Okay, so this chapter (or at least the third part on) was more of a 'deleted scene' or a one shot type of chapter but I really liked it for this fic and decided to use it. So here it is, "The (Long Awaited) Bar Fight." I've always wanted to be in one...

P.s. I own nothing but my words and OC's. Enjoy;D

Chapter 21: The (Long Awaited) Bar Fight

"Well," The Spectre croons, masked in shadow but there all the same. "Looks like you really fucked that one up!"

" 'Me?!' " I exclaim, following along silently as Iron Helm starts to leave. How is it my fault that Azazel got captured?! " 'He's the one who—' " My thoughts come to a screeching halt when I see Ghost dart out of Tarina's lounge and slink between Ironhelm's legs, winding himself through the mercenaries'' legs like a slinky. Rory pauses and for a moment, I fear he'll kill my cat. But then, much to my shock and relief, he stoops down, the protective layer of metal peeling back from his hand automatically, and gives the cat a gentle scratch behind the ears, murmuring softly, "Well, hello there, kitty. "

At first, Ghost glares at him through venemous eyes. Then, the damned feline purrs and leaps right into the mercernaries arms!

Rory chuckles and walks out, kitty in tow. I swear the cat-bastard looked right at me when they passed by!

" 'Traitor!' " Is my enraged (and somewhat hurt) cry.

Really! You think you know a cat...

I almost completely lose it when I hear the Spectre say gloatingly, "Now, now don't take it out on that cat! You are the one who ditched him, aren't you?" Ignoring the Mutant, I continue to follow Iron Helm out but I already know where they're going. The question is: where am I going? I sigh inwardly, asking weakly, " 'Why do you insist on torturing me?' "

"Because it's fun." The Spectre replies right off the bat, darting in front of me and blocking my path in a wall of mist. "And because you need me to.' "

I stop, crossing my arms broodingly, " 'And how the hell do you figure that?' "

The Spectre examines her nails, "Let's face it, you don't have the best track record for decision making." The pang of anger that surges through goes deeper than just a standard insult. It renders me silent and rivets through my bones like a bullet, ricocheting repeatedly between my gut and my chest. The Spectre, ignorant of my pain, continues on to say haughtily, "Admit it, you need me."

I roll my eyes, shaking off the unease and replacing it with some good, old-fashioned sarcasm, "Love it when people try to tell me what I need." I pause, remembering something similar that Creed once said: 'Love it when women act like they've never seen it before...'

Victor...

Maybe—

"You're getting another bad idea." The Spectre warns, derailing my train of thought. "I can see it already."

" 'Says a figment of my imagination...' " Is my heated, somewhat embarrassed, retort.

Now it's the Spectre's turn to be indignant, "I am not!"

" 'How do I know? You won't even show your face! I don't even know your name!' "

Adopting a more masculine look, the Spectre crosses his arms with a huffy, "You know I can't tell you that—"

" 'But you can ask me to trust you with my life...' " I finish, realizing I've lost Iron Helm. Also realizing that I really don't care. I know where they're going. I groan, " 'I need a drink.' "

"Sure, why not?" Is the sarcastic response I receive. "Let's hit up a pub. Lure them right to you."

" 'I was joking.' " I grumble, checking that my adrenaline syringes are still in my possession. Check. Might need that later. " 'Christ, you're worse than, Logan!' " I clap my hands together silently, trying to plot out my next move, but there's only one option left. " 'Alright, the prison it is.' "

The Spectre heaves a huge sigh, leaning against a wall as he blends further into the shadows, "You really are hopeless, aren't you?"

I groan, peeved and growing more and more impatient by the second, "What now?" I bark aloud, figuring it's safe to speak.

"Surely by now Erik has made just a bit more progress on his Mutant prisons, don't you think?" The Spectre replies, as if he shouldn't have to explain all this. "Especially where ghost-people such as myself are concerned?"

My eyes widen, realizing he's got a point. Erik has only gotten smarter over the years. It would make sense for him to cover his ass where Mutants like me and Kitty Pryde are concerned. "Fuck!" I curse, then hurriedly back track, trying to convince myself I can do this, "But I've gotten through security systems like that before!" Electricity is difficult to bypass but, with a forcefield, I can safely get through them. However, the last time I did that, it shorted out everything else in sight, making a huge mess and a hell of a lot of noise. But what did I expect? In all likelihood, I'm not getting away with this easily.

