tawt

I Tawt I Taw a Putty Tat
by 1Grrl4Vic

Disclaimer: I don't own Birdy an' I don't own Vic. If I did.. oh, the fun I'd have!   They belong to Marvel. Bugger. Vic's first two spoken lines are taken from the Maverick one-shot that shows us Vic an' Birdy's first meeting. So, yay for me, I'm semi-canon!

Author's notes: Holy CRAP! This took way longer to write than I had planned. Actually... this has been sorta finished for months. I just got majorly side tracked. Thanks to Vicchic for lighting that fire under me. BTW... Ewan will win, so you'd better get started on that happyfic for me. :P

More a/n: This is the prequel to "A Gentleman's Arrangement" by Vicchic. I highly recommend reading that after you read this.

Well, I guess this is it, kiddo. You've bitten off more than you can chew and now you're gonna pay for it. The big, blonde psycho barreling towards you through a wall of hot, screaming lead is probably going to tear your cute little head off and there's nothing you can do about. Why? Because you loused up and hit him with everything you had right from the get-go instead of holding back and your best just wasn't good enough. You put all of your cards on the table before you even knew what game was bein' played. Suck it up, girl, and at least don't go down without a fight.

"Nice try, little girl. Now it's my turn!" He growls at me before lunging and those massive claws of his fit themselves around my neck. He's squeezing, cutting off my air. Spots dance in my vision and the only sound I can hear now is not the chaos around me but his raspy voice, sultry and threatening in my ear. "Fight me, babe. You know you wanna."

I fight against his hold and somehow my knee finds his crotch and I give him a good hit right where he'll feel it. His grip lets up and he stumbles backward. "Grrrrrgoddamn you, girl! I'm gonna chew yer fuckin' legs off fer that!" I'm not getting very far trying to crawl out of reach. He gives as good as he gets and punches me right in the solar plexus, knocking what little air that's in me, out. I can barely breathe, let alone think of a way out, so I just do what comes natural and slam my power right into his mind again. Turning off his systems didn't work the first time, maybe if I just reroute some things. We psi-talents can do that. Don't ask me how it works, I'm not an expert in all things mutie. I just know how to do it.

So I'm in his head while he's givin' my body the beating of a few lifetimes and I can hardly keep a grasp of what's going on. The flashes of red, the screaming and good God, I swear that looks like guts hanging up over there, all of it pummels my own consciousness and I'm doing what I can to fight it. Distorted beasts are clawing through the soft walls of this dude's psyche, tearing through the flesh of his mind, trying to get at me. On the outside, this guy's about five seconds away from gutting me so I don't waste anymore time. Everything I can see inside his head, I blast it. Maybe a bunch'a little hits will work better on him than one, big psychic blast. It must be working because his hits are losing force. I give him one more hit to grow on, and leave his head.

He's looking at me like I just gave him the best blowjob of his life. Believe me, I know the look. He's pantin' hard and reaches out a hand to me. "I think you an' me got someplace better ta be, babe."

I look up at him, my eyesight blurry from tears. Hey, I was facin' death's door, okay? I wipe at my mouth with the back of my hand, smearing blood across my cheek. "Why th' hell would I wanna go anywhere with you?" He must be crazier than I thought. Does he wanna kill me or take me on a date?

"I ain't givin' you a choice, girlie." He pulls me up, yanking me by my arm. I stagger on my feet and he holds me steady for a second before dragging me along with him. I jerk drunkenly out of his grasp.

"I don't think so, bud. I was paid to take you out, an' that's what I'm gonna do." I reach down and pick up an abandoned gun off the floor. It's still warm from being fired only minutes ago so I don't bother with the safety. I straighten up and face Creed, aiming right for his chest. All he does is smile a pointy grin. I smile back sweetly before pulling the trigger. His body reels as four consecutive shots slam into his chest. Geez, my bosses said he was a tough one to kill but this has been pretty easy. Why bother with a psi when a sniper could'a done the job? It would'a been quieter and less messy.

I drop the gun and head for the door. Man, what I wouldn't give for a hot bubble bath right now. I reach out to open the door when a hand grabs my ankle, tripping me. I hit the wood floor and roll, kicking my free leg out hoping to knock my captor in the head. When I turn and look, it's Creed! What the...? "Fuck! I shot you!"

