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.
16. Night Blues
It was Wednesday. Two more nights and it would be a week since Creed had last slept properly. The man frowned. He couldn't keep it up, the way things were going. Sure he had a great resistance and could go plenty of days without sleep but... there was usually just a little bit of adrenaline around to juice him up, when that happened. This time, there was no adrenaline, and the sleepless nights were simply making him irritable to everything. Well, everything except his Little Devil, thanks to his animal side. If he didn't rely on his instincts as much as he did, he'd probably have snapped at her too. Fortunately, a whiff of her scent was enough to soften his worst irritation.
Creed closed his eyes and tried to force himself to sleep. Not that he had any hope of actually falling asleep, despite feeling tired and even sleepy. The scent of the woman was too strong and it kept him awake. Which was stupid! The woman's scent usually had a calming effect on him. He never slept as relaxedly as when he was in their house, the woman and the child's scent strong all around him.
Irritated, Creed got up and his eyes fell on Lilia's sleeping frame. It worried him that she didn't ask about her Mamma. Had the harm been so deep? He hadn't wanted to pressure the child before she was ready, pushing her into her Mamma's arms when she didn't want to, but he had been certain that Lilia would miss her and ask for her of her own accord. Now, though, he was beginning to wonder when she would miss her Mamma. It cut him up inside and made him want to go berserk! He had brought them here to keep them safe, and instead… it was all falling apart around him and he had no idea how to fix it.
Pacing silently about the room, as he had gotten used to doing, he checked the story books on the desk, the coloured pencils and the crayons, the mirror... he always hoped it might help the clock tick the night away, but it never did. He opened the door to the bathroom and opened the tap to drink some water. Four nights ago, Lilia had woken up screeching for him when he had done the exact same thing; this time, however, she just whimpered, turning around inside the sheets. Creed looked at his reflection on the mirror over the basin. He looked like crap.
"Pappa..."
"Pappa's right here, Lilia."
However, he didn't rush to her side. She had to get used to the fact that he wasn't going to spend every night by her side. Perhaps it would be easier when Isabel returned to the room. Which led to another question: when would Isabel leave the infirmary? He had overheard some whispers that the woman was refusing to leave it, even though McCoy wanted her to return to her room.
"Pappa," she insisted, her eyes fluttering open.
With a tired sigh, Creed walked over to her bed.
"Pappa's right here, Lilia. Now quit yer whimperin' an' go right back t'sleep, ya hear?"
Lilia's hot little hand grabbed a finger and Creed didn't take it away.
"Don't go away, Pappa," she mumbled as she drifted back to sleep.
He didn't understand why his baby girl kept having that nightmare where he up and left her. She had explained that, in her dream, he had abandoned her, all alone in a big empty house, because she was afraid. It didn't matter that she agreed he would never do that, once she fell asleep, her fears resurfaced.
Crouching by the bed's side, he ruffled her hair gently. His precious little devil. Isabel must miss the girl painfully. Then why didn't she return to her room? Was she afraid to force her presence and that Lilia might reject her? As much as he hated it, she might be right; Lilia could indeed reject her presence. The problem was that Creed didn't know how to fix the problem beyond giving the child time to overcome that irrational fear.
No. He definitely couldn't carry on like this. He gently removed his finger from the girl's grasp and resumed his pacing. He hadn't seen Isabel since last Friday, when he'd taken Lilia to the sleeping woman's side.
Pacing crossly, the image of the woman's thin, pale face before him, he felt irritated, his hands itching with the need to do something. He opened a drawer. T-shirts looked up at him. Creed turned around and opened a closet door. A pillow sat lonely on a shelf, the woman's guitar case sitting lonely on a shelf below. He hesitated. It was Isabel's most precious possession and she guarded it with religious jealousy. It was an undeniable symbol of Isabel's presence, as strong as her very scent.
In a sudden whim, he picked up the case and took it to the bed, where he sat down. Opening it, he carefully removed the musical instrument. It had nothing particular about it, although even he could recognise the material's quality. He felt its strings and didn't resist plucking one of them, letting a lonely note reverberate in the darkness. It sounded eerily, sending shivers up his spine. He had never had anything against the sound of the darned thing, which he supposed had some pleasant peculiarities; but the one thing he had never really stood were the songs Isabel chose to play on the guitar. Some of them weren't that bad, one in particular was perfect, but... she had that way of singing as if she felt every word in the lyrics, and it annoyed him that the chosen lyrics were often about tragedy and resigned hopelessness. He had given her a good life, dammit; why did she feel the need to wallow in sadness and hopelessnes? And yet, right now, he'd have given anything to hear her voice wallowing in the most depressing hopelessness.
