Attention, all Creed/Train fans! I come with good tidings!
Two fellow ficcers and reviewers Creed'sRose and reychop both created a Creed/Train fan site entitled A Cat's Blooming Rose. Since I'm not sure if a link will work on this site, I would recommend simply typing in "A Cat's Blooming Rose" or "Creed/Train yaoi" to find it.
(Bows to them both) Thank you, Creed'sRose and reychop. I will presently be prowling the site, grinning like a maniac!
Disclaimer: I don't own Black Cat, only this plot.
Chapter Thirty-Five: Do ut des
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"Do you like it?" Train asked, pointing at the kitchen table.
"…You did all this in an hour?" Creed asked, checking the date on the champagne bottle. 1923…a very good year. Impressive.
"I'm glad you slept in these past few days," Train answered coolly, sitting down opposite Creed and pouring a glass of champagne for him. "It made planning this pretty easy."
The candles flickered softly as the rain continued to fall outside.
"How very crafty of you." Creed couldn't help but grin.
He picked up his fork and took a bite of the delicious-looking dessert in front of him—a delicate-looking, cream covered specimen with caramel nestled in between the rich layers of cake.
"What can I say? I'm your partner."
Creed looked up at Train, who was smiling calmly at him, staring through the bubbles in his glass of champagne.
The rain continued to fall.
"What're we celebrating, might I ask?" Creed suddenly felt wary.
"Nothing in particular." Train's tone was too casual for someone who had only a short hour ago shown a great deal of passive-aggressive attitude. "Is the dessert good?"
"Yes." Creed smiled and took another bite. "Did you make it yourself?"
Train laughed, and Creed couldn't help but join in. "You know me better than that! No, I bought it at a bakery downtown."
Soon they began talking about the new book Creed had picked up that day—an annotated copy of Milton's work—and Creed found himself relaxing into the champagne and soft candlelight.
The phone rang.
"I'll get it," Train said, getting up from the table quickly and grabbing the phone. "Hello? Hmm? Oh"—Train's eyebrows rose, then lowered ominously—"Miss Sepheria. Yeah, we're doing fine. Things will start to quiet down soon, trust me."
Creed smiled slightly.
"So, you must have called for some reason." Train's voice lost its faux-friendly tone—not that it had been very believable to begin with.
Train rested the phone against his shoulder, scratching his neck in an irritated fashion while listening intently. The candlelight fell across his form, illuminating him in a warm, orange light. His eyes dimmed slightly as he listened to whatever Sepheria was saying on the other end of the line, performing a simple mantra of "Yeah" and "Okay" as he tapped his foot in soft rhythm against the carpet.
Creed felt that he could have watched that simple scene for many a day.
"We'll be there soon. How long do you think it'll take?" Train fell silent for a brief moment. "Right. Thanks."
He hung up, looking more than a little irritated.
"We've got a Mission, Creed."
Creed lowered his fork quietly, feeling the delicious food turn to grit in his mouth.
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This Mission is too simple, Creed thought, growling low in his throat as he sliced open yet another foolish guard. They're testing us.
The blood splattered across his face, warm and sticky, only to be wiped away an instant later. Train was well ahead of him, firing repeatedly in an endless war rhythm, racing toward their destination.
Creed sped to in front of Train. "Go on, Black Cat, I'll take care of these fools. You just do what you have to do." He smiled at Train's surprised expression. "What, you thought I'd let my partner get held up in traffic?"
Train shook his head and shrugged, racing onward, calling out "Thanks!" above the roar of gunfire.
Letting Train take the lead once more, Creed turned back to the remaining fools.
They were a sorry lot.
Creed bowed formally to the group of charging hellions. "A pleasure to meet you all. I am the Prince of Death…and this…" he gestured grandly, watching their eyes widen, "…Is the ballroom of Hell."
In a flash he was cutting them down, showered in hot blood and the fools' remains. He laughed at the sight of their faces breaking down into nothing but bloodied bone fragments and skin. He moved like a dancer, leaping over one to cut open another.
After the first group was finished, another arrived.
"My, my," Creed drawled, wiping the edge of his sword. "Persistent, aren't you?"
He continued on his graceful, murderous way.
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Eventually, Creed felt that things were growing a little ridiculous.
It seemed that their Target—bless his little heart—had decided to stock up on guards in the past few days. They never seemed to end. In fact, Creed had to admit to himself that even he was growing weary of the constant fighting.