May as well make a scene.

Resolved, I fluff out my jacket across my shoulders and secure the sleeves over my Harpoon cuffs to better conceal them, "Let's go." I say, hurrying to catch up to Iron Helm, but I feel a remarkably solid hand on my arm and give pause to look into the Spectre's mysterious face, shrouded in ambiguity and shadow.

His tone becomes strange, uncertain, hesitant, " 'O-on second thought," He stutters, "Maybe we shouldn't."

I perk a brow, "We?"

"Okay, you." The Spectre drifts far there away, pausing in front of the large mirrors of the dance studio to observe his reflection, twisting his body this way and that so it distorts chaotically in the mirror as he speaks, "They'll be expecting you to go now. Let them sweat it out a bit. They won't be expecting you then."

I pause, considering this. This is a lot to take in. I'm just not sure what move to make now! "What do you suggest?"

" 'Well, you did say something about a bar. How about we stick around, get gussied up with whatever ol' faithfuls' got, and hit the club?' "

"Hit the club," I repeat incredulously. "Who are you?"

"Your worst nightmare." When I give him a funny look, he says, "No really. They call me Nightmare."

"Not very reassuring. But...you may be right. I need to get my head together anyway."

This was not the right way to get my head together.

There are too many people here and I feel like I'm being stared at. The smell of smoke and sweat and bad intentions are making me feel nauseous and it doesn't help that my adrenaline has all-but petered out, leaving me feeling pretty shitty. That and I can't seem to keep my hands off this damned bottle. The nights' special, I guess: Midnight Blue.

It doesn't help that the Spectre has completely bailed on me.

Or that I'm not entirely sure if s/he even exists at this point.

Or that there's a lone shark eyeing me from the back of the bar.

Last time I listen to my hallucinations...

I glance around. The bar, named after Genosha's founding father, Magma, is purposely dank, carrying a heavy air of perpetual moody lighting, shabby modern/western-like furniture, and a distinctly Indian vibe with it. Not to mention the complete low lives that spend most of their nights in the back rooms. As you might have guessed—

I spend a lot of time here.

I hear the sound of footsteps moving towards me and glance over my shoulder a bit to see one of the lone sharks' goons marching up to me. I curse Nightmare under my breath. So they did recognize me. So much for my disguise! Although a black, low-cut, long-sleeved shirt with my leather jacket on top (that I have since shrugged off under the heat of the lamps illuminating the bar area) and a pair of blue jeans isn't exactly not my style, I suppose. That and I really didn't do anything to my face and hair so, yeah, I can see how they spotted me.

Man, I suck at this!

Emma was right. I should have just let her pick me up, enlisted in the X-Men's help on this one but I was so sure I could do this on my own! That and I thought I had the Spec—I mean, Nightmare to cover my ass for me. Boy, was I mistaken on that one! I should probably ask for her help now but I already told her to give me 24 hours and then I'd check in with her again. I haven't made my move on the prison yet, so I guess I shouldn't give it up all together just yet.

Just gotta deal with this asshole...

"You got some nerve, girly," The goonie says once she reaches me, leaning over my right shoulder so her swampy breath carries directly into the air I breathe. That must be Puck... "Comin' back here again after what you did."

Ignoring her, I focus instead on the beer bottle sitting harmlessly in front of me. I slide it between my hands, the perspiration from the glass making the table all slippery; leaving a trail of sparkling, rainbow-colored water wherever the bottle glides. A pretty contrast to such an ugly sight. This woman, Puck, looks more like a giant leaf than anything, with green skin, and blue and red veins running all throughout her body. Her eyes are large and completely black, even the irises. Her teeth are razor sharp, making her look like a demented sprite.

I should just leave.

But I don't want to.

I'm mad. I'm frustrated. I'm slightly drunk.

And I'm looking for a fight.

"You know," She rasps, his voice sounding like she's been permanently submerged under water. God, she smells like a fucking salad! "My buddy almost lost an eye after that. All because you had to go poking your nose where it doesn't belong. And now," She places a fist down on the counter in front of me, leering over me with a creepy grin, "It's payback time." Her veins start to wriggle and writhe on her skin. Those veins, I know, can come alive and strike independently from their master. That's because they aren't veins; anymore than Angel's winged tattoos where just that. I really should go. It's already nightfall and I've wasting enough time as it is.

