A little more light, more like the sun flooding in, touching everything in it's path so gently and completely that there was no arguing with it. No shadows dare speak in it's path, aside from the shadow he cast as he stood in the center with his face pointed towards the window. Light played across his features, bringing the slightest of smiles, and for the moment he forgot to worry about other people, about memories or mirrors.
The moment was short lived, but not entirely without its own merit. Still, he shook off the thrall of the sunlight and turned back to the mirror that was cracked. He was starting to dread this, starting to dread seeing it happen all over again. But there was something more there, and he knew he had to find it.
He wasn't sure if it was his imagination, but the cracks didn't seem as deep or numbered. It was still fragmented, though.
The conversation ran through the same as it always did. He didn't need to listen to it; it was branded into his memory. But this time... this time there was a pause where there hadn't been before and it startled him.
Kneeling, he touched the glass, running a finger across the crack bisecting her face and leaving behind a thin line of red from where it cut. Taking only a second to make sure he wasn't being watched, he looked back, eyebrows drawn. "Why?"
The dead girl didn't answer him. Not that he really expected her to, but there had to be something he didn't remember. Something said or done, or even just a thought. Anything.
Repeating the question again, almost angrily, he tried to piece it together. He had so many memories that were broken or fragmented, or just lost, and he didn't have a clue of how to begin putting them back together. Professional telepaths had screwed with his mind to a point all he knew was his codename and his last name. It had taken years to even get this much back, and everything he had gotten back had always been dark and violent.
It couldn't have always been that way, though. There had to have been a good time in his life, if the full mirror carried any truths. But unlike the others, it was whole yet he still couldn't remember it. He tossed a glance in its direction before bowing his head and closing his eyes.
Birdy had been inside his head. She knew him as well as he knew himself, and as he looked at her dead reflection, he realized that she might have even known him better. She had been so good at piecing together his thoughts when they were getting dangerously frayed, and with a frown he thought that she would know how to fix the memories as well.
But she was gone, and he didn't know how to do it himself.
"You can't kill him! He might really be your son!"
"So?"
His head snapped up, and he looked at the mirror again with shock spreading across his face. What the fuck...?
"How will you ever know if you don't talk to him, huh?!"
Know what...? Practically falling over from the intensity that he was putting into the image in the mirror, he searched for what she could be referring to. Damn.... damn, blank slate...
The mirror went back to the line of conversation that he knew, and he almost howled at the frustration. He was so close to getting the memory all intact...
Days passed in the sort of monotony that could sap most people to unthinking droids, and it sure didn't do Victor a whole lot of good. He was usually an active creature, and to be penned up between the four walls of the cell was pretty much Hell. He had barely managed to escape before with some semblance of sanity, and to go from one prison to another, then back to the first was slowly killing him. He did what he could to relieve the mind-numbing boredom by exercising, trying to get back the mass of muscles he had before the Black Beast had grabbed him, but that would be a long way off.
Moving with the easy grace of an animal, his actions had a certain liquid quality. He thought sometimes in motion, as a man, and other times just moved on pure instinct, as an animal. Now was the movement of an animal, thoughtless and elegant all at once.
It was all he could do not to lose his mind. The isolation part wasn't nearly so bad as the lack of sunlight or any of the other small things that made life seem more bearable, even to an almost schizophrenic murderer. He clung hard to the grip he was working on getting more solidly in his mind, slowly taking the time to piece back together a life that had been fragmented for decades by memory implants, rages, and otherwise damaging happenings. He wanted his life back, badly enough that he was doing something he wouldn't have considered a year or two before, or even several years... he was working on it himself, patiently and diligently. Patience and perseverance were never his strong points; he was naturally short tempered and quick to flare. But he wanted it, and he fought tooth and claw to get it.
