Author's note: Thank you to NotMarge, musicjunkie1996, NicoleR85, partygirl98, Luna von Rae, ZabuzasGirl, kmj1989, IAmARebel22, LoveYourself845, and Kimberly Brooks for the reviews! Now, I'm not going to lie about today- not much really happens in the "present" of this chapter. It's mainly Hank beating himself up about this situation and also bringing you readers up to speed on exactly how the FOH figured everything out. Since I'm sticking to Hank's POV, I had to get the information to you somehow!

I really put some thought into this and annoyed the crap out of my long-suffering husband and my dear NotMarge in the process. "Does this make sense? Please, tell me this is a logical plot line!"

But anyway, then there's some personal growth for Hank and rallying the troops thrown in for good measure. On Wednesday we're going to talk to Zoey!

Blame

I was lost in thought as I drove to the Institute, mulling over everything Olivia had told me. I couldn't calm down enough to shift out of my Beast form- my focus was nonexistent as I fought off a mind-numbing sense of panic and guilt.

Our entire existence had been turned upside down by one single event, as if someone had tipped a domino over and sent our whole lives crashing down around us.

And it was all my fault.

The father of one of the boys who attacked Zoey and I two weeks ago was an FOH member. When his son came home talking about a man who turned into a monster and a girl who threw fireballs when they tried to steal their wallets, the father- rather than punishing his kid for assaulting people, like a good parent would do- took him to a FOH meeting where he shared his story. Nicholas Grey happened to be there and heard the description of a tall, bespectacled man and a small woman with iridescent red hair. He recognized us immediately and felt no compunction about telling his fellow bigots our names.

I could only imagine what a proud moment Grey saw that as, considering his over-inflated sense of his own self-importance. Finally, he would get the attention he felt he deserved.

With that information FOH started to dig, bringing their considerable resources to bear on discovering all they could about Zoey and I. They read everything- our recent paper on HCA's and cancer, our theses, and all of the other work I'd published in the past, including papers from my stint with the CIA. And worst of all, they got their hands on newly declassified documents about the Cuban Missile Crisis. That was the most damning piece of information out of everything.

From there they connected the dots, using powers of deduction I had thought were way out of league for the average FOH member: mainly, that I was once a normal enough looking young man working for the CIA, until the day I wasn't and showed up on some Cuban beach looking like an ape who fell into a vat of blue dye. And then I disappeared from sight for almost six years, only to reappear in public afterwards seemingly "cured." I had obviously been up to something during that interval of time.

It was a leap, I'll admit, but one they thought worth making on the chance that they were right about me, that I could be the one to develop a cure for the X-gene. Even if they were wrong, my work was more advanced than most geneticists of the day. It gave them high hopes that I could find a "cure."

The only thing they needed was something to motivate me into betraying mutant kind. So earlier today, Nicholas Grey brought over five of his friends and knocked on the door to our apartment, to obtain the ultimate leverage: Zoey.

It was a win-win for the FOH. Even if I failed to deliver and they killed her, at least it would be one less mutant defiling the planet with her existence...

My hands clenched at the thought, poking holes in the leather covering the car's steering wheel as I gripped it too tightly.

Oops. Zoey will be upset about that.

If I could save her.

I couldn't breathe for the ache in my chest, thinking of the possibility that I may never see my wife again. How would I even live with myself, knowing how I failed her?

This is all my doing in the first place, I thought bitterly.

I lost control in public. Even though I had been severely provoked, if it weren't for me revealing Beast none of this would've happened. And I'd also been over-confident about the FOH's inability to find us, and failed to keep an eye on Nicholas Grey even though I knew he bore us a great deal of ill will.

And worst of all, I created serums designed to manipulate my own genes.

If only I'd had some self-confidence growing up, I would've never tried to develop the formula from Raven's genes that caused my second mutation. And if I had then been content with my Beast form, I wouldn't have devised this other serum to suppress it.

I still didn't stop taking the drug, even after I showed Zoey my other side and she told me she loved me no matter what form I took. A part of me had clung to the desire to be "normal," to avoid the fear and disgust people would feel when they saw me.

And now Zoey's life was in danger, because of my inability to be comfortable in my own skin, to completely accept myself the way I was.

It was clear that I would be a target from now on, as long as my mutation-suppressing serum survived. If I continued to use it, word of its existence was sure to spread among the various anti-mutant organizations. More people would come for it, and they wouldn't be scrupulous about using Zoey- or our child- to force me to give in. There was only one way to protect them.

