Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

4. Surprise, surprise

Creed came slowly to in his bed, frowning at the mouldy scent of the sheets. He got up, feeling his muscles sore, and blinked. Something wasn't quite right. Irbis was the personification of perfectionism when it came to her house duties, and never once had she failed to leave his bed with the most reassuringly light aroma of pine trees. He got up and left the bedroom.

The corridor was as clean as it should, a glimmer of light resting on the particles floating in the air and which not even Irbis could manage to vacuum away. The mouldy scent seemed to pursue him though, even as he climbed down the wooden stairs. The wood gleamed from a recent oil treatment but it lacked the scent it should have.

Downstairs, the morning light filled the open living room area despite the barrier of the curtains. It had never had any, which had never bothered him; but one day he had arrived and found that not only had Irbis put curtains on every single window in the house – to prevent any passers-by from prying – she had also bought blinds to be ran down when the lights were on, which would have helped anyone outside to see through the light fabrics much too easily for her taste. He had laughed at her, but she had been adamant: even in her Portuguese village, where everyone knew everyone and robberies happened seldom and by the hands of outsiders, she had always seen that hallmark of simple protection: full external blinds that could be locked for further protection and a good set of curtains for protection against curious neighbour eyes. He had shrugged. He couldn't really diss her for trying to up the house protection, however futile that attempt might be.

This morning, the white curtains with just a touch of unpretentious embroidery at the floor-sweeping bottom danced in the wind and he went up to the open window. Irbis was outside, working on the vegetable garden. Not that it was really a vegetable garden – it held more herbs than vegetables – but at least she hadn't shoved up a flowery garden. Plus, he liked the taste her herbs lent the food. She didn't see him immediately but when she did, she smiled unintentionally.

"Good morning, Mister Creed," she said in the lightly cheerful voice of the people who get a kick out of watching the sun rise. "Coffee and eggs or you want something else today?"

Creed sniffed the air. He knew exactly how it should smell – a mix of herbs, pine trees and faint exhaust pipes – but instead he felt the mouldiness of his bed linen. He rubbed his face, trying to shake off what he was starting to be sure was a phantom scent of some sort. Perhaps from some dream he couldn't recall? Irbis had come up to him and her smile had lost some of its openness, as it usually did when she caught herself smiling too brightly. She knew it sometimes ticked him off.

"Coffee and eggs?"

"Yeah, whatever!" He walked away from the house and approached the trees, irritation dripping through the cracks. Something was deeply wrong, but he still couldn't even begin to comprehend what. Getting all fired up wouldn't help him figure it out, though, so he tried to take a deep breath and calm down. He didn't need to sniff the air to know that all he could smell all around him was that same mouldy scent he had woken up to. And there was also the soreness covering him from head to toe, though his back and arms were especially grumpy.

He looked back at the house and was startled to see Irbis outside. She should be inside preparing his breakfast – which she did better than any five star restaurant – not outside slitting a chicken's neck. He frowned. Irbis was wearing a different pair of jeans and a different T-shirt. Her movements as she cut the bird's neck and then let its blood flow into a large bowl created a slight sense of déjà vu. He had only seen her preparing a chicken once and she had been wearing those exact same clothes. It could be a coincidence, but he didn't believe in coincidences. He studied her gestures, much as he'd done before: the way she held the struggling chicken with ease and her attention at the blood pooling in the bowl.

He came closer and she looked up, her usual light smile shining up at him.

"Hi, mister Creed. I go prepare chicken like you never eat before. And dis is chicken created with real food, not animal ration. I have certain you will like it."

He didn't answer. That had been the exact same thing she had said, the first time he'd seen her killing a chicken and, it was now clear, the only time he'd seen her doing it. This was a memory.

Irbis looked back at the chicken, which had ceased struggling, and cut the neck a bit more deeply. She was still smiling, perhaps more brightly even, enjoying the job. He revisited the feeling he'd had, a feeling of pleasure at not having killed the girl. She was stubborn, true, but she kept the house exactly as he liked having it and, much more importantly, smelling. It had always been a safe house; now it felt like a safe home. There was also a sense of danger behind that idea, home, but it felt so good he ignored it. It wasn't any real danger anyway.