"Yeah, well, you'll hafta do more'n that ta get rid'a me, sweetie," he leers. He pulls me towards him, sliding me along the floor. My struggles aren't doin' any good as he straddles me and pins my hands to the floor. Great. Bein' raped by this guy was not on my 'to-do' list. He lowers his head down around my neck and breathes huskily. "Mmm, baby. You smell so good. I think I'm gunna hafta keep ya fer m'own."

"And I think you're gonna hafta piss off, jerk!" That just did the opposite of what I wanted. That was supposed to make him mad but he's just grinnin' like the freakin' Cheshire Cat, those pointy fangs of his inches away from my face.

"Yer a feisty, little bird, ain'tcha? Yeah. A feisty, little birdy." His eyes give me a good lookin'-over, which honestly, I find absolutely degrading. Just because I'm wearing a tight little outfit doesn't mean you can fuck me with your eyeballs, okay? He's just lookin', gettin' his horndog fill when his head snaps up and his eyes narrow. Quiet seconds tick by. He's not panting like he was before but I sure am. Partly from the sudden meeting with the floor but partly out of fear. Hey, I'm woman enough to admit this guy freaks me out. I mean, he's freakin' huge and he's got these claw-lookin' things and hello? Fangs? Had I known I was goin' up against Dracula, I'd'a brought some flippin' holy water and garlic. Yeah, and he's kinda good-looking but.. he tried to kill me. True, I tried to kill him first but.. comin' from the guy that's like, ungentlemanly, ya know?

He's still starin' all squinty-eyed towards the door but at least he's relaxed his grip on my arms. I'm still being used as his personal floor cushion but, thankfully there's blood getting through to my hands. I angle my head to try and see what's got him so occupied but it's difficult from my position on the floor, the door being behind me. "Calvary's comin'. Time ta get outta here," he looks back down at me. He stops for a minute, tilting his head like he's debating with himself on what to do with me. I could read his mind.. heck or even decide for him, but I don't know if I'm in any shape to make a run for it and I doubt the Hong Kong mob guys headed this way are in the frame of mind to listen to my side of the story. So I let him decide for me. "Yer comin' with me, Birdy." He gets up in one smooth movement, bringing me up with him.

"'Birdy?' The name's..."

"Shuddup an' c'mon!" Normally, I wouldn't let any man talk to me like that. But, number one, I'd rather take my chances with him than the mob dudes. And number two, I've been inside his head once and I don't fancy goin' back anytime soon. He's high-tailin' it out the back door of the restaurant and I follow quickly. He makes a right down the alley and up ahead I can see a black car, idling. He slows to a jog as I catch up to him. I'm breathing hard and I'm thinkin' he must'a bruised a few of my ribs during the pounding he gave me. He turns slightly, pulls on my arm, picks me up and slings me over his shoulder. I land on a rock most people call a shoulder with an indignant squeak but the view of his backfield in motion makes up for it, if ya know what I mean and I think ya do. He picks up his pace and after a few but long and uncomfortable seconds on the Steroid Express, he flops me into the front seat of the car. Then he does one of those 'Miami Vice' jump-across-the-hood stunts... like, who is he trying to impress? He swings the door open, slams it shut, throws the car in gear and we tear down the street leavin' nothin' but a few destroyed vendor carts and the smell of burnt rubber behind us.

"So.. um.. ya know, thanks for the ride and the save and all. And.. uh.. sorry about the trying-to-kill-you thing. Just doin' my job. No hard feelings. You can drop me off at the airport and I'll be on my merry way." Keep yappin', girl, and maybe you can actually talk your way out of this. Yeah and 'denial' is a river in Egypt. This big lug ain't said two words since we made that escape from the restaurant and had I the gumption to do it, I'd read his mind to find out what his deal is but that's a fairly big 'negatory' in my book. Been there, done that. I give a big sigh and turn my attention to the passing city lights of Hong Kong. He's been driving for a while and I'm not really keen on the idea of being in such a small space with him. Remember.. psycho killer? Right. So I'm starting to get impatient and I glance back at him. His breathing's quiet and even. Face forward, eyes set.. nothin' but road, baby. Heck, his hands are even at the classic 'ten o'clock, two o'clock' positions on the wheel. To a telepath who's shut herself off for a while, the silence is deafening so I reach over to turn on the radio. Chinese punk rock would be better than listening to nothing. I turn the dial and he smacks my hand out of the way, turning the radio off. "Okay.. how about some charades then? Let's see.. one word, sounds like...?" His eyes keep staring at the road and his right hand resumes it's place on the steering wheel. "Hmph, sounds like 'prick,'" I mumble under my breath and decide to focus on the nighttime sights as we speed through the city.

