Summary: Immediately following the incident at Liberty Island, Sabretooth finds help from a young, blonde telepath. This story introduces Birdy (a comic canon character) into the movieverse.

"….and Found"

The lights of New York City twinkled on the surface of the Hudson River, pulling and twisting them with the waves and currents in the water. The surge lapped against the concrete barrier along the river's edge in rhythmic time, a gentle rocking beat. A soft breeze rustled over the discarded coffee cups and newspaper pages that littered the sidewalk along the waterfront. A page of The Times floated and skidded, up and down over the cement, catching the drafts of air coming off the water. It drifted silently until it came to a stop with a crinkling sound, wrapping itself around a slender leg. A meticulously manicured hand reached down and pulled the paper away, letting it catch the next available breeze.

The hand resumed its place in the lap of its owner after lightly brushing any offending dirt from the Jimmy Choo heeled shoe which was filled with an extremely arched foot. The owner sighed and enjoyed the solidarity of being alone and the low murmur of a city asleep. She sighed again, softer now and wiped lightly under one heavily made-up eye at the tear that threatened to ruin her mascara. She laughed ruefully and shook her head, chiding herself for getting so weepy. She knew the rules of the game but somehow she often forgot them. She wasn't paid to love them, not in the conventional sense. She was paid to be pretty, engage them in conversation when it was required and to make the fella paying the bills to look good in front of others. It certainly wasn't a bad way to make a living. Making extremely wealthy men feel good while they were on "business trips" away from their confining home lives. Demanding wives and disobedient children, all spoiled and ungrateful of what they had or where it came from.

But Birdy was grateful. Grateful for her telepathic gift that helped her know what men really wanted. And if sometimes she didn't want to give them what they really wanted, she could at least make them think she'd given it to them. And in return they lavished her with expensive gifts of jewelry, designer clothing, a suite in a fancy hotel, even cash. This last one even gave her a car to use while he was in town visiting with her and…."taking care of business." But she had seen him off this night, his return flight to London, a harpy of a wife and a child he never believed was his. This client was her favorite and she treasured their time together. His departure always made her a bit wistful as well as inciting an internal moral debate. It could be so easy for her to reach into his mind and make him stay with her but she knew it would be a lie. She wanted someone to love her because they wanted to, not because she made them believe they did.

Birdy reached up and pulled the few pins holding her hair up in its classic style and let the locks fall with a shake of her head. The long layers retained a bit of wave as she separated the strands with her fingers. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms to warm herself, her black silk chiffon dress no match for the midnight breeze, and walked to the railing. With her eyes closed, she embraced the serenity that the sleeping hours afforded her mind and exhaled.

As she turned to leave she heard the cadence of the water slapping against the cement wall change, a disruption in its gentle rhythm. Thinking nothing of it she continued on until she heard the water again, more like a gentle splash this time and another sound like something scraping the concrete. She stopped and turned an ear toward the water, listening again. Seconds ticked by and she heard the sounds once more but with more force. A duck, she thought, trying to pull itself onto the raised sidewalk. She was tempted to peek over the metal railing when something broke the water's surface and scrabbled for purchased on the ledge. Birdy yelped with surprise and shuffled back a step. Whatever had popped up out of the water was gone and all that remained of its presence was the few drops of water already soaked into the sidewalk. Curiosity mixed with a little trepidation propelled her slowly to the edge as she scanned for any mental activity in the area. Probably just a dumb duck, she thought again, or some punk kids out trying to scare folks. As she looked over the edge, no obvious mental signatures came to her but she was aware of another person nearby. Perhaps a homeless person hiding out in an alleyway across the street, passed out drunk. Oddly enough, however, she couldn't find them when she put forth more effort. It was as if they were shielding themselves or had mental barriers in place that her gentle, telepathic nudging could not breech. It was possibly a stray signal. There really was no one close enough that she could find and besides that, she reasoned, you can't hide from a telepath. She craned her neck to look over the side, down at the river. Nothing. Just the gentle rocking of the Hudson. Birdy smiled to herself, amused that she was letting her imagination take her for a ride.

Her amusement didn't last long.

A surge of water propelled itself toward the railing to the right of where Birdy stood, and she stifled her own scream, covering her mouth with both hands. As she tried to back away quickly, the heel of one shoe caught in a crack in the pavement. Startled at the loss of balance, Birdy threw her hands out to try and steady herself but was unsuccessful. She landed hard on her bottom with a grunt all the while staring wide-eyed at what was emerging from the river.

