by 1Grrl4Vic
I do not own Wildchild, I do not own Mystique, I do not own Polaris, I do not
own Forge, and I do not own the human Val Cooper. Nor that scum sucking
little twerp, Graydon Creed. Punk.
Everyone else in this story's mine, though. The title isn't mine. That
belongs to.. The Dave Matthews Band! How ever did I come up with that?
Author's notes: Thanks go to SLWatson for the beta job. She was a
tremendous help! This story is 3rd in my *gasp* SERIES, the first of which
being "Little Birdy." Part 2 was "Vic and Birdy's Further Adventures in
Parenthood." I'm gonna hafta do the chapter thing b/c #1, people just want
this friggin' story! And #2, It's turning into a WiP and if I stick out
there for everyone to read, I'll have more motivation to finish, right? Cuz
you'll all bug me and to shut you up, I will finish.
Ok.. I'm shuttin' up now.
"Teams, check in."
"Team two, all clear. Nothin' but suits and their Starbucks this way. Over."
"We've got the same over here, Wildchild. What about your end of town,
Polaris? Has Creed been able to pick up the target's scent? Over."
"If he has, Forge, he's not telling. He went down streetside. I'm tracking
him by the tracer in his collar. So far, all's quiet. How 'bout it, Creed?
Any sign of Foggerty?"
The mutant known as Sabretooth doesn't reply immediately. He knows that
holding off on a response will make his teammates slightly nervous. So, with
a smile, he stays silent.
"Creed, do you copy?" Polaris waits patiently for a reply. Before she was a
member of X-Factor, even before she was an X-Man, Lorna Dane was an unwilling
member of the mutant killing team known as the Marauders. She's worked
beside Victor Creed before and knows what kind of mind games he likes to
play. An annoyed sigh proceeds her voice over the com-set. "Answer the
question, Creed. Any sign of the target?" The headsets crackle before the
deep voice of Sabretooth answers.
"Lorna, baby, you really oughta learn to relax. I think I timed you at 2.3
seconds. I pissed you off at a new record time."
"Whatever, Creed. Any sign of Foggerty?"
"Nah. I keep tellin' y'all. That mook took off soon as he heard he was
wanted. A real scaredy-cat type. He's long gone."
"I think Creed's right on this one, team. Let's pack it in, Forge."
"All right, Val. Wildchild and Mystique, we'll meet you at First and
Helmway. Polaris and Creed, meet up at Fifth and Johnston."
"Oh, goody. If we make it home in time I can still catch Rosie."
"Cut the chatter, Raven, and move out."
"Geez, Val. Snippy, snippy."
Victor Creed starts towards the meeting point three blocks away. Lunchtime
rush has the sidewalk packed with businessmen and women racing to get their
meal and maybe a smoke in before they have to be back at their desks and
their daytime tasks. Creed towers over most of the people and his massive
size gives the throng reason enough to part as he makes his way down the
sidewalk. After a block, he passes by a city park, filled with mothers and
their little ones enjoying the afternoon sun. The swings creak rhythmically
as children squeal to be pushed higher and higher, pumping their little legs,
trying to fly. The monotonous tune of an ice cream cart is barely heard over
the noise of the children which mingles with the various sounds of the city.
The reluctant government agent shakes his head in pity as he walks past the
park. "A waste o' meat, the lot of 'em," he murmurs to himself when a
familiar scent tickles his senses. His head snaps up and he squints his
eyes, adjusting them to the light of the day and to better scan the area for
the face to match the scent. Standing still he inhales again, more deeply
this time, to confirm what his brain and what his memory are both telling
him. "Ain't no way," he reminds himself, knowing that that scent has been
long dead for years now. He draws in one more breath to determine the
direction of the scent and finds that it leads him into the park. Treading
lightly through the playground, around screaming and laughing children, the
hunter follows the scent that the wind carries to him. And then he sees it.
