Author's Note: This takes place after Wolverine 125-127 (I think).
Disclaimer: All characters are owned by Marvel. No profit, sue me not.
Feedback: to ERL_Redhawk@yahoo.com. No MST, feel free to Pop this.
Kudos: Indigo, for inspiring this fic.
Giving It Away
by Redhawk
Victor fretted with the knotted tie of his suit, as he studied his reflection in the mirror.
"Aw, fuck it." he said, leaving the knot twisted, but the tie more-or-less presentable. "It ain't like she's gonna give me grief about it." He stopped to give himself one more look in the mirror.
Black suit, pinstriped. Banker's wear, really, which never failed to amuse Victor. Blood-red tie, somewhat sloppy but presentable. Starched white dress shirt. Polished black dress shoes. White gloves. Fedora. Blonde hair tied back into a neat ponytail. Muttonchops trimmed.
Oh, yeah. One more thing. Can't forget the flowers. He grins to himself, showing for an instant his oversized incisors, before giving his blonde mane one more lick with his hairbrush.
Turning on the ball of his foot, Victor Creed walked out of his Bonn safehouse, snagging his black leather duster before closing and locking the door behind him. On the street he's got his old Milwaukee hog, the same one he rode that fateful night. He gets on the bike, letting the throttle rip just for fun, and speeds off into the city.
He stopped at a florist's he knew well, a mom-and-pop place he's frequented before. Peels off a roll of deutschmarks, slaps them down on the counter.
"Roses. Zwoelf roses."
The guy behind the counter takes the money, pockets it, then opens up the refridgerated case. Hands Victor a dozen roses, fresh and cool from storage. "Danke." he forces himself to say, then walks out of the store.
He hops back on the bike, cranks it again, drives east. Heads through Berlin, past the Gate, the growing hordes of German youths out on the street looking for bier and maedchen, not necessarily in that order. Drives until he reaches his destination.
A cemetary.
Victor parks the bike in the main lot, then sets off on foot across the cemetary. He passes grave after grave, bygone centuries of Germans and others who have given themselves back to the soil.
Finally, at the back, he finds the one he's looking for. Here, in the back, is the place where he had her mortal remains interred. He can practically still smell it - the smell of her blood, cold and sticky. Her mangled corpse, nearly burnt and battered beyond recognition. The headstone is a simple one, devoid of ornamentation.
"Here lies Birdy You were the only one who cared"
"Here ya go, kiddo." Victor said, laying the somewhat wind-ruffled roses down at the foot of her headstone. "Least I could do for ya."
Victor grumbled under his voice, as he fought to keep his eyes clear. "Stupid fuckin' Hand ninja magic, fuckin' hate it, this is so fucked up..." After what seemed an eternity, Victor finally smiled at the tombstone.
"You'd be proud, kid. For a little while anyway, I got my shit together. Of course, it took the goddamned Hand to do it, and there's no tellin' if it'll last, but I can pay ya yer respects proper-like. At least until it wears off, and I go nutso again."
"Goddammit, Birdy, I miss ya. Ya held me together, when I was goin' nuts. Yeah, I know I fuckin' used ya. Twisted yer head, did some really nasty stuff. But despite it all, you helped me. You even broke down some of the blocks, gave me back some of my past."
Victor cleared what almost suspiciously sounded like a sniffle. "I gotta get some help. If this is what the runt's life is like, I'm actually surprised he's still around. Goddammit, Birdy, it hurts. All of it. All the killin', the stuff that used to get me off, make me so high. Now it just makes me sick."
Victor reached under his duster, pulled out a lumpy brown package. "I'm gonna do it, Birdy. I'm gonna be goin' away for a real long time, probably the rest of my life. But I want ya to know, I'm gonna do it right by you. Hell, the runt did it, I can too."
"Here, Birdy. I want you to have this." And Victor let the bundle drop, the fabric unfolding to reveal a brown-and-tan catsuit, collar trimmed in fur. "You used to call it my union suit. Made fun of me for wearin' it, said it looked fuckin' stupid."
"Well, I quit."
Victor pulled out his cellphone, punched in a number he had memorized a long, long time ago.
From the phone's speaker, a regal voice could be heard.
"Xavier's Institute for Higher Learning, may I help you?"
PS - Yes, I know she died in Paris, not Berlin. I have my reasons.