Okay – I've been reading over some of my older stuff and…I have a new plot … well not bunny, they frighten the kitty cat, we'll call it a Plot Squirrel for Victor's sake and actually this will be a sequel to Support. To summarize, Victor is a federal marshal who married the mother of his child who happened to be the only police officer who ever managed to arrest him, and hold him long enough to have to get a lawyer – and the mother of his only child to date, Natalie Creed.

There is one major plot change between this and the prior story and that is the origin of Victor Creed. For this story I am using the Wolverine Origins story, and will explain why he told the much harsher version of his early life to his wife and child during the course of this story…Lets just say Wolverine's not the only one that Stryker F**ked in the head.

I don't own them, I'm not sure I'd want to own Victor…what am I saying...but I don't more's the pity.

What Goes Around Comes Around – Again, and Again, And Again

Chapter

He growled at her for the rest of the evening – and into the night. He didn't say anything else, just snarled whenever she caught his eye. He finally piled several large logs on both fires and climbed the stairs. She just huddled under the blanket, she wasn't about to follow a madman.

She lay there watching the fire, the vividness of the dream as frightening as the noises coming from above her. She wasn't about to go and find out exactly what it was he was doing, the scents were confusing enough, fear, anger, the salt of tears, the tang of lust in the back of her throat…she just wasn't sure who that particular smell came from, her or him.

She hadn't expected him to be so young – although he couldn't be, not if he had actually…he had to be almost two hundred years old…it was impossible, and yet she knew her factor could heal almost anything – why not age as well?

She drifted off, wondering about his comment about his brother.

XXXXXX

He sat in his room, the computer screen the only light in the room. He was tempted to call Nat, let her know her friend was alright…but he wasn't sure she was, yet. He still might kill her, and he didn't want his daughter pissed at him for killing her.

The dream she'd had, the scents her body had produced, it was almost as if her body was recreating the event. He'd even scented his father on her skin, but that was impossible. And the words…those where what bothered him the most…

His email was full from inquiries he'd sent out earlier, while she was asleep.

Creed:

I have no idea why you are asking about ancient blessings and curses, this is SHIELD for God's sake, not a witches coven.

Nick

Creed:

Do not bother me with inconsequentals…either accept the job or not, your ancient mumbo jumbo has no bearing on the coming war.

Eric

Vic:

Long time no hear…I can see if I can get Wanda ta tell me something about that stuff you sent…if she'll talk to me after what happened…again. Not sure she'll know anything though. Will let you know if she does.

Mort

Victor:

I don't know why you contacted me, I don't even know why I'm doing this, I still don't believe that whole 'brother' crap you laid on me last time, but Bluebutt says it's legit. Maybe that's why I'm doin' this. I talked to some of the 'pagan' types around here. Evidently what you stumbled across was some kind of ancient Celtic blessing, something to do with a hand fasting or some such shit. Anyway one of the kids gave me the number to her high priestess. I'm gonna call her and have her call the cell number you gave me. Maybe she can tell ya something about it.

Logan (I don't care what you say)

He glared at the last line…He hated that name. Hated everything to do with it, and his own damned brother betrayed him by taking it as his own. He'd deal with Jimmy on it later, but this looked like the most promising lead, especially if the woman called.

Almost as if reading his mind the cell phone on the table started to vibrate.

"Creed" He snarled.

"Mr Creed. I will not give you my name, but the words I see in front of me, sent by your brother are disturbing." Said an older voice on the end of the line; with all the pagan shit going on he'd expected someone younger.

She chuckled. "Didn't expect someone my age, hrm."

"No. What do you know about it?"

"It is a part of a ceremony, marriage ceremony that was practiced in ancient times. The public part, or hand fasting, bound a couple together for a year and a day. If at the end of that time they chose to be together forever, then a small gathering of their family and friends would be summoned and they would recite this chant, as a second fasting – or binding between them. There are legends of it working – too well, binding them even after death. There is one tale of a man who's wife was raped and killed not long after the ceremony was completed…he went insane, hunted down everyone that had anything to do with her death, and then thrust his sword into his own heart upon her grave."

"What if…what if the person being bound couldn't die?"

"That is impossible."

"No…its not, just answer the question."

"If the binding worked and if the bond was tested by death, the surviving one, if they could not die, would go insane trying to avenge the death of the other partner; they would become violent, suicidal almost, trying to join their missing half. It would make them a monster, unable to live within society, locked in a personal hell of hate and pain that would never leave."

"Is it…possible…that the lost partner could…come..back?

"Reincarnation is always possible…the question is, would it work, would it matter, and would it save the lost soul wandering in the darkness? I don't know. All I do know is…this is powerful magic you sent me, old magic, strong magic…and I do not know which of you is the soul wandering the dark. Watch your back, Sabretooth, there are things in motion you do not understand, if you don't want to lose her again, watch your back." The line went dead.

He clicked the phone closed and looked at his perimeter alarm system. There was a blip, just one, on the outer edge. It never came closer, and he did not recognize the scent when he found where it rested…all he knew was it was human, and full of hate.

He sat there all night, the bright light of dawn reflecting on the new snow, reflecting in through the window in his room. He would show her, and then decide what to do with her.

XXXXXXX

Maggie woke with a crick in her neck, a pounding headache, and a growling in her ears.

