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

11. The Field Trip

Morrison, with his arm bandaged into an impromptu splint and filled to the brim with painkillers, sat quietly on the back seat of Creed's Land Rover. Creed had promised to drop him by a hospital if he did everything exactly as told, and he seemed willing to give it a try. Creed was driving, and Irbis sat at his side, holding a bag of ice against her swollen eye. The municipal airport was just around the corner. Creed parked his car and helped Morrison staying up on his feet. They carefully entered the building and searched for Robbie Stoker.

It was close to four in the afternoon when they finally saw him: a short-haired blond youth with playful green eyes. According to Morrison, Robbie was Alvarez's newest addition to the pay-roll: a young but excellent pilot who often smuggled goods across the US northern frontier, into Canada, or across the southern frontier, into Mexico and Columbia. Alvarez himself was living in Canada, and that was where they were going: if Alvarez wanted to meet Irbis, then by all means, he would meet her! After all, everyone has a right to a last wish, right?

Robbie, as he preferred to be called, knew better than to ask any questions. Once Creed told him he was going to fly the three of them to see Alvarez, he simply led them to the hangar, let them onto the plane and went out to prepare the flight plane. Half an hour later, they were up in the clouds.

It was a two-hour flight, and Creed had the chance to review his plan. He still wasn't very sure about bringing the girl along, but she had already proved she had a healthy killer instinct, even if she couldn't fight. He would have preferred that she could at least shoot, but apparently she had never held anything other than a hunting rifle in her hands, and had never shot anything at all in her whole life. Not even a sling-shot! Had he thought this Alvarez to be a dangerous fellow, he wouldn't have brought her, but from what he had put together, through both Morrison's and Robbie's words, he was no one truly dangerous.

Apparently, the house he now owned in his alias of Mr. Jekyll had belonged to Alvarez's brother-in-law, Matthew Lardoni-Stevenson, whom Creed had been hired to kill. The guy and his family being aced, Creed's employer, a Richard Barrymore, had managed to get the property lost from the Government's hands. Creed, who had thought the house impressive, well-located and well-built, had waited a few months before taking out Barrymore and his family, too. In the end, the house had become definitely lost, although still under Matthew Lardoni-Stevenson's name.

This whole situation, though, had happened some four years ago. Three years later, Alvarez had started some dealings in the hope of getting the house back in his hands, but found no helpful answer to his enquiries; thus, he had placed the house under surveillance. No one lived in the house at the time, but it was clear it had been inhabited shortly before the beginning of the surveillance. However, since there was no reason to keep a constant watch, Alvarez would simply send in his men roughly once a month to check the place out. And unfortunately for Irbis, she had been alone on the day Morrison and his three stooges had showed up.

As the plane approached the airport, Creed had everything planned and he was feeling calm and relaxed.

The sun was setting in a charming array of fire red and orange, but Sabretooth was much more charmed with the task that lay ahead. He had quickly analyzed Alvarez's place, finding its strengths and weaknesses, and was now deciding on the best place to stash away Morrison and Irbis. It had to be somewhere safe, where no one would think of going for a couple of hours, so that he didn't need to worry whether the girl was OK or not. After some time, he decided on an abandoned house a couple of blocks down the street. It was close enough but not conspicuous.

Creed carried Morrison in like a bag of potatoes and dropped him on the floor away from any windows, his hands and feet securely tied. He then instructed Irbis: no lights or noise that might get somebody's attention, no going near any window. If the guy became noisy, she was to knock some sense into him, and ideally some consciousness out of him, too. She nodded her still bruised but serious face and sat down on the floor while Creed exited the litter filled place.

The sun had set but there was still a remaining shred of golden light lingering in the sky. On the other hand, the land was already tugged under the night's cool shadow. This contrast gave people the illusion of plenty of light, even though the reality was that their eyes were already failing to grasp the finer yet rather important details which can make the difference between life and death.

Under the cloak of the setting-sun light, which enhanced the mimetic abilities of his brown and dry-orange uniform, Sabretooth approached Alvarez's stately house. They weren't expecting any problems, so there weren't any guards; the only security being the one provided by surveillance cameras. It was a child's play. Sabretooth avoided the cameras' angle of vision and entered the property. Once he reached the house, he opened an unlocked window and found himself in an empty study. Opening the study's door, he sniffed around the corridor and quickly discovered the entire household peacefully dining in the dining-room. A cook was busy in the kitchen, while a house-maid served the Alvarez family. He left that part of the house unnoticed and went downstairs, to the basement where two thugs were eating dinner and watching TV, their backs turned to the surveillance screens. Sabretooth grunted in disapproval: he might as well have walked in through the main entrance and nobody would have noticed!

Those were the first to die. Then came the cook, who got a broken neck even before noticing there was anyone else with her, followed by the maid, who got a slit throat the moment she crossed the kitchen's threshold. He sniffed around and grinned: Alvarez was waiting for his roast beef.