The river of blood had begun to get slippery.
He was also beginning to see younger faces among the guards—as though they had been nabbed off the streets, and enlisted to fight for the Target.
Creed found himself hoping Train had located and located the Target, completing the Mission.
It wasn't that he was sick of the beautiful screams and blood, per se, it was more that there could be only so many to decorate a parlor.
And Train was nowhere to be found.
Creed tiredly sliced through another guard and continued on his way through the halls, pleased at least to see that Train's handiwork was everywhere.
A few bullet casings were scattered about, glinting beautifully in the moonlight as Creed picked a few of them up, enjoying the feel of their smooth cool texture against his fingertips. He casually stepped over the corpses, going so far as to lift one victim's chin almost delicately with his foot.
"Did a little cat scratch you?" he cooed to the corpse's sightless face. "Did you scream nice and loud for him?"
The corpse didn't answer…but someone else did.
"You sick freak!"
Creed whipped around to see a guard, black suit bloody and torn, pointing a gun at him from behind. The guard had removed his shoes, making his approach silent.
Good Eraser material, that one.
Creed jumped out of the way as the trigger was pulled—but unfortunately was clipped in the shoulder. He hissed as the guard prepared to fire again.
"You're stalling me!" he roared, side-stepping behind the nearest door as the next bullet whizzed past him.
"You killed my partner, you bastard!" the guard yelled back, his voice hoarse with emotion.
Creed felt his throat clench. He could understand the guard's pain. He wouldn't be able to control himself either if Train was killed.
Creed couldn't help but pity him.
But pity could be manipulated. And Creed had no desire to be manipulated by the enemy.
Several of the guard's bullets hit the lights above them, dousing them in darkness. Creed could hear the man's shallow, fearful breathing only a short distance from him.
…Which gave Creed an idea.
As quietly as a snake, Creed sneaked from behind the door, listening intently as the guard's breathing grew louder. He moved on all fours, his movements hardly a whisper. He felt around for a few moments until he found the edge of the guard's foot. Directly behind the man, and smiling in the darkness, he slowly stood up.
He pressed Kotetsu to the man's back.
"There you are," he whispered.
Suddenly the guard's gun slammed into his wounded shoulder, and Creed yelped, backing away from him instinctually. He hated being tired—his reflexes weren't anywhere near on par, and if he was wounded, and Train was in trouble…
Creed realized suddenly that he was beginning to panic.
"Get out of my way!" Creed snarled, lashing out at the guard with his good hand, Kotetsu gleaming wetly with the blood of the past fools who had dared to stand in his way.
The guard stumbled forward, taking Creed along with him.
Kotetsu flew out of Creed's hand, and he felt his heart sink.
That shouldn't have happened—
They crashed to the floor and began kicking and punching desperately, trying to break free of each other's hold.
The guard dealt Creed a solid blow in the solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him. As Creed's hold slackened, the guard aimed his gun at his face, grinning maliciously.
"It's nice to see you on the ground, helpless. I'm sure my partner would like it."
I'm going to die, Creed thought numbly. After seventeen years of living, scrounging, surviving, I'm going to die at the hands of a man I should have been able to kill easily.
I didn't even get to eat that dessert with Train properly.
Creed blindly reached for Kotetsu, wanting to at least go down with the guard's blood on his sword.
No such luck.
He found himself winking saucily up at the guard.
"Don't aim for my heart, now. It's not yours to claim."
The guard laughed savagely. "I'm not listening to you, rat. This is for my partner."
A gunshot rang in the air.
Creed stared in shock as the guard toppled forward, bleeding from the chest.
…What?
"Took the words right out of my mouth, rat."
Creed smiled gratefully as Train walked slowly over to him. Creed gingerly sat up, cradling his shoulder. Train was in even worse shape than he was—he was bleeding from several areas, his hair was matted against his head, and he had a particularly becoming black eye.
"Train…?" Creed said fearfully, as Train wearily tossed him his cell phone.
"Call Chronos," Train ground out, collapsing beside Creed. "Tell 'em we're done. And dessert's waiting."
Creed watched numbly as Train's eyes fluttered closed, and he hurriedly began to dial up Chronos, hoping that they wouldn't be too late…
But before the last numbers were punched in, the phone fell from his hand.
The last thing Creed heard was the clack of sandals against the marble floor.