Hank stopped by nearly every evening, sometimes with coffee and sometimes with a beer or some other peace offering. Creed wouldn't admit it, but he looked forward to it. They talked on all subjects, both guarding their own secrets with a passion. Sometimes the Beast would try to pry, and Vic easily deflected it by throwing it back to him. On occasion they just sat in almost companionable silence, a rare thing for both given the company, and listened to the quiet.
On his usual nightly trip, which he made for reasons even he wasn't sure of, Hank stopped and watched Sabretooth in his full motion glory. That cell really was too small for him, the scientist noted, and thought he might ask the professor to find someplace bigger. Still, Creed made use of his space. He wasn't as agile as Hank was, but he still had a quality to how he moved, silently and gracefully. Even after a leap, claws catching the dim light, he landed without a whisper of sound. Beast shivered to himself, realizing just how efficient a killer the man was. No wonder he had so much blood on his hands.
Victor rounded out, coming up from a roll to a crouch, and turning a set of blazing green eyes to meet the cooler blue looking in. "Evenin'."
"Morning, technically," Hank corrected, stepping in and offering a bottle of some hard Canadian beer he had found in Logan's stash. He was sincerely hoping the small, feral man wouldn't notice the absence.
Creed stood smoothly, taking the bottle and looking at it with a faint smirk. "Been stealin' offa the runt, eh?"
"I won't tell if you won't." Beast chuckled, pulling a chair over from where it had been shoved out of the way and sitting down.
Vic flipped the top off with the flick of a claw, sitting down slowly himself. "Didn't see nothin'."
"Anything," Hank admonished, jokingly, and was rewarded with the bottle cap landing in his cup of coffee. "Three point shot."
"So my grammar sucks? Can't all be college educated."
Henry fished out the cap and set it aside. "Why not?"
Victor didn't even bother answering that. "Any word from baldy on when I'm gettin' shipped off ta the pen?"
Beast frowned, rubbing his eyes with one hand. He didn't even want to think about dealing with that on top of the hours on hours of research he had been doing, but he couldn't keep putting it off, either. "Still at my discretion, though I doubt I'll be able to claim keeping you under my care much longer."
"Kinda surprised it worked this long." Creed shrugged, nonchalantly, not letting it slip just how much anxiety the idea of being locked in prison for the rest of his life gave. "Why, Beast? Jus' fer the sake o' curiosity."
"Why haven't you ripped my throat out?" Hank asked back.
"Why haven't ya preached ta me 'bout how I should be repentin'?"
"Why haven't you played mindgames with me?"
Victor frowned. That would go on all night. "You first."
"Nope." Hank smiled slightly, countering the frown with a semi-disarming look. "You first, then I will."
Creed muttered, no small about of distaste in his tone, "'Cause ya act like ya give a flyin' fuck."
Beast chuckled softly, his deep, mellow voice coming from inside his massive chest. "Well, my answer would be because I do give a 'flyin' fuck'," he said, imitating Creed's voice on the phrase.
"Why?"
"If I knew that, oh champion of fundamental beliefs, I would be a wise man and able to charge for advice given." Hank grinned, wryly. "But I don't know, so I cannot answer that in good conscience."
"Fair 'nough." Victor raised an eyebrow. "Champion...?"
"Your name," Beast explained. "Victor... conqueror, winner, champion. Creed... a set of essential and fundamental, or basic beliefs."
"Yea?" Creed smirked to himself. "Sabretooth fits better."
"That it does," Hank replied, smiling faintly. "Your name's not that of a killer."
"Mommy an' daddy fucked up," Victor said, almost dismissively. "Big surprise there."
"Anything you'd like to share?"
"Nope."
Hank nodded, knowing that no amount of prying would get Creed to talk if he had his mind set not to. He found that the other man did talk, though, a good bit more than last time he had been there. Of course, last time he had seemed more angry and violent. Anymore it was hard to see him like that... Sabretooth was by no means tamed, but he was quite a bit more calm and observant. The glow might have been his downfall before, but he seemed more pieced together now, more in control. It was almost unsettling -- Creed in a lucid and cunning state was probably more dangerous than blindly raging. Nonetheless, he hadn't made a move yet against Hank, or Jean who brought him his food, though at times Beast caught a look the suggested he'd like nothing more. "Honestly, I think that you'll probably have another week here at most," the scientist admitted, watching the reactions.