A massive hand reached for whatever it could find and wrapped around part of the railing, a railing that was meant to keep people from falling into the river. An animal-like noise came from whatever was moving in the water and another hand slowly found its way onto dry land. Birdy stared, her breathing quick and shallow, as a human form pulled itself from the river. She could hear the person's labored breathing as they slumped against the rail. A strange, wet, crackling noise accompanied the deep, heavy breaths of the man from the river and Birdy scrambled to her feet. She circled around but kept out of arm's reach as the hulking figure was finally able to bring itself over the top bar of the fencing. The figure landed hard on the sidewalk with a sloppy, wet sound. It reminded Birdy of the time the washing machine in her old apartment had blown a hose during a load of towels. She'd had to wring them out, one by one, before dropping them into a laundry basket with a sploosh.

On the sidewalk, Birdy took in the figure, still lying on his side and facing the river. He was incredibly large and at least seven feet tall, she surmised. The hands that had pulled him up had large black fingernails that were curved and they reminded Birdy of a bear's claws. From what she could see in the pale light, he had very long hair, maybe blonde, but darker than her golden hue. His breathing was rough and he seemed unconscious. Maybe she should call the police? He might have been the victim of some crime, his body disposed of like trash into the river. Although, how a bulk of a man such as this could become a victim was a wonder to Birdy. She frowned lopsidedly and inched forward. She reached out to touch his mind to see how close to consciousness he was when she cocked her head, confused.

She wasn't picking up any distinctive thought signature. She shook her head to clear it and tried again. Mentally, she gently let her power project toward the man on the ground. Birdy imagined the smoky tendrils of her mind floating out to touch him, filling his head, wrapping themselves around his brain. She closed her eyes and concentrated, the smoky wisps becoming less translucent. She pushed them forward once more, forcing them into his mind. As she did this, he grunted quietly and she felt resistance to her entry. That was different. She had never encountered someone who could refuse her mental prying. As far as she knew, no one she had ever telepathically influenced knew she could go traipsing through their thoughts. Opening her eyes, she withdrew her power and nudged the man with the toe of her shoe. The man exhaled wetly, fluid catching in his throat and he rolled onto his back. It was then that Birdy saw the true extent of his injuries.

Covering her open mouth in shock, she knelt down next to his unmoving form and examined him more closely. The most obvious injury was the gaping wound in his chest. Something, or someone, had burned a hole in his torso. This Birdy could tell from the scorch marks on what was left of his shirt. From his neck to his waist was open flesh, wet and red. His abdomen was a mass of packed muscle but she could tell it was his chest that had taken the full force of the blast. Absently, she wondered who would use such a weapon on another person. Pink tissue was exposed and Birdy could see it move as he breathed, inflating and deflating with each breath. His lungs, she guessed, trying not to stare for long. Blood pooled in the cavity around the organs and when he took a deep, long breath, crimson ran over the edge of the wound to soak into his clothes and run out over his skin.

Pulling her eyes away from the grotesque picture in front of her, she looked him over for other injuries. As gently as she could, she ran her hands lightly over his legs then came up to his arms. Nothing broken, as far as she could tell. When she reached his shoulders, she looked at his face for the first time. His facial hair was wild and made even more so because it was wet and matted to his face in some places. His sideburns were long and kind of bushy and they reminded Birdy of a style long since out of fashion. His nose looked sharp in the dim light as if it were cut from stone and his dimpled chin was covered in dark stubble. When she reached his eyes she was surprised to find him looking at her and she held her breath as she looked into the dark pools there. He stared unblinking and Birdy wasn't sure he was really seeing her. Remembering his injuries, not that she could forget, she finally spoke to him.

"You got a big hole in your chest," Birdy said quietly, not quite believing the words. She felt silly stating an obvious fact that he probably already knew or probably didn't want to know since it seemed it would likely be the end of him very soon. His jaw moved as he tried to speak and Birdy shook her head to discourage him from talking.

"I gotta call an ambulance. I'll be back," she said and moved to get up when his hand shot out and grabbed her forearm. She looked at his hand, then his face and saw that he was trying to speak again. This time when he opened his mouth to talk, instead of words being formed by the force of air passing over his larynx, dark red blood spilled out of his mouth and he coughed, choking on the fluid.

Birdy inhaled worriedly, "Oh no," she swallowed. "Don't worry, I'll come right back." She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze to reassure him but he held tight to her arm. Those dark orbs of his never left Birdy's bright blues and they begged him to see reason.

His throat was working, trying to swallow and he was finally able to speak. "No," was all he could manage.

"But you'll die!" Birdy insisted.

He shook his head weakly and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he found hers again and spoke, this time with complete assurance, "No."

A/N: Thanks for reading. Please leave a few comments on what you did/did not like. I'm trying to find my voice again and I love people who know how to leave constructive reviews! More to come...stay tuned!