The memory continued playing before him. Irbis knelt temporarily to stir the blood with the blade of the knife, her hand naturally bloodied, then poured in some lemon juice and returned to the former squatting position. She needn't explain it was to keep the blood from clotting and simply said "dis is a specialty dat I learn wid my grandmoder".

She looked up again. Her face had some sprinkled blood and the morning light made her brown eyes greenish.

"De food you give de chicken decides if de meat tastes good," Creed relived the second feeling that coursed through his body as his eyes, centered on her face, enjoyed the relaxation on her fit body. A hand was still gripping the two wings and the other arm was now resting on a knee that had been propped up, the knife lax on her expert fingers. "But de way you kill de chicken is very important too. And de way you treat de blood."

"And ya know the secret, huh?" He had said, the feeling barely increasing his heart beat but leaving him very much aware of that increase.

Irbis had dropped the knife in the bowl to pick it up. "I had fivety years when I killed a chicken by de first time," and Creed once more enjoyed the ease of her fluid movements when she got up. "I killed many chickens after dat and cooked de chickens too."

The quiet confidence turned her into something else he couldn't quite identify; something far beyond the helplessly stubborn frail she usually was. The perfume of blood surrounding her frankness made her alluringly attractive.

"You sink, sorry... you think is not good, and you can torture me until I die." She had said it with a smirk and the slightest twitch of her head, provoking him unintentionally, and turned to go to the kitchen.

It was a memory, Creed knew. A memory where his nose picked nothing but that mouldy scent he should be focusing on to make sense of what really was going on. But the aroma of the chicken blood had overcome the mouldiness and he suddenly did what he hadn't done the first time. Grabbing Irbis by an arm, he swirled her back to him and kissed her fully, hungrily. The thought had caught him off guard the first time and he hadn't acted on it. Now though... now he was reshaping a memory. He was dreaming. The mouldy scent that had plagued him was the smell of the place where he was. Creed closed his eyes, divided between enjoying that dream kiss and snapping out of the dream altogether.

The dream unwund itself, leaving only darkness and that smell, that soon gained an earthy compound. Focusing on it, Creed then smelt, and felt, the dampness. And the natural cool. The rough rock. The large, cold metal shackles. Muffled, echoed sounds. A cave.

Creed maintained his body perfectly relaxed as if he was still unconscious. His back, which had taken the brunt of the poisoned bullets, was aching steadily and his sore, cramped muscles managed to complain despite their immobility. It was the soreness of his dream, but augmented over ten times. Sniffing carefully, so as not to be noticed, he ascertained that Irbis was in the cave, too, although not close. There were three other guys, as well. He couldn't feel any drafts, so they were probably very deep underground; however, the cavity seemed to be a natural formation since the rock he was fallen over was in its rough natural state.

The men were talking, but were too far off for him to get all the details. The only thing he could figure out was that they were keeping him caged until someone arrived to finish him off. He heard their footsteps fading away as two of them walked off, and he heard a door being opened and locked. Bolted over, actually, by the sound of it. The third guy stayed behind, but never came anywhere near him. Which meant there must be a camera on the spot. As for Irbis… keeping in mind the strength of the scents, she was probably in the same room as the guy on the watch.

There was no sense in pretending to still be out, so Creed opened his eyes and ascertained he was indeed in a cave. It was a natural formation, shaped like a small rounded room, but the entrance had been fitted with a state-of-the-art safe-door. He wouldn't even be surprised if the bars were made of adamantium, or at least laced with it. He looked at them intently and distinguished occasional almost imperceptible flares. So the bars were connected by some sort of energy field. Just great!

He got up with a wince at the sharp pain that suddenly jolted through his system and sat down. His body was still far from recovering from the previous attack, which wasn't normal. Looking around for the camera, his amber eyes quickly spotted its eye, hidden in a nook near the door. His hands were caught behind him, all but swallowed up by some sort of smooth, extra-large shackles. They immobilized him effectively, preventing him from stretching and easing his sore arms; however, they weren't like those glove-like shackles most folks used to lock him up with, which meant he could still count on his claws.

Glancing around one more time, he decided things didn't look so good.

However, there was absolutely nothing he could do at the moment, so he'd just have to relax and let his body mend itself. Soon, he supposed, the chump who had probably orchestrated all this would show up and he'd burst his way out. He wondered if the chump was coming to ace him himself or to watch as his paid dogs did the job. He shrugged. Whatever.

