Sabretooth belongs to Marvel Comics. All other characters belong to me.


December 12th

Two weeks. It had been two weeks between this appearance and his last. He's never returned so soon to see me.

Mr. Creed stood in my office's hallway, one office of many on the seventh floor of a downtown high-rise. I was half out the door, my glasses slightly askew, my briefcase threatening to spill to the floor while I tried to stuff my arms into my winter coat.

"I'm sorry, I have an appointment I need to make across town this evening, I can't see you tonight."

Mr. Creed stood with his hands in his gray woollen coat pockets, a knitted red scarf wrapped around his throat snuggly, and a thin black toque pulled down over his ears, a tuff of blond bangs poking out from underneath. "Why don't we walk and talk?"

"That compromises confidentiality." I shook my head but started towards the elevators, Mr. Creed's tall shadow following me down the hallway. He snorted at my statement. "I take my profession very seriously, I won't risk losing my license for you."

"I take my profession pretty seriously too." The lift arrived and I stood awkwardly beside him with his threat hanging in the air. My brown, knee-length down-coat and unintentional matching briefcase hung heavily on me. I remained silent.

He walked half a step behind me through the tiled reception area of the ground floor, actually grabbed the door handle half a moment before I reached for it, and held it open for me. He waited beside me as I walked to the curb becoming more and more uncomfortable as the moments passed in silence.

"I'm taking a cab..."

Mr. Creed shrugged. "We'll split it."

"I don't mean to be rude, but this is a bit personal, this appointment. I would prefer to go alone." A cabbie pulled up alongside the sidewalk and I opened the back door but waited before getting in.

His green eyes narrowed like those of a feline, appraising but unconcerned. "Fair enough." The blond giant raised a clawed hand in submission and took a step back. "See you later then."

When I sat down into the back of the cab and turned around to look out the back window, I couldn't see his red scarf anywhere.

ooooo

Tired was an understatement. It was late and my wife was asleep when I got home. I unlocked the back door as quietly as I possibly could. I flicked on the kitchen light only to find Mr. Creed sitting there with a glass of red wine and an open, half empty bottle at the kitchen table. His boots were off and neatly placed on the doormat, his coat hung on a hook in the mudroom, and the dog lay under the table with her tail wagging.

"You look rough, doc. Have some wine."

"This is crossing a line." My jaw clenched in anger.

"Do you wanna talk about your anger? Maybe you should take up knitting." His wine glass swirled twice before he finished it in one gulp.

"This isn't funny, this isn't a joke. You do not come to my house." I hissed, my finger jabbing the air.

"Don't forget who I am." Mr. Creed's head cocked to the side. "I said I'd see ya later."

"Where's my wife?" Fear was now creeping up my throat. I looked down the darkened hallway leading the stairs to upstairs.

He shrugged uninterested. "Upstairs snoring away."

"This couldn't wait?"

"I get the sense that you aren't exactly grateful that I value your skills and abilities as a highly-paid psychologist...more than I value the paycheck I turned down to off you."

"Not at this hour, not in my home, not after the day I've had." I shook from adrenaline.

"But I wanna talk about my feelings."

"Never, never, come to my home again. Ever." I took down his coat and threw it at him, pulling open the heavy door to the back entrance.

After a brief moment, he rose, pulling his coat on one arm at a time. He sat back down, dragging his boots forward and lacing them up at the table. He pulled his toque on and grabbed my hand to shake it. "Well thanks for the hospitality, thanks for the wine."

"That was an anniversary present from my wife." I mumbled sadly.

"What can I say, I'm kind of an asshole."

"Please just leave."

"Leaving."

I shut the door forcibly behind his retreating back and secured the lock and chain. I took a tired trek around the first floor, making sure all the windows and doors were secure before checking the back door once more and heading upstairs to see my wife. The sociopath knew where I lived.