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

2. The X-Rescue

She had been sitting on the hotel bed, waiting for Mister Creed, and had been very relieved that he was in a good mood. But he had also noticed there was something going on. He had closed the door and then leaned a shoulder against the wall, crossing his arms while looking at her.

"I liked to have your permission to one thing," she had said.

He hadn't moved a muscle and she had felt more confident. "My job is always first: have certain dat you have everything you want and de house is perfect. And I, please, ask your permission to come to New York again in October to buy a guitar."

He'd frowned. "A guitar."

Nodding, she gave him the details: she had presented herself as Antonieta, no last name, and ordered a traditional Portuguese guitar. She had left no address, which was why she would have to come back in person to collect it.

She recalled the tension on his facial muscles, his golden eyes shining annoyedly at her as she held them. Such beautiful eyes the man had. She recalled the old Portuguese saying, "blue eyes in a Portuguese is the sign of a bad piece". Well then, "gold eyes in a person is the sign of a bad piece" too, she decided. But they were beautiful.

"Please, Mister Creed." She ended up pleading, though she wasn't sure he'd take her tone as pleading. "If you don't give me permission, I don't come. But I really, really want de guitar… If you want, I start practice fight again, in change off de permission. Please?"

His eyes had remained on her, burning through and through. But she had kept her word and, even despite her worries, it had been very easy to live with the man. As a matter of fact, it had been far more difficult when she was alone. When that happened, the days seemed to unwind endlessly and aimlessly. She made sure everything in the house was in perfect conditions and that the best food and drink was ready to receive the master of the house at any day and hour; she would even wander about the house searching for any little thing that could be improved. But she was too fast, and the house kept taking up less and less of her time. So she avenged her loneliness at the piano, playing every piece she knew until she could play it perfectly even if she were in the middle of a conversation while sleep-walking.

What else could she do? She had never returned to the Library, just as she had promised, where she had spent all her free time fighting with books and generally failing to gather all the information she wanted. On the other hand, the man enjoyed eating and drinking, so it was an excuse for acting: she started collecting recipes online and trying them out for herself, judging from his reaction to her previous cooking whether he'd like the new taste. He liked organic produce; so she set up a chicken coop in the middle of the backyard woods, far from the house so that no scent could upset him. The man had the nose of a hound and liked soberly spiced food, so she enlarged her herbal garden. The man wanted her to be capable of defending herself, so she practiced with the gun and the knife and frustrated her best efforts on the punching bag in the basement. But the day still had too much time, so she went online to choose new songs to expand her repertoire and sat down to studying them relentlessly.

And all this time she waited for October, when the guitar would arrive and she, pretending to be Antonieta, would go down to fetch it. Creed had showed up a few days before the deadline and she had presented him with a home-bred chicken cooked in its own blood. She had been so happy to have him in the house it had actually surprised her, and she had been very careful about toning down that stupid smile that insisted on creeping up onto her face. He hadn't stayed for long though, and she still hoped the disappointment hadn't showed too much. But before he had left, he had sat her down and drilled her through what to do and not to do should a police officer signal her to stop. Every word she should say in whatever situation, every movement.

She re-lived the feeling of achievement when she had realised she had been up to his expectations... No. The grunt he'd thrown sideways – she remembered it so clearly – the grunt had claimed she had acted above his expectations. The pride washed over her alongside the memory of the new plate license and set of car documents he'd given her to match her Isabel Martins identity, the one she was supposed to use outside Wausau.

"Don't mess this up, girl."

The golden eyes faded in the darkness of her mind and Irbis frowned, trying to pull them back. The air was dry and dusty, a slight scent of fuel and oil erupting from somewhere. She blinked in the dark, finally seeing past her memories.

"Are you O.K.?" Irbis looked towards the whisper and distinguished the large shape of a woman. She nodded affirmatively. "I was worried you might have been hurt. They only pointed a gun at me, you know."

A couple of laughs in the distance silenced the woman. Irbis got up slowly, using only her abdominal muscles after noticing that her hands were tied up behind her back. Once she was sitting up, she felt truly thankful that Creed had made her workout seriously. She wiggled her way to the woman and the wall she was leaning on.

"My name's Margaret Childs. You?" Irbis hesitated a moment and then presented herself as 'Mary'. "D'you know why we're here, Mary?"