He missed the woman. As much as he hated to admit it, he was too tired to refuse the evidence: he missed her. He missed her so much it hurt. So much that he'd even cried for her, once, in the shower. He missed her so much, that, adding up the five nights he'd barely slept, he was holding on to his temper desperately. Summers was right, he was on the verge of going berserk. If he kept on snapping at every stupid little thing, as he'd been doing, Summers might even have enough and decide he needed to cool down in his cell. Creed just couldn't control himself! What he really needed was to be with Isabel, make sure she was ok. And to sleep, too.
He sighed of irritation and, to get rid of the sudden whim to break the damn guitar to pieces, he put it back inside the case and returned it to the closet. He needed to get some sleep. Maybe he should change the bed sheets after all. No. He would lose the only thing that still held Isabel's scent, since it had slowly been fading from everything else. He had to stop obsessing over the woman. If only he could see her, talk to her, feel her scent, touch her.
Maybe he could run off to the infirmary. He could grab Lilia and make a run for it. His bracelets would warn the others the moment he left the bedroom unattended, but maybe he could be fast enough to get there before everyone else did. Perhaps he could be fast enough to kiss his sweet Nesi and breathe in her scent, to tell her it was ok, everything was just fine. Fast enough to hold both mother and child tight in his arms. He wanted to do that so badly, so badly that he closed his burning eyes. He could tell everyone he'd just wanted to take Lilia to see her Mamma.
As if that would work! He whimpered under the pain in his chest. They'd lock him up. They were all dying to kick him out of the way and he couldn't risk being locked away from his baby girl. He'd simply have to suck it up and hang on, pain or no pain. Just then, he smelt Logan's scent approaching and the burning pain turned to reassuring hate.
The man didn't have to knock on the door: Creed was already opening it with a snarl.
"What d'ya want?"
Logan frowned.
"We just got news from Bishop and Cannonball: a bunch o' files on folks who've done biddings at Gautier's online auctions. Summers wants everyone down t' go through them and single out our targets on the Eastern Coast."
Great. When he wanted to see some action, or at least some paper trail to go through, there was nothing, and now that he could use some down time, it popped up. In the middle of the freaking night, on top of it! And what about Lilia? He couldn't leave her alone.
"Ya're comin' or what?"
"Shut yer yap an' get lost, dumbass. I'll be down in a minute."
He closed the door on the runt's face and looked at the sleeping child. He'd just have to take her with him and hope she didn't wake up.
He quickly put on a shirt then picked up the sleeping girl, who snuggled more closely, wrapped in the sheet she had had over her. As if on purpose to annoy him, the runt was still in the corridor, ostensibly waiting for him, and frowned at seeing Lilia. Creed snarled, dying to bust his face. Anyone's face.
"Ya got a problem?"
"I got a problem? Ya're the one carryin' the kid around, bub."
He walked away, but Creed still saw the sneer on the man's face and his claws unsheathed of their own accord.
Creed expected the meeting to happen in the underground complex but Logan led him to Summers's office instead. The mighty leader and Rasputin were already inside and, despite knowing there was a sofa inside where he could lay Lilia down, Creed decided to leave her in the waiting room. As he tucked her in, he heard Logan warn the others he'd brought 'the kid'. With a growl, he followed the man inside.
"The kid has a name, boy. And ya don't show some respect, I'm gonna hav'ta teach ya some, ya moron."
"Give it a break, Creed! This is work time, not babysitting time. We've got hundreds of files to go through, so settle down and focus."
He couldn't stop the snarl any more than he could stop the growl, but he did manage to keep his claws sheathed.
"If ya don't wanna hav'ta babysit, Summers, I suggests ya keeps yer voice down 'fore ya wake the girl up."
"Can we start now?" Rasputin seemed annoyed, which further aggravated him: he was the one with plenty of reasons to be annoyed, irritated, angry, destroying everything around. He was the one in pain.