Time to rescue the demon monkey.

As I start to get up, I glance up at the bartender, a Mutant made entirely of stained glass, who looks at me uncertainly, touching the phone lightly with one hand, but I wave him off, rolling my eyes. These guys are hardly a threat. They sent one lady over to threaten me, for Christ's sake!

And besides, I'd rather not have any of Magneto's cronies coming after me before I'm ready to face them.

"Hey, you listenin' to me!?" Puck shouts at me as put down money for my drink. She suddenly grabs me by the wrist with a moist hand, sending a few bills to the ground, and turns me to her, growling through yellow, filed teeth, "I said it's payback time. So pay up!" I glower at her, my eyes glowing violet under the hazy light of the tavern, and she grins, finally having my full attention.

It doesn't last.

Something else just came up.

All I see is a rough hand come up over Puck's face before she's throw back with an ack!, slamming into a table so hard it splinters and sends the people who were sitting at it running. And then, Creed is there, taking a seat beside me, muttering, "You can thank me later." I watch, vaguely annoyed, as he takes hold of my bottle, chugs the rest of it, and turns, cocking back his arm, and propels it at the group of men who'd sent Puck over. Glass shatters in the distance. An uproar, but no attack, follows.

"Thanks." I mutter as I sit back down, glancing up at him, taking in the mysterious cowboy look with a vague sense of interest (maybe even arousal) but I make no indication of either. There is no way that's happening again. Probably. "But I could've handled it myself." I quip. "And you're welcome." I add pointedly, gesturing to the bartender for a new drink, seeing as mine has already made its way down Creed's throat. The bartender gives us a reprehensive look, but, taking in Creed's size and threatening demeanor, changes his mind. Sexist bastard…

"Hm." He grunts in response as the bartender slides me a new bottle, then asks disinterestedly, "What'd he want from you anyway?"

"She." I correct, rolling my eyes at the surprised grunt he gives at the revelation, "And you heard her," Super Human hearing? Kinda hard not to. "I busted her and her buddies trying to start a drug ring here in Genosha. I put a stop to that before it could even begin. The big guy over there with the big ugly face nearly took me down with them." I toy with my bottle a bit, wondering when would be a good time to bring up the reason for my return, as Victor casually glances over his shoulder, checking the man the size of a house out, before turning back with a snort, probably already thinking he can take him.

Big Ollie, that lone shark I was talking about earlier, is just that—He's big. His shoulders are broader than my body upper body is long and his jaw looks like a slab of stone that someone stuck on his face with silly glue. He wears a suit that makes him look like an upside down triangle and his hair is relatively short but so gelled back that it looks like a sheet of orange paper. Not a pretty sight.

"The fucker broke my jaw the first time I confronted him." I say grimly, another reason why I haven't quite left yet. It was the first time Erik ever put me on the streets instead of a boat and it was almost my last. I had to work twice as hard to earn back my credibility. Meaning I had to practically take down the growing drug ring on my own just to heal my injured pride. I succeeded. And almost died in the process.

Domino and I really bonded over that mission.

In fact, she saved my life that day.

I chug the rest of my drink down then set down the bottle with a hollow clack, head buzzing slightly when I say, "Puck's right about one thing—" My stool screeches as I stand, hands and eyes glowing dangerously, "It's payback time."

Aka, 'it's time to do something stupid' time!

Ditching my jacket and my case at the counter, I stride over, ignoring the worried, nervous, and more-commonly amused looks I get from other customers having a drink and a laugh, and stop before Big Ollie's darkly-lit, smoke-infested table, snapping sharply, "Hey!" He looks up at me, feigning disinterest, but the psychotic glint in his eye tells me this is exactly what he was looking for. Confrontation. That makes two of us. Puck (face and ego still bruised from earlier) and a few others hover around him, waiting for their Boss's command. I sway slightly on my feet, barking, "You had something you wanted to say?"

Big Ollie stands, nearly toppling the table under his massive weight, and I watch as his big, ugly jaw twists into an uglier grin, "You gotta lotta nerve comin' over here." He leans forward, getting his stupid mug all up in my face and says, "Maybe I oughta break more than that pretty little jaw a' yers again. Shut you right up for good this time."

