Hired
A/N: Okay, so after watching X-Men over and over I've decided to let the plot bunnies loose. Unfortunately for those of you who are obsessed with cannon, I will be using the Sabertooth from Origins because he's scarier to me than the one from the comics. Consequently this will be loosely based around the movies. I'm afraid that I am completely unable to write something dark and soul twisting for the entire story, so it will be peppered with some fluffish stuff. There will be romance-ish (Victor's not much of a roses and moonlit walks kind of guy) stuff later.
I am looking for a Beta if someone would like to help me out.
Rated: M for language and gore later on.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the X-Men they belong to Marvel/Disney. I do however own the sleazy government man.
Description: Victor Creed is forced to play nice with the X-men while on surveillance mission. Turns out, if you play nice enough you may find yourself going soft.
"Sabertooth," the smooth sultry voice, which just sounded like sex, filtered through the room, his codename carried in the sound it made. "Magneto would like to speak with you now."
Victor Creed tossed away the magazine – some shit about looking your best during the summer – which he was pretending to read and looked up at Magneto's favorite henchman, Mystique. The blue woman was leaning against the doorway; her long limbs stretched out in an enticing manner – then again, after a few days of lying low without any kills or lays, anything looked good.
"Bout damn time," the feral growled.
Victor Creed was not a man who liked – or was use to – waiting. Normally, if he needed to talk at someone (he didn't talk to people; when Creed talked they'd better listen) he'd bust open the door or slip in through a window and wait in the shadows for the best moment. Either way, they would never forget what he said even if he had to use a little force to make them. He rather preferred it that way.
His hard, slate eyes raked over the female mutant's form and he vaguely wondered how angry the big man in charge would be if he took her up against the wall and tore out her throat when he came. He could have had her without taking – he'd done it before – but he didn't want her surrender. He wanted her blood, her fear and a hot sticky mess under his claws that would be impossible to pick up.
Sensing his less than honorable intentions Mystique slipped down the hallway. To her credit, she didn't run – if she had Victor would have chased and then it would be a paycheck down the drain and another enemy itching for revenge over a lady. He kept himself in check as they came to a large, metal – of course it's fucking metal, the man sneered to himself – door which opened as they neared.
"Looks like you're back to normal," Creed observed as he stared straight at the man sitting in a surprisingly normal looking study, despite the forbidding doorway. It was furnished in dark woods and surrounded by bookshelves – filled to the breaking point with old musty tomes that – Creed would have bet his last paycheck, the superior old bastard read in full and memorized just to make everyone else feel less important. The only oddities in the room were the sleek and metallic new age decorations set along the shelves as book ends or knick knacks that didn't quite fit in with the rest of the design.
Sly fuck, Creed thought with some measure of respect for the man's forethought. Made himself a small arsenal.
"Heard you needed me for a job," Creed continued while walking along the wall pretending to eye the shelves. It was a good way to throw off another alpha type male; ignore them. It relayed the fact that, to him, not even Magneto posed a threat to his well being. He looked over his shoulder with a smirk that revealed his oversized canines – Magneto needed to understand that he was in charge even if the job wasn't his idea in the first place.
"A special one," he tried to keep the interest out of his voice.
"Yes," the older man said with a nod. "Only you can accomplish it," he stated succinctly. It was no blow to his pride, just a matter of fact.
The smirk widened to something that might have been a grin for a normal human. "Really?"
Another nod indicated the statement's truth. "It involves Charles' establishment," Magneto avoided wincing at his old friend's name; losing him, even after all their fights, still weighed heavy on his heart.
Creed paused in his perusal of the shelves and snarled. "Want me to kill some of the brats that are giving you trouble?" He asked, turning to face him full on.
"Quite the opposite…for now, at least."
He wasn't expecting that answer, but the surprise wasn't on his face just the carefully schooled smug smirk. People rarely asked Victor for help unless someone needed torturing or killing. Anything else would be a waste of his time and theirs – subtly was not something he lacked, he just didn't like using it often.
"I need you to glean some information about the center for me."
"Piss off old man," Victor growled. "Get a kid to do it, or use your other connections. I'm no recon man."
"Very well," Magneto tried not to sound annoyed, he had expected some fight from the man, but he would rather have not pleaded. "I had just thought you might want a chance at it because of your connections…"
"Jimmy doesn't even remember me. All he knows me now is as a murdering sunavabitch with a vendetta against him. Not his murdering sunavabitch brother with a vendetta against him," Creed interrupted, his claws lengthened and dug into the bookshelf that he was holding onto. It was surprising that the wood hadn't splintered, if he wasn't seeing red he would've guessed it as a trick Magneto pulled because he worked with people like Victor. His office would be ruined after every visit if the wood wasn't reinforced with something.
"I was under the opposite impression. You see, he was able to get documents from the labs and has been reading up on his history. I also have heard that Charles assisted him in making a few connections in his mind. I'm quite positive he knows who you are now," Magneto stated conversationally and from the impassive snort he recognized that Victor was turning over this information carefully.
"Alright, what do you need?"
"The plans for the security and a list of every mutant and their capabilities," he said with small smile.
