Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.
9. Second Lesson: Ghosts and Nightmares
Irbis opened her eyes wide in the darkened room, drinking the air as if she'd been drowning. Sitting up in the wide bed, she forced her breathing and heart beat to slow down. The bedroom felt cold, dead. An ambulance hollered by. Shivering under her frozen skin, she slid off the bed and carefully opened the door to the living room. Creed was there, watching TV with his eyes closed. He seemed utterly relaxed, but she felt certain he wasn't sleeping.
Standing in the doorway, she searched the living room with her eyes until she remembered she hadn't eaten. She still didn't feel hungry, but she stepped half-heartedly towards the fridge. Three empty pizza boxes were abandoned in the sink and hers, though stored in the cold, was just as she had left it. She stared at the box for a few seconds, before looking at the beer bottles. Finally making up her mind, she grabbed the box and two bottles then walked into the living room area. Sitting on an armchair, she placed one bottle on the coffee table and opened the other. A re-run of an American football match was playing soundlessly on the screen.
Creed didn't react to her presence and Irbis rebuked herself for being silly, since the man was sleeping after all. With a sigh, she relinquished her beer and picked up a pizza slice. Her stomach didn't complain at the food it was receiving this time, so she nibbled on. After finishing the first slice, though, she realised that the coldness of the bedroom had leaked into the living room and she gave up the food. She needed to dispel the feeling of suspended death so, not being able to switch on a radio or change the TV to a music channel and turn up the volume, she closed the lid of the box. Taking a deep breath, she focused on a melody – Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata was always appropriate for a nighttime depressive mood– and her fingers started using the lid as a surrogate keyboard. Recalling the image of a piano keyboard, each key in its alloted place and with its exact width, each key offering that token resistance she knew so well and eliciting that same perfect sound that vibrated through instrument and player alike.
"What are ya, a mimic?" Irbis looked up, startled, her breathing on hold. His eyes were sharp and attentive and she was once more certain he hadn't been sleeping. "Why're ya pretendin' t'play?"
"Hun?" His scowl reminded her he didn't like her moronic answers, as he called them, and she swallowed. "I brought a beer to you."
"Yeah, I know. I aint' deaf and I ain't blind." He picked it up and took a long sip. "That must've been a hell of a nightmare, if ya're still shakin'."
"I'm sorry. Nightmare?"
"Bad dream," and his voice hinted at some impatience. "I could smell the stench o' fear through the door. I can still smell it."
She held his cold gaze, feeling it warmer than the coldness surrounding her; its intensity driving out the death-like embrace. "Phantasms," she explained.
"Hmm. Everybody's got their ghosts." He looked away, and Irbis felt the threatening cold around her gain new strength.
"Yes," she called abruptly, trying to attract his gaze's attention. "but... but de majority off de ghosts... dey don't wake up people wid bad dreams, night.. uh... nightm..."
"Nightmares," he looked back at her, casually, momentarily. "And even if most ghosts don't wake ya up, they keep many folks up. 'Sides, the longer ya live, the more likely ya're t' get both types o' ghosts."
"Sim, I suppose yes. You have dem? Ghosts dat wake you up?"
He smirked, the tip of a fang coming handsomely into view. "I sure as hell've lived long enough ta earn them."
He didn't feel the need to look at her while they talked, Irbis realised, unless she said something that deserved his full attention. But what could warrant that?
"You don't look very old," she tried, and was rewarded by an amused set of golden eyes peering at her. The chuckle rumbling through his chest sent shivers up her spine and she embraced herself.
"No, I don't, do I? And yet I can remember livin' in the woods in Canada at the beginnin' o' the 20th century an' bein' old enough t'do anythin' I pleased." It caught her off guard and she remained motionless, feeling the warmth of the man's eyes, now that the amusement had thawed their ice. The smirk grew into a cocky grin. "Healin' factor side effect."
"Ah," she finally managed to react. But the man just shook his head and looked back at the TV, picking up the control to zap through the channels. Wondering what else to say, she grabbed the first thought that popped up.
"I play piano."
"I know," there was a renewed hint of impatience in his voice as he turned up the volume of a news channel.
"No, quer dizer, I play when I have nightmares."
"Which explains why ya keep gettin' up in the middle o' night, in Wausau, t' sit at the piano fer hours. It still don't explain why ya pretend t'play, like ya're some loony."
The man's eyes didn't seem interested enough to stay away from the screen for long, so she decided not to bore him with long answers. "I don't want to make noise to you."
"S'that why ya want the guitar? Ya figure ya'll be able t'make less noise?"
"I can take de guitar outside de house and play widout wake you up," she conceded, "but is not dat. De sound of de guitar is different… I learn to play when I had seven years, and I… Is a different sound. And some off my favourite musics are for de guitar. And… dey make de nightmares go away… during a little time, pelo menos."
He turned to the TV with a grunt of annoyance. She hesitated. The best course of action, right now, was to change topics, but there was a question she needed answered.
"People say time cures everything. Does time makes de nightmares disappear?"
"No." Creed zapped through the channels. "Ya just get used ta them, and once ya do they get fewer and more in-between."
"And when we get used... De pain stops? De fear dat makes you seeck?"
Creed found a news channel and raised the sound so slightly the people's voices could barely be heard. Then he took another sip and got comfortable. "No, they don't ever go away. But if ya're smart, ya learn ta use 'em. When ya need ta fight… when the odds are against ya and ya need extra strength, ya just turn all that inta hate and kick their asses ta Kingdom Come. Or ya can let it sink into yer bones and turn ya into a broken wimp."
