Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except some random extras; everything else is Marvel's only.
9. 1914, October
The woods were alive with bright colours. Every evening in the last week, as the sun set dutifully to the West, he'd sit down and chew some tobacco, admiring the view. Soon, the colours would be gone and he'd be home.
Home.
His breast opened in joyous ecstasy at the idea and he couldn't help releasing it to the whole world to bear witness in a long passionate howl.
He could not remember a time he had felt as truly happy as he had been in the last few months.
He had first left the Estate less than a year ago, but years, not months, seemed to have passed by in the mean time. And when he had left, he had thought he was leaving for good. He had thought that those lands, which Mister Howlett had entrusted to him and to his eventual descendants; those lands that were now as his as if James Howlett had never existed… he had thought he had lost them for good. That the Mounties and the Bank would destroy it all. It had been tough times, those winter months, when he lived in the middle of the woods like an animal.
He wasn't proud of himself, over that winter. And yet… how could he not feel a little bit of pride at the knowledge that he had become the king of the mountains? That cougars, bears and wolverines were as wary of avoiding him as their preys were wary of avoiding them.
No, he wasn't proud of allowing his instincts to take control of him like that. He was even ashamed of how he had scourged snowy and rocky landscapes in search of blood and its sweet alluring thrill that… He was definitely ashamed of that. Now that his mind was back in place, he could coldly compare his thirst for blood to his Pa's thirst for alcohol. Base instincts.
"A man, boy, has a powerful instinct to stand upright, to solidly build his home and protect it with all his powers, and to act with decent and civilised coolness. A man has the undeniable instinct to separate those that are worthy from those who are not and act accordingly. But men also possess animalistic instincts… to slump, to succumb to whims that destroy themselves and those who depend on him."
And it did shame him that he had succumbed. What a way to pay his respects to the man who had saved him from becoming a worthless slob.
"Your station, boy, is filled with such beasts whose animal instincts are stronger than those of a man. And it is why I'm losing my precious time with you… teaching you… that you may learn to distinguish between the instincts that are inside you, and chose to follow only the ones that make you a man."
And yet he had surpassed those times when he had become an animal. Mister Howlett had done it, even though he was dead. He had a debt to him, and the old ghost would not let him out of his duties, not even in death.
Wild and almost naked, he had approached the Estate. And lo and behold, men were busy around it. His vision had become red and he'd unleashed himself… as if there had been anything left to unleash at the time. When he'd finally stopped, he had been back in Mister Howlett's office. He had gone through that little door to where he had once seen a painting of the Howlett family, but it had been gone.
Going around, he had discovered many paintings, photos, jewellery, everything, packed in crates to be taken away. To be stolen away. He still had the legal papers the lawyer, Orkney, had given him. They were securely hidden in the large family crest over the fireplace in Mister Howlett's office. Thinking hard, he had decided it was best to leave them there. Surely the Bank wasn't as stupid as to strip the house of its crest. But the crates… he had carefully hid them in the lowest levels of the house. He had been afraid it might get humid and ruin some of the paintings, so he had industriously searched the area for straw, which he smoked dry, and neatly conditioned everything in the basement. Satisfied, he had made the entrance to the basement collapse and piled rubble over it.
Everything was safe, then, and he felt he had returned to being a man.
Unwilling to leave, he had wandered about until Mounties had showed up to solve the mystery of the missing workers and he had hesitantly taken off. Spring was filling up the rivers and groups of lumber jacks were settling back on their turfs, ready to work after the idle winter season. Eager to get himself busy, keeping his basest instincts under control, he had joined one of such groups and learnt a new office. But he hadn't been happy. Even if he enjoyed the hard work, living out in the woods… he could not fit with the men. They were from different worlds. Even if they belonged in the same station.
So once more he had taken off and wandered west, away from people and their Mounties.
He had got along with a few Indians, but he hadn't fit with them either.
So he had kept moving, searching for a place where he could start a new life. A place where he could arrive and say, "I'm Victor Creed", and have a land that was his alone, and a strong woman that would be his alone, and… and have a life.
Lying down over a blanket of branches that insulated his back from the cold earth, the hunter looked at the stars. There was still an ancient voice that talked to him, sometimes, when he looked peacefully up at the stars. The female voice had grown weak, but not so her promise of greatness and strength.
He was the biggest man in the entire country. His eyes weren't brown anymore, but a light honey-like colour; nor was his hair dark as it had been in his childhood. His very ears had changed and become somewhat sharpened, although not so much that they looked like animal ears. He had allowed his hair to grow into a blond mane and his sideburns were as manly as they could be. No one would say he was barely twenty. He looked older, much older. But as dangerous as he seemed, with his sharp canines feigning fangs peeking every time he grinned, he was much more so than anyone could have imagined.
