Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

3. The Deal

Scott Summers still had some misgivings about Kredall. If it hadn't been for Joan Hillman, he would never have agreed to meet the man without a full team behind him, especially because he had purposefully asked for Wolverine to be present. But thinking of the poor woman who had been kept a prisioner for nearly two years through all sorts of abuse, neglect, torture even... and now six-month pregnant. Just one of many, Kredall had said over the phone, on his second contact. Just one of many.

"Fancy schmuck," Wolverine grumbled next to him as the restaurant hostess, a petite blonde with a fresh smile and sharp eyes, took a quick look at her tablet.

The restaurant was indeed fancy. Unfortunately, they hadn't come ready for a dress code. Kredall had given them the address ten minutes before and warned them he would wait for fifteen minutes, no more. If they were late, Kredall would go and knock on someone else's door. He had a tight schedule, it seemed, and if the X-Men wanted his information in order to tackle this new insidious threat, they'd have to accept his conditions.

The hostess walked up to them, without giving their jeans and leather jackets a second glance, and Scott hoped the dress code wasn't that strict after all.

"Mr Summers and Mr Logan?" They both nodded. "Mr Kredall is waiting for you in one of our private rooms. I'm afraid you can't enter in your current attire, but Mr Kredall assured me you would have no objections to using the staff entry."

Scott nodded his assent and, as the woman signalled a waiter, he asked if Mr Kredall was a regular client.

"No, sir," she answered curtly. "Benotti will escort you."

Benotti barely said a word, just turned and led the way. Scott couldn't help feeling uneasy. If this man was serious about the former mutant slavery ring, why put up all this show? The only thing that made sense would be if he were a high-ranking personality who didn't want others to know of his involvement, but then why pressure them with the threat he'd go somewhere else? Wolverine stopped suddenly, sniffing the air, but the waiter didn't notice and carried on.

"It can't be," the feral growled in a low voice.

"Sir?" The waiter looked at them quizzically. "This is Private Room no2, where Mr. Kredall awaits. If you please..."

"What is it?" Scott whispered as the waiter knocked and opened the door.

"He's dead," Logan hissed, snarling as the waiter announced their arrival. "I killed 'im myself!"

"You may go in," the man said.

Scott hesitated. If this was a trap, the waiter might as well leave as soon as possible, so he signalled the man that he could go and insisted: "Who?"

"Creed."

What?! The waiter was still by the door when Sabretooth, wearing a grey suit and a dark red tie, grunted it open.

"Will ya get in already? I'm tryin' ta finish my dinner and ya ain't helpin'." He handed the waiter a bill. "Hurry off an' don't come back till I calls ya."

Logan shot past Scott, who was still digesting the news. I mean, it's one thing when a supposedly dead foe comes back to the living attacking everyone in sight; you just react in kind and digest the resurrection later. But this... this was something else entirely. And when Sabretooth wasn't suffering from blood lust or some other obsession, he was smart enough to be a criminal mastermind. So what was he planning now?

"I killed ya myself!"

Logan was growling, claws extended, when Scott entered the room and closed the door.

"Oh, yeah. I never got around ta thank ya fer that one. Saved me a hell of a hassle wi' that particular clone." He then put a piece of bloodied meat in his mouth and wavered a hand towards a couple of chairs. "Take a seat an' let's talk business."

If Kredall and Creed were one and the same, why this charade of asking for their help to dismantle a slave ring? He could easily kill everyone involved. But keeping in mind Joan Hillman and other former mutants supposedly in the same condition, Scott went towards the chairs willing to listen. He didn't sit though.

"Let me say I had never expected Sabretooth to come knocking on our door, asking for help."

If the sociopath got ticked, he might let slip something he didn't mean to say. Hopefully, Logan would get his bearings fast enough to stuff both the growling and the claws, and help goad Sabretooth. Nobody did it better than Logan.

"Well, technically, it ain't me askin' fer yer help. I'm just givin' the innocent vics a voice o' sorts."

"As if ya'd care," Wolverine growled. But at least the claws were audibly put away.

"Actually, I do kind o' care. Not for any moral principles, mind ya; but I admit I got a personal reason to wanna see these attackers – every single one of 'em – dealt with."

Naturally. Sabretoth never helped someone if it didn't mean helping himself.

"They stabbed ya in the back and ya're lookin' t'get back at 'em, huh?"

Sabretooth glared at Logan and Scott couldn't help grinning. Just being in the same room together was enough to make the sociopath lose half his cool. When he reached for a pocket, the blond was keeping a snarl from becoming too obvious.

"This is my reason."

Scott reached for the photo Sabretooth had just flopped onto the table. It showed a dark-haired woman and a blond teenager. It was hard to guess the kid's age as he was tall and large, well built. He must be the local school's star player. Logan came over to take a look at it and Scott knew they had to be thinking the same thing: was it Sabretooth's son?

"Who is he," Scott asked, avoiding speaking out his first impression.

Sabretooth chuckled darkly. "Ya noticed the resemblance too, right? Still, I ain't the only six feet, six inches blond in the world, which follows that not every tall blond kid is gonna be my long, lost son."

"If the kid ain't yers, how come he's yer so called reason fer bein' here?"

Sabretooth pushed the plate to the side and took a deep breath.

"Bout half a year ago, I got wind o' someone auctionin' Sabretooth's son t' the highest bid. Naturally, I looked into it... tracked down his family, learnt his mamma was a single mom waitressin' in Vegas, got hold o' some baby hair strands. The DNA was pretty clear: me an' him, we got no connection. Still, he was auctioned off as my kid."

