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.

6. The Devil is in The Details

It was early in the afternoon when Hyde sat up in bed and reached for a cigar. An unamused chuckle got his attention. Raven's bright red eyes were spying him from the pillow, lips twisted in a careless sneer.

"You smoke the same cigars as he did."

"Guess he had good taste, then."

He should have remembered to bring a different brand of cigars. Better yet, no cigars.

"The same upright stamina too," the constant comparison was starting to get on his nerves but he just closed his eyes and tried to savour his cigar. It was what she wanted anyway, to get under his skin. "But you're much more quiet than he ever was."

He held back the growl but not the annoyed groan.

"If ya wanna kick me out, just say so."

She snickered and stretched every muscle in her cat-like frame. Those hardened, well-toned muscles were something Isabel would never have and Creed couldn't help but enjoy the view. Funnily, though, he didn't seem to find her blue tone as exotic and appealing under the midday sun as it had been in the past. Raven pulled herself to her knees and straddled his legs.

"Why on earth would I want to kick you out, huh? I'd much rather you unwound and freed yourself a bit more. You're much too uptight."

Keep dreaming. Caution was the name of the game here, no matter how good a lay Raven might be. Or precisely because of how good a lay she was. He might forget himself for a moment and let something slip.

"Ya're too much of a nag. Why don't ya put that pesky mouth o'yers ta good use, huh?" She laughed and slid backwards, apparently willing to do just that. Creed decided to play her 'he game' a bit. "I swear I don't know how he put up wi'that poisonous tongue o' yers. Should have ripped it off."

"Never," she taunted, waggling her expert tongue just an inch off her target. "He loved its skills way too much to ever even dream of it."

Creed closed his eyes, smirking at the truth of her statement as she got down to business. Oh, yeah. One night and morning wasn't even close to making up for the month and a half of forced celibacy, but it sure felt... His body froze at the ring of his cell phone. Raven interrupted herself to study his face and Creed growled, getting off the bed.

"What?"

"Pick up in twenty minutes," was the only thing from the other side.

Weird. Had anything gone wrong with the mark? Although it had been Bishop who'd made the call, which seemed to imply that Cyclops, Iceman and Colossus had left for the States with the guy in tow, as planned, leaving behind only Gambit, Bishop, Cannonball and Wolverine. Creed glanced at the woman, scrutinising him from the bed with a clearly fake look of boredom.

"Change o' plans," he grunted. "New job."

She grinned, unconvinced. "Well, you sure got them lined up, don't you?"

"I got a team, remember? If we's all gonna live the good life, we gotta pick the good ones as they show up." He started getting dressed. Twenty minutes was not much time, especially since he needed to take measures if he was going to make sure he wouldn't be followed. "Ya're sticking around fer long?"

She shrugged. "It'll depend."

Creed was buckling his belt, ready to get his jacket and make himself scarce.

"Maybe I'll call in if I stops by Paris again."

"Maybe you should, Mr Hyde. Maybe you should."

Creed took thirty minutes to the extraction point and was surprised to see the jet ready to fly back to the States.

"What the hell's gone wrong?"

"Bad news," Logan said. Creed noticed the runt was eyeing him carefully, as if gauging his reaction so he hardened himself against whatever was coming. "Isabel had a miscarriage."

Ah! Creed adjusted the seatbelt. He hoped she was ok, though she would be, naturally. She'd never had anything worse than some cramps and bleeding before. Of course the X-Morons would be all afflicted, though. He decided against saying they might as well stick around in Paris. Isabel knew what had to be done plus she had the doctor around, not to mention prissy Summers didn't want him talking to the woman, so he really couldn't imagine why they'd want him to abandon the mission and fly for four long hours back to... Hmm, Lilia. Last time, the girl hadn't really understood what was wrong with Mamma, just that she was sick, but perhaps this time around she'd gotten upset. Yeah, that was probably it. Well, he hoped Isabel had gotten around to explaining the basics of what had happened by the time the jet landed, that way he'd only have to assure the girl everything was fine. Isabel was way better than him at explaining some life facts. Well, four hours wasn't really that long, not if you compared it to the eight hours of a regular plane. Thank god for the team's supersonic jet, huh?

"So, did ya manage ta catch the guy last night? Who's he?"

Even Bishop, at the commands of the jet, glanced back at him.

"Yah're not goin' t'ask 'bout Isabel?"