Logan stradled a chair and looked up at the screen, but Creed could see he had an eye out on him. Unable to stop the growl, he sat down too, while Summers displayed the first face of the night.
"Focus," Summers said once more. "If you are serious about this, Creed, focus and let me know if you recognise anyone. We need all the information we can get on these people. You know that, so do your job."
Creed took a deep breath and did his best to get rid of the pain and frustration. Summers was right. His daughter's safety depending on dismantling this group. He had to swallow everything down and do this right.
"Jean Rochefort; 42 years old; French by birth; radicated in Los Angeles; single; travels between Europe and the States at least once a month. He's an architect and designed Vincent Gautier's auction house in the outskirts of Paris. No criminal record."
Creed focused on the clean-shaved face, the brown eyes, the ordinary looking face. It could be any harmless businessman. And yet...
"What company does he work for?"
Summers checked the papers.
"Hmm... Been working with TradBuilt, Inc. for 21 years. Do you know him?"
"I know the company he works for..." Creed narrowed his eyes, trying to remember any details that might include that particular face. "Needed some help wi' the competition a few years back, but it wasn't him who did the hirin', so I can't say fer sure if he was in it or not. I went t' their office back then, and could have noticed 'im fer no particular reason."
"When was that?"
The bile burst before he noticed it was there to be burst at all: "How the hell should I know? Does it look t'ya like I keep a blasted diary or somethin'?"
"Creed," the mighty leader started sternly. "It's about time you start getting your temper back in check if you don't want to regret anything."
Fingers itching, he growled again.
"I don't. remember."
He had to control himself. He had to control his temper. He had to.
"If the company is, or was, involved in illegal maneuvers, then perhaps we could use it to get started." Rasputin suggested, making a note on a netbook. "Jubilee can tip the FBI for them to dig some dirt and then we'll see if our man is involved in any of it. I'm sending her the file to see what she can do."
"That's good thinking. Next, then." Had Summers said hundreds of files? This was going to take forever! "Patricia Olwen, 23. Irish descent, third generation New Yorker. She's a part-time courier for Vincent Gautier on the Eastern Coast. When someone buys something over his online services, he uses different people and companies to deliver the purchased goods. As far as we can tell, Patricia is only contacted to deliver small parcels in the New York City area. We can't be certain of the nature of the material she transports."
The freckled face meant nothing to him, so he turned his attention to the waiting room for a second. No sound. Good.
"Let's assume she's transportin' 50-50 o' legal and illegal material," Logan cut in. "I say we tag her and follow her movements."
"We've got months of work here," and Creed snorted at the Russian's optimism. Months? Try years!
Had that been a whimper?
"That settles it. Next is Joan Jones, 54. She..." Creed got up abruptly.
"Pappa..." The girl's voice stopped the One-Eye's impending scolding, but not Logan's cryptic comment.
"He's made his bed all right."
What the Hell was that supposed to mean?
"Pappa?"
"Hush, Lil' Devil. Pappa's right here; you just go right back t'sleep, ya hear?" A sudden thought had him take off his shirt and cover the child snugly with it. "See? Pappa's right here."
He waited a moment more before returning to the office, closing the door softly behind him.
No one said anything, despite their annoyed expressions, and Creed barely managed to bite down a gruff remark. He had to control his temper. Keep his mouth shut in the very least.
"Joan Jones, 54," Summers resumed. "She's an apparent harmless businesswoman, but she's got quite a long criminal record. Mostly hate crimes against mutants, none of them serious offences. I don't think she's ever had any problems over this record since most of her clients are well-known for their anti-mutant standing."
Folding his arms, Creed clenched his teeth. He'd spent every blasted night wide-eyed in Isabel's room instead of getting some sleep and here, of all places, sleep had decided to get its teeth on him. Almost growling at the aggravation, Creed made an irascible effort to focus. Those were the assholes that needed getting rid of to make sure no dangers lurked around his baby...
"...Jonathan Siles, her son," the picture of a twenty-something year old boy appeared over his mother's, causing the bile he'd been pushing down to erupt, "was arrested once. He was involved..."
"Why the hell are we wastin' time with corpses? That punk's already dead."
Every head turned to him and sleepiness faded. Not noticing he hadn't yet accused himself, he took the already usual defensive stance.