"Sounds a bit easy. What do you want it for?" Creed asked, normally he didn't give a shit, but this was kids stuff. Magneto could easily have found someone to get inside.
"That's not up for discussion," the man said with such force that even Creed knew it would be useless asking again. "Here is the first installment of your payment," he reached across the table and Victor grasped an envelope which he opened quickly. A long whistle came from pursed lips when he read the enclosed amount.
"They aren't just gonna let me waltz in," he said looking up from the check with raised brows.
"I have taken care of that," Magneto stood and handed him an envelope with a government seal.
"You've been playing with some big guys," Creed said snarkily. "This must be something pretty interesting."
"It is in the interest of everyone involved, yes." The feral standing across from him knew immediately that Magneto was insinuating that someone was going to die; maybe they were taking down the entire school – he smirked when he remembered how well that turned out last time. He'd figure it out eventually.
The meeting with Magneto had been over a week ago. Since then he'd been in touch with the government agent who'd been in charge of getting Magneto the sheets that would let him into the academy – they had labeled him as a guard. All the paperwork was done in full and notarized then signed by some very official people, it wasn't just fakes done up by a company guy. No, these were the real deal. For the life of him he couldn't figure out why the government would be using Magneto as a mouth piece. After all, normally, Victor was a government guy. There was something he was missing.
He grumbled and the pads of his fingers pinched the bridge of his nose while he sunk deep into the back of the seat. The intercom system at the airport mumbled out something about flights being canceled. He tuned in long enough to make sure his wasn't.
"Mr. Creed," the voice sounded like an oil slick.
The mutant opened his eyes to see the distinct black slacks and fine leather shoes that marked a government man with a comfortable desk job. His keen sense of smell picked up the sickening odor of too much aftershave and cologne. The man his eyes were met with was a small, wiry man with pale features and thinning blonde hair, he had a computer bag draped over his shoulder. His eyes were a faded blue; altogether he was unassuming and pleasant. Creed hated him. It was this type of guy the feds used to get people to do things for them.
"Yeah?"
"Doyle's the name," the man said holding out his hand as if Creed was going to take it. With the smile pasted on his pale and his drawn features Doyle reminded victor of a stereotypical used car salesman. The man nodded and slowly withdrew his hand when Victor didn't take it.
"Right," the man started again, this time he held out a file.
"Already have those," the feral sneered.
"Not these, no, no. These," God, does this man ever stop selling? Creed thought "will make sure you are covered for everything. I've already talked to Ms. Munroe – she runs the school now, not too keen on you either – and prepared her and whoever else will be there for your arrival."
"Make sure they role out the welcome committee," Creed cut in sardonically. His eyes continued to rove over the man in a predatory fashion.
He imagined that he would be a screamer, a beggar or one of those annoying people that tried to play on Victor's last 'sense of humanity.' Maybe a combination, it would be a funny and slow death no matter what. Victor had already made sure to get his blood and sex fixes before entered the airport – just before. There had been some sweet little thing outside the complex ambling along in high heels and a skirt so short and tight that security wouldn't need a strip search – it'd probably take longer for her to wiggle out of the skirt than the actual search would anyway. He had stalked her for a few minutes then dragged her into an alleyway by her long hair. It was over quickly for her – Victor had waited a bit too long to leave for the airport, but when he got there he felt sated, for a while at least. He wouldn't have much of that on his next job, with the X-men looming over his back and the government protection orders in hand, he'd be forced to play nice.
"Exactly!" The man chuckled but stopped short when Victor's glare caught his notice. "Right…I was directed to give them to you before you got on board. There's a new cellular device in the file and," he held up his finger and slipped the computer bag off. "Here; it's encrypted so no one can track it or hack it and if they try we'll know. Directions are in the file for what you should use it for."
Victor took a deep breath and nodded in understanding. He already knew that the computer was to download files of the mutants and the security specs.
"Well," Doyle added a 'p' to the end of it as if it made him sound friendlier, more colloquial. "Sounds like your up," he pointed to the queue starting to form.
Victor stood with his ticket and new items in hand not bothering to bid the man bye – Victor didn't do farewells or goodbyes.
One three hour flight with a lot of yelling children and not enough room to move his legs and a forty five minute taxi ride later and Victor saw the sprawling green lawns of the school for mutants. The school was kept up excellently and was a huge building reminiscent of a castle it rambled on and he was fairly sure he could see a few other buildings in the same style – the school had grown; he gave a small nod, a silent indication that he was slightly impressed. Of course, he would have had his balls cut off before he admitted it.
He paid the driver and exited the vehicle. It was the end of the summer and far too hot for his signature jacket so he wore something a little less threatening than usual – a pair of jeans, boots and simple black shirt. He was still fucking hot with the long pants, but he hated shorts.
Thud, thud, thud.
Three hard knocks fell on the large door in front of him. A white haired, stone faced woman answered the door – he knew her to be the weather witch. Her form quickly gave way to that of a more familiar look of a compact man with a clear snarl on his face. From the way that Storm's face was set and Logan's contorted anger he gathered that they had just been talking about him.
"Hello, runt," Creed sneered and walked through the open door.