Creed glanced at the southerner and opened his mouth to speak but held back a snarky remark. The boy didn't hang around the Mansion so he really had no way of knowing that Summers chewed Creed's ears off every time he asked about the woman.

"The runt has just told me 'bout her, in case ya ain't heard 'im. On the other hand, I'm still in the dark when it comes t' this body-guard. So who's he?"

"Gerard Picard." Logan grunted. "He's bein' held in the underground, back at the Institute. Emma will be in charge o' the mental questionin'. If all goes well, we'll go back t' Paris in the next 24 hours so ya can finish getting intel from Mystique. When we got everythin' we need, Emma'll make 'im believe he managed t'escape his kidnappers an' he'll go back t'business as usual. Sort of."

Good. Mystique had something up her sleeve and he wanted to know what. He wasn't sure if the others could see the implications of Raven Darkholme using a kidnapping service. She was the type to do things herself because she knew she wouldn't fail. If she was paying some base-line human assholes to do it for her, it was probably not because she couldn't pull it off, but because she didn't want herself to be associated to the kidnapping. Why? She was a shapeshifter, she wouldn't get associated to it unless she wanted to. Or unless she was planning to hit someone who knew her well enough to see through her shape-shifting. The question was who. If it was a well-established villain, it meant nothing; but if it was some sort of hero or X-ally, Creed would need to raise warning bells. First, though, he needed to get a few more hints from the woman.

"Ya did hear me when I said Isabel was pregnant an' lost her baby, right?"

Creed frowned at Logan. Our baby, he corrected in his mind.

"That's usually what 'miscarriage' means, ain't it?" He grunted. "But since McCoy is at the Mansion, I'm pretty sure he fixed the problem. Or didn't he?"

Logan looked away with scorn. "He always does."

Creed held back a growl. He knew Isabel was well taken care of at the doc's hands and, knowing her history, she'd be as good as new in a week. As much as he'd welcome the opportunity to have a word with her, he was far more interested in the real reason why he was being taken back to the States.

"D'ya know if Isabel got around t'explain what happened t'Lilia?" Logan looked back at him, still frowning. "Is she much upset?"

"Yeah, she was. They figured it was best if she had some sleep till ya got back."

Weird. Did that mean they were keeping the child away from her Mamma for over four hours? He was sure Isabel would manage to pretend everything was fine for a few minutes to calm down her daughter. Perhaps she had fainted. Or maybe she was still bleeding and Isabel didn't want the girl to feel the scent of so much blood. Yes, that made sense.

Creed was standing near the window, very still and looking as inexpressive as possible: he didn't want anyone to realise he was worried. Summers had directed him straight to his office, saying Lilia was asleep in her bedroom. The problem was that Lilia didn't just sleep for hours in the morning, which meant they had given her something to sleep. Then there were those long faces. If someone had been on their death bed, they wouldn't have looked half as somber.

"Isabel is sleeping too." Summers said as he closed the door. "But Hank will come down shortly to talk to you in more detail."

Pryde was glaring at him as if she wanted him dead. Of course they were blowing things out of proportion, no surprise there.

"Still, I can warn you she needs absolute rest for a few days." Summers said, crossing his arms. "And she's not to be upset. With anything."

The last sentence was thrown at him and Creed felt himself twist inside, wanting to maim the man for insinuating HE, of all the people in the world, could upset Isabel. Summers held his glare squarely, Logan half-reclined on a chair and apparently relaxed. He wasn't glaring, unlike Pryde, but there was something to his gaze that was uncomfortable. As if he was waiting to see if he did or said something wrong. McCoy's swift footsteps were suddenly heard approaching. A little voice resonated in the back of his mind, telling him there was something wrong with this whole situation, even if he couldn't glimpse what it could be. Or maybe he could! If Logan had ratted him out, saying he hadn't asked about Isabel, they could have gotten upset over it. It was such a hassle! One day they were chewing him off for talking to Isabel or asking about her, the next day they were chewing him off for not doing so. How was he supposed to guess when he could and couldn't ask about her anyway? Annoyed, he forced a mask of lack of expression onto his face and set it firmly in place.

He didn't flinch a muscle not even when the blue man entered.

"I apologize for my tardiness." McCoy faced Creed the moment he closed the door. He seemed tired but also irritated, and Creed didn't miss the recent cuts on his hands. He wondered where he'd gotten them briefly. "Isabel became very agitated when she woke up and had to be given a tranquilizer."