The only thing that betrayed the taller man was a slight slumping in his shoulders. "Figured."
"I wish there was something else we could do, but given your past..." Hank gestured, not bothering to finish the sentence. He tried to sound somewhat reassuring, "You know, 'stone walls do not a prison make...'"
'''...Nor iron bars a cage.' Lovelace was a shithead if he bought inta that." Victor grumbled, leaning back against the wall. "A prison's a prison, whether it's iron an' stone or steel an' alien forcefields."
"It doesn't have to be. The mind can roam much further than the mere limitations of the body."
"Try spendin' half yer life in a prison an' tell me that."
Hank frowned. "You brought it onto yourself."
Creed rolled his eyes, then tossed Hank a dark look. "Yea, but that sure doesn't make it an appealin' prospect."
"I don't imagine it does." Beast stood after a moment, heading for the door. "I'll see if we can't move you somewhere larger, at least until you're remanded to the government."
Sabretooth sighed slightly, laying down and staring at the ceiling. He wasn't about to reply, and he noted McCoy's departure before turning back to his own thoughts.
For a creature who preferred to hunt in the night, he had a curious need for sunlight. A longing, desperate and from the depths of a soul held in shadow most of the time. He stood in the light from the window, shining so brightly now that a good part of the room was illuminated.
It felt good. It felt like freedom, reaching out from the other side to tease and coax, promising something better. Whether there was anything better was insignificant, but the promise was there, and that was enough for now. Something to strive for.
Breaking the subtle hypnosis, he turned and looked at the reflecting shards and silver. Frowning only briefly, he moved slowly to the mirror that was cracked, but not so cracked. The closer he got the more it sounded and showed, though all images he felt completely ambivalent about. One part wanting to forget, and the other part wanting to remember.
It spoke no more of its mysteries that day, but in a flash of insight, he looked to the other mirrors. So many of them, yet they still didn't represent an entire lifetime. Not a lifetime as long as his, anyway. Stepping quietly from one to the next, he came to the conclusion that those that were there were all fairly recent, aside from the single outcast and the ones of his childhood.
An inspiration worked in with the sun, and he picked one of them up, moving it to where it was closer to the next consecutive memory. Then he repeated the process, going on down the line until there were a good ten or fifteen in a row. They were chronologically ordered, carefully, and even as he finished placing them in that sequence, they shifted.
Watching with an almost innocent fascination, he knelt to one knee, head tilted. They were in motion, liquid and shining in the sun. Then...
....then they joined together.
The large mirror left began the entire sequence, literally days long, and he watched in rapt silence. There were things there he hadn't remembered, and he glanced to the mirror set aside.
A lot of work, but if he could pull it off, he might be able to find what was missing.
"Sabretooth."
Creed opened one eye, looking out through the forcefield with a slight smirk. "Phoenix."
Jean stepped in, her long red hair flowing around her almost unnaturally. There was no fear in her scent, he could tell that much unconsciously, and she looked like she would kick his ass if he so much as breathed wrong in her direction. "How are you?" she asked, conversationally.
"Whaddyou think?" Victor countered, sitting up but making no move to stand.
"Bitter, angry, charming as ever, and probably thinking of a way to escape." She set the tray down, turning back for the door.
"Ooooh, touche," he shot back. "Jus' like you, eh?"
She looked back over her shoulder, a sardonic grin crossing her face. "I'm not the one running, now, am I?"
"Ya sure 'bout that, Red?" Sabretooth leaned back, crossing his arms and regarding her.
Jean sighed, "Creed, I think we came to the conclusion last time that your mindgames aren't going to work on me. Save it for Hank."
