Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Naomi, Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

9. The Contract

When Sabretooth entered the house, having just ditched the two Montana hunters' jeep, he did it relatively quietly. He didn't want to scare her, but he wanted her to hear him coming in. As he passed into the second hall, which led to the living room, he saw her through one of the French windows, quietly sitting in the backyard. She was wearing the grey track suit he'd bought for her and her black hair was wet. He swiftly crossed the threshold of the living-room French window and squatted at her side, looking intently into her face. He noticed how she stubbornly kept her eyes on the trees ahead, even though a slight tremble in the dark irises revealed she was well aware of his presence. Sabretooth smiled inwardly with that proof of strength while wondering what she had in mind.

"So," he started casually, "Mary…"

"My name is not Mary."

Her immediate answer annoyed him and he couldn't help but open the game a bit, making sure she realized her ruses were mere child play he could catch with his eyes closed.

"Yer name ain't Maria either."

She finally looked at him and he continued the short speech he had prepared.

"So here's the deal. Like I said, I want someone ta clean up this mess and keep it from becomin' a mess again. Ya do that, an' ya get ta live a fairly good life, since I'll be payin' fer yar expenses an' all."

He looked at her stubbornly inexpressive expression and thought she looked like she was trying to imitate some statue. He once more wondered what she was thinking.

"Yer answer?"

"You say you want…?"

Rolling his eyes in growing annoyance, he repeated himself more slowly. "I want someone ta clean the house and keep it clean. And I am willin' ta actually pay ya fer it."

"Sim, yes, I'm sorry. Clean de house. You say you pay…?"

"I'll pay fer yer expenses. Ya know, clothes an' stuff ya need."

"I do not accept." Her eyes met his without any defiance or challenge, just the same stubbornness of before.

"Whaddya mean, ya don't accept?"

"I accept clean… work to you, but you don't give me my sings. I want a salary."

He cocked an eye. She was suicidal, stubborn and independent. How interesting.

"Sure. Whaddya got in mind?"

"I'm sorry?"

"How much money d'ya want?"

"Four tousand dollars."

"Ya want what? Ya think I'm gonna be payin' a lil' piece o' shit like ya four thousand bucks a week fer house work? Lemme tell ya somethin', girlie, ya either take the deal I just gave ya or not; an' then I'll decide what ta do with ya!"

He noticed her body tremble and go stiff at the beginning of his outburst and was pleased he was finally putting her in her place. When he finished, though, her confusion was evident.

"I'm sorry. Four tousand…" She bit her lip and frowned, blushing slightly. "Four, zehroo, zehroo dollars?"

"That's hundred, ya blasted moron, not thousand. I'll give ya two hundred a month an' not a cent more. Ya gonna be usin' my money ta eat, anyways, so ya ain't goona need much." His voice was gruff and testified his growing bad mood. "Anythin' else?"

"I don't sleep wid you."

His eyes widened in a sudden good-humoured surprise.

"Most women says they don't wanna do the windows…"

Her eyes rolled around and she frowned slightly, and ended up restating her position. "I do not do sex wid my chef. Não, boss. "

"I don't see no problem, there, darlin': ya ain't exactly my type either." And he gave her his most charming fanged smile. "OK. So, no sex and two hundred bucks. Anythin' else?"

He noticed how she swallowed and got the sudden impression that her list of conditions still had a long way to go. She took a deep breath before starting her own speech.

"I clean de house, and I make de house be clean. I do sings, não, desculpe, sorry… uh… I do tings in de way I tink is better, but you like me to do sings in one way, den you say me what way you like and I do sings in your way." She took another deep breath, while evaluating the big man's cocked eyebrow. "I don't be in your way. And you say, desculpe, if. If you say me how you like sings to be made, I make dem in de way you like."

The second break was longer, and she had time to actually hold her breath for a second while gaining courage to continue. Sabretooth's expression remained carefully the same.

"I don't sleep wid you – no sex." Her cautious wording almost made him smile. She was promising to become good entertainment. "And you pay me too undred dollars in de end off de mont. But you pay me de first mont in de beginning, because I need more clodes."

