Disclaimer: I don't own the X-Men, or anything else Marvel-related. This is a not-for-profit piece of fluff; please don't sue. (Not that I have any money, or anything)
She fumbles with her money as she pays the taxi driver; her hands are trembling, and not from the cold. Clutching with one hand the baby, she tucks the change back into a pocket. The babe cries, and she flips back part of the coverings to check her; shush her, flinching at the sight.
In her father's book, the ones who looked normal were always worse; hiding in plain sight, pretending to be human. But to see her daughters face, tainted with glittering flecks of silver, and the sleepy eyes that glow in the half-light; that's worse.
She'd known something was wrong when she'd pushed, and the head had come out and there'd been a silence, the nurse and doctor exchanging looks. She was glad her husband hadn't bothered to stay in the room for the delivery; the look on his face when he'd first seen her had been bad enough. A nurse, her face almost apologetic, had quietly offered to arrange the adoption papers, and he'd almost bitten her head off. There would be no paperwork, nothing legal naming them as parents to this child. The birth certificate had been left blank; the doctors had let them walk away without filling it in. She'd got the feeling that this was almost normal for them; they'd obviously seen this chain of events a few times. Nervous jokes made in bad taste unintended for her ears; the laughter of those who don't know any other way to cope.
She stroked one finger over the pale face – now sleeping again. The babe looks near-human, almost normal, and for a second she is struck by a terrible pain, wondering why. Why she can't take her daughter home, give her son the baby sister he was promised. But she can't; because her daughter is a mutant. Not human. Not right. Not one of them, not ever. She doesn't belong in the little house, in the nursery that overlooks the lawn with the 'Vote Kelly' sign dug into the dying grass.
This is the place, for certain. There's graffiti scrawled across the brickwork around the gates; the building itself is a mansion, stately and graceful. It's dark and silent in the early morning. She lays a kiss upon her daughters forehead. It's cold out here, but surely if she just leaves her by the locked gates they'd find her soon, and she was wrapped up. Surely she'll be alright.
Then a figure comes into view; through the doors, without need of opening them. She's petite and brown haired – she looks very young, but she moves with confidence, gliding up to the gates. When she gets there she holds her hands out, not speaking.
"I…" the woman starts, for some reason wanting to explain herself to this sprite, but she falls silent. The child looks up at her with eyes that are full of knowledge and wisdom and pain and replies. "I know."
Then she takes the daughter and disappears back off into the building. The taxi is long gone; she didn't really think this one through. No phone on her to call another, but she can hardly go in there and ask to use their phone. Not because she's scared, and she realises now, walking away, that she is not afraid, not at all. Because if she goes back and sees her daughter one more time, she won't be able to leave her.
She wraps her coat around her. It'll be a long walk, but she can hitch-hike some of the way, and giving her husband some more time to cool down is probably a good idea anyway.
A question comes into her mind, seemingly blown along by a gust of cold wind.
~Don't you love her, child?~
And thinking that there are no witnesses to her answer, she replies truthfully, speaking to the wind and the empty road before her.
"Not enough."