Creed frowned. Did the woman's agitation have anything to do with the doctor's injured hands? If it did, then Isabel wasn't 'very agitated', she was out of her mind. She needed him, and she needed him ASAP. But why would she...

"I understand you've been informed of her present situation?"

McCoy glanced at Summers, who nodded affirmatively, and then back at him, waiting for a reaction.

If Isabel had lost track of where she was and with whom, she would either play dead or try to run away, attacking whoever might be on her way. McCoy's wounded hands implied just that, which meant the matter really was serious.

"Miscarriage." Creed ended up answering, keeping his voice cold and even.

It suddenly occurred to him that he hadn't been keeping track of how many weeks along her pregnancy had been. There had been so many doomed pregnancies, he had ended up realising it was easier not to make a big deal out of them. Less pain. Isabel did pretty much the same, as far as he was aware.

"Isabel has been in a great deal of stress, lately." The Doc's voice was harder and Creed let go of the idea of counting weeks to pay full attention to the information he might be given. "First, she has been under a great deal of distress ever since her arrival, which seems to have become progressively aggravated. Secondly, she exhausted herself by obsessively insisting in taking care of you twenty-four hours a day, when you were wounded, last month. She did not recover physically from that exertion, and has been furthermore overloaded with emotional turmoil as of late."

Creed frowned hard. Were they trying to say the miscarriage had been his fault? Because she had been playing the nurse to him? Something wasn't adding up.

"Her miscarriage was an unfortunate consequence of her, now physical and emotional, exhaustion."

He hardly held back the 'No' that rushed to his lips. That was wrong. Isabel's miscarriages had nothing to do with exhaustion. They never had had. She miscarried because the baby – no, the embryo – the embryo got severe anaemia and died.

"Can I infer from your silence that you were aware of Isabel's pregnancy?" Creed blinked and said he did know. "Hmm. And can I also infer you weren't particularly happy with the pregnancy?"

This was definitely all wrong, and Creed was starting to get irritated at not understanding what the man was trying to get at.

"What's that gotta do with anythin'? She was pregnant an' now she ain't no more. It's no big deal…"

"No big deal!?" Kitty ignored Summers weak warning to calm down and planted herself in front of him. "She's just had an abortion! She LOST HER BABY!"

It suddenly occurred to him that everyone was acting as if they didn't know about her miscarriage history. He wondered why Isabel wouldn't have told at least the doctor about that. But then again, it had become pretty obvious she hadn't told anyone about her being pregnant either. But why not?

"You stone-hearted monster! You didn't even ask ab…"

"I wanna talk ta Isabel."

She must have had a good reason for keeping it all under wraps. At least Creed hoped she had had one. He'd be royally pissed if she had kept silent because of some ridiculous trust issues. She had that stupid tendency to act as if she had a blasted healing factor and every doctor was out to kill her. It was something beyond his comprehension – and he didn't like doctors either.

Kitty stuttered with the unexpected interruption for merely a moment. "No! You…"

"Katherine, please." McCoy's body language was yelling signs of impatience, despite his apparently calm voice, and it only further spiced Creed's own impatience. He did not have time for this crap right now. "I believe you do not understand the gravity of the matter, Creed. Isabel had a severe haemorrhage, accompanied by high fever. She was violently delusive for some time, and is still far from recovering both physically and emotionally."

The man paused, his eyes searching for something, and Creed growled slightly, masking how hard he had swallowed. Severe haemorrhage? High fever? What the...?

"Now answer my question: were you unhappy, upset, annoyed or simply uninterested in anyway over her gestation?"

"No," he spit through clenched teeth. He needed to see her. He needed to feel her scent and make sure she was alright now. "I had no problem with it."

Of course he had no problem with her being pregnant! He had agreed to that second kid, dammit. But she had miscarried so often, for crying out loud, and never had she had the slightest problem. Just a couple week long bleeding, some cramping, hardly even any fever... That Canadian doc of Isabel's, Angie Dalton, had actually told him a few times it wasn't healthy for Isabel to insist so stubbornly every six months like clockwork, but what was he to do? Go back on his word? The woman would have been royally pissed and for what? Isabel was dead set on trying one more time for a boy (though he didn't understand that obsession, he'd always thought women's first choice was girls) and it was simply not worth the trouble to go against the woman when she was running on die-hard stubborness. Besides, she was the one going through the pain of her failed pregnancies of her own volition, he had no business meddling.

