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.

14. Facing reality

Isabel remained in bed, teeth clenched and hardened eyes on the ceiling. She was still fighting against reality: her head rabidly pointing out Victor wouldn't come to her side, her heart stupidly holding out for a miracle. Sometimes it felt like fury and resentment were drowning her, sometimes it felt like despair and mutiny were about to burst and throw her into an invincible berserker rage. So she remained, lying on the cold sheets of the infirmary bed, glaring at the ceiling, and praying hollow Hail Marys one after the other.

If she had felt her head clear and her mind in full control, perhaps she'd given in to those warring feelings. But she wasn't in control. And she remembered, with agonizing clarity, how she had lost it and attacked everyone around her the day before. Even Kitty! And why? Because the girl had touched her hand while trying to convince her to eat something? Did that justify the way she had grabbed the tray and thrown its contents at her? Or how she had jumped to her feet and hurled the blasted tray at the doctor, McCoy, who had come to Kitty's aid? Or how she'd yelled at them? Swearing and threatening and demanding to leave the infirmary? Isabel tried to clench her teeth harder against the shame of her actions, but found they were already at their maximum clenching capability. Had she been herself, she'd have felt immediately mortified and apologised; instead... instead she had stood there, while Hank told her that he would not keep on giving her tranquilizers and that, if she wanted to leave, she'd need to calm down and eat. She would not be allowed to leave until she had eaten solid food and he, her doctor, deemed her condition stable.

Eyes burning, Isabel ground the prayers harder and pushed back any semblance of tears. Just as she pushed back the need to scream until she was hoarse. Until the pressure in her chest was gone. Until everything was OK again.

The door opened and Isabel glared harder, heart beating obtusely at the idea it might be Victor while her head yelled that he'd die before debasing himself and his reputation by coming to her. Her heart holding out that he loved her, in his own way; her head laughing cynically he could only love himself. And even if he found it in him to love Isabel, even if he were to be on his hands and knees drowning in love, he'd still die before coming to her and letting anyone as much as dream he might have the smallest tender feeling for her. She lay in the bed, every muscle tense, forcing her body to remain still, clutching madly at those prayers to resist the urge to get up and scream, scream, scream...

A chair was pulled to her bed's side, but she refused to acknowledge whoever it might be. Doctor McCoy had left a tray with food, in the morning, and then they had left her alone until lunch time. Then someone else had come in, taken the breakfast tray and left a lunch tray. She never even looked at it, in case she might lose it again and throw it away.

"When Kurt first proposed to me," Isabel blinked, losing track of the prayer as she recognised Jenny's voice, but hardened herself against it. "He mentioned having children."

There was a pause and Isabel was surprised that she didn't feel the urge to drive her away, the way she had done to everyone else. She tried to resume the prayers but the words eluded her.

"He didn't know I couldn't have children. And it hurt me more than I thought possible, to realise I could never give him his own son or daughter. I could never give him the pleasure of being a father. His own flesh and blood."

The deep sigh at her side was both strong and pained, and it touched the wound under Isabel's anger and rebellion.

"It still hurts. Of course I don't know what it feels like to have a... a baby... growing inside me. And then to lose them. I can't even begin to comprehend how badly it must hurt."

Isabel closed her eyes, one last attempt at stopping the resentful tears that were once more burning her eyes.

"But you already have a child, Isabel. Your own flesh and blood... and she needs you."

She hardly strangled the sob that pushed through her throat.

"Lilia is so confused, Isabel! I'm pretty sure that, deep down, she thinks she's to blame that you got sick... that you lost the baby. And until she comes here and sees you smiling to her... until she hears you saying that everything's OK and understands that you still love her, that you aren't mad at her... she's not going to get better. She needs you, Isabel."

The tears burst quietly through her defences and Isabel couldn't help turning her head away from Jenny. The woman didn't say anything else, nor did she try to touch her. She just remained there, sitting quietly, waiting. She thought of Grandma Lilia, sitting on her doorstep.

"My baby..." In her head, the word comprised both Lilia and the unborn child.

"It wasn't your fault," Jenny stated, calmly. "Nor was it Lilia's."