"T'was his fault! I told 'im t'stuff the anti-mutant stickers he was distributing an' the group of assholes brought out the guns. What was I supposed t'do? Give 'em a warnin'? Finished the whole lot, s'what I did. Some folks just oughtta learn how t'take no fer an answer."
Summers took a deep breath that aggravated Creed.
"What?" he bursted one last time before he had enough sense to drag his eyes back to the screen and shut his yap. Control yourself, damnit!
"As I was saying," Summers continued. "Jonathan Siles was involved in the beating to death of a homeless mutant. Later he became involved with Friends of Humanity and died shortly afterwards. His mother, Joan, took the matter to heart and that's when she started attacking anyone related to mutant rights, namely…"
His eyes were burning again. How was he going to be able to keep on controlling his temper? He resisted the need to rub his face and squeeze the burning moist out of his eyes and instead allowed his claws to slide quietly out and into the wooden back of the chair he was sitting on.
"…has made several online bids over rare books but has never actually bought anything. We can't be sure if it's a coincidence or if she's working for Gautier, bidding in order to raise prices."
Breathing out the tension, Creed hoped that asshole calling himself a leader might get it on with, cutting down on the chit-chat and putting on more pictures of folks he knew, one way or the other.
Amazingly he did. He didn't recognise the man, so he could once more focus on keeping his temper under tight wraps. A couple of photos and boringly long biographies later, sleepiness was once more biting him in the ass. Of all the…!
A photo of a woman that he… no, she looked like one of Ruth's girls, years ago, but that particular chick would now be much older than the one in the photo.
Creed blinked a few times, frowning. It was getting very difficult to focus on anything anyone was saying if it didn't bear any immediate connection to him. Damn, he needed some sleep.
The photo changed and he focused his eyes for a moment. But no, it was just another nobody. An annoying little headache pierced through his brain and he sheathed his claws out of the back of the chair before he massaged his forehead.
"next..."
He looked up briefly, then massaged the side of his head, since the headache had moved location. Well, at least Lilia was calm. He really should have thought about it earlier. Having his scent near her all night long, she wouldn't get nightmares where he up and left her.
The springs on the sofa called his attention and he listened carefully. But no, Lilia was neither whimpering nor calling out for him.
"CREED!"
What now? With an aggravated groan, he glared at Summers.
"Are you even looking at the photos? Because you certainly aren't listening to a word anyone is saying, are you? I've warned you..."
"Pappa!"
Creed sprang to his feet, nearly spitting fire.
"There! Ya happy now? Ya just had t'wake her up, didn't ya? Argh! Damn ya all..."
She'd been sleeping so well! She'd never slept so quietly for so long while he was so far away, and they had to ruin it all!
His little girl was sitting up on the sofa, chin trembling, when he opened the door.
"Pappa," she called out to him, little arms outstretched.
With a sigh, he picked her up.
"Pappa's here, Lil' Devil. Go back t'sleep, ok? Just go back t'sleep, baby girl. Please…"
He was both acutely and vaguely aware of the company that had trickled out of the office. The girl's arms wrapped around his neck and he massaged her back.
"That's it. Back t'sleep."
A pity he couldn't do the same, because he was sleepy, too. Sleepy and exhausted like all hell. He sat with a nearly desperate groan, holding her tight and praying she'd fall asleep and keep on till morning.
"'eitinho," she mumbled, eyes closed.
Creed didn't get it at the first time and she insisted: "Qué'itinho, Pappa. 'Eitinho"
Milk was never a bad idea – it might even help her to sleep through the rest of the night in one go, now that she had his shirt with her.
"S'ok, baby girl," he mumbled, going for the kitchen. "Pappa'll fix ya some milk in no time."
Creed didn't realise he'd been followed till he got to the kitchen and Summers opened the fridge door ahead of him.
"Just hold the girl and I'll get the milk ready," he grumbled. In a matter of seconds, the glass was in the microwave heating up.
The four men stood silently in the kitchen, waiting for the milk to heat up. Creed leaned on the counter, ignoring the others, and closed his eyes while massaging the girl's back.
Ding! The door was wide open even before the warning had finished reverberating.
"Here," Summers handed him the glass. "She can drink it in the office. We have two hundred and forty-six files to go through, Creed, and we need to know if you know any of those people."