"Who said I was playin' a mindgame?"
"Who said you weren't?"
"I did," he answered, mildly, though there was still a hint of arrogance in his voice. "Heard from furball that you vouched fer me ta the Prof. Mind if I ask why?"
"No, I don't mind," she said, stepping out and looking in with a semi-smug look. "Mind if I don't answer?"
Vic whistled in half-amusement, half-admiration. "Nah."
"Good!" And with a flip of her hair, she was gone.
Creed looked after her momentarily, then shook his head to himself. That woman was a mystery if there ever was one. Angel and devil all wrapped up in a pretty little package he wouldn't mind tearing into someday, though he doubted it would be worth the pain she could and would inflict. Her husband wasn't half the threat she was.
He picked up a piece of bread and munched on it halfheartedly, thinking about exactly what she said he had been... how to get out of the Mansion and far away from them and their high moral code. Whether he went back to Seattle and his usual profession as an assassin was still in the air, though he found he didn't long for it like he had before the whole ordeal had begun.
He perversely wished to meet up with Wolverine again, simply for the sake of yet another rematch. He probably wasn't up to par on strength, but he could move quickly enough and he was itching for motion outside of the daily exercising. Itching for a battle, even if Logan did walk out of it alive. He cast his thoughts back to other battles they had, smiling briefly at the memories. Sabretooth and Wolverine. Victor and Logan. At one time best friends, and now worst enemies. Sometimes he missed it when they weren't at each others throats. Most of the time, he didn't.
He remembered a little more than he had. Creed was slowly working on it, slowly working on putting it all together where it could be seen and accessed. A long process, to be sure; it would take more effort than he wanted to think about to undo a lifetime's worth of damage. But he wasn't giving up... not this time.
Frowning, he stood and paced the length of the cell. He had to get out of there if he was ever going to track down the leads he was getting. That cell was driving him stir-crazy. It was getting more and more difficult to fight back the urge to tackle Hank or Jean next time they appeared and force one of them to open the door. He might have, were he not so concerned with getting kicked to the government before absolutely necessary.
Once remanded to the feds, it would be a nightmare. He was deemed dangerous enough for maximum security, and insane enough to warrant restraints and sedation. If that happened... he shivered thinking about it. Thinking about years upon years drugged half out of his mind and at the mercy of some zit-faced prison guard made Vic about as uneasy as he could get. That wasn't life in any sense, and even locked in the X-Mansion was better. At least they served decent food sometimes.
Pacing a little more anxiously, he ran both hands through his hair. Stone walls indeed, and likely a bunch of big prison buddies more than willing to take advantage of a half-witted and restrained victim. Fuck, no... he had his taste of violation, and it would be with him until he was in the grave. To have to endure that humiliation again was enough to make him wish he was stupid enough to try suicide. But he didn't want to die, not without getting a fight out of it.
Two days later found Sabretooth so restless he was practically radiating anxiety and anger. Hank hadn't commented on it, though he had worried over it and leaned a little more on Xavier to grant a bigger cell. Eventually the Professor agreed, however reluctantly, and Beast went down with Phoenix to offer the good news. "Creed?"
Victor looked up from his tense pacing, having already heard and smelled them approaching. "Whaddya want?"
Hank frowned, watching the back and forth trek. "We're here to move you someplace bigger."
"Finally get th' hoverin' hypocrite ta agree?" Creed stopped pacing after a moment, still rigid through with pent-up energy.
"Watch it, buster," Jean said, scowling and keying in the code to drop the forcefield.
Sabretooth waited meekly enough, stepping out when the field was down and looking around. A subtle sniff told him that there were no other X-Men in the immediate vicinity, and that neither of them were scared, though Beast was his usual jittery self. He allowed them to escort, walking carefully to keep them from getting suspicious.