In a sudden urge, she forced herself up. There was still a slight pain, soreness, which she never felt when she jumped up in fury. But much more painful was the bitter knot inside her.

"I didn't say I was pregnant."

"I'm sure you had your reasons." Isabel looked at Jenny, composed and peaceful at her side. "It's not your fault."

But the knot was still there, strong.

"I knew I had to say I was pregnant but... is not easy..."

Jenny said something in a low voice, comforting from the tone, but she was focusing on those bitter days.

"I knew I had to tell. I almost told... but den Victor was hurt and I was glad I didn't say nothing because... dey didn't want me to stay wid Victor, Jenny. If dey knew I was pregnant, den dey wouldn't have let me stay wid him."

But she had stayed, loyal and steadfast, while he... God, had he as much as asked about her? Once, just once. She shook her head to get rid of the present day anguish and ended up closing her eyes, reliving those anxious days and frightening nights when no one was sure if Victor would survive the wounds. She didn't reveal how she had feared for his life, how she had prayed to Our Lady of Fatima that, if someone must die, then please let it be the unborn baby rather than Victor. Had this been the answer to her prayers, then? She might as well see it that way because McCoy was obviously not going to tell her if the baby she'd been carrying... God, why had he (not he, it, you don't know if it was a boy) resisted until the 16th week when she usually miscarried before the 10th week? Maybe he (IT!) had had a healing factor counterbalancing the nefarious effect of her rare blood proteins. Maybe he had inherited her blood type. McCoy could have told her, if he had wanted.

It didn't matter, anyway. She had prayed for his life. Her Victor's. (He's not yours, her mind rubbed in.)

"I couldn't abandon him, Jenny. Everyone hates him... no one would be sad if he died."

"You know that Hank would have done everything to save him." Resentment bristled in her chest at the name. "After all, Hank did everything he could to save him."

Isabel looked at Jenny, anguish growing inside her to match the resentment.

"But I couldn't abandon him, Jenny! I couldn't!"

Even if she had known he would leave her alone without a single thought, she still couldn't have abandoned him.

"I know," and for the first time, Jenny laid a light hand over hers. "I would have done the exact same thing in your place."

But the baby... a boy or a girl? At sixteen weeks, it was possible to know. McCoy could have told her, if he had wanted to. Even if a part of her knew it was silly to worry about it, since it made no difference, she couldn't help agonising over it. Even if she knew that, had it been a boy, she'd have still willingly traded the unborn child for Victor's life. Which didn't mean she couldn't be told! Why did everyone refuse to say anything about it? Perhaps Jenny...

"My baby?"

Jenny's fingers strengthened over her hand.

"It wasn't your fault, Isabel. You must understand that."

Fault! It had been everyone's fault: hers, her body's, Victor's... Still, this wasn't about fault, it was about knowing.

"What happened to my baby?"

Jenny's hand abandoned hers. Another one holding the truth from her.

"You'll have to ask Hank."

As if she hadn't asked. Over and over and over again... Give it up already, the bitter voice in her head rasped angrily. The baby was gone, just as much as Victor, who wouldn't as much as ask about her for fear of damaging his uncaring reputation while devotedly caring for his baby girl.

"Lilia..." and Victor, she didn't have the strength to finish.

"She's with Creed." Of course she was! Who else would she be with? "She was very upset, but she's much calmer now. Of course she's still confused, and insists in being with her father everywhere but... Don't you want to see her?"

She pictured it in her heart immediately: Victor coming in with Lilia in his arms, his face carefully blank while Lilia's would be a mix of apprehension and longing; then he would put her down on Isabel's lap and the child would melt into her embrace, just as always, while Victor would sit on the bed, protectively watching over both of them. The three together again. And then he'd embrace them, and they'd be whole. No more fears, no more hate, no more anger.

"Please..."

Jenny left with a smile and Isabel became acutely self-conscious. Getting up, she ignored the pain and went to the bathroom to study her reflection. She looked like a hag! Without a moment to lose, she washed her face and her mouth, then she used her fingers to comb her hair as best she could. Slightly better, even if she still looked like a hag. Unfortunately, there was nothing else she could do. She returned to the bed and laid back, waiting anxiously, bitterness again knotting itself in her throat.