"This. Is. Boring." He grumbled under his breath. He always preferred facing off villains with the common-sense to not waste his time. If nothing else, the adrenaline would make his body shut up with the complaining.

He wondered what time it was. He had no idea for how long he'd been out, and he hadn't been able to find anything he could use as a way to measure time. Even Irbis and the other guy were qu…

"Hey!"

A muffled thump, followed by an echoed metallic crash startled the silence.

"Ahh! Ya bitch…"

Creed got up, hands bound behind his back, and came closer to the entrance. There was a shot; then another thump, but this one sounded like an axe hitting flesh and it was followed by a scream from the man and the unmistakable scent of blood. The guard, in-between screamed cursing and apparently vain threats, sounded like he had been definitely overpowered by someone, but he still couldn't smell anyone but the guy and Irbis…

"OK... You tell me how I free Mister Creed, now."

Holy… Creed blinked in disbelief. That was Irbis's voice. He sat down as the man yelled, threatened her, yelled some more, called her every dirty word the English language allowed for, and yelled again; the scent of blood growing progressively stronger. Irbis's voice wasn't heard once.

It took a while, but he broke. Soon afterwards, the energy field disappeared from the door and its bolt was unlocked. Creed didn't need an invitation and immediately left the small room, his hands still bound by the large shackles. He found himself in a corridor: there were at least two other cell entrances to the left, but the air seemed staler than to the right. He followed through the short stone corridor to a grand cave room. The ceiling was covered in stalactites and the floor in stalagmites, which from where Creed stood looked like a small forest. On the other side of the large cave room, half hidden by the stalagmite wood, there was a large area that had been cleared to suit a wide metal floor plate where two large metallic desks blinked with small lights, one with surveillance TV screens, the other with apparently random high technology ware.

As he approached, he noticed that each desk included two fire sets, apparently composed of fire extinguisher and axe. He also noticed that one set was missing the fire extinguisher, which was on the metallic floor, near the surveillance desk, while the other set was missing the axe.

When Creed came close enough to look past the wall of stalagmites, he saw Irbis looking coolly at the floor. Then he noticed the guard she was gazing at. He was tied up to a stalagmite with electric cables and bleeding profusely from a half-chopped leg. Irbis looked up at Creed, as he appreciated her work, and then back at her prisoner:

"Where are de keys to free de hands off Mr Creed?"

"Fu…"

Creed kicked the guy's wounded leg with a vicious grin, while the man yelled.

"Watch yer mouth in front o' the lady, ya lil' piece o'shit."

He glanced over at her, grinning his appreciation for her highly unpredictable move. Her hands were coated in bright red blood, which had left black stains all over her clothes, and there was a small knife in her hand. He watched her as she croutched next to the man and looked him in the eye.

"De keys."

"You're dead, bitch. You and him both. There's no way you can get out of here; the door…"

Irbis plunged the knife in the guy's good leg as casually as if she were opening up a hole in a piece of meat, and twisted it around. Creed couldn't help his widening grin, especially as he saw her absolutely professional expression.

"Need some spices ta season the meat?"

She looked up and blinked, silently. He was sure he wouldn't be able to guess what was going on in the woman's head if he lived a thousand years.

Resuming her intent gaze at the man, she almost whispered: "De keys."

The mercenary was sweating profusely and his face was distorted by pain. It was such a stark contrast to Irbis's face: composed, controlled, focused, calm. She looked almost pretty, with some blood sprinkled across her right cheek, and definitely alluring. It made her look paler, and at the same time it enhanced the darkness of her wavy hair, as well as the darkness of her brown eyes.

"The coded card… place it… place it in the slot. On the desk."

He closed his eyes and set his jaws hard. He ground his teeth together when she asked him about the code. Apparently, her gentleness while posing the question annoyed him, as he opened his blood-shot eyes and spit on her face. Creed almost ended the show right there and then, but he stopped in time to enjoy Irbis's absolute coolness. She used the back of her hand to clean her face from the bloodied spit, and slowly inserted the tip of the knife in the axe wound. He strained, trying not to scream; but then she twisted the blade and he could do nothing but let out the pained roar that shook him almost to unconsciousness.

Irbis withdrew the knife and waited silently, almost soothingly. She allowed the man to recover his breath, to compose himself. When he once more opened his eyes, she was simply looking at him with the most seriously professional face any assassin could hope for.