Scott noticed the man wasn't keeping eye contact so he believed this situation was truly annoying him. Remembering Graydon Creed, he wondered briefly if the man had for a moment believed this boy could have been his son.

"I got curious t'see who'd tried ta get his hands on the boy so I sniffed around some. The guy who'd put in the highest bid fancied 'imself a scientist. He'd been collectin' children o' former feral mutants and doin' experiments on 'em." Sabretooth focused his eyes on the windows while scratching his chin. "He had three with 'im at the time."

All of a sudden he looked Scott straight in the eyes. Or glasses.

"Ya know, Sinister always laughed that I was the only one who never got skirmish when he was cuttin' up kiddies. But truth is, he wasn't doin' it fer fun. That 'em kids was sufferin' was just an unavoidable side effect, and he did prefer ta work without screamin' or tears round 'im. But this so-called scientist... he said he was tryin' t'get the kids' powers ta kick in. Healin' factor, ta be precise. That's what he said. As fer what he was doin'..."

Sabretooth shook his head and got up, paced up to the window and looked out.

"He enjoyed every damn second o'pain he caused those kids. Ya could just see the pleasure in his eyes when he looked at 'em... mangled an' sufferin'."

"Don't tell me you, of all people, got skirmish."

Sabretooth turned suddenly, roaring at Logan. "The youngest couldn't'ave been older than four! And he was pokin' her with hot irons all over her naked lil' body and laughin'! That's beyond sick!"

Scott couldn't help the shiver down his spine. If the sociopath himself had been disgusted...

"What did ya do?"

"What the hell d'ya think I did, ya stupid ass? Gave 'em three a mercy kill, s'what I did. It wasn't like they would ever recover... Especially not that lil' girl, wretched thing."

That's what had impressed him the most, from the disgusted expression on the man's face, the way he shook his head as if trying to get rid of a sickening image.

"So... since you aren't in the business of saving people," Sabretooth looked back at Scott, "you figured we could do that job."

The blond man shook a hand in a yes and no kind of way and got back on his chair.

"I ain't interested in savin' no one; ya can knock yerselves over that. My objective is ta put an end t' this operation o' sellin' kids."

"Why not do it on your own?"

Scott already knew the answer to that: he wanted the X-Men's resources. Especially if he wanted to continue dead to the world, since that meant Sabretooth wouldn't be able to use his usual resources. Although... why had he been playing dead for all those years? All the other times he'd suposedly died, he had quickly shown the world he was still on his feet. It only took recovering from whatever blow he'd been dealt.

"They work like terrorrist cells. Half their people don't even know they're workin' on the dark side; think they're sellin' stuff an' services. The other half knows one or two contacts. If ya start meddlin', those people are goners. And I mean, whoever's callin' the shot sends people ta make 'em disappear." He waved a hand over his throat. "The group behind sellin' my supposed son is all gone, either at my hands or at their bosses', and I got all the intel I could get outta them. That includes twenty-five sales, includin' the kid and Joan Hillman."

"We'll need that information ASAP."

Knowing what Joan Hillman and those kids had gone through, the sooner they rescued everyone the better.

"Not so fast One Eye. First we gotta discuss conditions: this hunt is mine."

Uh? He wanted to be kept in the loop?

"I thought ya said ya wanted us ta take this slavery ring down."

Sabretooth rolled his eyes with a growl.

"I said you could rescue 'em folks; I intend ta put the traffickin' network down. But I figure it'll be faster an' more effective if we pool our resources together."

Wait a minute! Was he saying...

"You want to join us?!"

"Fer a while. I figure it'll take at least six ta eighteen months ta do the job, so... Yeah. I intend ta become the newest X-Men around."

That was...

"Which takes us ta the conditions: I'm dead and intend ta continue dead, got it? My name fer the time bein' is Victor C. Kredall and I'll be takin' up the codename Tigard."

"Tigard?" Logan echoed.

"Yeah, I know. 'S a bit corny, but all the best ones are either taken or too close t'my former codenames."

"Ya're insane."

"Been there too, runt. But it's a fact: I can't take these assholes on my own, and I sure as hell ain't lettin' you X-Chumps do it on yer own. So, I got myself in a tight corner here. No way round it."

"There's no way we're lettin' ya join the team, Creed."

That's what Scott's mind was telling him too, but then there was his rational side...

"Ya need me, boy. And it ain't just 'cause o' these other twenty-three vics I got intel on. I knows things, places an' people ya don't. Ya need what I knows."

Sabretooth was an asset they couldn't brush aside, especially if the man was truly interested in being an active part of the process.

"And all 'cause o' some kid that ain't got no connection to ya? Or 'cause o' those kids that got tortured? I ain't buyin' it."

"Look, boy. It ain't the kid; it's the fact there's someone out there looking fer anyone that could be my kid."

"So?"

"So, ya moron, if they look hard enough, they may just find the real thing." Wait, what? The man breathed out and looked back at Scott. "I'm sayin' that, once ya accept the deal, I'll be takin' some company in with me. Ya know kids, they catch ya lookin' the other way, and they're likely ta climb a tree an' break their lil' necks. Ya gotta keep 'em under a close watch."

"Ya got a kid?" Once more, Logan's voice echoed Scott's incredulity.

"Why the hell would I be playin' dead fer all these years, boy? Ya can't have a kid in my line o' work an' not expect some sort o'backlash, can ya?" Sabretooth got up, with an irritated growl. "Now that's all out in the open, why don't ya just set an hour fer me ta go in, sign all the forms an' legal stuff an' get this show on the road, huh?"

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