"A telepath, huh?" He speaks! There's no emotion in the question. Just a question. So, to liven things up I guess I'm gonna hafta be the smartass.

"And you must be the rocket scientist!" I reply jovially. Turning cruelly sarcastic I say, "Give the dog a bone."

He stares coolly at me, "If yer partial to that mouth o' yers, you better shut it 'fore I rip it off yer face." He turns his attention back to the road.

"Look, you gonna drop me off somewhere or what?" This guy's startin' to act like a serious dick and I am very tempted to pop him one in the mind if he doesn't curb the attitude.

"I'm gonna go with 'or what' for five hundred, Alex. You did somethin' ta my head when you were prancin' around in there back at th' den. Sure you didn't like it so much but it gave me a helluva hard-on an' a nice tingly feelin' all over. I could use a girl like you, Birdy. So I'm thinkin' I'm gunna keep ya and not kill ya fer tryin' ta clean my clock." Oh, joy. From hired hit-chick to Simba's slut. Yay for me. And what's with him callin' me 'Birdy?'

"My name isn't Birdy, it's..."

"It is now, babe. I own you an' if you got a problem with that, well.. too bad fer you. 'Cause I hate givin' up my possessions. Now shut it."

"Now look here, asshole..." And that's all I can get out before my head meets Mister Dashboard. The pain registers for a moment but then it's sleepytime.

Ya ever have one of those sleeps, the kind where you're really jonesin' to just zonk out and drift off to La-la Land but somethin' is keepin' ya? One of those somethin's being a television. Maybe another bein' the sweet stink of a cigar. Oh, and another being the incredibly annoying throb of the worst headache of your life?! Yeah, that's the kinda sleep I'm waking up to now. I sit up real slow but that doesn't help much because I think I'm gonna puke. The cigar ain't helpin'. I blink the fuzziness outta my eyes and squint angrily at the light. Sheesh, who let me go to sleep in the middle of a stadium? Turn the friggin' lights off, wouldja? An' turn off that damn TV! 'The Simpson's' in Chinese just doesn't hold the same appeal for me. I notice a figure moving out of the corner of my eye and oh-so slowly turn my head in its direction. "Oh. You. Ugh." Well, that was articulate. Conserve your energy, honey, and maybe next time you can try a whole sentence! His frame is blocking some of the light and he moves closer. Boy, he smells good. Like soap. I smile dumbly and sway a little.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. You best lie back down 'fore ya fall off the bed an' get knocked out again. I ain't haulin' you all th' way into the airport an' onta th' plane. You hearin' me, girl?" A hand slaps at my cheek and I lazily wave my hands at the offender. "Wake up, Birdy."

"My name's not Birdy, you oaf." I steady myself on the bed and rub at my eyes, clearing them. My assaulting captor is standing next to the bed in nothing but a pair of silk, paisley boxers. He's still got a few beads of water, presumably from his shower, clinging to that tan skin of his. Boy, if he wasn't a total psychotic, I'd offer to lick those right off'a that bod. C'mon girl, get with it! He tried to kill you, fer cryin' out loud! If the word 'psycho' doesn't do it for you, maybe the words 'Here Lies Me, Died at the age of Twenty-three' would work better!

"Well, yer name's Birdy now, dollface. And we got a plane ta catch in an hour so sober up. Yer comin' home with me."

"Won't that upset the Missus?" Even half-conscious I don't know when to shut up. He doesn't answer, he just walks back to the bathroom and starts to get dressed. I drag myself up from the bed and walk over to the dresser. I look into the mirror on the dresser, turning my head right and left. "Huh. No lump. Not even a mark." Neat trick. He managed to knock me out with the dashboard of a '69 Mustang and there's not even a welt.

It's four in the morning, at least I think it's four in the morning, and we've just gotten off the freaking plane. Finally! Sometime before, or maybe it was after, my concussion-induced sleep he told me his name was Victor Creed. The 'Creed' part I knew already from my employers.. well, former employers. Don't think they're too happy with me right now, seein' as how I kinda didn't kill my target that they were payin' me to kill. Victor Creed being said target. It's kinda hard to kill a guy who's got.. what'd he call it? A healing somethingoranother. Basically, he's tough to kill. "Pert'near indestructible" as he put it. He even showed me! Extended one of those claws of his, just like a cat would, and sliced up his arm. Right there in first class. And just like he said it would, his arm just healed right up. Almost immediately. Kinda wild and creepy at the same time.

