Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.
11. Third Lesson: Independence or Death
She opened her eyes with a silent start and lunged forward, the strong scent of panic bursting inside the car. Holding her breath, eyes nearly bulging from their sockets, she slowly realised where she was – or wasn't – and her throat allowed the lungs to breathe out, so they could then inhale renewed air. Creed was in a bad mood, cold and wet to the bones, and waiting for an excuse to let out his bad temper. Unfortunately, the silent gasp the girl had woken with, and even the way her fear quickly dispelled once she had realised she wasn't inside water anymore, hadn't warranted that excuse. So he remained relaxedly on the seat, an eye on the girl and both ears on the world outside the car, arms crossed over his chest and no muscle wasting energy anywhere in his body.
Irbis looked discreetly around herself, her heartbeat still slowing down after the abrupt awakening. Eventually, though, she turned her head and looked at him.
Leaning on the driver's seat at a slight angle, he had only to direct his gaze to the side and he could watch her without effort. Disheveled and soaking wet, she was a sorry sight for anyone's eyes, but her own eyes seemed tranquil. A police car passed by on a nearby road, its sirens bellowing loudly; and still the silence inside the darkened car wasn't broken. Eventually, a discreet blush started spreading through her cheeks. Creed had noticed she had caught the habit of blushing on account of nothing but he hadn't yet thought about what might be the reason. Tonight, though, it grated against his irritable mood and he snarled. The blush intensified.
"I didn't kill him?"
Her voice had sounded breathless, and the light interrogative picked his curiosity.
"Who didn't ya kill?"
He noticed the blush lost some of its intensity as she tried to ease the silence into a conversation. "Two men had de guns pointed to you, and I... uh... I caught a stone and... uh... throwed... but I see de man fall when de stone hit."
She hadn't moved a muscle, her body now as relaxed as his, but the colour on her face strengthened when he didn't answer her. He couldn't avoid seeing the discreet swallowing that announced a new attempt at striking a conversation. Just as she had attempted at his flat, before the mercs' attack.
"Did you kill dem, de... de mucks."
Her voice had been even and soft, tame but not subservient; giving him no excuse to overcome the healing inactivity he had allowed his body to fall into.
She breathed out, almost unnoticeably, and the colour receded. Hugging herself against a shiver that made her entire body quiver, she set her jaws and glanced around her for a moment. There was a slight hint of resignation when she asked if he wanted her to do something.
He narrowed his eyes, studying the woman's face more closely, listening to the slowing heartbeat; and an odd thought popped into his still shrouded mind. He weighed it lazily, critically, and decided it might make sense. A lethargic grin pulled his mouth sideways, revealing one of his sharp fangs. The pupils of the girl's eyes focused on it and she inhaled guardedly, her heartbeat rebelling only faintly against her soothing intents.
His mood, sailing on the instability of the drugs in his system, steered away from stormy waters into a pool of mischievousness. He moved his head to the side, so that they could fully gaze into eachother's eyes without effort, and gave her his undivided attention. His gaze noted the diminute green spots within the browness of her eyes; the naturally thick, curly eyelashes; the deep, lightly arching eye-brows; the long, wavy hair; the big Hispanic nose; the reddish lips on the wide mouth; the stubborn curve of the jaw, set decidedly against the shivering that unsuccessfully tried to make her teeth clatter; the slender aristocratic neck; the publicly hunched shoulders now so privately straightened; the goosebumps peeping from under her wet clothes; her small breasts soberly visible under the drenched pullover; the deepening breathing that produced a pleasant swaying of those unassuming breasts. He returned his gaze to her eyes, suspicious and stubbornly guarded. Wetting his lips, he leaned towards her without breaking eye contact, stopping mere inches from her face. She seemed to have been transformed into a barely breathing statue.
Leaning a bit more forward, he broke eye contact and stopped with his lips at half an inch from her ear. She was scarcely breathing and he grinned, though she couldn't see it. He breathed in her scent, the black hair tickling his nose, and easily pierced through the unconvincing perfume of the Turtle Creek. It was unmistakenly feminine and intricate, a mix of hormones undisguised by aggressive perfumed products.
"Cold, much?" He nearly purred, and was rewarded with a shiver that shook her entire body, nearly causing their faces to touch. But she drew a sharp breath and strove to steady herself.
Intent on getting a stronger reaction, he dove deeper into her hair, though never risking skin contact. He quickly went over some light provocation that would snap her out of immobility. "Ya gonna feel so much worse when I starts teachin' ya how ta swim."
He had never thought of it before, but if he had, it would have been clear from the start that knowing how to swim was probably more important than knowing how to fight. So even as the girl held her breath, Creed decided he was going to teach her how to swim. How hard could it be? He'd just throw her in until she picked it up.