If I can get Zoey back home safely, I'll never take that serum again, I vowed to myself. I'll destroy it, and the formula, and live my life as Beast for the rest of my days.

It was a sacrifice I would gladly make, as long as I had her with me.

Sean (holding Theresa), Maeve, Alex and Gwen were waiting in the garage when I pulled up to the Institute, barely bothering to turn my car off.

Our plans to tell our friends about Zoey's pregnancy tonight seemed like a distant memory now. Life had become a living hell in a matter of an hour or two.

Everyone's jaws dropped when they saw me head for the door without speaking to anyone. I probably looked like a crazy person- er, monster. Something was obviously wrong if I was in such a state, walking around as Beast. The circumstance was so rare the ladies had never even seen my second mutation before.

"Hank, what's going on?" Sean asked, with obvious concern.

"I need to speak to Charles."

"He's on one of his weird little chess dates with Magneto," Alex replied as I passed him. "Why, what's up?"

I cursed under my breath and spun on my heel to look at all of them, my closest friends. Zoey's closest friends.

The words tasted like acid as I spoke. "Zoey is being held hostage by the FOH. They're going to kill her if I don't come up with a 'cure' to the X-gene within the next three days."

"What?!"

"That's bullshit," Alex spat. "You can't do it. Think of what the FOH would do with something like that."

"I-I thought being a mutant isn't a disease," Gwen stammered, horrified. "Zoey told me it's just like having blonde hair or blue eyes."

"She was right," I replied painfully.

"Then how-?"

"We'll have to go get her," Sean said simply.

He handed baby Theresa to his wife, an expression of determination on his face.

"I'll go try to raise Charles on the radio," he announced. As he passed me he patted my shoulder. "We'll get your wife back, Beast."

And then he was gone.

"I don't get it," Alex muttered. "Beast- not to be a dick or anything, but why hasn't Zoey pulled her little disappearing act? Can't she get out of this on her own?"

I took a deep, shuddering breath, willing myself to share the news. This was supposed to be a happy moment, a cause for joy and celebration. We were going to tell everyone together...

"She would've, yes," I agreed quietly. "But she's pregnant, and we don't know if the baby would survive her doing that. She won't risk it."

For a moment the silence was deafening, like this was a horror too profound for words.

"Oh, dear God," Maeve whispered, clutching Theresa closer to her chest.

Gwen let out a choked sob. "All those weeks of her being sick- I didn't even think that she could be pregnant," she cried. "Why didn't she say anything?"

"We were going to tell all of you tonight," I explained brokenly, looking away. The raw outburst of emotion was making it difficult to keep my own feelings from careening out of control. "We waited until she was farther along, and then-"

And then all this happened.

"We'll get her back, Beast," Alex said firmly, with a confidence that suggested he was not only trying to convince me, but also himself. "Let's go suit up. Gwen, Maeve, stay here at the mansion until we get back."

They nodded mutely in reply, leaving us to prepare for action.

Sean joined Alex and I as we were going through pre-flight checks on the Blackbird, already in his flight suit. He assured us that Charles was on his way back to the Institute.

The jet was my pride and joy, my ultimate achievement in engineering. After the destruction of the original prototype in Cuba Charles gave me free reign to improve upon the design, and now it was better than ever.

But today I felt no flicker of anticipation at the prospect of flying my invention. I was too worried about what was happening to my wife as we dawdled, waiting for Charles to get home and find her using Cerebro.

What would they do to her? Images of faceless men beating Zoey, bruising her and cutting into her delicate skin with cruel knives flitted through my mind. What if they hurt the baby- or worse?

The thoughts made my hackles raise, the fur on my arms and neck bristling with barely-suppressed anger. I was morally opposed to murder, but I might make an exception for those monsters.

The wait felt like hours, but was truly only fifteen minutes or so.

Charles came hurrying into the hallway to Cerebro as quickly as his wheelchair would allow.

I really should put a turbo speed option on that thing.

Moira entered at his side, but made a beeline for me when she saw me.

"I'm so sorry, Hank," she murmured, pulling me in for an embrace. "You'll get her back though, I know you will."

"Thanks, Moira," I said quietly.

"Everything ready on the jet?" Charles queried grimly. At our nods, he pushed his wheelchair forward. "Very well. Beast, come with me."

I braced myself, afraid of what I would see in that machine when we found my wife.