Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.
21. Practice
Creed woke up late in the morning but didn't get up immediately. The wind was blowing hard outside his window and he closed his eyes, enjoying the peace and quiet. There was something comforting about a full-blown blizzard: for as long as you had food and wood in abundance, you could just sit back and not worry about a thing in the world. And that was exactly what the man did. At least until his stomach started growling. Wondering if Irbis had prepared anything for him, he put on a pair of jeans and a shirt and headed downstairs.
The first thing he noticed was the aroma of food. Home-baked bread and cake. The second thing he noticed was the quiet. Peeking into the kitchen, he saw an assortment of ingredients, herbs, cheese, bottles of wine and pears, but no sign of Irbis. Hadn't it been for the raging storm outside, he'd guessed she was outside in the backyard. Then he noticed the thumping. He followed it to its source, entering the small room under the stairs and opening the hidden door to the basement. The thumping became an irregular punching. Frowning, Creed stole down the stairs into the wide room the original owner had created in the basement. He knew the girl had resumed training after he had spared her life in New York, but had never seen her do anything other than your run-of-the-mill exercises or practising her shooting and knife-throwing abilities. Now, he had the chance to watch her attack the punching bag. Her effort and determination impressed him, but her aimless blows harmed her muscles and tendons far more than the bag.
Hiding in the shadows, he saw the woman – wearing a body fitting T-shirt and cotton trousers that followed her curves perfectly all the way down to her knees – break off to recover her breathing. There was a note of frustration in the way she exhaled that had Creed grinning. When she got ready for another round, she blew out audibly and then held her breath securely as she attacked the bag with all her wasted might.
Creed evaded her vision field and approached silently. When she broke off for another pause, cursing lightly in Portuguese, he grabbed her left wrist. The petite woman twirled around as fast as a lightning, offering her slender neck to his other hand. He grinned at her wide eyes, blinking in surprise at him.
"Boo," he concluded flatly, a mischievous grin spreading through his face.
Irbis closed her eyes for a fleeting moment as she exhaled in near relief.
"Que susto," she breathed out inadvertently. Then she looked up at him and thoughtlessly dared a criticism, a slight frown crowning her unworried brown eyes. "You scare me, Mister Creed."
"Ya looked like ya needed some help," his hands relaxed their grip but didn't free her.
"I was trying to... uh... catch de best way off... off punch."
Creed grinned. "An' here I thought ya was tryin' t'hurt yerself. Yer fist ain't closed right, ya're hittin' the bag wi'the weakest part of yer fist, the wrist ain't aligned, yer elbows make it look like ya're tryin' t' fly, yer body ain't relaxed enough, yer punchin' with yer arms alone 'stead of using yer hips an' upper body, ya ain't usin' yer legs either, yer feet ain't givin' ya enough support... and ya ain't even tryin' t'aim, just throwin' yer fists wherever."
The man's large hand on her slender neck kept her from lowering her head, so she just lowered her eyes, disappointment thoroughly spread through her body. "So how do I...?"
Creed considered her sighed appeal for his help. If he were to correct her, she'd take forever to pick anything, if she managed to pick anything at all, and he'd be irritated for the rest of the day. But on the other hand, she was willingly throwing herself in his hands. He wasn't about to let it go to waste.
"Break free." She looked up again, a frown on her brow. "Escape me an' get t'the stairs."
He could have laughed at the unconvinced glance she shot towards the stairs. She held her breath lightly, probably wondering how to turn down the suggestion. He decided she might need to know the only alternative he was willing to give her. "Or we can practise some hand-to-hand fighting fer the rest o' the day, yer choice."
She swallowed as she glanced at the stairs again, the second option making the game seem more inviting. "Can I ask one thing?"
"Ya don't wanna delay this fer too long, girl, or ya'll have t'get t'the door, upstairs."
"Não, não! We start now, we start... é só que... I can't escape if... uh... if you... uh..."