Creed had an answer on the tip of his tongue but let it go the moment the glass reached his hand.
"It's too hot," and he put it down on the counter. "Get me some ice and another glass."
Opening one door, then a second and a third, he ignored Rasputin's question of what he was looking for and located a big plastic container himself. He filled it up with water and told Summers to add some ice to it. Then he put the glass of milk in the water.
"Creed..."
"If the milk's too hot," he snapped at the Russian with an impatient growl, "she's gonna wake up. The idea is fer it t'be just the right temperature fer her t'drink it an'sleep. Not wake up."
He grabbed the other glass, opened the water tap over it then poured the milk into the new glass. Tasting it, he shook his head and repeated the whole operation. Finally considering it just right he pulled out a chair and sat down.
"In the office," Summers hissed.
But Creed had already sat down so he ignored him. Gently, he removed her arms from around his neck, eliciting a tantrumish groan, and sat the child on his lap.
"If she calms down, she'll sleep just fine," he said to no one in particular
He reached the glass to her lips and the girl started sipping the white liquid, a little hand coming sleepingly up to mock-hold the glass.
"You really messed this up, Creed."
Huh? He looked up at the Russian. What on Earth was he talking about?
"You already spend so much time with her," the man kept on. "Why did you have to push her into demanding you around even more? It's almost like you'd rather spend every day sitting in the house than working on bringing down this slave cell!"
Wait, what was the man trying to say? Creed looked down to make sure Lilia was still drinking before glancing over the men around him. They all had the same expressions. He closed his eyes and shook his head, holding back the twin snarl and growl while trying to make sense of what they were saying. What were they even accusing him of now?
"Jenny was the one who took Lilia to see her mother because you couldn't care less!"
Creed groaned as he finally understood what they were chewing on.
"I didn't do nuthin', asshole. Lilia got in her head I'm gonna walk out on her if she gets scared: she's havin' nightmares 'bout it every fuckin' night! And since you got it into her head that her Mamma's scared o' me, it follows that bein' with her Mamma means I'm gonna walk out on both of 'em! So if I drop her on Isabel's lap, she's just gonna flip, ain't she? She already flips everytime she don't..."
Creed growled very lightly at himself. He had almost said 'smells me around' and given away she possessed heightened senses. He didn't want them to know that!
Summers sighed and massaged his forehead.
"Why didn't you just say something, then?"
"A hell of a difference that would make," he snarled in a growled whisper. "I can't go nowhere near her Mamma, can I? How the hell am I supposed ta make her realise I ain't gonna walk away from her Mamma when I'm already always away, huh?"
"If you had just said something!" Summers grumbled angrily. "You need to get one thing in that thick head of yours, Creed: you're working as part of a team. You need to talk to us and let us know what is going on instead of keeping us in the dark for whatever stupid reason. Whenever you got a problem, you talk to me so we can solve it. Got it?"
Creed rolled his eyes. As if he was about to...
"If Lilia can't sleep because of nightmares," Rasputin said softly, "shouldn't she… I don't know, shouldn't you take her to a therapist?"
"Don't be stupid," he scoffed. "First of all, Lilia knows damn well I ain't gonna leave her no matter what. It's a stupid fear 'bout somethin' that ain't ever gonna happen, and she knows it. Besides that, kids get nightmares 'bout stuff they're 'fraid of, it's perfectly normal. They can get repetitive nightmares even 'bout stuff they know can never happen. It's normal! Angie says that if the nightmares don't ease up within one t'two weeks, then it's different. But they are easin' up. The first two nights I had to basically hold her hand through the night. Now she's sleepin' fer much longer. It's only been five days, anyways. Fears don't go away wi'the snap of a finger, ya know. It takes time an' patience."
"Who's Angie?"
"Isabel an' Lilia's doc back home," he said, yawnin'. "She got this huge scare when she was two and a half. We were doin' a hikin' in the back country, her first time campin'. She could walk nearly three miles in a go by then. 'Course she was stoppin' t'look at everythin' everywhere so three miles could easily stretch t' two hours an' more!"
He smiled at the memories and, since she seemed to have stopped drinking, he took the glass away and put it on the table.
"My perfect lil' baby girl," he said softly, adjusting her in his arms.
Unfortunately, her eyes started fluttering open and he quickly had her sipping milk again.
"What happened?"