So anyways, here we are in Seattle and in the back of a limo no less, and I have no idea what's gonna happen from here on out. The guy said I was one of his 'possessions' now, whatever that means. Guess I'm his love-slave. Not that it really matters. As soon as my powers get back up to full power, I'll just psi-blast him a good one and head for the door. Easy as pie.

I guess this is his place we're pullin' up to now. Wow. It's like, wow. He gets out of the limo first, not even bothering to hold the door open for me. I climb out while he slips the driver some cash. All I'm doin' is starin' at the ten foot high wall he's got surroundin' this place. High security, I guess. He's walkin' back towards me as the limo pulls away, his overnight bag over one shoulder and damn me if he doesn't look like a million bucks in that suit he's got on. Hello, daddy! No, no and no! You're not falling for this guy, okay? He is off limits because he is a nutcase, got it? Right. Okay. No falling for the big guy. Got it.

"You comin' in or you just gunna stand outside collectin' bugs in that trap o' yers?" He's standing by the iron gateway waiting for me to follow.

"Oh. Okay. Sure thing, Vic. Right behind ya." I walk up to the gate, smiling.

"That's 'Mister Creed' 'round here, got it?"

"Yeah. I got it. 'Mister Creed,'" I mock, mimicking his tone and following him up the path to the house.

"Girl, one'a these days I'm gunna knock the smarts clean outta you. I ain't gunna put up with a mouth like yers." He's punching in some sorta code on a keypad and I hear a loud clunk. Huh. Like, big time door locks, I guess.

"Sure ya will. I suck dick like nobody's business," I say it casually like I do it everyday. Which, hey, there've been times when I did. Not 'cause I had to but I wanted to. He was a nice guy and I liked to make him happy. No biggie. Ol' Mister Creed here's lookin' at me like he doesnt know what to say. Guess he never had a woman be so open with him. Way I see it, if I'm gonna be his little sex slave or whatever, might as well be honest about the whole 'sex thing' from the start. He turns back to the door, opens it and walks through. I walk in behind him and he shuts the door behind me. He walks over to a computer console, hits some keys and a robot-sounding voice tells us, "Perimeter secure." I hope that thing's not gonna be a problem when I make my mad dash for freedom.

After I got myself settled in this massive bedroom he's put me in, I take a tour of the place. I don't have any clothes other than what I've got on, so I just keep the towel wrapped around me I used after my shower. I wanna familiarize myself with the layout, so when I break out, I'll know where I'm goin'. I pass by an open door on the first floor, the only light coming from the room is a roaring fire. "Get in here, girl," the master summons me.

"You bellowed, highness?" I ask, stepping into the large office. Creed's chillin' in one of those executive-style leather chairs, puffing on another of his sticky ol' cigars. Bleh.

"Few ground rules I wanna lay down 'fore you make yerself too comfortable. Real simple. You do what I tell ya, ya stay outta my way an' I won't add ya to th' compost pile in the backyard. Got it?"

"Sure thing, Boss. Sounds easy enough," I tell him. I slowly walk over to his desk, lifting my bottom up and oh-so sexily plop myself right on his desktop. I use my foot to turn his chair, to make sure I've got his attention and add huskily, "Anything else I need to know? Anymore.... ground rules... Boss...?"

He just stares at me with those wild, green eyes. He blinks once and raises an eyebrow at the foot that's resting on the arm of his chair. He blinks again, sighs wearily and gets up, pushing my leg out of his way causing me to wobble at bit at the sudden loss of support. "Best get ta bed. I'm settin' the alarm an' I ain't in the mood to clean up whatever mess they make if you get tagged," he warns, exiting the study.

I think my feelings are hurt. He just up and blew me off, when I was obviously doing my whole 'sex kitten' thing! I thought that's what I was here for? I shrug and hop off the desk and pad silently over the wood floor, back to my upstairs bedroom. Maybe he's just jet-lagged? Or he's just not in the mood? Hah... that's not likely! A man... not in the mood? Whatever, girl.

I'll play along for now. Let him boink me when he wants... make him think I'm all into this... then book outta here after I finish the job I started back in Hong Kong. The big lug'll never know what hit him.