Irbis looked carefully at the woman. She was big in all the senses of the word, although she wasn't fat. Irbis guessed she might be in her forties or fifties and that she was probably the no-nonsense type.

"'Cause we're decent people, that's why." She whispered angrily when Irbis didn't answer back. "These bastards, here, they're Friends of Humanity. I've been listening to them gloating over their work... Yelling at that old man 'cause he scares away their victims. I knew something was up when I lay my eyes on'im, you know. Nearly drove past this bastard place! But one of them shot my car and I crashed 'gainst a tree. Got a cut on my brow that bled for..."

Margaret continued talking, and Irbis was careful to nod sympathetically. She had read about these Friends of Humanity before, when she was surfing the Net for information on mutants, but she had been under the impression it was a political party. They had even come up with a presidential candidate that had been killed by an unidentified mutant. She remembered it well because the candidate, funnily enough, was named Creed. Grey-something Creed. But why was a political party kidnapping people?

Margaret kept talking. Her voice claimed confidence and indignation, but, to Irbis, the way she went on and on was symptomatic of nervousness, if not even fear. And Irbis was afraid, too. Afraid of how Creed might react when he found she was once more in need of rescue. He would certainly forbid her of ever leaving on her own, again. "Ya're a walkin' get me sign," Creed had told her once. She hated admitting that his words were starting to sound true even to her... Oh, why hadn't the man tagged along? She hadn't had the nerve to suggest it, but she had hoped he wouldn't trust her on such a long journey all by herself.

On the other hand, if she could get away... She tried the ropes securing her wrists; they were solid and hurting her. Nevertheless, her feet weren't bound. Of course, getting up and running away with her hands tied behind her back wasn't much of a plan.

"It's people like these that make the world a harder place to live in," Margaret still went on, almost oblivious to Irbis, "they sow hate all around them and..."

"I'm sorry, Margaret..." The woman suddenly realized she had been monopolizing the conversation and apologized with an anxious sigh. "No, is OK; but can you please help me? You think you can undo de... de ropes in my hands? I do de same to you."

Margaret was unsure for a moment, but with a thundering "why the hell not", she put herself in position, back to back with Isabel, and started struggling with the ropes. It wasn't easy, though, and both women even laughed a little at the folly of believing in films where such stunts are quickly followed by success. When Margaret's fingers began to feel raw from the effort, it was Irbis's turn to try her luck.

Soon, though, they heard a car. Both froze. The sound had been very faint, but there was no mistaking it.

"Another one." Margaret whispered through gritted teeth. "Damn'em all to Hell."

Irbis quickly moved back to a lying position, as close to the one in which she had awaken as she could. Margaret followed her cue and once more rested against the wall. Any time, now, they both knew, a new victim would be thrown in with them.

The victim, however, must have been trying to put up a fight, since the women heard some yelled orders they couldn't quite comprehend. Then there were gunshots and an explosion. Every muscle in Irbis contracted with expectation. What was going on?

With a loud bang and a flash, the door was blown down, and a tall black man stood threateningly in the doorway. The weak sun light behind him didn't let the women take a good look at his face, even when he walked over to them. Irbis found herself thinking about Creed immediately.

"Don't be afraid. You'll be free in a moment." His voice was calm but cold. "You are safe, now."

He started undoing Margaret's bounds, and Irbis could see the woman trembling as she asked him who he was.

"Bishop," he said as he finished his work on the woman and turned to Irbis, "working with the XSE. The county authorities have been warned and should arrive soon, but your testimony will still be needed to help put these people in prison."

Both Irbis and Margaret got up and stiffly followed the man out. The morning sun was almost completely up in the sky, bright amidst some scattered clouds, as the man asked if there was someone they needed to contact.

"My husband," Margaret got herself beside the black man, "he must be worried sick!"

Irbis stopped at the doorway. There was a convertible in the middle of the road and five men tied up and sitting down near the old empty gas pumps. A tall woman with very short red hair was talking to a smiling young blond, who seemed to be guarding the prisoners. She was soaring in the air; then, she rose higher still in the middle of the conversation and, with a wave of the hand, took off in a low flight. Irbis blinked and looked closer at the bound men, but didn't see the purple haired boy. She once more wondered if he really was a mutant or a normal person in disguise.

"Is something the matter?"