"Well, ya sure got ya things planned real good, don't ya?"

She swallowed again, and he enjoyed the sudden insecurity she must have been feeling: was he mocking her or serious about this 'job interview'? Maybe both, he answered in his mind.

"More one sing… ting. When you kill me, you kill me widout pain, please. And you don't beat me. You beat me, de contract is ended."

"Oh, really?" He laughed softly. "An' what d'ya plan on doing if I do 'break' the contract?"

She swallowed, frowning slightly. "Break contract?" He nodded and her expression became as determined as a boulder. "You kill me or leave me."

"Ya mean, let ya go? Ya're almost funny, kid. So, tells me, what happens if I don't let ya go?"

"You don't let me go, I do it I proper. I kill me."

She lifted her chin slightly, ascertaining her right to that decision.

"Ya think that threatenin' yar own life like that is gonna get ya anywhere with me, girl?"

His face was serious and his eyes shone with their icy yellowish brown colour. She looked right back into those threatening eyes and he had to admit she had guts, since there was no fear, no doubt, no trembling down her limbs.

"I don't understand what you say but I sayed you what… what I have intention to do. You do what you sink you have to do; and I do what I sink I have to do. I just want you to know my intentions. And I want to know your intention, too."

He frowned but he had to admit he liked her style, her daring.

"Fine. My intentions are to keep ya alive ta clean the house. And no abuse from my side. Anythin' else?"

She shrugged her shoulders.

"Well, then, if ya're done with yer conditions, how's about ya go off an' fix yerself a shoppin' list?"

"I'm sorry?"

Sabretooth rolled his eyes.

"Ya gonna need ta buy things ta clean the place, remember? Which means ya gotta do a shoppin' list so I can takes ya ta the shop an' ya can buy 'em. Any o' this familiar ta ya?"

She blinked and looked even more confused, frowning.

"Shopping list! Ya need a shoppin' list ta buy cleanin' stuff. Got it?"

"Ah, lista de compras! Yes. Uh… Paper and pen, please?"

The steaks had a delicious scent. The waiter brought them almost with reverence to the table which allowed for a spectacular view over the river and the luxurious green of the Country Club's own park. He placed the dishes on the table and was quickly replaced by the wine boy with an expensive bottle of Médoc. He quietly and expertly opened it and poured a bit into an empty glass which rested near a flute glass half with the golden hue of true Champagne.

"Is it to your taste, Mr. Jekyll?"

"Yeah, this will do. Now get out o' my sight 'cause I wanna have a quiet meal. Am I clear?"

"Certainly, sir. Ma'am."

The lean waiter bowed to the young lady in a very inappropriate track suit as if she had been the Queen of Sheba and cautiously retreated. The restaurant was almost empty, which guaranteed that no one would be coming to interrupt the unlikely couple.

"They got great steaks in this place."

The blonde man cut his piece of meat and the plate was filled with the meat's blood red juices, further strengthening the meal's precious aroma.

"Mister Jekyll?"

"Yeah?"

"I tinked your name is Mister Creed."

The man's yellowish eyes met the young woman's brown ones.

"My name's Creed, alright; but around here ya'll be callin' me Mr. Jekyll, like everyone else."

"Is a false name, right?"

"Well, congratulations, ya just hit the jackpot!" His sarcasm was diluted by his complete focus on enjoying the steak he was having. "Ya may wanna eat that 'fore it gets cold."

She cut her own meat and slowly followed his example, but her unfocused eyes betrayed her thoughtfulness.

"I'm sorry. You want dat I don't speak when you eat or I can say somesing?"

"Fer as long as ya don't spoil my appetite…" He didn't even look at her, but under his mask of indifference he was carefully studying her ways.

"Is because off de money."

She made a pause and he guessed she was trying to ascertain if the subject was likely to annoy him. He was careful to keep his mask up and braced himself for whatever might come so that he wouldn't lose his temper.

"I don't have got clodes. And… I don't want expensive clodes, but I need more."

"That's why it was best if I just paid fer whatever ya needed." He grunted. "How much money ya want?"

