Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists. I also do not own Jenny, which Dizi created a few years back and which is a fabulous character. I strongly recommend you read her adventures with Wolverine and the X-Men.

4. The last straw

"Já chega, Lilia!"

But the girl swiftly escaped her mother's hands and dove under the bed.

"Lilia Vitoria, tu não me faças perder a paciência!" But there were no threats that could get Lilia out of under the bed and much less to put on her shoes.

Tears of frustration welling up, Isabel took a deep breath and sat down. She needed to calm down. Isabel had spent every day battling her own anger since talking to Emma Frost, and every night battling her fears and nightly ghosts. Lilia could smell those emotions and, naturally, she reacted to them. Was there any wonder the child had been throwing angry tantrums on a daily basis then? If her own mother couldn't keep herself in check... Finding the strength to pull both her fears and anger into herself, down deep and out of sight, Isabel took another deep breath.

"Lilia." No answer came to her. "Lilia, vem cá à Mãe, amor. A Mãe não ralha mais. Deixa lá estar os sapatos e vamos só comer, está bem?" But there was still no answer.

Forcing the fake calm to remain, Isabel gave in to the fact that Lilia had simply gotten a bit earlier to the teenage stage of refusing her Mamma's language and embracing solely the English that surrounded her. It was ok. Isabel knew that stage would show up one day. So what if it was years before she had expected it?

"Lilia, my love, come here to Mamma. You don't have to put de shoes… Let's just go down and have breakfast, OK?"

"No!"

Good thing Scott Summers and Robert Drake had returned from Europe the evening before, saying the mission was well under way. Maybe it was almost over.

"After we eat breakfast," Isabel continued softly, "we ask Mister Summers if today we can phone Pappa."

The girl didn't answer, but Isabel could hear her little heart going over the possibility. She waited and forced an assuring smile when the little head popped out, wet eyes glaring at her. Another two seconds and she was getting up, defiant pout in place.

"Vamos?" Isabel put out a hand for the child to take, knowing she would take a long time to admit defeat – even if only partial – and accept her hand. Isabel smiled: she was so much like Victor.

"I ask Miste' Summe'."

Isabel agreed with a soft smile, hoping against all hope that the man would say yes. Please, say yes. But when she got up to lead Lilia downstairs, the girl raced to the door to block it and set down one last condition:

"And you don't talk to Pappa. On'y I talk to Pappa. Not you."

Isabel was unsure for a moment. Not that she had any hope of talking to him, or of him talking to her. But Lilia's jealousy over Pappa was growing and it stood to reason that it was wise to check it.

"Love, I know you miss Pappa. And Pappa misses you very, very much, too. But you don't think he'll be sad if he doesn't talk to Mamma?"

Lilia shook her head resolutely. "He don't wike you."

Isabel froze, her mind thoughtlessly echoing that preposterous idea.

"Lilia…"

"Pappa don't wike you."

Lilia's staunch insistence snapped something inside her. She didn't know what had given the child that idea but it must be uprooted fully. Slowly, breathing out the anger softly so as not to transfer it to the child, Isabel kneeled in front of the little girl, but her brown eyes seemed to send flashes of rage (so much like her father, she couldn't help thinking, so much…) and Isabel's hands closed into fists. Emma Frost? Scott Summers? Bobby Drake? Logan?

"Who told you dat?"

"Ev'yone knows Pappa don' wike you. 'Cause you's af'aid o' Pappa and Pappa don' wike sniv'ing cowa'ds and you's a sniv'ing cowa'd and Pappa hates you."

"Lilia," Isabel felt like a statue of ice, by then, the word 'hate' echoing in her mind, "You listen me."

If only she could tell her to smell the truth of her words. But no, because she was too young to use her senses consciously. She reacted to the emotions she smelled around her, but she wasn't truly aware of them. Victor had said there was plenty of time to teach her to do it. Plenty of time!

"I am not afraid of…"

"Yes, you a'e! Ev'yone knows'at. It's why Pappa go away and neve' say nothin' and don'wanna talk t'you, and he don'wanna talk to me, 'cause he hates you, and I hate you too." The little face twisted in a giant pout and Isabel could see the pain and hurt under all the anger still lighting her daughter's eyes. "I hate you! I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you!"

A sudden cramp took away her breath and forced her eyes shut. In that precise moment, Lilia was turning around and opening the door.

"Lilia!"

Isabel heard only the girl's wailing as she ran through the corridor, calling for her Pappa… Isabel closed her eyes again when another cramp seized her harder. Taking a deep breath, she reached for the door knob to help pull herself up. Her hands and legs were shaking, and she wasn't surprised when she saw blood staining the crotch of her jeans.

"Minha Nossa Senhora… Por favor, por favor!"

Her weight on the door forced it close, and she had to lean on the wall before she could open it again. But then an even stronger cramp forced her down, a second one hard on its heels. The bedroom was starting to swim and darken all around her and she immediately put her head down until her forehead touched the ground.

Victor, her mind screamed; but her voice could only muster a whimpered 'help'. She had to get up, but the pain was too strong. Stretching a hand for the door knob, Isabel was too focused on the task at hands to feel the tears burning down her frozen face. She grabbed it and pulled the door open, but it hit her legs and the momentum made it bounce off and close itself again. The cramps were relentless, by now, and she knew she wouldn't be able to leave by herself.

"Help," she forced her throat again, "help!"

But her voice refused to speak up. She gasped for air as she felt something move inside her, smoothly and surely. Cold, numbing despair forced her up on her knees, and this time the door stood open for her. Isabel crawled out. So small, she could feel it inside her… almost not inside her anymore. So small it caused no pain at all; not even discomfort. It was only the cramps...

"Ajudem-me!" And the tears now ran freely, now that she could only feel the blood's wetness and the crippling cramps. "Alguém…"

The darkness returned to the edge of her vision, and Isabel tried to lower her head again. She could see the blood-soaked jeans and floor. A little voice in her head quipped its surprise: so much blood! Isabel felt herself frozen with true fear, now. It was too, too much blood. She had been frightened when she had first realised what was happening, but then she had only feared the inevitable. This… All this blood… And she hadn't told anyone! God, she'd been so angry after that conversation with Emma Frost that she had completely overlooked... If she lost too much blood and they tried to give her a blood transfusion… if she was unconscious and couldn't tell them…

"Help!" The darkness was still there, waiting to overcome her. "HELP!"

Isabel laid down her head. She would lose consciousness soon and there was obviously no one around. Touching the crotch of her jeans, she started writing:

NO B

Isabel shook her head, as the darkness blotched her writing.

LAD

no time

TRANSFU

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