Yellow. A color seen everyday. A color that makes you think of something
bright and cheerful. Something full of life and happiness. The way the sun
reflects on it makes Victor think of gold. It also reminds him of something
he lost, bringing with the memory a painful tightening in his chest. As he
draws near, a doubtful yet hopeful litany is repeated in his mind. It can't
be, it can't be, it can't be. Please, it can't be.
For the first time Victor can remember, he's nervous. He doesn't dare tell
himself that he's scared. But, oddly, he reasons with himself it's okay to
be nervous. With a trembling hand, he reaches out to touch the shoulder of
the woman, her back to him and her long hair creating a golden waterfall he'd
be more than happy to drown in... again. He lightly rests his large hand on
her shoulder, feeling the softness of her hair under his calloused
fingertips, once more bringing forth memories he'd hoped he had banished from
his mind. The shimmering effect of the sun on her hair creates a golden halo
as she turns to face him. He swallows hard, knowing that the eyes that look
back at him will be the same blue eyes that closed for what he thought would
be forever years before when his own son took her life.
For a brief moment for Victor Creed there is no movement, there is no sound,
or smell or even feeling. The only thing he knows is what he sees before his
own eyes. The yellow turned to gold, the blue of the eyes and the pink of
the lips contradict what he has known for the past four years as he whispers
her name, "Birdy?"
For Birdy, this is a day that she has had daydreams and nightmares about. A
chance meeting. On a city sidewalk, in a crowded restaurant, even God
forbid, the shopping mall which she knows she would never see him in.
Strangely, this scenario begins the way her daydreams do. The ones where she
meets him, the ones where she can control what she says and what he does and
it's not at the whim of her unconsciousness. Standing here, in front of the
father of her child, she is absolutely speechless.
All she can do is stare at him. You see, daydreams are just that. Dreams.
Dreams don't come true and they certainly don't walk up to you in the middle
of the park on a beautiful Wednesday afternoon. Maybe then, this is a
nightmare. But if this were a nightmare, wouldn't he be larger? Would his
hair look the same in a nightmare? Would his eyes still be that same shade
of green and be hiding a primal glint? Shouldn't he be distorted and
misshapen? Her nightmare's paint him dark and evil. Wet with blood and
white teeth grinning an obscene malevolence that sends icy pricks up her
spine. So maybe it isn't a nightmare and it isn't a dream.
This is the waking world and he's standing right in front of her.
She blinks her thoughts away and opens her mouth to say something. To
explain herself. To tell him she's sorry. But a small, insistent voice
interrupts her before the words are formed in her head, "Mommy, I don' wan'
my ice cream anymore." She looks down at the child then back at Victor,
trying to gauge his reaction but he just looks at the little girl. The
little girl with green eyes and blonde hair. The little girl with curly
pigtails and one-size-too-big overalls. The little girl whose face is a
chocolately mess and who is looking back at him with an expression that asks '
Who are you and what do you want?'
Once more, Birdy glances between Victor and the child before clearing her
head to concentrate on the task of removing copious amounts of chocolate ice
cream from a child's face and hands. "Um.. ok, baby. Let's go sit over here
and then momma will get you all cleaned up." Birdy takes the little girl's
arm, leading her to a wooden bench near the edge of the playground. Careful
of sticky hands, she picks the child up, setting her down on the bench. She
digs through a backpack, that's still hanging sideways off of one shoulder,
pulling out a box of baby wipes. "Here, sweetie, face first," she intructs
the girl, handing her the towelette. Victor watches in quiet study the ease
with which Birdy handles the minor calamity of sticky fingers.
He knows one thing for certain. This is Birdy. The same Birdy he saw dead.
Stabbed in the chest by his son, Graydon. The same Birdy who chased his
demons away, who eased his mind and calmed the raging monster inside of him.
A wistful longing creeps into his chest, stirring up memories he had pushed
away after her death. Well, her supposed death, he reasons now. Shaking his
head clear, he walks up behind Birdy, who is busying herself with arranging
the contents of the backpack.
"This Emma?" he asks.
"Momma, here," the child holds out the cone to be taken. Birdy takes the
cone and stands, turning slightly to pass it to Victor.