"I sink… I don't have summer olidays, but you can pay me oliday subsidy. De people receive oliday subsidy in Portugal; I don't know ow is here, but…"

Creed repressed a grin. This stubbornness about being paid and not being supported by him was amusing. It particularly amused him how she felt nervous and embarrassed although without any hint of fear of him. And even though she was trying to get some more money out of him, he knew she wasn't a money-sucking machine: he wasn't so stupid as not to realize she was going to have to spend a good amount of money to fill her closet.

"Fair enough."

She blushed.

"I'm sorry?" Now here was an annoying habit, and he snorted.

"What's with all this 'sorry' crap?"

She seemed even more uncertain, and more blushed, and he added insecurity to the picture he was sketching of her in his mind, although he thought insecurity didn't really go well neither with her wish of independence nor with her suicidal tendencies. He took a deep breath and explained himself rather slowly.

"Why are ya always sayin' 'I'm sorry'?"

"I'm sorry." He grunted and rolled his eyes in annoyance at the expression. "I not always understand what you say. I understand some words, but I don't always understand what you want me to say. Or do."

Her face remained handsomely flushed while her eyes wandered to the plate and nervously avoided the man's steady observation.

"You give me de oliday subsidy?"

He gave up his innocent helpful mask and grinned at her, showing his sharp fangs. She didn't flinch, and he decided to reward her with some actually helpful advice.

"Tell ya, what. I'll give ya this 'summer holiday subsidy' and also a 'winter holiday subsidy'." She frowned and he quickly added. "Ya're forgettin' that winter's very cold round here; it easily goes down ta 15 degrees in the winter, not ta mention there's a good number o' snow storms every year. An' temperatures start fallin' real early, too: ya can be down ta 40 degrees as early as October! So ya gonna need plenty o' warm stuff… an' I'm sure it ain't gonna be cheap ta buy them all from scratch."

She looked at him with a puzzled expression.

"I'm sorry, I understand de winter is cold, but… I don't understand… you say fourteen degrees?"

He grunted. Europeans and their Celsius crap!

"No, I said forty, forty degrees Fahrenheit! It's close to zero Celsius degrees."

Her eyes went wide.

"In October?!"

"Yupe. An' ya got the winter months always round the minus ten Celsius."

"Dat's… very cold."

"No!" He said theatrically, and grinned mischievously. "Down here, it's just cold. Very cold is what you get up in Canada. Especially as there ain't no big lakes ta ease it up."

She gave a wary smile and focused on her steak, which she hadn't eaten much of yet. In comparison, Creed was eating his with a hearty speed.

"You like dis… Make fun off me, right, Mister Creed?"

He froze. She was looking at her plate with a disheartened look on her face.

"Listen here, girl, ya better not forget ever again that the name is Jekyll! Am I clear? I've been playin' the nice guy so far, but ya don't keep yer place ya gonna have trouble."

"Desculpe. Mister Jekyll. I'm sorry, I don't forget again."

She swallowed hard, facing his dangerous amber eyes, but Creed got the impression she was more upset with messing up than with getting him mad. She wasn't scared with his threat – she wasn't even scared at all! – just embarrassed at not having done what she was expected to. He narrowed his eyes. The girl's insecurity might come in handier than any fear of him, but it was best to play it safe and make sure she knew he really was dangerous and didn't just go about throwing idle threats at random people.

"I'm a killer; a professional hit man. So I got a whole bunch o' names I go by in many different places, but I'm mostly known as either Mr. Creed or Sabretooth."

"Sabretooth?"

"Yeah, Sabretooth. 'Cause I'm as mean and lethal as sabretooth tigers used ta be." He looked at her and finished the last piece of meat in his plate. Then he cautiously unsheathed his right hand claws. "Ya see these? They cut through flesh an' bone like butter, an' believe me, there's nothin' more fun than listenin' to the screamin' an' cryin' an' beggin' fer mercy." He sheathed them again. "But in Wausau, I'm just Mr. Jekyll. A regular everyday guy who stops by fer some well-deserved time away from some borin' well-paid job. So don't ya forget that again. Jekyll."