He didn't register who'd asked and carried on without thinking.
"Some assholes had been tryin' t' clone back t' life an extinct bear… I think it's called a short-faced bear or somethin' like that. Anyways, they got a bit too successful an' the animal got away, so they sent a team t' hunt it down. They was huntin' it when the whole group crashed through our trail."
He yawned, his eyes heavy.
"It was this fuckin' huge beast. Over 12 feet tall on its hind legs an' the fuckin' assholes huntin' it, 'stead o'welcomin' my help, decided t'shoot me. Does that make any sense? I could kinda understand if they'd shot me after I had done their job fer them, but they actually shot me the moment they realised I was a mutant. I had barely even charged the fuckin' animal!"
He shook his head and yawned.
"Anyway, Lilia was scared t'death. Spent a few nights cryin' the moment we left her alone, havin' nightmares on top o' nightmares… didn't even wanna go anywhere near a forest, wouldn't get near horses or other large animals. That was a mess. But Angie said not t' sweat it and, above all, not t' push her too far too fast, so we slowly helped her t'get over it."
He once more took the glass away.
"That first week, Nesi and I took turns sittin' next t' her all night long. She stayed the first half o' the night, I stayed the second half. Then she'd have a long nap in the mornin' while I took one in the afternoon. That way, none of us got too wasted. By the second week, Lilia's nightmares were down t' almost nuthin'. A month later she was back t'hikin', though she was still nervous. Three months later, it was as if it had never happened. All it takes is time an' patience."
The girl hadn't budged yet, so he picked her up and laid her little head on his shoulder, taking the chance to kiss her as he rubbed her back.
"There," he whispered, "ya're gonna sleep till mornin' now, ain't ya, baby girl?"
Summers breathed out tersely.
"Do you mean to tell me you've been pulling all nighters since you got back from Paris? That you haven't slept at all in five nights?" Creed growled a warning and the man lowered his voice to an angry hiss. "Damn you, Creed! Why the hell didn't you say something? I'd have given you time off to get some sleep during the day if I had known about it!"
Creed blinked. He would have? But then a grumpy little voice reminded him that he didn't need none of their help. For a moment it pricked up some anger, but it soon died away because, damn, wouldn't he have welcomed the chance to get some sleep.
"Ok. First of all, you're off every training schedule till you've slept yourself back into shape. And you will let me know when the nights are going back to normal so you can get back to training."
Could it really be that easy?
"Secondly, you and Lilia will be having your family meals again. If Isabel can't leave the infirmary, you can have your meals up there; otherwise, you'll eat together downstairs as always."
So… if he had just said... You fucking stupid ass, he berated himself with a growl!
"And since the girl is afraid you will disappear… I was thinking, maybe she could have a cell phone. If she knows she can contact you whenever she wishes, that should help her get over the fear faster, shouldn't it? What do you think?"
"Yeah," but his heart was already leaping hopefully ahead. "And what about sleepin'? McCoy said Isabel can leave the infirmary, she's the one wo refuses t'come out. So… if she decides t'leave tomorrow… Lilia can't fall asleep without me around yet."
Summers crossed his arms, thoughtfully, then shook his head.
"We'll see about that tomorrow."
Yes! They'd have to let him spend the night with Isabel. Hell, yeah! Damn it, why hadn't he brought this up earlier?
"But watch what you say to Isabel, do you understand?"
"She's mine!" He snapped, not thinking his words first, but shut up before he could say anything else.
He growled harder. Stupid moron! Why didn't he just up and admitted he missed her like hell to all of them? It was really the only thing he hadn't admitted out loud to the assholes, wasn't it? Stupid, stupid, stupid!
"Creed, do not ask Isabel why she kept her pregnancy secret, do you hear me? For your daughter's sake, do not scowl at Isabel; do not speak gruffly to her; do not as much as mention the miscarriage or anything related to it. Got it?"
Well, obviously not in front of Lilia! But the moment he got alone with her, they could bet he'd be asking her some tough questions, all right. He wanted some answers, damnit!
"Hey! Did you hear what I said?"
"Yeah, yeah, I heard ya."
Out of pure habit, he finished the milk and got up, saying she should sleep through the rest of the night now.
"I don't think there's any point in prolonguing this," Summers grumbled. "Take her to bed. Maybe you can get a couple of hours sleep yourself if she can make it till morning."