"There's a trashcan over by the vendor's cart," Birdy informs him, nodding
her head in the direction behind him. With a look of insult, he takes the
melting confection with two fingers and does as instructed. His thoughts
linger on the little girl. Emma would be about that age now. Four or five
years, he thinks. And both he and Birdy have blonde hair so that can come
from either parent. But the eyes. Birdy has blue eyes and his own eyes are
green. But Emma had blue eyes when she was born. He remembers that. Maybe
they changed color? Didn't Birdy tell him once that that could happen?
He let's himself think back to the night of Emma's birth. He had tensly
driven Birdy to the hospital, praying to whatever diety it was that looked
after assassins and their pregnant, telepathic assistants that was listening,
that he'd make it in time. The barely contained groans coming from Birdy
were too successive for his liking. Not that he knew anything about birthin'
no babies but he knew that the louder she got, the faster he'd better drive.
From the time she was out of the car at the emergency entrance of the
hospital to the time she was taken into the delivery room, Birdy had a death
grip on Victor's hand. Had it not been for his healing factor, he would have
had at least one broken bone. Admitting to no one but himself, he actually
wanted to stay for the birth of what he thought would be his son. But after
seeing Birdy being stripped and stuffed into a paper gown, then forced onto
that contraption with her legs at angles only he should see while in the
privacy of his bedroom (or hers, respectively) his masculinity grabbed him by
the neck and told him to "Get out!" in no uncertain terms.
And so he did. He was only halfway through his National Geographic article on
"The Sentinels of Peru" when his hyperactive hearing picked up the wailing of
his offspring. An odd swell of pride ran through him at that moment. He was
really and truely a father now. At least, biologically, if in no other way.
But he told himself he'd try to be good at this new job he had. Sure he'd
still be an assassin. Gotta pay the bills somehow and college tuition in
eighteen years wasn't going to be cheap. But more than that, he'd have
someone who would look up to him for all the right answers. He'd have
someone to be proud of and proud for. And most importantly, he'd have an
accomplice when playing pranks on Birdy.
But he had never known disappointment in his adult life. So when a heavy air
settled on his shoulders as Birdy explained he had a daughter and not a son,
all he knew to do was to get angry. A daughter? How.. girly. He'd sooner
go bowling with that hairy runt, Logan, than have anything to do with the
color pink and hair bows.
He ponders that, on his trek back to the bench where Birdy and the child he
hopes is Emma, are seated. How, in only two months time, did he go from
completely disappointed to fiercely protective over a little girl? Somehow,
that bundled baby wormed her way into his deeply hidden heart and changed its
beat. Dodging a small child toddling in front of it's mother, Victor
overhears Birdy speaking with the little girl.
"Momma, s'at th' man in th' pitchures?" Emma whispers conspiratorially to her
mother, thinking he is not within range to hear.
"I dunno, baby. Could be. Whatta you think?" Birdy asks as she takes the
small towel, wiping her daughter's hands off. Emma hiccups a small laugh.
"Yes! Silly mommy." She thinks for a moment. "Is he gunna stay wif us now?"
"I dunno. We'll see what happens, 'kay?"
"'kay." Emma watches as 'the man in the pictures' walks back to the bench.
He notices as a touch of apprehension clings to her.
Emma thinks to herself that this man didn't look so big in the pictures her
mother had shown her. Taller than Mommy, but this close he's tall enough to
touch the top of the monkey bars! And without stretching!
"So what's goin' on, Birdy? You gonna talk to me or am I jus' gonna throw
away trash all damn day?" Emma shrinks into herself a little. Mommy never
said he was mean. But he sounds mean and she certainly doesn't want him to
yell at her.
"Would you just calm down? And watch your mouth in front of her. I don't
want her picking up that language." Victor growls and takes a seat on the
bench to the right of Emma while Birdy sits to her left. Emma looks up at
the grown-ups. First at the man, then at her mother. Both adults are
looking at each other, scowling. Sensing that this is going to turn into a
'big people talk' at any moment, Emma decides now would be a good time to be
excused.
"Momma, c'n I go play now?" Birdy looks down at her daughter and smiles.