Grinning brightly, he conceded. "If I don't go easy on ya? Sure... fer as long as ya do gimme yer best. Ya kick an' punch as hard as ya can, no holdin' back. Ya understand what I'm sayin'?"
She nodded as much as she could with his hand still around her neck, and her face assumed a mask of concentration. This was going to be fun.
As soon as Creed's grip intensified, she tried to pull back. He would've expected her to use her hands around his wrist for keeping herself in balance, but this approach also made sense: she was using all her weight backwards, where his fingers met and the grip was the weakest. What he didn't expect was the kick that came flying up.
Irbis hit the wall so hard, her vision got blurred and a wave of nausea washed over her. For a moment, she didn't even feel the throbbing pain on her neck. Trying to steady herself on her knees and hands, she shook her head and made an effort to recover awareness of her surroundings while getting her breathing under control. Then the thought that Creed must be about to put her through hell for kicking him like that shone like a red warning inside her mind.
"You say my best... Dat... Dat my best... my best eedea."
No blow or sound answered her, though, and she blinked up. The man was crouching some feet away from her, probably still on the same spot, his face too inexpressive for her to guess if he was angry or just annoyed or not even that. She swallowed.
"Ya went fer an unexpected move. That was good. And ya didn't hold back, which is the only reason I ain't kicking the shit outta ya." For some reason she didn't feel relieved. "Now I suggest ya get up an' deal wi' the consequences o' the move ya chose."
Which meant getting kicked and punched around. Why had she decided to work the punching bag this morning? Not feeling very hopeful, she tried a less violent way out of this game of catch. She had never even liked playing catch. Playing hide-and-seek, yes that was fun; now playing catch...
"Uh... I... When I kick a... an attacker like dat, den I... when he is uh... down." The man lifted an eyebrow very slightly and she swallowed. "I hit him very hard in de neck. Or kick his head like a ball. Very hard. All my streng."
His eyebrow fully lift by now, he cocked his head to one side. Irbis bit her lower lip, wondering if he would accept it. But no, he wouldn't; it was as lame as it could get.
"Interestin'. Ya know, I was down fer a moment there an' I didn't notice no one punchin' me or kickin' me. Curious, ain't it?"
Right, lame. Now what? No way would she be able to sprint past him and get to the stairs.
"Yeah, I know. Ya didn't strike me when ya had the chance 'cause I pushed ya away and ya was tryin' t'get yer head straight. Which means ya lost yer golden opportunity. If ya ever gotten t'think up a plan B, girl, now's the time fer actin' on it, 'cause the thug I'm playin' is in the mood t'show ya a world o' pain."
The idea struck as he got up and took a step towards her. "No, wait! If dis is outside, in de street... I have my bag, and I always have de gun in my bag! So I can just..."
She didn't continue, waiting for his reaction. The way he narrowed his eyes and again cocked his head made her hopeful. But then he grinned. It was such a brilliantly naughty grin it sent shivers up and down her spine, leaving her nearly breathless.
"Yer bag fell over there when I threw ya away."
Alright, he was playing the game. Not that it would do her much good if he just kept brushing her defensive ideas aside.
"My knife is wid me," she tried one last time.
The grin didn't change even as he took another step towards her and crouched. Such beautiful eyes the man had.
"Let's see that knife then."
'Focus!' She sternly told herself. She met his eyes head on. "I think I prefer to wait until you are very close and den hit you when you don't wait."
"Not bad thinkin'. It cuts down on yer chances o' defusin' the attack, but ya gain more chances o' livin' through it. I wanna see how ya intend t'pull yer pretty words off, though." His hand once more nuzzled around her neck, reawakening the shivers in her spine, but then he pushed her down hard against the ground. "Ya gonna regret that stunt a while back, ya lil' bitch."
She wiggled under the grip, heat coming to her faces over the insult. "Don't call me beach!"
