away, but she'd given Creed all he need to know, for now. He would fill in the blanks in his own good time. Plenty of time here. Then he'd find her again once he was out. And they would get together again, he would make sure of it."
"Fury ain't talkin' much, so mebbe you'll tell me some. He a good fuck?" He let his voice drop down to a more contemplative tone. "Now I think about it, it can't be all that much fun. Fury's busy bein' some government bitch, he ain't got time ta remember how." Creed laughed at his own joke. "S'all he does, ya know? Goes around convincin' the other fuckwits his balls are bigger an' better, but they ain't, are they, honeybitch?"
The scent of fear was gone completely, but the anger was still there. Her psi touch flooded his mind, and he shivered. All he wanted right now was that feeling, and he wanted it hard and furious.
"Tell ya what, babe, I know the head prick of SHIELD was a big let down for ya, so ya just come on down here an' see me anytime. Daddy Creed will do ya good, real good. Fuck ya like a real man."
The psi touch in his mind started to squeeze. Creed screamed out in a mixture of agony and pleasure, craving this even as it drove hot shards of pain into him. The pain continued, reaching down to his fingertips and the soles of his feet until he was lying in a fetal position on floor of his cell. Then it cut off abruptly, leaving him gasping and snickering.
"Yeah, babe, you come back, anytime."
The light snapped off. He watched the ghost images of Fury and the woman walk away, everything else lost in the haze. Everything but that scent, and the feel of her in his mind.
~*~*~*~*~
Standing in Nick's office, Charlotte held herself apart from Nick and Dugan as they talked quietly, lost in her own thoughts.
It wasn't as bad as she thought it would be. Sabretooth still scared her plenty, but this time she faced the fear and found it to be manageable. He would never have power over her again. That in itself was liberating. Maybe tonight she would sleep and not dream.
"Charlie?" Nick tapped her shoulder when she didn't respond. She still startled and moved away, but she didn't have the scared rabbit look anymore. "Logan's waiting fer us. Let's get ya home."
That dismayed her. "Waiting for us? Did you call him after all?"
"Yeah, I did. I understand why ya had ta do this an' not tell 'im, but now it's over an' he's gotta know." He squeezed her shoulder in commiseration. "So I called him an' let 'im know yer with me."
"When did you call him?" Nick promised her he wouldn't contact Logan last night, but right now she didn't have it in her to be angry with him. Her showdown with Sabretooth was all she could take today.
"Little while ago." He phoned Logan while she was in the washroom and tersely told him what was going on and that he'd bring her home as soon as possible. "You get everythin' ya came for?" The showdown between the two had been brief, but she walked away from this one. Creed was left on the floor hurting. Charlie took this skirmish hands down.
She nodded slowly. "I did. Thank you Nick. You don't know what this means to me. I won't be waking you up in the middle of the night again." She glanced up at him. "What he said in there, about you and me. No one would ever believe him."
"I know that, kid. Ya slept with my pillow, used m' shower and towels, sure yer gonna smell like me." Nick paused a moment. "If ya need me an' I'm around, you better call me. Don't care what time of day or night it is."
"I didn't think about that, but you're right. Anyway, thanks for calling Logan. He'll want to talk about this and it's best we don't do that at the mansion."
Taking her arm, he led her out of the office and back to his Hummer transport. "I'll drop ya off at yer apartment, he's waitin'."
~*~*~*~*~
Logan opened the front door before she could use her key. She stood ramrod straight and slightly apologetic, but with a new light in her eye. Nick stood protectively behind her, nodding to Logan before leaving them and stepping back onto the elevator.
Closing the door behind her, Logan refrained from saying anything at all, watching her go directly to the library. Once there, she opened the bar and poured a healthy whisky, downing it in one gulp, then poured another and finished it in quick succession. Finally she turned and faced him. And smiled.
"You okay?" he asked.
"I'm fine. I'm better than fine. I have a good man and a good life, and that's all I need." She set down the glass and walked into his arms. Once there, she buried her face in his neck, breathing deeply to absorb his scent and drown out the day's stress. A sense of euphoria filled her.
"No more runnin' off like that," he said into her hair. "Ya didn't have to sneak out."
"Yes, I did. You would have come with me and I needed to do this without you. Nick was with me the whole time."
"He told me, swore up an' down he never left ya alone with that sick bastard." Also told him to take it easy on her, she had her reasons. As if Logan wouldn't understand. He sure as hell understood it, but there was no reason she had to steal away in the night.
"He didn't." No matter what she said, Nick refused to consider it. He brought her on board the helicarrier, bypassed a lot of red tape to get her there, but when it came right down to it, he wouldn't budge from her side. Truth be told, she was grateful to him for that.
"I promise you, Logan," she released him to look into his eyes, "this isn't going to happen again."
His only answer was to pull her closer.
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