The idea popped up immediately, urgent and hopeful.
"I could take her t'see her Mamma."
He shrugged as he said it, careful not to look at anyone just in case someone noticed how desperate he was to hear an ok.
"It's four a.m., Creed," Summers said dismissively. "Both Lilia and Isabel are asleep."
Damn it… He wasn't going to let it drop, though. Not this time.
"Ya think Isabel won't wanna wake up to see her baby girl?" He insisted. "She ain't seen her in days!"
"Fine," Summers said with a defeated sigh. Creed bit down the relief and happiness that surged up. "You've got a point. Let's go."
This was actually going to work! He followed the mighty leader, careful not to look as happy as he felt. It worked. All he had to do was say that it was in Lilia's best interest that he was around her Mamma. Why hadn't he thought about it, stupid ass! Stupid, stupid jerk that he was! He had been suffering like a dog for five days for no reason beyond his own stupidity! And Isabel! How lonely she must have felt, how unhappy. No one had to realise he wanted to be with his sweet Nesi. No one had to realise he missed her like crazy. No one except her.
Lilia was asleep in his arms when Summers opened the door. He hesitated switching on the light, but Creed didn't. The woman stirred immediately. Now he had to be careful how he called her. Not Nesi, and definitely not the 'my sweet Nesi' that was burning his tongue.
"Isabel," she opened his eyes and he swallowed down the grin of relief. "Hey, look who wanted t'see her Mamma?"
Isabel got up, blinking in confusion at him and Summers, but she eagerly outstretched her arms the moment he approached.
"A minha menina," Isabel's voice shuddered almost tearfully as she fiercely embraced the child, who stirred in her sleep but didn't quite wake up.
"A minha rica menina," she cooed in whispers, kissing her forehead and rocking her gently.
Creed was not going to be able to stop the grin of happiness for much longer, even if he still hadn't been able to touch his woman.
"Switch off the light, Summers," he said gruffly. "She's gonna wake up with so much light. The idea is fer her t'sleep, not wake up."
Summers hesitated a second, then complied.
"Thank you," Isabel was saying in Portuguese, and he could smell her tears. Tears of happiness and relief.
Why hadn't he thought this up earlier, damnit! The woman had been suffering for nothing!
"Thank you so much for bringing my little girl to me. I missed her so much, so much."
In the dark, Creed sat on the edge of the bed and put a hand over Isabel's, caressing it eagerly, while grabbing the bed with his other hand to stop himself from holding both woman and child in his arms.
By the door, Summers sighed a groan then went over to the desk and sat down.
It took half an hour. Creed was so eagerly expectant, he never even felt any sleepiness. He listened to the man's breathing as he was taken over by sleep in the darkened room. He heard him making himself comfortable. He heard him fall into deep slumber.
Finally.
Isabel was awake, still rocking their sleeping baby girl.
"My sweet Nesi," he barely whispered, cupping her face tenderly.
"Oh, Veetohr!"
He kissed her in the dark, frantically, then he held them tight, her and the child, the exact same way he'd been dreaming about over the last five days.
"Tell me ya're ok, my Nesi," he whispered, his eyes burning with the moisture of pent-up tension. "Tell me everything's ok, my sweet, sweet Nesi. I've missed ya so badly!"
She snaked an arm over his shoulder, piercing his neck with her nails and bringing his lips back to hers. He moaned at the feeling as he kissed her again. Then he kissed her tear streaked cheeks, kissed her eyes, her forehead… He moved back with a sniff of overwhelming happiness and looked into her eyes despite the darkness.
"Ya can leave this blasted infirmary, now," he whispered. "Lilia's been havin' nightmares but she's gettin' better. The important thing right now is that ya can leave and everythin' will be fine again, ok? I promise."
She didn't answer but that wasn't unexpected. Isabel much preferred actions to words, anyway. He moved over and sat beside her on the bed, placing his baby girl's legs over his own, and once more embraced Isabel.
"Ya can get some sleep now," he kissed her forehead, breathing in her scent. "Ya can relax an' sleep 'cause I'll be watchin' over ya both and everything's gonna be just fine from now on. Just fine. I promise you, Nesi. Everything will be fine from now on."
And it was going to be fine. He knew it was.
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