Without averting his eyes from the stars, he brought a hand up and enjoyed the feeling of the sharp claws sliding in and out. Finally, he yawned and decided it was time to get some sleep.
Up and moving, Victor Creed ignored the fawn that froze still and then hopped away. He wasn't interested in hunting, although he was hungry. He was only a few hours away from Mount Logan and he would not stop for nothing before reaching it.
The town was several miles away from the actual Mount Logan, but apparently the man who had worked as a guide to the expedition that gave the mountain its name had decided to settle and record for the posterity that he owned the mountain as much as if he had actually climbed to its summit. So town Mount Logan had been created. First just a house and a store for fur traders. Then a saloon and a couple more houses. Then a brothel was built atop the saloon and a few more houses around it. Of course most of the houses were several feet away from the half a dozen cabins that constituted the town, and some were even several hundred feet away.
Like his own cabin.
Like Silver Fox's cabin.
He smiled at the thought of the squaw and unconsciously fingered the little leather poach he was carrying around his neck.
The first time he had tumbled upon the town, he knew he had found his new place. After all, he might call himself Victor Creed, but his blood still yelled 'Logan'. And that little town, lost in the middle of woods, known only to wild men and women who pretended to act civilly, could have been named after him. After his family.
He had entered that saloon – he recalled as clearly as yesterday – sat down at the bar and watched folks around him. Not one of them could reach his station. He had figured it in the mean time: he was in a station all of his own that was as high as Mister Howlett's, or higher, even; but on a different level of sorts. And those people in the saloon… they were all well below his station.
When Lucky Will had asked him what he wanted and whether he was passing by, he had proudly stated "The name's Victor Creed, chump, and ya bet I'm here ta stay." A few fights later, the town truly had been his.
He hadn't built his cabin anywhere near it, though. He had learnt he needed space from other folks. Much space. So he had headed out and explored the woods about. And it was then he had seen her.
Silver Fox.
She was a sight as he had never seen one. She had nothing to do with Rose, nor with Ethel, and yet she reminded him of them. Her hair was slick, and black, and perfectly tucked in two chaste braids. She had a pale face for an Indian, but beautiful dark eyes full of solemnity and strength. Her clothes were Indian and she moved about with Indian confidence. His heart had gone out for her right there and then. Yet he had done nothing.
While he built his cabin, decently apart from hers, he had collected information about her. He had found her name, Silver Fox, absolutely delicious. He often stopped by, hidden in the trees, to watch her, and he learnt she lived alone and yet required no man or woman to help her with whatever task she needed done. He loved her independent ways. Yet he had said nothing to her.
Until one fateful day when a couple punks had decided it might be fun to insult and slander her as she went to the town store. Apparently, it was common for the men and women to do so quietly and for the young folks to do it loudly, but Creed had never witnessed it. That same day, he had knocked at Silver Fox's door, dragging two beaten boys behind him.
He had washed and combed his wild hair, and was wearing his best hunting clothes. When she had opened the door she had been fearful at first, then puzzled and finally, arrogant. And he had enjoyed every step of her attitude. The two kids had been thrown at her feet and implored for her forgiveness until told to run off by Creed. And finally, finally, he had presented himself.
"My name's Victor Creed. Maybe ya seen me around. I live a couple miles from the town, but I'll guarantee you, there's no one ever gonna say a bad word 'gainst ya ever again in this place fer as long as I live. Have a good day. Silver Fox."
Oh, what a thrill it had been to say her name out loud like that. And she hadn't melted like a stupid wench into his arms, either, even though he had been as clear as daylight she was his from then on.
She hadn't been much pleased, at first, true. But he had decided she was his, and sooner or later she would be. She had to be the most thrillingly delicious prey he had ever thought of hunting, and he was bound on playing his snares so skilfully, she'd welcome him in when he finally made his mind to take her.
He was only a couple of hours away, now, and he was so eager to see her, to smell her sweet scent in the air, hear her strict voice, he was almost jogging.
It had annoyed him, to think it was time to return to the Howlett Estate and clean it of any more cockroaches the Bank might have sent. He hadn't wanted to leave his hunt dangling, but he couldn't have delayed his going much more, either. He once more fingered the leather pouch. It had been a good thing he had gone. A pity he hadn't gone there sooner, actually. He made a point of returning the next spring; the moment the snow started melting he'd be on his way.
He hoped that, through the winter, he could manage to change her ways about him that she would talk to him at least civilly the next time he left for the East. Because three… no, four weeks now. It had already been a month since he had left Mount Logan. Anyway, when he had gone to her place to tell her he'd be leaving for a few weeks, he had demanded a parting kiss. He hadn't figured it would cause that much of a fury. But the squaw had been positively out of herself with rage.