As they neared a branch in the labyrinth of hallways through the subbasements, Creed moved on instinct. He whirled, slamming a fist into Jean's head so swiftly that she didn't even have time to let out a startled cry. He turned again in a leap, landing on Hank who was shocked almost beyond words.
"Get me outta here," Victor whispered, pinning Hank's arms down with such adrenaline induced strength he was almost cutting off circulation to the furry wrists.
"I can't," Beast gasped, dismay running across his face at the betrayal he should have expected. Inwardly he cursed his own naivety, and Creed for using it so well. He closed his eyes, waiting for the rip of claw and fang.
Creed ground his teeth together in frustration. "Dammit, McCoy, I'm not gonna jus' let them lock me away fer the rest of my life. Now ya get me outta here, 'cause I don't have a problem tearin' yer head off."
Hank swallowed hard, hearing the note of pleading he doubted Sabretooth was even aware of. Forcing himself to take an even tone, he replied, "Think about what you're doing, Creed... think about it. There are so many security precautions between here and the outside world you would be dead before you even got to the ground floor."
"Know what? Yer right." Sabretooth stood abruptly, hauling Hank up by the collar of the labcoat. "Guess that means you an' me are goin' fer a walk, huh?"
Hank tried to pull away and the violent grip grabbed him around the throat in a choke hold. He coughed, ceasing in his struggles before he ended up having his windpipe crushed.
"Which way?" Creed asked, looking from one hall to the next. Hell, they had to make the place like a garden maze...
Beast gestured weakly, allowing himself to be dragged. *Hank?* Xavier's mind-voice asked, fearfully.
*It's Creed, Charles, he's escaping* Hank thought back, *with me as a hostage.*
*I'll send the X-Men down. Try to keep him from getting off of that floor.*
*Yes, sir.* Outloud, the scientist choked, "Please... can't breathe."
Sabretooth loosened his grip only a hair, just enough to let Hank breathe without giving any real leverage. "What'd Chuckles have ta say?"
"He isn't aware," Beast protested, gesturing down another corridor.
"You suck at lyin'," Creed snarled, briefly tightening the grip again to emphasize the point before turning down the opposite direction Hank had pointed.
Hank winced, trying to pull away again after what seemed like an eternity of being yanked. He was shocked when Creed actually let him go, shoving him against the wall and slamming his fists on either side of McCoy's head, nearly denting the alloy. He then realized it was because they were at the dead end by the labs and that the sounds of the team running through the floor could be heard. "Dammit, I did what I could to be fair and this is the repayment I get?" Hank asked, getting angry now that he wasn't afraid of being handed his own windpipe like his alter self.
"What th' fuck am I supposed ta do, huh?!" There was no mistaking the desperation there, the wild need to be out of the cell, out of the mansion, someplace far away. "Let the lot o' ya cart me off ta prison?!"
"What other choice are you giving us?!" Hank countered, taking a big risk with his life and shoving Creed away.
Sabretooth stepped back, flicking his claws out and baring his fangs. "I don't get a choice, an' neither should you."
The X-Men couldn't be more than a hundred yards away now, and Hank stepped closer. "You made your choice when you became a monster, Sabretooth. Are you smart enough to let that go and give up now, or would you prefer having my blood on your hands as well?"
Victor narrowed his eyes, jaw knotted. "Damn you," he whispered, violently. He was desperate, but not so desperate or ungrateful as to kill Beast. But Hank had played his cards, and now the hand was even. Slowly, hate shining as hot and bright as a super nova, he stepped back again and retracted his claws. "Don't expect me ta hold back next time, Beast."
The X-Men skidded around the corner, and Cyclops took his usual position as Xavier's puppet. "Give it up, Sabretooth."
"Consider it given up," Creed answered, coolly, his eyes still locked with Hank's. When the scientist looked away, eyes closed, he turned and held out his hands.
It seemed dark and dreary. The mirrors were even silent, as so many of them stood now in walls, painstakingly pieced together and carefully arranged. More single mirrors were there as well, in various states from intact to glittering dust.