Sabretooth waited in the corridor. He could hear Mrs. Alvarez complaining over Alice's sloppy waitress job. There were three kids in there: he could hear the girly teenager sighs at every sharp word of the mother, mingled with the stubborn but sweet voice of a young lady trying to diminish the mother's petty reasons and a youth's deep voice, casually discussing a job opportunity with his father. Finally, Alvarez gave in to his wife's bickering and yelled for the maid. It was Sabretooth's cue.

Opening the door with the style and poshness of a true British butler, Sabretooth brought a large tray over to the table under the shocked and frightened expressions of the family and gracefully uncovered it revealing the delicious looking roast beef. Then he straightened himself up and said as phlegmatically as possible:

"Ya rang, m'lord?"

"What the…"

He didn't have time to finish, though, as Sabretooth promptly hit him in the face, breaking his nose. The women started screaming while the young boy grabbed a knife and tried to stab the giant that had just hit his father. It was an effort that cost him a swift death.

"Now, who's next?"

The older girl made a dash to the door, her eyes wide with terror. Unfortunately for her, though, Sabretooth was standing in her way. The younger girl, no more than 15 years old, kept her voice at a high shrill impossible to bear for long, and was taken out next, followed by the mother, silent and unable to move from shock. The whole killing didn't take more than two minutes, and once it was over Sabretooth walked over to Alvarez, who was looking at his dead family with a stupidly blank face, his hands over his bleeding nose and his eyes wide with disbelief. Standing at the man's side, Sabretooth looked at his handy work before turning to speak to him.

"Hey, don't feel so bad 'bout it: try an' see the bright side, will ya? Ya're gonna be joinin' them real soon. Now, come on!"

Sabretooth approached the abandoned house and checked for scents of other people. Not feeling anything new, he knocked three times on the door, to warn Irbis of his arrival, and then knocked it down to come in himself. He turned a corner and there they were, exactly where he had left them. Irbis got up just as Sabretooth dropped a gagged Alvarez at her feet. Irbis blinked down at the man, unable to fully see him in the dark building. Sabretooth reached down and pulled out the napkin he had thrown down the man's mouth to keep him from talking and pulled him up on his feet.

"Ya wanted ta meet Irbis, Mr. Jekyll's housekeeper?" He motioned a hand in her direction. "Well, here she is. Irbis, meet the guy who sent those assholes ta beat ya up and kill ya."

She looked at both men with a blank expression. Alvarez, although still in shock, started mumbling words she didn't understand at first, but which became clearer as his voice got louder, fuelled by a blind desperation.

"You're a monster… why did you… my children, why did you… because of this bitch? How monstrous can a man be? They were children, my God! You won't… you can't get away with…"

"Oh, put a lid on!" Sabretooth once more stashed the napkin down the man's mouth and turned to Irbis.

"So, whaddya wanna do with 'em?"

She looked at him and blinked, not understanding.

"They're the guys who were gonna be behind yar death, right? So, my question is, how d'ya wanna ace 'em?"

She blinked at him once more. "I'm sorry, I don't understand. Ice?"

"Ace. Kill. Fer as long as these two are alive, yer life's gonna be in danger. How d'ya wanna kill 'em?" Irbis looked thoughtful for a minute, but didn't seem to be ready to give an answer any time soon. "Ya let 'em live, they'll find a way ta kill ya, sooner or later."

Irbis shrugged. "I understand what you say. Por isso… Kill dem."

"Oh, ya'd like that, huh? Well, if ya want me doin' yer killin' for ya, ya gonna have ta pay me fer it. And my price's way too high fer ya."

Irbis narrowed her eyes. "Espere! You want dat I kill de man? Não. Isso não. Olhe, I kill in my defense, OK? Or in defense off someone. No dis. I don't kill dis man like dis."

"Right. Ya don't mind if I kill fer ya, but you doin' the killin', that's a whole different story, is it?"

She hesitated. "Não, eu… It's defense. He…"

"'Cause ya want him dead fer yer safety. Plain self-defense. Didn't ya say just awhile ago ya only kill in self-defense? Well, go ahead. Defend yerself! Kill 'em."

Irbis looked at the two men. Morrison was drugged, but he had heard the conversation and was trying to free himself, tears of despair rushing down his face. The crotch of his jeans wet, too. The other man, his face full of blood that kept running from his nose and the napkin stuffed in his mouth, was very quiet. He almost seemed to be dead already.

"Ya got it all wrong, girl." Irbis remained with her back to Creed, but the slight movement of her head – a reaction to his voice – told him she was listening carefully. "It ain't got nuthin' to do with self-defense or whatever. Killers, they come in two kinds: the ones that kill only when their blood's boilin'; an' those that prefer killin' in cold blood. You, girl, you kill in self-defense when yer blood's boilin'. Now's time ta see if ya can kill in self-defense when yer blood ain't boilin'. Let's see if ya can defend yerself in cold-blood."