"I don't swim," her voice had been quiet but hard and Creed pulled himself back slightly, just so he could gaze into those stubborn eyes.
"Which is why ya gonna learn." He let himself be mesmerised by the provocative contractions of the black pupils. She held both his gaze and his proximity, obstinacy normalising her heartbeat and annulling all the colour that had crept onto her face.
"I, don't, swim," she breathed out, unaware of how teasing her determined whispered voice was.
He wet his lips and pushed forward, the tip of his nose actually brushing against her ear. He dropped the playfulness, though, his mood veering from the placid pool it had been at and into deeper waters. "Don't provoke me."
Her lips had opened slightly when he started backing away, and the reaction he had wanted materialised when her hand caught his arm. It was cold – he could feel it through his own wet clothes – but it seemed to burn with electric current.
"You provoke me..." a light hesitation, a muscle twitching a second thought, "I... just say a fact."
He snarled, his mood reaching dangerously deep waters now he had overcome his previous immobility, and she took a deep breath as the colour flushed onto her cheeks. She quickly looked away and tried to hug herself into warmth or dryness. Whether she had done intentionally or not, the motion avoided the need for the snarl to become a slap or worse.
"I've had enough of ya goin' nuts whenever I needs t'dive. Ya're gonna learn t'swim... the easy or the hard way, s'all the same fer me."
She looked up at him. Her eyes were moist but there didn't seem to be any threats of tears.
"I don't need to know swim. I go to Wausau, after I go get de guitar; I go to Wausau and I don't leave again. I don't stay in your way again... never." Her voice was even and quiet, unfaltering; and the promise of staying out of his way, which he knew she'd keep, steadied him against the irritation of seeing his decision opposed. "And I don't need to know swim. Tal como... like you don't need to know clean de house or clodes, or know cook. Is de same."
He narrowed his eyes and a hand captured her chin. The feel of her skin was cold and electric and he fancied she felt the same electricity. "Ya're afraid o' the water. So ya runs away from it... it ain't 'cause ya need or don't need t'learn. It's just ya actin' like a coward..."
The moist in her eyes intensified and even her breathing quivered, but again she strove to control body and emotions.
"I don't need t'know how ta cook. But I can cook if I wants to, or if I needs to. I can keep a house in good condition, if I choose to. I can do the laundry and the dishes. I can even sew... make clothes an' shoes fer myself. I can do it, if I have to. And believe me, girl, I do it every time I wants t'get away from this hell of a world. Ya know why? 'Cause I don't depend on no one. 'Cause t'depend on somebody is ta sign yer own death sentence. And if ya wanna depend on me t'save yer ass every time a swim is in order..."
He paused. As hard as she clenched her jaws, she couldn't keep the shivering from shaking her frozen muscles anymore. It was good she wasn't suppressing it anyway; her body wanted to shiver for a reason. The moist was still there, but her gaze was also calm and her body had fully given into his strong grip on her chin, offering no resistance.
"Why're ya tryin' t'act like a coward whimp when I knows ya're better 'an that, girl?"
She shuddered and blinked. "I... I don't want to depend..."
"Good," and he felt particularly good that she had given in so easily. "It's very important that ya're able t'be an independent woman when I ain't around, Irbis. If I got t'keep savin' yer life, I might as well get rid of ya. Yer services just ain't that good."
But then she swallowed. "I don't need to swim to be independent."
From her chin, his hand was suddenly on her throat and the grip had become a vice. "I've warned ya before: don't provoke me."
She didn't say a word. She didn't have to: her eyes told him she would stand by her decision. He threw her against the door, breaking eye contact, and she was careful not to look up again. However, her face showed some degree of contriction that probably saved her life. That and the ambulance speeding up the street, which caught Creed's attention and reminded him there was much to be done before the night was over. Quietly, Creed pulled the seat belt. There was no sense in calling attention over petty infractions while on the hunt. Irbis showed her intelligence – wasted on such a coward who wouldn't even try to overcome her fears – by imitating him even before he could start the engine.
Soon he stopped by a hotel, Summerfield, where he had only stayed once, many years ago, before getting his apartment. As he stopped, he handed over to Irbis a bunch of soaked bank notes.
"Get a room. If anyone asks anythin' over ya bein' soakin' wet, just say ya fell in the swimmin' pool an' don't add any details. An' don't go nowhere!"
"Yes, Mister Creed." Her voice was soft but strong and she quickly unbuckled. As she opened the door, though, she hesitated. "Do I get food to you eat after de fight wid de mucks?"
"Mercs," he corrected irritably. "No. I intend t'have a bloody feast tonight."