Her daughter's soft voice banished any angry thoughts she may have had
looking at Victor.
"Sure, baby. You just stay where I can see you, all right?"
"'kay!" Emma scoots off the bench, landing on her feet. Pigtails bounce as
she runs to join the other children. She spots a familar playmate and runs
over to her, "Hey, Joanie!"
The dark-haired girl turns at the mention of her name, "Heya, Emma! Where
were ya yesterday? I thought you were gunna come to th' playground?"
"I didn't clean my room so my mommy said I couldn't go anywhere. But I
cleaned it today." Emma explains.
"Oh. Okay. My daddy almost said I couldn't come today 'cause he doesn't
feel good but he brought me anyways. I tol' him he could jus' watch me play
an' that way he won't feel tired."
"Oh! You wanna see my daddy?! He's here today!"
"Nuh uh. Yer lyin', Em."
"Am not. He is so here. He's over by my momma. See?" Emma points.
"How d'you know tha's really yer dad? He could just be a friend of yer
mom's. When I go to visit over my mom's house, she has lot's'a friend's who
are boys so that could jus' be yer mom's friend."
"Nuh uh. 'Cause I seen him in the pitchures my momma showed me. She said he
was my daddy. An' she tol' me stories about times when before I was born an'
how they usta fly all over the world together an' she says he was romantic
an' ev'rything!"
"So, if he's yer dad.. where's he been all'a th' time since you were born,
huh?"
"He was there when I was born. He just wasn't there when I was little."
"And how comes that?"
"Cause he was workin'. He does real important stuff, mommy says. She says
that what he does is so important that if he didn't do it, nothin'd ever get
done cause nobody else wants ta do it."
Joanie laughs, "He's th' garbage man! He throws away th' trash!"
"You hush! He does not throw away trash! He does important stuff! My mommy
said so!"
Joanie wails with laughter, "How d'you know he's not the garbage man? Did
you smell him?"
"No, I didn't smell him," she tells her friend matter-of-factly. "But I know
he don't throw away trash."
"How do you know? Nobody likes to throw away th' trash an' it's somethin'
important that people hafta do. Maybe he's th' garbage man." Emma shrugs,
seeing the logic in Joanie's observation.
"I dunno. But I know he ain't a trash man."
Joanie continues to talk, telling Emma about the past few days and the
activities that occupy the life of a five year old. But Emma isn't really
listening. Although Joanie is her best friend on the playground, Emma would
rather contemplate the sudden appearance of a man that looks strikingly like
the man she has come to know as her father. There has never been a male
figure in her life that she can remember. It has always been her and Mommy.
It was only recently that her mother thought to share the pictures of their
past with her. And when she inquired about the tall, blonde man, her mother
paused in thought, smiled gently and told her that that was her daddy. From
that point on it had been a never-ending quest to find out about her father
as much as she could. When she was a good girl, her mother would reward her
with bedtime stories. Telling of the times she and her father had spent
together in far-off lands, places Emma had never heard of. China, France and
Seattle were all places of mysterious wonder to the little girl. Emma had
saved her pennies and whatever other money and allowance she was given so
that one day she could travel to these exotic places and maybe, just maybe,
her daddy would still be there. Waiting for her the way she was waiting for
him. She was jostled out of her reverie when Joanie's beckoning intruded on
her thoughts. "Hey, you wanna play on th' slide?"
Emma made a show of thinking hard on the question, scrunching her little face
up. "Yes. I will go play on th' slide wif you."
Grabbing for Emma's hand, Joanie replies, "You think too much. Let's go."
"So?" Victor Creed is eager to get answers. "What's goin' on?"
"Well," Birdy begins simply, "that is Emma. Your daughter."
"I got that much," he replies sarcastically. "What I wanna know is, what're
you doin' alive? An' here, now? What're you up to?"
"I'm not 'up to' anything," Birdy retorts. "We were just here at the park
and then you show up. What are you up to, huh?"