He could distinguish the shiver that ran through her body; he could smell her indecision, a bit of fear, too. He took three steps forward and kicked Morrison in his belly a couple of times, before turning to face the girl. Irbis didn't look at him. He walked to her and picked her right hand.

"Here." Irbis shuddered when the penknife touched her skin, but received it and blinked at its four inches. "Now ya can defend yerself."

When Creed got outside, the night was calm and quiet. Blinking stars shone through the humidity blanketing the atmosphere, but the street lamps outshone them so they could hardly be spotted; the wind gently breathed through the leaves and the grass, whispering together like a far away, waveless ocean; the monotonous cricket song multiplied to the infinite. He wasn't sure if the girl would kill the two men or not. She had the potential, that was for sure; but, for some reason, he half-expected her to come up to him and return the blade. Or maybe she would kill herself so he couldn't force her to kill in cold-blood. He thought it less likely, though. She had such potential!

He heard her, then; her muted steps crunching the grass joining the quiet night symphony. He acted as if he hadn't heard her, remaining unconspicuously crouched near the tree on the sidewalk. She smelled of no fear, nervousness or adrenaline. There had been no tears, either, since he had left. He doubted her eyes had ever even worked up tears, which she would have forced back. Her silent steps, certain and fairly relaxed, stopped next to him, and she sighed from deep inside, the slightest tremble of her throat forcing an irregular escape of her breath. No. She was no killer. She would kill. She might even enjoy the kill, in certain circumstances.

"What does happen now?" Such a sweet voice. Who'd ever say she had just killed two guys in cold blood?

"I'm takin' ya to a doc ta make sure yer ribs are all in good shape." He glanced up at Irbis and noticed the clouded over eyes.

"You right. If I say I kill in my defense, I kill in my defense. Ponto final."

Ah! Tears were welling up. Creed looked around and breathed in all the night's scents.

"Is very pacific, não é?"

"Huh?" Creed got up as he glanced at her. There was a faint smile straining her lips as she gazed ahead with sad eyes.

"Dis. Is like if de time stop. De wind… de… grilos. I like very much de night."

"Don't say."

The girl was distracting herself, distancing herself from her deed. He wondered how she'd live with her consciousness. She was definitely no killer. He gazed around him, taking in the darkness, gutted by the milky light of the street lamps.

"It's kinda nice, I suppose. But there's way too much light."

"Yes, is true. De posts give too much light. Pena…"

They both stood there, just looking ahead at the darkened lane. Creed was starting to feel uncomfortable and decided it was the street lamps' fault. He reached down and picked up a couple of stones. He gave a couple of steps to the side until he had a street lamp well in sight, then he threw a stone and the light went out with an obscenely loud crash. The sound seemed to reverberate in the night and he felt the need to drown it down, so he aimed at the next street lamp and threw another stone. The new crash noise effectively overcame the previous reverberation, but also remained in the air with its upsetting echo. For a couple of minutes, Creed was busy putting every light out of commission in that area. Once it was done, his chest was heaving up and down as if he had done a great effort, even if he wasn't tired at all.

"Ah! Muito melhor! Is very best now!"

Creed saw Irbis smiling delightedly at the darkness. There was no light that could reveal the tree tops, now, and the ruffling noise of the wind against the trees' leaves gave the whole place an eerie alien quality. She looked at Creed, still smiling and surrounded by the crickets' chaotic songs.

"And now?"

"I told ya, I'm takin' ya ta see a doc." Irbis's face mimicked a brief 'oh, that's right' and Creed had a sudden gut feeling. "Ya know what a doc is, right? Doctor?"

Irbis's smile faded as the blush deepened, but she still nodded a weak affirmative. Creed massaged his forehead lightly.

"What did I tell ya back in the house?"

"Hun?"

"Did, you, understand, what I told you, in the house?"

"Uh… Eu… uh… you say I… have to kill in defense. In cold-blood, or in… uh… when I'm ungry."

Creed chuckled, unamused. "Good thing ya get the gist o' somethin' with a couple words."

At his side, Irbis was obviously not understanding the gist of what he had just said.

"Com'on, girl. We better get going."

Thank you for reading and reviewing.

Excerpt from chapter 12:

"A dictionary? Ya gonna learn English from a dictionary?"

"Claro! I decorate de words off de dictionary."

He snorts, showing the tip of a fang. "It seems t'me ya should worry a bit more 'bout the grammar."

"Não, I sink grammar doesn't import," I insist, remembering how memorising grammar rules for English tests had never paid off because I didn't know the vocabulary. I had never bothered to memorise the said vocabulary, though, since it amounted to awfully long lists of words. Unfortunately, the present wasn't giving me much choice in the matter. "If I know de words, I can understand what you say."

"Yeah, ya're sinki' all right. Now stop buggin' me and getta work."