"Now that's sure t'impress whoever's attackin' ya." There was a hint of annoyed sarcasm in his voice that hurt her and she quieted down. "Start gettin' used t'the fact ya gonna get insulted, and I mean really insulted, an'get over yerself. Ya wanna make a statement 'bout it, turn the tables on the ass name-callin' ya an' then giv'im a lesson in manners he won't ferget. Right now, all ya're doin' is wastin' yer time and I ain't seen that knife ya was talkin' 'bout yet."
Before she had time to react, though, he opened his legs and straddled her. Irbis could feel her blood flooding her body and making her tomato red. There was an urgent thought inside her head telling her to get her act together, but her body wasn't working at the moment. The feelings and emotions storming inside her didn't let it.
"Now, where were we... Oh, yeah: I'm gonna make ya regret that stunt o' yers, ya lil' bitch." He closed his hand leaving only the index out and a claw distended. "Did I ferget t'mention I got a blade o'my own?"
And without a moment to lose, it found the collar of her T-shirt and ripped it all the way down to the hem. Her mind was screaming now, but she still couldn't react. There were only those deep golden eyes, ice and fire going through her, and that grin, that muscle and bone melting mischievous grin, fading slowly into seriousness. And the heat searing her face, of course.
He leaned forward, resting his entire weight on his left hand, squarely on the floor just a few inches from her face. His index finger, claw still extended, played down her cheek and she couldn't even breathe by now. His face was exactly over hers, eyes on eyes, and she could feel tears burning hers.
"Talk," he said, his tone gentle, his voice rough. Irbis felt her body shivering but it was like being trapped in a stone sculpture, heavy and impossible to move. "Tell me what ya would do, if yer attacker got ya like this."
She swallowed, mesmerised. It was so clear inside her mind what it was that she had to do. "I... I move my hands and legs... so de attacker doesn't notice something out off normal when I go get de knife. Den I... I make certain he's looking to me... my face. And I cut his... his stomach."
"He's got a knife too, remember? He could easily slit yer throat open, or slash yer face, yer..." His eyes wondered down over her chest and she took a deep, shivering breath.
"I hold his knife." His eyes travelled back to hers. "Wid my oder hand... I cut my hand, but is OK."
His face lowered slightly towards hers, and all Irbis could do was see the intricacy of colour and lines within the irises of the man. "Show me."
But she couldn't. Her body didn't obey her. He hovered over her for what seemed an eternity then he straightened up abruptly, standing on his knees and towering over her. She was still transfixed, a sudden cold draft freezing her despite the searing heat still burning her face, and neck, and chest, and... The man's right hand grabbed her by the two ends of her T-shirt collar and pulled her up, then he sat down on his heels, her legs underneath him.
"Ya see, trainin' s'all very fine. Knowing what t'do inside yer head, s'all very fine too. The catch is that, no matter how good ya are at any o' those two things – and ya particularly stink at one o' them – ya're always gonna freeze the first time ya're face t'face with a real situation. An' the second time, too. An' the third, an' the fourth, and... And all the times it takes till they become normal. Then, only then, will ya be able ta reason clearly, and have yer body do exactly what ya want of it."
Irbis would have nodded her agreement, but her body was still playing dead. Even as the man got up and took a couple of steps away, his back to her, she still couldn't move.
"What's fer lunch? I'm so hungry I could eat a horse."
"Uh... Is..." She was aware he had turned to look at her and the tears of before burnt her eyes more deeply. "Uh... Meat... pork."
She realised suddenly he was crouching next to her and her head turned of its own account to meet his gaze. "Pork fried and after stewed wid clams," she finally managed.
"Later in the afternoon," he said in his most serious looking expression, "We gonna go through another practice like this. I'll pretend t'be some guy attackin' ya, and ya'll try an' get rid o' me."
She managed to nod this time, and then he put his big hands on her arms and pulled her up. "Fer someone who don't smell o' no fear," he grinned mockingly, "ya get pretty petrified. Go get my lunch fixed."
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