The black man, Bishop, he had called himself, was coming back to the house while Margaret went over to the blond young man. Irbis stood quietly, studying that dark skin scarred by a huge black M. He once more reminded her of Creed: there weren't any signs of sympathy or concern in his eyes, only a cold detachment that must surely be necessary to a soldier in some kind of war.

"Thank you, Mister... Bishop, right?" He nodded imperceptibly and she continued. "I... did you found de cars?"

"Not yet." His eyes glittered and Irbis thought his expression softened somewhat. "My colleague is currently searching the area. If your car is in the vicinity, it'll be found soon enough."

He was about to go on when he noticed Irbis's expression and stopped, frowning.

"Is something else the matter?"

She swallowed under his harsh gaze, but it wasn't much different from Creed's - deeply rooted suspicion, that was all.

"I have to be honest, Mister Bishop. I can't stay. I..." She braved his cold glare and picked up her best lying techniques. "I will be in trouble because... please understand. I don't have problems wid mutants but... many people have problems and I can't... I can't have problems. Please!"

The man didn't flinch a muscle as she spurted her little speech, yet his eyes seemed to be trying to see through her. After a minute, though, his frown softened up slightly.

"My colleague has just reported the presence of a large truck a couple of hundred feet away holding a couple cars." Irbis relaxed somewhat. "Can you describe your vehicle?"

"Yes. A Chevrolet Venture LS white."

The man frowned once more while Irbis spoke, and as soon as she finished saying she hadn't yet memorized the license plate, he nodded and informed her there was indeed a vehicle matching her description.

"You'll be free to go as soon as you wish, but take this." She accepted the calling card he gave her. "Should you change your mind about testifying or have any more 'mutant problems' give us a call."

"Thank you very, very..."

She interrupted herself when a terrifying thought crossed her mind: her bag had the documents for her Irbis identity, including the address for Creed's Wausau home! What if these XSE people... They were something like a police squad against criminal mutants. And Creed was a criminal mutant! She couldn't let them get any information about Creed, no matter what.

"Ah... I..." The man lifted a suspicious eyebrow. "My bag! I need my bag."

Without a second thought, she turned her back on him and ran back into the old house. As she did so a laugh rang clearly in the sky accompanied by the words "scaring the ladies". She felt herself blush in embarrassment but didn't stop. She had to find her bag.

Irbis paused fleetingly at the entrance so her eyes could adjust to the darkness. The door that led to the small warehouse where the two women had been bound was partially hidden next to some shelves. This room had surely been used as some sort of store once, probably when the gas pumps had still been working; now, it stored a great array of mechanical and metalworker tools. Where could her bag be?

She went to the old counter and started rummaging through the shelves it had on the inside.

"May I help ya, miss?"

Irbis froze and peeked over the counter. The young blond was entering the room with a warm smile.

"Uh... My bag. I need... My bag."

The young man laughed cheerfully and commented on the importance of a lady's bag. Irbis felt her face becoming warm, but told herself that no blush could be seen amidst the darkness of the room.

"My colleague is just starting questioning the... Uh, men who captured yah." He leaned on the counter, smiling reassuringly. "Ah'm sure we'll soon find where yer bag is. Were there any valuables in it, miss... ?"

Irbis shook her head and mentioned her documents. She couldn't leave, driving, without them. He nodded, a bit more serious now.

"Yah can call me Sam, miss..." Irbis finally gave in and revealed her name as 'Mary'. "I'm not sure if my partner told yah, but the county officers're gonna need yer testimony..."

Irbis jumped in fear, and nearly bumped into the young blond's head when she got up hurriedly. Stuttering mildly, she again explained that she was sorry but she couldn't have problems...

"Yes, of course." He once more smiled reassuringly, but she caught the small sigh of disappointment. "First of all, don't call me Mr Sam. It's just Sam, OK? Now, if yah can't testify... then yah can't. We understand."

"I'm sorry." Irbis said meekly. "Is dat..."

"No, it's OK; Ah understand. We all do. Now..." Sam looked around him. "This'll take much too long, and Ah don't want ya to get into more trouble. Why don't we go outside and Ah'll ask my colleague if she can find that bag o' yers, huh?"