"Get up. The snow stopped." He snarled.

She groaned and threw back the fur blanket. The room was cool, the fires had both died to embers and he was wearing a parka and heavy snow pants. He dropped a set on the end of the settee.

"Get dressed." He snarled. She shrugged and pulled on her boots and then the thermal pants over them. He glared at the leather on her feet. "If you'd wear sensible shoes, your toes wouldn't get as cold." He growled.

"I wear what's fashionable…I run a high profile restaurant and I can't be seen in sensible shoes." She snapped back.

"Idiot." He snarled, grabbing her arm and dragging her out the door. She tried to keep up but there were a few times when she just let him drag her, her footing lost on the slick ice and snow underfoot. They came to a clearing in the woods, an awning that was built from natural materials, and under it, a beautifully carved stone, with the bust of a woman that if Maggie looked in a mirror, it would be the same face. Under the bust were the words MARGARET BURK CREED, BELOVED WIFE, TAKEN TO OUR LORD APRIL 16, 1845. She blanched…the beauty of the scene only added to the stark terror she was starting to feel.

"Is this…?"

"Yes. Where I buried her." She looked at him and saw the pain etched on his face…and something else, her nose told her it was guilt.

"You didn't kill her." She said quietly.

"No, I left her alone, didn't wait until the train left because I was embarrassed…she kissed me and I didn't know what to do. If I'd stayed I could have stopped him, saved her, but I was afraid of what I was feeling…"

"You were young."

"How did you know that?"

"You mentioned…"

"No I didn't." He snarled at her, grabbing her arm and dragging her back into the woods, but not toward the cabin. They stepped into another large clearing, with a large house nestled back to one side. He dragged her up the cleared driveway, onto the porch and shoved the doors open.

He pushed her toward one side of the split staircase and she caught herself on the bottom step, falling forward and hitting her head on one of the runners. She felt the blood running as the cut healed

"This was where he died…the man that killed her, gutted by his bastard son, Master John's heir. I took that boy and we ran…as far away from here as we could get. He felt guilty for killing him…I told him he deserved it. That there was nothing to feel guilty over."

She rolled over on the steps, pushing herself into a sitting position. He was sitting on the other half of the split steps, just looking at her.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you know." His eyes were black and filled with rage.

"Know what?"

"Everything…I pieced together most of it, or at least what I could find at this late date…but there are still holes, still answers to questions I can't find…and somehow you have them locked in that pretty head of yours." He snarled the last like an insult.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She trembled; something about this quiet seething rage terrified her.

"Fear, Anger…only need one more element and then I won't care anymore."

"Care about what?"

"If you live or die."

She blanched…the terror growing. Suddenly he sprang, on all fours, across the small divide between them and pinned her to the steps, runners digging deep into her back.

"I could kill you, even with the healing factor. Rip your head right off." He snarled in her face, his hot breath feeling colder than the freezing wind coming through the open doors.

"But you won't." She said, calmly.

"Not yet." He snarled, grabbing her arm again, dragging her out of the house and down a cleared lane. They must have walked for miles when she saw the church spire through the trees. It was a town. She felt hope spring in her chest. He was taking her someplace where there were people…until the trees cleared and she saw that it was a ghost town. The rusted train tracks lead to nowhere, the buildings were preserved, even the dresses for sale in the shop windows. She tried to take it all in as he dragged her between two buildings and shoved her down on the ground.

"Can you feel it? Tell me you don't feel what this place is…that you can't smell it." He snarled, "I considered it, killing you here, so your blood and hers would mix, the question was how to get you into my trap…and then you just fell in…and I can't…not now." He whispered the last; as he leaned down to take her hand. She was stunned by the sound of something hitting the stone wall next to him, watching a flake of stone scrape his face, and then the sound of the gun shot, and then she felt a pain in her side, just as she heard the second shot. She looked down and saw her parka was leaking feathers…and blood.

"Stay down." He roared, putting his body between hers and the gunman. He seemed to take scent and scan the horizon, then turned, grabbed her up in his arms and took off running back into the shelter of the woods.

"What was that?"

"Not part of the plan." He snarled as he looked in front of them and let out a very low menacing growl. She hoped to hell that growl wasn't meant for her. She looked the direction he was facing and could see the smoke billowing from the cabin roof, barely visible on the cliff overlooking the town.

"I hope you have a plan for this." She snapped.

"Is that wound healed?"

"Yes."

"Good." He veered left to a canvas covered object under an overhang of rock. He dropped her in the snow and yanked the cover off, revealing an old motorcycle underneath.

"You don't think I'm getting on that thing do you?" She yelled…as chips flew out of the tree next too her…she didn't think, just jumped on the bike behind him. He gunned it and took off through the woods, and she just flung her arms around him. Here I am on a motorcycle which I hate, behind a man that wants to kill me, but doesn't, being shot at by God knows what, I have completely lost my mind.

XXXXXXXXXX

He felt her arms around his waist, her body pressed against his against the wind, the smell of her anger and fear driving him forward. He had to protect her, had to get her someplace safe…had to find out who was trying to kill him…and her. He'd done extensive background on her, there wasn't anyone or anything that would put her in this danger but him…He grinned. Well plan A was out…now for plan B.