Irbis looked down at the pizza box. She could barely perceive the sound of the woman on the news in the silence of the room and decided that, if the man could hear her thanks to his heightened hearing, then he must also be able to enjoy music in a level she couldn't. Feeling a pang of mixed sadness and jealousy, she slid another slice out of the box and focused on eating it. On the TV, a police officer was talking in the middle of a darkened road, blue and red lights flashing behind him; a string of subtitles referring to a gang of carjackers that had been caught, a murder in a residential, a beating of a jew, hate crime statistics, lynching of a human who had been thought to be a mutant due to a skin problem, mutant-related crime statistics, a chain accident due to heavy rain and hail…
"I cause you a big problem wid de Friends off Humanity," she stated quietly.
"Ya made a mess, 's what ya did. Fortunately fer you, I knows just where ta hit 'em." She sprang to attention even though he hadn't bothered to look at her.
"You know where dey are? Deir big boss? How can I help?"
"Ya can't," impatience once more dripped from his voice.
"But I caused dis, Mister Creed! I have to help of..."
"Ya have t'shut up, is what ya hav'ta!" His eyes shone with anger but she held them. "And if ya're such a dimwit ya can't realise I got far more pressin' matters ta fix – like those blasted morons who're tryin' ta kill me – then what ya hav'ta do is get yerself a new batch o' common sense!"
"You're right, I'm sorry. É só que…" Irbis took a deep breath. "I don't understand dis very well."
"S'all a question o' priorities, girl," he spit sarcastically, eyes on the screen. "First, ya handle the ones tryin' t'kill ya."
The cold embracing her again, Irbis closed her eyes and took another deep breath. "I don't understand de anti-mutant groups. Please," and she dared to touch his arm lightly to get his full attention. "Explain me about dem… I don't ask to help again, but explain, please."
Creed frowned, growling lightly, then glanced at his watch and grunted. "There ain't nuthin' t'explain! Ya got the Friends o' Humanity, which don't do nuthin' big these days anymore, while 'em Church o' Humanity and Purity are gettin' more famous and get all the hype. They're doin' some pretty smart recruitin' everywhere on account o' their visibility. They got plenty o' websites, rangin' from 'hope 'em mutants'll die off' to 'let's get some seriously mayhem goin' on'; so they do the recruitin' like any other terrorists, and they also keep their members under control. Friends o' Humanity ain't as virtual, so they work on word o' mouth; not t'mention the local cells are far more independent and pretty much do as they please. Makes it much harder to guess how strong they really are, since ya got 'em lil' cells getting' busted every now an' then, but no idea how many are affiliated, even 'cause many folks that get caught goin' after mutants will claim they're Friends o' Humanity even if they ain't got no official contact wi'them. Hell, as far as most folks know, nobody's had no contact with the big bosses since their candidate got blown to smitherings…"
"Ah, sim. De candidade Creed." The man's eyes glared at her almost instantly and Irbis hesitated. She was pretty sure she had got the surname right, but she decided to use it to see if it would help her find what had upset him. "I'm sorry, is de name wrong? Is Candidate Greed?"
"Creed," he confirmed through clenched teeth, eyes still burning fiercely. "Graydon Creed. He created the group when he was still a lawyer with political ambitions, then cut off any connections when he became a presidential candidate. Their headquarters used t'be in New York, but even though they got offices all over the country, the headquarters fer the group got relocated to Salt Lake City."
Despite the ferocity of the man's gaze, Irbis felt more at ease now the night ghosts had been scared away. "Então, now you go back to… uh… dat lake from where we escaped, and kill everyone, and den you go to Salt Lake City and kill everyone too."
He growled as the eyes lost some of their anger. "Don't be a moron. The mercs are probably on our trail, if they ain't already here an' lookin' fer this place. And when I go t'Salt Lake City, all I'm gonna do is sneak in and alter whatever info they got on ya."
Her heart started beating faster, while Creed grunted and looked at his watch. It was already ten, a few minutes past actually. The 'but' was burning her mind and tongue but she didn't want to aggravate him just now, so she bit her lower lip and didn't say she thought his plan wasn't thorough enough. She had to think about how to break her idea nicely so that he wouldn't just dismiss her worries as a sign of dimwitness.
"Do you want me to do something? Prepare food? A drink? De bed?"
The glance he threw at her brought some unwanted colour to her cheeks, and she berated herself for letting the man bring heat to her face without any effort. "Yeah, finish eatin' an' get out o' my way. Ya're annoyin' me."
Her cheeks burnt harder and she gazed at the pizza box, opening it to get another slice. His eyes stayed on her though. "Ya're goin' up t'Newark early in the mornin' and ya're stayin' there till I finish cleanin' up this mess."
She nodded, not looking up as a way to avoid the man's eyes.
"Once I finish this, I'll take ya back t'the house and ya'll stay there. Fer good, this time. No more holidayin' fer you, girl."
She couldn't avoid the smile. "No more holidays," she agreed, looking up at his golden eyes. "Is too much adrenaline to me. Fight trainment is too much adrenaline, real fight is… And every time I go to any place is a fight!"
The man's eyes narrowed slightly and Irbis noticed she was smiling for him like a Cheshire cat. Looking quickly back to the pizza box, she ignored the renewed heat on her cheeks.
"Shit."
Irbis didn't have time to look up. A blast shook the ground even as Creed whisked her up. Ears ringing, she felt the man's strong embrace securing her safely to his chest and was barely aware they were outside and climbing up the wall.