It seemed like forever, before there was movement outside the door. It actually made her feel sick and she told herself she wasn't well enough for strong emotions yet. And then the door opened.

"Go on," Jenny's voice coaxed warmly. "Don't be shy."

Victor hadn't come. The wave of sickness hit her harder, bringing tears to her eyes and actually eliciting a strangled moan. But of course he wouldn't come! She'd been so silly to think he would! Just then, Lilia's head popped in and the sickness was gone under the pleasure of seeing her little girl's face. There was indeed apprehension in her awkward sulk and Isabel couldn't help the smile that came to her face.

"Lilia," she called, hardly noticing the tears flowing freely down her cheek, both arms out-stretched. Her baby girl was still glued to the door frame, but all would be fine once she did run over and into her Mamma's embrace. Everything would be fine then. "Vem à mãe, meu amor. Vem."

And yet she did not give in to the plea to come to her mother. It was a second dagger that brought the sickening anguish back onto her throat. Then Jenny came to her aid: a hand behind Lilia's head, she gently led her to her mother's side then she lifted her into Isabel's arms.

Isabel closed her eyes and held the little body as tight as she could. Tears kept running down her cheeks as she muttered sweet nothings on the girl's ear, just as she used to do when she was a baby and needed comforting. Lilia remained still in her arms, her little head resting quietly against her chest while Isabel played with her long strands of... uh... Isabel looked down at her baby's beautiful locks and found nothing but a short bob.

"What happened to your hair?"

"Pappa cut it," Lilia stated with a slight pout, sitting back on her lap while avoiding Isabel's eyes.

"But why?"

"'Cause Pappa wikes it mo'e this way!"

A wave of cold washed up and down her spine. The child was just saying that, it didn't mean Victor had actually cut it short the moment Isabel had gotten out of the picture. That would seem almost as if... He wouldn't. Victor knew how Isabel loved seeing the girl with long hair, either loose or in cute ponytails and piggytails and... Something must have happened that had required it to be cut short. Lice, perhaps?

"Actually," Jenny cut in with a smile. "She got glue on her hair, so it had t..."

"I didn't put gwue! And Pappa said it wooked much bette'! He said so!"

Isabel felt numb, gazing at her girl's angry scowl. Almost like something breaking inside. A cold vertigo washed over her as she realised that Lilia needed her father, right now. She needed to feel loved and secure in his arms. Isabel kissed her baby girl's forehead lightly, noticing how she flinched away, annoyed.

"Where is Pappa?"

"He's waiting fo' me," she explained, a slight pout showing clearly on her chin.

Of course he was.

"Den let's not keep Pappa wait very long, OK?"

For a moment, Lilia seemed a bit surprised, but then she smiled – a wide, happy smile that almost pierced through the icy numbness in Isabel's soul.

"Tell Pappa to take you horse-riding, OK? Tell him Mamma asked him to take you horse-riding."

Lilia nodded energetically and lept from the bed. She didn't even look at Jenny as she sped through the door, already calling out for Pappa. Isabel felt as if she wouldn't be seeing her daughter again any time soon and she barely held back a whimper.

"You need to start eating," Jenny sighed, her voice a bit disappointed. "You need to get your strength back so that she can start spending more time with you again."

No, she decided stubbornly, right there and then, squashing the pain of seeing her daughter running off. The moment she was out of the infirmary, they would get Victor and send him away on missions. Isabel was not going to have that happen. Lilia needed her father by her side, and he needed his Little Devil. He might not need Isabel, but he needed his daughter. That much she knew as surely as she was breathing! Isabel might need to get her strength back, but she would not return to her room. Not yet. True, the infirmary wasn't a pleasant place and it made her dreams even more restless, but it was a price well worth paying. Her daughter needed to be with her father till her fears were gone. A pang of abandonment punched her insides, but she held her head against it. They would be happy, father and daughter. So what if the price was her temporary exile in the infirmary? So what if the price was being away from her daughter? So what?

If it was what her daughter needed, she'd go through it.

If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.