Ignoring the stupid laughter of his comrades, I lay a hand over his mouth (where a finger might have sufficed with any normal-sized man), pushing him back, and ask flatly, "But then how would you enjoy my comp'ny?"

Shit, almost hiccupped on that one!

The humorless question sends an uproar of laughter among Big O's men. I let it sink in, allowing my anger to grow, as Ollie sits back down with the dismissive wave of his hand, "Bring her to me alive." He mumbles to his girls and boys, taking up a drink as if he'd just sent them out to run errands. "Leave her face for me."

The screeching of chairs fills the tavern. A few people get up and leave, like they probably should. But others just sit back and watch as Ollie's men move to stand before me threateningly with scattered, "Yes, sir!" 's. I just stand back, excited at the prospect of my very first bar fight, and wait for the first blow, which passes right through my chest and slams into Sabretooth's with an audible crack.

I hadn't even heard him come up.

At the sound of the man's screams, even more people leave, but others stand, shouting and egging Ollie's men on, wanting to join in on the fun. Naturally, the odds are against us. As we become surrounded, Creed and I end up back to back, and I survey the room, trying to pick out the biggest threats as I mutter, "Should've guessed you'd want in on the action."

He chuckles low in his throat, lifting one, long arm to tug his cowboy hat down before letting it fall back to his side, braced for a fight and yet somehow relaxed at the same time, "Could never resist a bar fight—"

A Mutant with spiky, barb-like hair charges for Creed head-first, but a quick kick to the middle is enough to send him flying. Before I can shout my 'no killing' rule to Sabretooth, however, two men come at me at once, but I flash my blades faster than they can realize I have them, and I catch the first man in the arm with the razor's edge and the other across the face with the flat of my blade. The second man falls into Creeds' path, and is immediately snatched by the collar and sent flying into the crowd with a tremendous crash.

It's on.

Super-powered Mutants and otherwise alike attack with full force, but the problem with a simultaneous attack is that you stand the risk of unnecessary friendly fire. Most of the Mutants that fall tonight are taken down by their own peers. The others are dispatched just as easily. I ditch my broad swords early on (realizing they could cause more damage than I'm looking to do) to instead rely on my throwing knives, mace, and fighting skills to get the job done. This combined with my intangibility and plasma blasts, as well as Creed's most helpful aid make this an incredibly unfair fight.

Like I care at the moment.

I'm having way too much fun!

I catch one man's arm mid-hook and shift his weight to my right side, sending him rolling to the floor with his arm still trapped under mine. I give my body a sharp twist, letting my weight fall to one knee, and break his arm without a second thought. That should keep him busy for a while. Squinting in the suddenly too-bright light of the tavern, I see that Creed might be in trouble—due to the fact that he's got ten Mutants firing their biological weapons at him all at once—and I phase through Ollie's remaining goons, and send out one of my electric harpoons, which catches a creature with dragon-like scales and heavily-toothed mouths-for-hands in the back and send him (or her) crumbling to the ground with a terrible screech.

Moving quickly, I mace a second beast (one with tentacles protruding all over her body) right in the face and beat another across the face and once on the back with my nightstick. Three down, seven more—wait, scratch that—four more to go. I move to help Creed fight them off even though he seems to be doing a pretty good job of that himself, but stop, upon realizing this, and instead give pause to watch the master at work.

I lazily perch on the counter of the bar, where the tender is still hiding, praying it'll be over, and snatch one of the bottles from behind the desk and take a huge sip. I note, immediately, that he hasn't killed anyone. Strange. Seeing as he loves to kill.

Just like Azazel.

Apparently.

I take another swig, quickly uncapping a syringe from the box that I'd been forced to leave at the counter when the fighting began, and punch it into my leg. Immediately, I feel its affects begin to work and I groan, already feeling better about this whole situation. This is fun, remember? Op!—almost fell off the counter again!

I return to watching Creed wrestle with the remaining Mutants assaulting him and find it immensely fascinating that Creed never loses his hat once during the fight. In fact, he seems intent on not letting go of that sucker even if it means taking a blow to the ribs just to keep it from flying off. Which he does.

He grunts, doubling over as the burn wound in his side begins to heal itself, and tosses me a glare, growling angrily, "You gonna just sit there or what?"