"How dare you! Get out! Get OUT!" She had yelled and cursed at him in her native tongue. "GO away and don't EVER return here, you…"
He hadn't expected such resistance. His fault. He hadn't studied his prey well enough. He had grabbed her by an arm, to calm her down, but her other arm was flailing out of his reach, and he was caught completely off guard when the shovel hit him full force.
Even now, a month later, Creed could still feel the pain of that hit all across his face. He stopped his jog and took out the leather pouch. He had lost his temper for a bit, then, and the only thing he remembered after the shovel, was the woman's proud face as he pinned her to the wall by her neck.
But he had remembered Ethel before doing anything rash he was sure to regret afterwards. Ethel had thought she could handle any man that came her way. Obviously, Silver Fox thought the same. And he hadn't explained them the obvious.
"Ya listen t'me, girl," he remembered his words as if he was saying them now. His mouth still tingling with the blood filling it, his left eye half closed from the swelling pain. "I ain't one o' those losers ya know. Ya can't kill me. Ya can't hurt me. Ya can't escape me. I wants ya, and ya will be mine. Are we clear, now? Silver Fox?"
She had refused to answer while he held her and, after a while, he had indulged her and let her go. She had held his gaze fearlessly and he had almost taken her right there and then and to the hell with hunting the woman into submission. Because beating, his instincts told him, wouldn't shut up her nagging; like Pa's beatings had never shut up Ma's. She was too strong to be beaten into accepting him. So ensnaring was all he had left. Ensnaring with patience and a will of steel.
Creed opened the leather pouch and took out a large tooth that looked exactly like an animal's fang. It felt heavy in his hand, just like it had felt heavy then. When Silver Fox had walked slowly away from him and, without ever averting her gaze from his, stooped down to pick up the tooth that had leaped out of its place when the shovel had hit him. When Silver Fox had thrown it to him.
"Get out of my house, 'Tooth'."
"Ya'll be mine, Fox. Ya already are."
She was. Every living being in the surrounding area knew it. She was the only one who still denied it. But not for long. 'Tooth', as she had called him, wasn't giving up on anything that belonged to him. And once more he renewed his oath that she'd be accepting his leaving kiss by next spring.
With a sigh, he returned the tooth to the pouch and replaced it about his neck. His body had already fixed the problem the squaw had caused, and the new fang was almost as big as the previous one had been. It had amazed him, for a while, how quickly his body fixed any wound, any problem; now, though, it didn't amaze him anymore. It was just another part of what he was.
He wondered how she'd react to his return. Would she stick to that 'Tooth' name? He knew Indians did that, gave folks some weird Indian name and then stick to it. And it wasn't that he didn't like it; but it sounded a bit… short. He'd rather have something more ennobling. Oh, well. He figured it wouldn't be right if he changed the name himself; after all, it had been something Silver Fox had given him. So he supposed he'd just have to wait until she mellowed a bit. Then she would surely give him a more fitting Indian name.
He was close now. He sniffed the air, longing to feel his woman's scent. What he smelled, though, felt like a shovel being thrown at his heart. He refused to accept it.
Dashing madly through the woods, he reached Silver Fox's cabin.
It was true! His nose hadn't deceived him.
He lost his strength. Even as his eyes tried to turn red and his blood claimed for vengeance he couldn't move and just stood there, hidden amidst the trees. Watching.
James took a step back from her, smiling. And she – the bitch, the whore, the … - she smiled openly at him. Warmly. Hotly.
"Are you sure, Silver Fox?" His hand was going down her arm. Over to her back. Down to…
She laughed. So beautiful. His Silver Fox's laughter was so beautiful.
"You have no cabin, Logan. You didn't want to build one… How will you survive the winter?"
Logan.
"I didn't plan on sticking fer so long."
"Come in." But he hesitated.
He was going to kill him. He was nothing. He wasn't even a real Logan. He was just… just… a sorry excuse for a… a…
"You have entered many times before, Logan." He felt as if he was bleeding away. Bleeding painfully away. "Why you hesitate now?"
"Maybe your dog won't like it. Me coming in for so long, I mean. Winter is a long time, Silver Fox."
But he went in. He went in. James… Logan… he was taking the woman that was his. This was his town, his home, his woman. And he… he was robbing him of everything all over again. He was robbing his life away! Just like he'd done before. Just like everyone had done before. Robbing him of every little thing he brought together. Every little thing he cared about, he…
He got up and ran off, blind. It hurt like it had never hurt before. And he fought, he fought dearly against his reddening eyesight. He didn't want to…
Why? Why! WHY!