"Mister Jekyll."

She repeated hoarsely and fell silent. Most of the steak was still in her plate and for a couple of minutes she made an effort to eat as much as possible under his hard stare. But she soon gave it up and gave in to her curiosity.

"Is a secret house, right?"

"What're ya talkin' 'bout?"

"You have got a false name because is your secret house. Away from… from policeman and… and enemies." She looked at him with a bit of uncertainty in her eyes and found nothing but the harsh annoyance which she knew she shouldn't be provoking.

"Look, girl, ya'll find it's healthier fer ya ta keep yer guesses ta yerself an' just do what ya're told."

There was a serious warning in his voice that anyone would have heeded to, and the girl was no exception. She looked at her plate and frowned.

"Mister Jekyll. I use dat name in de city, in de street; but I use it in de house, too? Or you want me to say 'Mister Creed' in de house?"

"Ya can call me Mr. Creed when I'm in the house."

And he raised his hand to get the waiter's attention.

"Yes, sir?"

"I'm waitin' fer the dessert!"

"I will bring the dessert menu immediately, sir."

"Never mind 'bout that! Just get me the house specialty. Now hurry it up; I got better things ta do than ta stay here all day long."

The man hurried away while the girl made an effort to eat some more. Creed looked at her. Thanks to the troublesome kid, who had managed to spend a whole afternoon in shops, he was going to have to stay at the Heron Inn tonight. He didn't have much time to sulk at this reality, though, since the milk and cocoa sweet made a very fast appearance at his front.

"Will the young lady wish some dessert, too?"

"The only thing she's wishin' is ta finish her steak as soon as ya get lost!"

The man hadn't waited to hear the end of the blonde's very short tirade: every waiter in the restaurant knew not to disturb Mr. Jekyll when he was in a bad mood. Not that Creed really was in a bad mood; he just wasn't in a good mood. And the fact that he didn't have to repress any violent actions that would usually have accompanied his aggressive words was enough to proof it.

When Creed ended his dessert, he found the girl looking at him. He knew she'd been watching him for some minutes, but pretended not to notice it until he had finished the cold sweetness of the house specialty. Once he had wiped his mouth at the napkin and seemed to have finished his meal, she spoke.

"My name isn't Maria; you are right." He cocked an eyebrow and leaned on the chair's padded back, waiting for the rest. "My troos name isn't important. But I like you to use dis name: Eerbeesh."

"Lemme see if I got this right: ya want me ta call ya Irbis?"

"Irbis?" She tried out Creed's pronunciation of the word before nodding. "Yes, dat's right."

"Irbis?" He repeated half amused.

"Is oder name to snow-leopard. It lives in de Himalayas."

"I know what an irbis is!" He looked at her more intently. "That sounds too much like some sort o' code name… Why the hell did ya pick it?"

She frowned.

"You want to know why I want to use de name Eerbeesh? Uh… Irbis?"

"Well, yeah! That was what I just asked, wasn't it?"

She shrugged.

"I like cats. I sink dey very pretty. And de… uh, de irbis is very, very pretty. It lives always in de snow, up in de Himalayas, and is white and grey but appears dat is silver… And lives away from everyone… from everysing. And is very rare, too. I hear it go disappear… go extinct?" She sighed and looked at the river. "De eerbeesh… I'm sorry. De irbis have to live hide, because people kill im if dey see it."

"Much like yerself, huh?" He grinned at her when she looked at him. "One of a kind! All alone an' havin' ta live hidden from the guys that would love ta get ya back in their labs."

He shook his head but didn't say how stupidly sentimental that choice was. He signalled the waiter for the bill, paid for it and got up.

"C'mon, Irbis. Ya still got much ta do at the house, this evening, and yer shoppin' is rottin' in the car."

Thank you for reading and reviewing.

Excerpt from chapter 10:

"Ya gonna tell me what happened in my house while I left ya in charge of it?"

She looked at him, hissing slightly as she probed her face with a hand. He noticed how she couldn't fully open her left eye and felt like killing those guys all over again, only in a slower, more painful way so they'd learn not to mess with his properties. She sighed.