"I ain't up ta nothin'. Last I remember that scrawny punk, Graydon, stabbed
you right in the chest. Now I ain't exactly an expert in the field o'
medicine but I I know a little somethin' about dead people an' you woman,
were dead." Victor points at Birdy accusingly, "I wanna know what yer doin'
alive an' with my kid that you just gave away fer th' hell of it."
"For the record, I didn't give her away for the hell of it. I had my reasons
that.."
"Which were?" he asks, cutting her off. He wants answers. He tells himself
he derserves them. The quiet torment he suffered within himself while at the
Xavier mansion haunted him constantly. He kept all thoughts of Emma hidden
from the psionic probes of whatever X-person was in the vicinity. Only when
he knew it was safe, would he allow himself to think of her. And of Birdy.
Emma was the reason he was there. He wanted to get better. He wanted to
stop killing. He wanted his child back. With Birdy gone, Emma was the one
connection he had for a chance at a normal life. Or even his slightly skewed
perception of normal.
"Which.. were because.. I didn't want her getting hurt," Birdy explains
slowly.
"Goddammit, Birdy! I wasn't gonna hurt her!" He slams his palm on the back
of the bench causing Birdy to jump. She looks around to see other park
occupants watching her and Victor with questioning, nosey looks. She gives
them a smile and shrugs, turning to Victor.
"Would you stop it!" she grits through her teeth. Still keeping a low voice
she explains, "I know you weren't going to hurt her, you moron. I wasn't
talking about you. But you think you know everything and you never gave me
the chance to explain! Even now, you assume. Back then it wasn't you I was
afraid was going to hurt her." She stops, sighing heavily. "It was them,
ok?" She extends her arm, waving to the playground. "It was the whole fucking
world I wanted to keep her safe from. Jesus, Vic, you were probably the
number one assassin in the world! You had enemies everywhere! Havin' a kid
was an invitation to those jokers! If it had gotten out.." She leaves the
thought unfinished. "God, I hate even thinking about it."
Tiredly, she rubs at her eyes. They sit together quietly, watching the
activity of the playground. Birdy had never meant to explain things in such
a rush. She knew how Victor Creed was and taking such a tone with him didn't
bode well for the speaker. You never spoke down to Victor Creed or in any
way treated him as though he was stupid or slow. He was, in fact, incredibly
intelligent. Maybe not book smart but the man knew how to read people, he
was quick and he was cunning. Birdy sits quietly, arms wrapped around
herself, watching her daughter play and waiting for his fierce rebuttal.
"Hey," Victor gently jabs at her shoulder. "I wouldn't'a let 'er get hurt.
You know that, don'tcha?" he asks, searching her face for understanding. "I
mean, I bought all'a them security upgrades an' computer monitors an' stuff
so she'd be safe. So you'd both be safe." Not wanting Birdy to think he's
getting soft, Victor reminds her matter-of-factly, "I wasn't about ta let
anyone take what was mine."
"I know. But they could've gotten in. They could've gotten to her."
"You act like I would'a just handed the kid over to 'em." Birdy smiles at his
protective nature.
"No. I know you wouldn't have. But what if.. what if they'd come when you
weren't home? That's what scared me. You wouldn't be there and they'd get
through. I couldn't take the chance." She pauses for a moment, collecting
her memories. She watches as Emma stands patiently in line to ride the
slide, talking with her playmate in front of her. Giggling and smiling, the
way little kids should. Without a care. "I called up some people I knew.
We met at a motel and they took Emma with them to Arizona. And then I
arranged to.. for whoever.. Graydon, I guess, to do whatever. I just wanted
you gone for a little while. So that I could get away, but you came back
from New York early. I was ready to hit you with my best shot but you just
walked away."
"Had ya been anybody else, girl, an' I would'a killed ya," Victor admits.
"You cut me deep an' hard takin' her away. Ta tell the truth, the two o' you
could'a been my salvation," he mocks in a preacher's tone. "If there is
such'a thing fer someone like me." He contemplates that while toying with a
lock of Birdy's hair. She turns her head and gives him a small smile, her
eyes leading to the band of metal around his neck. Her smile falls away and
she turns her attention back out to the playground.