"Can you surmiss what reason might Isabel have had to keep her gestation hidden from everyone?"

"How should I know?" He finally roared, releasing some of the still building tension. God, it had better be a hell of a good reason! "Do I look like a freakin' telepath ta know what's goin' on inside the freakin' woman's head?! Why don't ya ask her?"

Creed turned his back to them, avoiding their anger so as to better control his own anger. He needed to think. Why had this miscarriage gone so wrong? Because she was tired? He started doing the math: Isabel had arrived about... mmm, six weeks ago. Creed had already been with the X-Men for one week.

"Your disregard for Isabel's health is appalling, Creed." The icy voice bounced off him, engrossed as he was in his maths. Adding in the six weeks when he'd been preparing to contact the X-team plus the one week for the form filling and general bureaucracy, it meant Isabel had been over fourteen weeks pregnant... maybe fifteen or sixteen. Far longer than usual. "How can it not bother you that she had a miscarriage? I expected more than that for the mother of your child."

Oh, so that was it! Their sensitivities were all appalled at his insensitivity. He growled. His patience was down to the limit and he needed to get the damned goody-two-shoes some sense of perspective of the whole business if he didn't want them to lock him up or, worse even, to keep him from seeing Lilia.

"Look, ya ass-hole: Isabel's got a rare blood type that makes her miscarry. I knows it, she knows it… and apparently she decided ya weren't worth knowin' it." Which, unless she had a really good reason, had been one of the most stupid things the woman had ever done. "And that's why her miscarriages ain't no big thing. 'Cause it's what's normal ta happen! 'T least fer her it is."

He paused and glared at the X-Morons' shocked expressions.

"Wait a minute; her miscarriages?" Kitty asked, but McCoy had already moved into attack mode.

"This overcomes every limit! You knew Isabel was pregnant; you knew she was Rh-sensitized; and you knew she miscarries often. Yet it did not occur to you that you should inform me so as to maintain a watchful eye over her condition!"

Creed snorted, annoyed, as the man turned to Pryde and Summers.

"It occurs when a woman with Rh-negative blood is exposed to blood from an Rh-positive fetus," McCoy explained curtly. "Her immune system reacts aggressively and starts producing antibodies that can destroy the fetus's Rh-positive red blood cells. It's this antibody response that is known as Rh-sensitization. The fetus will thus develop a mild to severe case of haemolytic disease, better known as anemia. Untreated, it can cause a severe case of hydrops fetalis and, in rare cases, lead to fetal death. Treated, the fetus may require a pre-term delivery, but otherwise should be able to develop and become a healthy baby."

Creed checked a movement of impatience that might have betrayed how anxious he was to run up to the infirmary and check on Isabel.

"Are you even aware there is a treatment for it?" The question caught him by surprise. "Are you aware that the foetus's haemolytic disease can be kept in check throughout the pregnancy?"

"She…"

"I don't know what kind of practitioner you took Isabel to, Creed, but I can assure you that Rh-sensitized women have been able to give birth to perfectly healthy babies for years. This is unbelievable!"

"She AIN'T Rhesus sensitized!" The yell actually made him feel better. "I said she's got a rare blood type. Her problem ain't the Rhesus protein; it's another protein completely. It's all of 'em! She's got different alelles from normal for every damn red blood cell protein. It makes her blood stupid rare. She can't even get no blood transfusions! And the baby's anemia can't be treated: it sets on too early and it's too strong."

McCoy frowned, letting the information sink in silently.

"She ain't sensitized 'gainst no Rhesus blood protein," he rubbed in. "She's sensitized 'gainst any possible pregnancy unless the kid comes out with her exact blood type!"

And then it occurred to him: heavy bleeding.

"Ya didn't give her no blood transfusion, did ya?" The question was out before he could check his anxiety.

"No," McCoy's voice had regained all its calm and composure. "She requested that no blood trasnfusion be performed."

"How many times has she miscarried?" Pryde insisted. He looked at her, but decided a truthful answer would just cause another wave of shock. He needed to check on the woman, and at this point it didn't even bother him that the others might think him worried about her.

"I'm gonna go talk t' her an' find out why she kept everyone in the dark."

"No, you are not," the command voice stopped Creed's movement. "First, of all, she's asleep right now. Secondly, she's upset and frightened, and your presence is the last thing she requires at this point."