Sam winked at her and gently led her back outside. Margaret was calmly waiting, sitting in the red convertible, and the short red-haired woman was talking to the black man. When they got closer, Irbis was careful to let herself fall a little behind, as if hiding in the blond youth's shadow. When Sam asked his two colleagues if they had had any luck, Irbis felt like the proverbial spy fly.

"From what I could see in their minds," the woman replied with a terse face, "the people they caught were forced to give them their credit and ATM cards, then they were beaten, threatened and released; but someone who tried to fight back might be killed instead."

There was disgust and anger mixed in her voice when she revealed that she had caught images of at least four kills in the men's memories.

"But the worst is that we don't have the whole gang here. At least two men and a teenager who were part in this left a couple hours ago to meet their contacts."

"They'll be found, Rachel, don't worry. Once their names and physical descriptions are released, they'll be found and brought to justice."

The black man shook his head, and grunted against the youth's faith in justice. The blond didn't like it, and insisted the authorities would do everything in their power to catch them; if for nothing else, because this was about attacks to normal humans instead of mutants.

"Besides," he continued, "the Friends of Humanity don't have the same power they used to have, before Creed's death."

Maybe. But Irbis still agreed with the big man's reasoning: the group would protect them, make them disappear.

"But they won't be on time, Sam," the woman added, "those two men took with them detailed information about all of their victims. Even if they are caught, they'll have had time to distribute that information. Not only will people be afraid of coming forth to testify, some of them may even become victims of blackmail, forced to do things to keep the Friends of Humanity from harassing their families or loved ones, or simply out of fear of being publicly labelled as 'mutie lovers'."

Irbis felt fear grip her heart. The X-Men might not get any information on her and Creed, but this other party had. And they were probably a bit less friendly and helpful than the X-Men. She closed her eyes in despair and decided she had heard enough. Time was of the essence. She cleared her throat and, all of a sudden, she became visible.

"I'm very sorry to interrupt," she decided to act as if she hadn't heard their conversation as she continued, "but Mr... Uh, quer dizer, Sam say you can find my bag?"

Sam apologised and asked the red-haired woman if she could check with the prisoners for the bags. Irbis noticed a slight grimace of annoyance thrown at her. She wondered if the other woman would testify... would the men be released if no one testified? If no one presented a claim against them? No, she told herself. If they could connect them to a killing, then there was no need for witnesses. She, on the other hand, had to contact Creed and explain to him the morning events as soon as possible. She hoped he wasn't in the middle of a job...

Fortunately, her bag, as well as Margaret's, was swiftly found. Ten minutes hadn't gone by after Sam's offer, and she had already buckled up her seatbelt, her bag on the seat next to the driver's, and was ready to take off.

"Have a safe trip," Sam told her with a warm smile, "and don't speed. Ya'll only have more problems if ya end up in a hospital bed."

Irbis chuckled and dismissed his worries. Then she started down the road at an advised speed. Some minutes later, though, tempted by an empty well-kept road, she put the speed pedal down to the board. Irbis kept her eyes open and easily spotted a nice path out of the road and into the tree cover.

When the car came to a full stop, Irbis was definitely out of sight for any passing by car. A bit nervously, she got out and searched for the button hidden in a nook under the back seat and pushed it while, at the same time, lifting the seat. Hidden in the sound-proof lead box were some guns and ammunition, as well as her Isabel Martins documents and the new license plate. Quickly, she swapped plates and documents and got ready to move on.

But she couldn't. Not just yet. She sat behind the wheel and reached for the mobile phone in her bag. She wondered how Creed would react to the news...

"What?!" Creed could not believe his ears. Friends of Humanity? X-Men? "WHAT?! Where the hell are ya?"

He was tying her up in Wausau and shredding her to little pieces if she ever as much as dreamed of going anywhere again.

"What'ya mean ya're not sure? What's the closest town?"

Caught by Friends of Humanity in her Irbis persona. Just how stupid could the blasted girl be? Why didn't she just up and tell them her whole story while she was at it!

"Ya was on the WI-34 until Knowlton? OK, then here's what ya gonna do: ya go back ta the WI-34 an' then ya heads straight ta Madison, got it? Ya don't stop fer nothin'! Get yerself ta Madison an' straight ta the airport. I'll meet ya there. Just sit tight at a café or whatever close ta the airport. I'll give ya a call as soon as I get there. Got it? Ya sure ya got everythin' straight? An' don't try ta mess this up any more than it already is, girl."