"I don't like that on you." Her voice is laced with disappointment and
sadness.
"Yeah, well, that makes two of us. It was either a collar or a cage," he
shrugs. "Lesser o' the two evils, I guess. 'Sides, this way.. I still get
ta work. In a way." Birdy nods in understanding. She watches as Emma
climbs one of the park's many barred contraptions made for climbing. She
reaches the top and raises little fists cheering for herself as 'king of the
jungle gym.' She looks back at her mother and recently-found father and
waves. Birdy returns the motion, smiling.
"I noticed them canines o' hers. Little on th' pointy side," Victor casually
comments.
"Don't blame me. She got those from her father," Birdy retorts. "And his
foul temperament," she adds with a grin.
"Hah. I'll bet!" he chuckles lightly. A touch more seriously he asks, "She
a good kid, though? She ain't.. I dunno.. torturin' her pets or nothin', is
she?" Birdy smiles at his concern, but knows how important the answer is to
him. She had been in his mind many times and seen many of his own memories.
But none pulled at her heart more than the fragmented memories of his
childhood. Early on his mutantcy developed, giving him razor sharp claws,
fang-like canines and an unpredictable ferocity matched only by the beasts
living in the wild. His father, being a simple man of the wilderness and of
the church, tried to expel whatever 'demons' had possessed his young son. He
began by chaining the helpless boy in the dirt-floor cellar of their home.
Most nights for young Victor would be spent curled tighly in a ball as his
father beat him, his mother standing nearby unwilling to stop his torment.
When the blows dealt by his father left no wounds, as a result of Victor's
mutant healing factor, he only received more of the same. And when the
removal of Victor's teeth and claws failed, his father thought it best to
treat the boy as he saw him. Like an animal.
"No, she's good. No.. homicidal tendancies or anything. She doesn't have
any pets yet. She wants a puppy, though."
"Oh." Victor nods. He's unsure what to ask. There are so many things he'd
like to know about his daughter but is afraid to ask. Telling himself Vic
Creed ain't afraid o' nothin', he asks, "So, she in school or somethin'?"
There, that wasn't so hard.
"She was. Pre-k. Some of the other kids.. they.." Birdy stops for a moment,
deciding on how to word the situation, "..they made fun of her teeth. You
know how kids can be." And knowing how protective of 'his things' Victor is,
Birdy doesn't want him to start raging over the minor insult so quickly she
adds, "But I've got her started on some homeschool, so she can try again in
August. You know, for kindergarten."
Victor frowns at the news. His kid bein' made fun of at school? "Damn kids.
What about th' teacher? Ain't they suppose to.. uh.. discourage that sorta
thing?"
"I read her," Birdy says, touching her temple with one finger, implying the
use of her mind power. "She wasn't mutie-minded. So I let it go."
The two sit and talk while watching their daughter play. Victor's keen
eyesight keeps track of Emma's movements as she begins to climb down from the
jungle gym. Almost to the ground, but still on the second rung, Emma is
pushed by a larger boy and falls to the sand. Victor Creed is on his feet,
striding across the playground, in seconds. Hands clenched and a growl in his
throat he makes his way to the jungle gym only to have Birdy pull back on his
arm. He snaps his head around, "What? Didn't you see what that boy did?" he
demands.
"Yes," Birdy replies calmly. "Now you watch." The couple watches on as the
boy grins wickedly at Emma, sticking his tongue out before continuing his
ascent. Standing up, she frowns roughly. She walks over to a near-by tree,
taking a handful of mulch that fills the flowerbed under the oak. Returning
to the sandy pit around the jungle gym, Emma begins to throw pieces of mulch
at the chubby bully. A few chunks hit their mark and the boy turns to look
for his attacker when he looses his grip on the bar and falls to the sand.
Dropping the rest of her ammunition, Emma climbs through the bars and begins
to kick sand at the boy.
"Don't you ever push me ever again, you big poophead!" Emma warns the boy,
still kicking sand. The reprimanded bully tries to block the assaults with
little luck.