He paced his house of mirrors, muttering to himself in growling tones, "Always a fuckin' price, ain't there? Every single goddamned time." He stopped for a moment. "Damn you, McCoy, you son of a bitch. Hear that?! DAMN YOU!" Silently he added to himself, "I almost trusted you, an' I never should have."
Still raging, he tried to literally take his mind off of the double betrayal, both the one he committed, and the one Hank had. Had he been more reasonable, he might have noted his own behavior, but it wasn't so much the lying or the tricking that pissed him off, it was the fact Hank had used the leverage he had gained to have Creed locked away again. Always a price for some kindness, and now Hank had been paid his due.
Even at a boiling point, he was careful not to break any glass as he went back to arranging. He had all but two pieces for the memory of Birdy's death, and the conversation preceding that, and now he was carefully sifting through the others to find one of those. The other was cracked, and he was missing the one right before that conversation.
He moved one aside of Black Ops, and another of a trip to France. He wove through, noting some for later, and finally found it way in the back, in the near blackness. Kneeling, he looked at it carefully. It was whole, and he lifted it to carry back to the final place.
Trying not to get too hopeful, he set it carefully between the solid bridge and the final, cracked mirror, then stepped back. With the precision of normal, it began to flow, began to consume. It seemed to take an eternity, but that was only in his mind, as all of it was. Then it came together, and the last mirror solidified... undamaged and whole.
"You can't kill him! He might really be your son!"
"So?"
"How will you ever know if you don't talk to him, huh?!"
He watched himself sling the kid aside and turn to her. "Look, babe, I know enough ta tell ya he ain't the one with the answers."
What answers...?
"But he knows who does have them," she said, staggering slightly from wounds she had gotten earlier. "This is your chance, Mister Creed..."
The mirror showed him walking over and picking Graydon up, and then it went back to the normal frustrating line of conversation and image. The knife, the moment she died speaking his name...
...why did he stagger like that? Just a stumble, so slight that he almost didn't catch it. A brief widening of the eyes, a small step backwards. Then the normal memory again.
Frowning, he turned away from the mirror, trying to absorb what he heard, work it out, and puzzle over the minute slip of composure. What had happened? What answers? What was she talking about? What had happened in that moment?
So many questions, and no more answers... not yet. And, harshly enough, maybe not ever.
Victor looked down at the shackles on his hands dully, almost like he didn't understand. Muzzled and chained again, locked behind a now doubled forcefield in a still-too-small cell, and with the knowledge that even a very clever maneuver wouldn't be enough to save him from his fate. His shoulders were slumped in defeat and general lack of will, eyes half-glazed from the monotony and the sedatives they saw fit to give him at night. It was enough to break most men, and nearly enough to break one who had survived worse prisons.
He didn't look up when Hank looked in, didn't even acknowledge the other man's presence. His gaze was firmly fixed on the dull metal, gleaming even in the low light, tauntingly reminding him that there would most likely never be freedom again.
Beast shook his head, eyebrows furrowed. He had stopped by the past two days since the incident, and never got a response. He wouldn't admit that he missed the conversation, or the occasional joke, but he did. Mostly, Hank felt guilty... guilty of a crime he didn't really commit, guilty for everything said. He hadn't been in the wrong, but it didn't make seeing Creed so damn listless any easier. Taking a deep breath, he said slowly, "Val will be here tomorrow morning to retrieve you."
Vic didn't move, but that might as well have been the death knell. Hopelessness dug its claws in deeper, far sharper than his own, and he felt it hit bitterly.
"There may be a place for you outside of prison," Beast continued, trying to sound reassuring. "Government service, perhaps. It doesn't have to be the end, you know." He clenched his teeth. "At least say something."
"Go th' fuck away." Vic said, quietly and thickly.
"I... I'm sorry, Creed." Hank murmured, then walked away.
Victor closed his eyes.