Alarm bells again rang in his head. He had had the feeling they were blaming him for something, and it seemed they'd just returned to that line of action.

"As I've already stated, Isabel is physically and emotionally exhausted. She is not to be upset by anything."

"I ain't gona upset her, ya moron."

"As if it wasn't the only thing ya do," Logan grunted to the side and Creed turned back with a growl. The man wasn't the least worried, though. "It don't even take a heightened sense of smell t'know she's scared t'death of ya."

"What?" That was something he hadn't expected. "Ya're nuts or somethin'? Isabel ain't afraid o'me!"

"Well, then ya've forgotten how ta use yer nose."

Creed closed a fist and held his claws back. They were luring him into losing control, it occurred to him, and he just couldn't afford it.

"Is there anything else I should know concerning Isabel's medical history?"

Taking a deep breath, he shook his head.

"Are you certain?" It was the intonantion of someone who already knew there was something else and was just waiting to see if he came clean. Creed's gaze settled on Kitty Pryde.

"She's had a whole bunch of miscarriages before, but it was never no problem. If ya want more details ya should talk t'the woman." Or to her doc. Maybe he should call Angie Dalton and… But no, this was Isabel's game; the secrets and details were hers to decide.

"A whole bunch? That's it? How can you not know any details?"

He turned to the girl, a little voice shrieking at him not to lose control, and snarled. Why did they insist in blowing this all out of proportion!

"Why should I?!" It was Isabel's decision, dammit! She did not go about snitching on his things and he did not snitch on hers. Why was it so difficult for the assholes to understand that simple concept! "That's why she's got a freekin' doc, ta keep track o' the blasted details!"

He only needed to know the important things, not the stupid details. And by important he meant how many…

"Isabel could have died today," McCoy pronounced each word separately, probably trying to get a reaction from him, but Creed made sure that the sudden cold gripping his insides couldn't be noticed by anyone. "And your unborn son did die today. Doesn't it mean anything at all to you?"

It suddenly became very difficult to breathe. Son? What was he talking about? Isabel's miscarriages were always in the first trimester, long before the child could become a boy or a girl. She miscarried embryos, not foetuses. But then again... after the twelfth week they were foetuses... you could tell if it was a… Fifteen or sixteen. That's how far she'd been along. At least. Son? What had McCoy said? The miscarriage was because she was exhausted, not because of her blood type. 'No.' The thought froze his blood. 'She got herself tired nursing me.'

Creed licked his dry lips, the thoughts rubbing salt all over his raw pain. She had exhausted herself nursing him. But he had gotten hurt doing their dirty job. Saving Logan's useless sorry-ass. It had all been because of THEIR dirty job. Because of Logan. Because… it was their fault. Their fault. All THEIR fault. He took in deep breaths. This was their fault and he was going to kill them all for it. But no, no, no no no… because he'd never see Lilia again if he did. Never see Isabel again, and he still needed to go to her; he still needed…

"When I do de ecography tomorrow, we will know dat is a boy." Isabel had been fifteen weeks pregnant with Lilia back then, and had done her best to convince herself it was a boy. "I mean, if de baby is in a good position to see…"

She had been smiling happily then. My boy, your boy, our boy. She sure could conjugate verbs, he'd tease her. Smiling so happily, dreaming of her baby boy. Their baby boy. His baby boy. Smiling happily, back at fifteen weeks.

Creed had never felt so cold in his entire life. He realized he was trembling somewhat, and turned around abruptly, trying to get a grip on himself. Control. They'd lock him up and keep Lilia away from him if he ever lost control.

With a deafening roar, he threw something on the ground. He didn't know what it was, simply that it had been standing in his way. Control. But his vision was reddening at the edges and he couldn't lose control. "Think of Lilia," a voice resounded in his head. "Think of Lilia and Isabel. You'll never see them again. Think of them."

He heard Logan's voice, though what he might be saying couldn't reach his brain, and the little voice reminded him he had killed his unborn son, too. 'But this ain't Logan's kid I'm talkin' 'bout!' he yelled the voice shut: 'It's MY kid! MY baby…' He was suddenly afraid to think it, even if McCoy had already said it. Isabel's smile popped up again: "It'll be a boy, Victor, I'm sure!" A son. "I want it to be a boy so much!" His son. And the occasional scent of fear that sometimes accompanied her wish took hold of him. Stop thinking!

"Lilia," he growled. They'd take her away from him. But not if he got to her first. "Where's Lilia?"

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