Victor, completely amused by the scene, asks Birdy, "So she can't cuss but
she can beat people up?"
"Yeah, yeah," Birdy waves off his observation. "But look at her. She's so
cute when she's angry."
"Yeah," Victor admits, "she gets that from me. But I think she's had 'er
fun." Victor walks over and reaches through the bars, grabbing for the
straps on the back of Emma's overalls. Careful of the bars, he pulls her
through, still kicking and flailing.
"Let me go! I'm gunna beat him up! Let! Me! Go!" she commands in a
frustrated voice.
Pinning her little, wriggling body to his chest, Victor reasons with her, "I
think ya beat him up enough, darlin'. If th' mulch didn't do it, the sand
sure 'nough did."
"But he pushed me! I gotta git 'im fer that!" Emma continues to struggle
against her father's hold.
"Hey! What do you think you're doing?! That monster of yours could have
seriously injured my son! I think she owes him an apology!" The father of
the boy shouts as Victor turns away, getting his attention.
"What'd you call my little girl?"
"You heard me, I called her a monster. First she throws mulch at him, then
kicks sand in his face! He could have broken something from that fall!" he
accuses as he dusts sand off of his son.
"Yeah, well, sorry," Victor replies sympathetically. "Next time I'll make
sure she gets it right an' he lands on his neck!" He turns Emma around and
settles her on his hip and she wraps her arms around his neck.
"What kind of parent are you? Allowing your child to to beat up other kids
and encouraging it, no less!" The opposing parent continues, thinking that
by challenging Victor Creed in front of the gathered crowd, he'll get his
apology. Victor grabs the smaller man by his shirt collar and in his most
threatening voice replies.
"I'm th' kinda parent that's gonna see to it that you don't ever reproduce
again if you don't back off. Yer lucky my kid's here 'cause if she wasn't,
I'd make sure your continuing efforts to populate the world with meatheaded
bastards ended today. Way I see it, you owe my daughter some appreciation.
So thank 'er." He roughly shoves the man back.
"Thu-thu-thank you," the boy's father weakly stutters out.
"You're welcome," Emma returns angelically. The man and his son scurry off
as Victor, with Emma in his arms, walks back over to Birdy.
"Momma! Momma! Didja see me? I went all th' way to th' top all by myself!"
Emma exclaims as she reaches for her mother.
Taking the excited child from Victor, she replies, "Yes, I saw! And I also
saw what you did when you got to the bottom."
"But he started it!" the child defends. "Didn't he?" She looks to Victor for
confirmation.
Taking his cue, Victor assumes his paternal role easily and replies, "Honey,
all that matters is that you finished it." He gently gives one of Emma's
pigtails a little tug while giving Birdy a grin. All she can do is shake her
head in playful disdain. "Don't get all like that," he volleys back, "yer
just as guilty, woman." Birdy only smiles in response as she turns and heads
back to the bench, adjusting Emma's sideways perch on her hip.
"Aw hell," he mumbles as he follows Birdy.
"What?" she asks as she sets Emma down on the bench, unslinging the backpack
to set on the girl's lap. Emma digs through the bag, searching for a hidden
juicebox.
"Warden's comin'," he replies, his hyperactive senses picking up Forge's
scent entering the playground. Birdy gives him a quizical look before
scanning over his thoughts. Understanding shows with a nod of her head and a
grim frown. "Look, I better git 'fore the whole lot of 'em shows up." He
starts to turn away, then stops. "One thing," he says, raising his hand.
"How.. I mean, he stabbed ya, didn't he?"
"All that loser managed to do was puncture a lung. I was out of the hospital
in a week," Birdy explains.
"Oh," Victor replies dumbly, as though the answer was obvious. "Well, I'm
goin'."
"Yeah. You uh.. take care," Birdy tells him, her voice unsure if the concern
is welcome.
"Creed! Hold it right there! Back away from the lady or I'll activate the
collar," Forge threatens holding the collar's remote in one hand.