"Eight… six… four… three…"

Creed recognized the woman's usual efficiency as she went over to the desk and searched for the card, then for the slot. Finally, she typed in the code and the shackles unlocked with a smooth 'woosh'. Relieved, the blond threw them away and carefully stretched every muscle in his body, while Irbis quickly returned to the man's side. She was so cold and emotionless, he couldn't help but admire.

"Now, de code to de door, please."

Creed almost laughed. "Please!" She wasn't simply efficient and emotionless, she was funny, too. Still, he didn't have time to laugh, because the tortured guard did so first. Irbis blinked but didn't seem to be affected by it.

"It's… locked!" He chuckled weakly on her face, unable to truly laugh out at her. "It can't be… opened from the inside… and before anyone… come in… I'll have to… to report. There's a camera… it'll show the team… outside… it'll show them everything."

He chuckled again, but Creed cut it short as he grabbed him by the collar. He screamed again as his arms and body strained, still tied to the rocky pillar; but he mustered enough strength to spit his last words at Creed:

"You' re. Both. Dead!"

xXx

According to the guard's wrist watch, it was exactly 1:54 in the morning.

Creed was sore, soaked, cold and hungry. He had spent two hours exploring the tunnels past his holding cell. There had been a door sealing the tunnels off, after half a dozen cells, some natural, others opened up artificially, but it hadn't offered much resistance. However, and unlike what the guard had said before falling unconscious, there was a way out.

When he returned to the wide cave room, the first thing he noticed was that Irbis hadn't moved since he had left: she was still sitting quietly by the fainted guard, holding her knees to her breast and looking at the ground. Her previous behaviour, although more than welcomed, had stricken him as odd and out of character; but now she was clearly in shock. She had probably been in shock all along, only it had made her act usefully, for a change. Unfortunately, said useful behaviour had reached its limit alongside the guard's usefulness.

He reached for the guy and quickly slit his throat open. He wasn't needed anymore. Irbis looked up at him, expectantly.

"Move it, girl. I found our way out."

She acknowledged this information quietly, by simply getting up and following him. They had been walking for almost fifteen minutes, Creed going ahead with a flashlight, when he got bored with her silence.

"How d'ya get lose?"

"Hun?" She couldn't have sounded more catatonic.

"I asked ya how the hell ya got lose." He growled. "And ya might as well spit out how ya got an upper hand on that asshole. He's still a mercenary, y'know? He wasn't supposed ta be taken out by a…"

Creed glanced at her, her eyes mere slits locked on him, as he muttered "helpless chick", and saw her trip and fall. He caught her before she hit the rocky ground, though.

"Will ya look where ya're puttin' yer feet?!"

"I'm sorry. I…" He pulled her to his side and continued walking, but this time holding her by the arm as if she were a little girl about to fall. "I just… Dey put me... uh... algemas... uh... de sings dat de police have..."

"Handcuffs."

"Pois, handcuffs. But my hands are very small and I could get a hand out off de handcuffs. He was watching TV in de small TVs and didn't see."

Her foot slipped on a rock and she went a bit down again.

"Dammit, girl! Do I have ta carry ya, too?"

She valiantly struggled on; but, much for Creed's annoyance, she had hurt her foot and couldn't go as fast as he did anymore. It couldn't be more cliché if she tried!

"Well, dere was one off dat red bottles wid uh... spume to erase fires," she continued, trying to ignore both her hurt foot and the man's irritation, "and I pick it up and tried to hit him wid it, but he saw me and took his gun and try to shoot me, but he miss and I just hit him in de shoulder, and de gun fall when I hit him. But de bottle was very heavy and it escape my hands; after I saw de axe and I got it and I hit his leg and he fell dis time, and he couldn't do many because off de arm where I hit him... wid de red fire bottle... he didn't could move dat arm. So den I just use de... de cables dat were in a… one off dis sings people have in areas off construction wid cables to put in what dey're building… Dey had…"

"'S OK. I got the picture already."

She sighed while he grumbled that she was 'a lucky lil' bitch'.

"Don't call me dat." She said quietly but sternly.

He looked down at her.

"What ya gonna do, 'lil' bitch'? Ya gonna try an' axe me when I ain't lookin'?"

"Do not," she declared icily, eyes blazing even in the dark, "call me beach."