"What?" Is my automatic response, then I give a laugh, as if just noticing the three guys still trying to take him down. "Oh yeah, hold on!" I hop off the table, bottle in hand and bust it over one guys head with a deafening crash, stumbling back from the force of the blow with a stupid giggle. Having just finished dispatching the other two morons (but not killing them), Creed marches over to me, hoisting me up from the table I just fell against with an annoyed grunt, but I shake him off, slurring irritably, "I got it!" I lift a finger, pressing it against his chest since I'm too short to reach his lips, my vision going a bit hazy for a moment, before saying in a more hushed tone, "I got it."

Oh, God. I think I'm drunk.

And high off adrenaline.

Not a good combination.

"Oooookay," I breathe with the clap of my hands, looking around the trashed tavern for Fat Ass and his goons. "Where-where's Ollie?" I ask. He's not in the tavern. But there's no way that big oaf made it out of here without one of us noticing. There are, however, back rooms where people go to (what else?) have sex, meet shady people, and do drugs, and—after retrieving my jacket from the counter, I take off for it immediately, intent on giving this guy the what-for.

I phase through the back door but stop, feeling like I'm forgetting something. Then, when the handle jiggles a bit, but doesn't open, I realize that something is Creed. It looks like the door knob has been squashed! I poke my head back through the door to find him preparing to kick the door down and I groan, grabbing him by the front of the shirt, and tug him through, saying, "C'mon! I think I'm gonna need you on this one." I'd really rather not have a repeat of last time, thank you.

I'm pretty sure I said that in my head...

We follow the path through a remarkably smallish hallway and I move to try one of the doors lining said hallway, but Creed just latches onto my upper arm and continues on down the hall, dragging me along in spite of my whining, incessant tripping over my own feet and nonsensical insults, "Dude, seriously? Like, what's your problem? Seriously…" If I weren't so drunk, I'd probably realize that he can smell the big dolt with his super-smell, or whatever.

We finally catch up to them; for, as I said before, the hallway was quite smallish, making it difficult for Big Ollie to squeeze his big ass through and out the back in time even turned sideways! The second he sees us, however, he gets to bookin' real fast, and just starts busting through the walls to get out, leaving debris and screaming druggies in his wake. His remaining buddies (the guy with the broken arm and Puck) cover him, heading our way nervously, but their fear of their boss outweighs their fear of us.

For now.

I run past Creed, leaving him to deal with them, then take a running leap for Ollie, supercharged with pent of anger and chemically-induced energy, and phase him through the exit and out into the alley leading out of the pub. I scramble to my feet, slipping on snow and ice, and climb on his chest while he's still trying to figure out how to get up, and phase his shoulders into the ground (careful not to phase him through it if that makes sense), holding him steady so I can land a super-charged series of blows on his face.

Unfortunately, my reaction time has been slowed in spite of my adrenaline rush—no thanks to the previous dose(s) of alcohol running rampant through my system—and Ollie breaks through the gravel and catches me by the shoulders with his meaty, car-door-sized hands before I have the chance to phase away. Gripping me painfully, he rolls over onto me, sending me sinking deep into the snow. Grinning triumphantly, Big Ollie places a firm hand over my chest, his fingers curling over my shoulders, and starts to push down on me. Given enough pressure, he can capsize my entire rib cage, crushing me to bits.

A scream of pain escapes my lips, but at the same time, my hand curls around my mace once more and I squeeze my eyes shut, turning my face away as I spray up into his face. But he still doesn't let go. He somehow managed to close his pillow-like eyelids and blocked out the spray before it could get in his eyes! He wipes at his eyes with one hand, the palm of his other hand still limiting my breath, but before I can start to panic (sobering up faster than I would have cared to), I manage to focus and phase out of his grip. I move back rapidly, one hand raised and powering up with violet light, preparing to energy blast his ass down the street, but, before I get the chance, Victor appears out of nowhere, claws flaring and teeth flashing, and plunges said claws into Ollie's fat neck.