"Eh, go activate yerself, Robbie. I'm just talkin' to th' lady. Don't wet
yer tidy whities." Victor sighs, casting a weary look to Birdy and shaking
his head. "Ya see what I gotta put up with?" He stops, not knowing how to
bid adeau to his former assistant/telepath/lover and newly found daughter.
"Look.. uh.. you take o' yerself an' th' kid," he tells her, uneasy as Forge
watches the exchange. "Hey kiddo," he calls, getting Emma's attention, "keep
yer head down an' yer fists up, ya got it?" He intructs while demonstrating.
Emma nods while chewing on the straw to her juicebox. Birdy playfully swats
at Victor's hands, pulling them out of form.
"Now who's encoraging?" she asks.
"It's good advice," he answers lightly. Chancing a look over at Forge, who
Victor thinks is taking mental notes on everything, he adds, "I'll see ya
'round, darlin'. Stay outta trouble, hear?" he tells her as he starts to
walk away.
"Yeah. You, too," Birdy answers solemnly.
Forge begins to walk towards the park exit with Victor beside him. He opens
his mouth to speak when Victor raises a hand to cut him off. "Just shut it.
It ain't none o' yers ta know so don't be askin'," he tells him, leaving no
room for argument from the other mutant. As they near the gate, a child's
voice yells out to them.
"Wait!" Victor turns to see Emma running up to him, her little brows knitted
with concern as she reaches out to grab hold of his hand. Her tiny palm only
able to grip one of his fingers securely. "Hey. Where ya goin'?" she asks.
Not wanting his child to know he's going to spend the rest of the day locked
in a cell in the basement of a secret government-operation's headquarters, he
quickly thinks of a partial lie.
"I'm goin' back ta work, kid. My troop leader here needs help puttin' up
some tents," he mocks.
Not letting go of his hand, Emma inquires, "But I thought you were gunna come
home wif us? Momma says you can. You could come an' have dinner wif us an'
I could show you my room an' all th' pitchures I drew an' I got a bike an'
you could watch me ride it." Emma stops to think of more ways to convince
the man she knows as her father to stay, to come home with her, hopeful that
her reasons will work. She looks down at her shoes for a moment, then back
up at Victor, "An' we could.."
"Sorry, kid," he tells her simply. He goes down on one knee in front of her,
taking her small hand in his.
Continuing dispite his apology, "But we could go to th' zoo an' lookit the
polar bears an' the lions. I like th' lions." Her green eyes getting
brighter as they fill with tears, "An' we c'n feed th' cows an', an' we c'n
feed th' ducks an' they have monkeys an' alligators an' uh elefunt. Please?
I have some money, I c'n buy th' food for th' cows. It don't cost a lot.
Okay?" Emma swipes at her eyes with one hand, trying her hardest not to cry.
In his life Victor Creed has made many people cry. But never before, can he
ever remember feeling so incredibly terrible about it. He looks at Birdy,
still standing by the bench, sadness etched on her face. Bringing his
attention back to Emma, he lifts her chin up with a finger, "Hey, look. I
can't do what you want me to do an' I can't be what you want me to be. Life
don't always work out th' way ya want, all right?" Emma's bottom lip starts
to quiver and a few tears spill over, quickly rolling down pink cheeks.
Realizing this may not be the best way to reach a child of four years, he
changes tactics. "I'd like to go with ya but.. ya see.. there's just things
I gotta do first. Important things an' if I could get away from it, I would.
Ya seem like a pretty tough kid an'," lowering his voice so that only Emma
can hear, he adds, "I'd really like ta get ta know ya but now just ain't a
good time. You understand what I'm tellin' you?" The faintest of nods is
her only response. "Okay, then. You be a good kid an' don't give yer momma
no trouble," he tells Emma as he stands, giving her one last pat on the head
as he turns and walks away.
Emma watches as her father and the other man walk away. Her breathing
hitches and she starts to cry. She kicks at the dirt, angry and not
understanding why her father has to leave. That other man can put up his own
stupid tents, she wants her father to come home with her. Birdy runs to her
daughter's side and kneels down next to her and does what she can to comfort
her hurting little girl.
To Be Continued