She had hardly finished speaking when she found herself pinned to the rough wall, a clawed hand on her neck.

"I'll call ya whatever I wants, frail!" He roared, his face just inches away from hers.

In one swift motion, he grabbed her and threw her body over his shoulder as if she were a bag of potatoes. She didn't even have the decency to thrash around for a few seconds, and simply went limp. Creed wished he had thought about this sooner. A camping backpack was heavier than the girl, and he was able to cover ground much faster than if he had continued dragging her behind him. Twenty more minutes and he found the second tunnel he had been on the lookout for. Ten more and he dropped Irbis on the ground unceremoniously.

"Hope ya're ready fer our big escape," he grumbled. "How good a swimmer are ya?"

"Swim?"

"Yeah." And the sudden scent of fear filled the place. Creed looked at the woman, studying her paleness and quick, shallow breathing. "The way out's through this water hole, here. The surface is about half a minute away"

Irbis got closer to the wall on the right side of the tunnel and leaned on it; she was struggling to control her breathing, so as to not appear as panicky as she apparently was, but she still seemed faint.

"I take it ya can't swim, then." Which meant he would have to drag her behind him and, by the looks of it, she'd have to be knocked out, too. Problem was, she couldn't hold her breath if she was out.

Irbis was looking up at him, and he could see it in her eyes she was petrified.

"Enough wi' the exageration already, dammit! Ya ain't gonna drown just 'cause ya can't swim. All ya have ta do is hold on ta me while I swim. And hold yer breath. Or stay here."

Irbis quickly stuttered she could, would do it, but if Creed didn't know better he'd say she was seeing death in the eye. A long, painful death.

"Fer cryin' out loud! What kind of a moron are ya? I mean, ya ain't scared o' facin' a group o' mercs but ya shit yerself over a quick dive?"

"Is different," she mumbled through clenched teeth.

"Yeah, sure it is." Shaking his head, Creed dove in. When he returned to the surface, Irbis's face was a mask of frightened determination. Yet she was still far from the water hole.

"Is different," she mumbled more to herself than for him. "I'm not part off dis..."

"Ain't part of what, moron? What are ya whimperin' 'bout?"

She looked at him. "I'm not part off dis... dis your world. You kill and live in all dis, and is natural to you. And de adrenaline, and de fight, and de almost die... Is not normal to me. I'm not off dis world of kill and... and..."

"Don't say! Well, ya sure could have fooled me. Look, girl, get two simple things int' yer head: First, the way ya handled yerself back there, ya fit in better 'an most hero folks goin' 'round! Second: there ain't no 'my world', 'your world'. This is all the same world fer everyone... some folks just tend to keep blinders over their eyes so they only see what they want to." Irbis lowered her head. "Now, ya gonna stay there fer those mercs ta get their hands on ya or what?"

With a deep wavering breath, Irbis sat down on the brim of the water hole. Slowly, following the mutant's instructions, she eased herself down and onto his back. Nevertheless, her breathing was erratic and the stench of fear was growing stronger.

"I told ya ta put yer arms 'round my neck, not ta try and strangle me!"

Too stiff to even apologize, Irbis's death grip shifted from his neck to his breast, as she clung to his shirt. Then she embraced his waist with her legs, so they wouldn't get in the way of his legs as he swam.

"We's gonna take several deep breaths 'fore holdin' our breaths fer the swim, got it? Sync with me an' pay attention ta my signal, so ya'll know when ta hold yer breath." He waited a few seconds and then added in a low growl: "Ya may wanna SAY somethin' so I knows ya understood me!"

"I understand." Her heart was still beating wildly against his back. "Deep breade and sink… I understand."

Usually, Creed would have taken two deep breaths before submerging, but Irbis's breathing was so erratic and shallow he actually held on to the brim and coached her through two minutes of steady, rhythmic breathing in and out. Finally, when he thought she was ready, he counted to three with his hand and dove.

Irbis followed his lead perfectly, although rather stiffly, and did her best to smash his ribs. Although annoyed by his cargo, Creed didn't have any problems swimming under the low submerged ridge and then speeding up to the surface. However, before he could reach it, he felt the girl strengthen her grip desperately and was shocked by something warm spilling down his back.

This could not be happening. It simply could not…

He surfaced to the stench of wet vomit.