The would-be drug lord gives a scream and reaches up a massive hand where it closes around Creed's upper body and sends him hurtling towards me. Instincts and pure adrenaline take over, and I somehow manage to put up a shield in time before Creed can flatten me with his weight. But the force of his weight hitting my shield sends us both sailing backward and into the snow. I let the shield drop, panting heavily with Creed doing the same before me—having landed right between my legs in the snow—and just as Ollie takes a running start towards us, I thrust my arm over Creed's shoulder and send an energy blast exploding right in Ollie's face. Momentarily blind, the behemoth rears, shouting with rage and pain, but two, electrified harpoons to the chest are enough to take him down completely, leaving Big Ollie lying face down and steaming in the snow.

I breathe a shaky laugh, severing the wires on my harpoons and letting my arms fall while Creed leans back against me, both of us relieved to have taken him down. I had to seriously jack up the voltage on those harpoons to knock that beastie out. "I win." I pant, pressing a hand to my aching chest before getting up, phasing through Creed with a slight limp in my step. I must have twisted my ankle wrong when I saved Creed (and myself by default). That is not gonna help with the up coming battle...

"You gotta funny way of saying "nearly got creamed"." Grunts Victor, dusting himself off and readjusting his hat. Still managed to keep it on, even after all that. Unbelievable! "The hell where you thinking going after that guy?!"

"I don't know," I mumble, pressing a hand into my forehead, which has begun to pound. Seemed like a good idea at the time. I sigh heavily, saying, "According to Genoshan law, he's already served his time. But he never got charged for busting my jaw due to a 'lack of evidence.'" I sigh angrily, then say, "You call it "nearly getting creamed,"" I give him a faint, somewhat-cocky smirk. "I call it justice."

He starts toward me, blue eyes glinting in the streetlight, and says firmly, "I call it stupid." He begins to smirk but, curiously, gives a sniff and comes to an abrupt halt. I frown as his mouth molds into a deep scowl and he asks in a less-than friendly—if not downright harsh—tone, "The fuck are you doing out here anyway?"

I raise my eyebrows in surprise, blinking with an incensed scoff, then shake my head with a faint, quipped, "Nice to see you, too." What is it with these boys and constantly flip-flopping between helping you and yelling at you? Love and hate? I'm getting whiplash over here!

I pat my jacket with my hands, realizing I've lost my case again, and hunt for it in the snow, saying angrily, "If you must know, I'm looking for a friend. A couple of them actually. Magneto didn't exactly approve of my vacation time, as it were." Spotting the black case in the snow, I snatch it up and re-clip it onto the strap of my sheaths, currently housing my broad swords. It's clunky and not at all safe, but I can't risk carrying them around anymore and losing them. I straighten and meet Victor's eye with a tired sigh, "He's got them. All of them. If I don't turn myself over..."

I shake my head again, realizing he probably doesn't care. "Anyway, I'm headed there now. Thanks for the help back there," I allow him a small smile, "Victor."

I start to head out, throwing my hair back up in a high pony tail as I do, and I'm about to step out of the dark alley I just came from—having just plotted out my route to Magneto's prison—when I feel a clawed hand grasp my forearm, halting me. Victor steps partially out of the shadows, eyes reflecting green in the dim light, "You don't wanna go that way." He growls vaguely, ominously.

"Oh?" I ask, trying hard to hide how glad I am that he's actually gonna help me on this. With that sense of smell and those tracking skills, I might be able to help my friends before Erik knows it after all! "And I don't suppose you've discovered a better way in the grand total of—what—three days you've been here?"

He shrugs, "Had a look around. Nothin' better to do."

"Uh-huh." Is my equally short response. "Well then?" I ask when he hesitates to speak. He lets out his breath uneasily and distances himself from me a bit (Do I smell or something?) before muttering, "Theres' a cliff-side entrance that leads to the prison underground. Kinda like Sinister's Labs. Was out for a walk and could smell 'em all huddled up down there. They don't have too much security what with the cliffs."

"Perfect." I murmur. Just like Alcatraz. The rocky waters would make any escapee think twice before a break out—

My thoughts come to a stop when I find him staring at me, strangely grim, and open my mouth to ask what's eating him. But I hesitate. Maybe things are just weird because of our, ahh, last stand (bad-dum tsss). Or maybe I'm just reading too much into it. He's agreeing to help me after all. That's got to count for something.

Shoving back the unease that ebbs into my subconscious like a warning flare in an enclosed box, I gesture for him to take point, "Lead the way."

Wanna read the original chapter? Private message me or else I shall see you all on the next chapter. Until next time!

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