March 7, 1973
Doug handed Rahne several daisies. She nodded and began slitting the stems with her fingernails. She'd have enough for a really big daisy chain soon enough.
"We have enough for me," she said, "Do you want one? Mom showed me how to do it, and she says I'm really good."
"Sure," Doug said.
He sounded gloomy. Rahne quirked her head.
"Not want one?" she asked, "I won't mind."
"No, I do," Doug said, "I just...I just don't really wanna go back home when we're done here."
Rahne threaded two more daisies into the daisy crown.
"Why's that?" she asked.
He shrugged.
"My uncle's gonna be there," he said, "I don't like my uncle."
"Oh," Rahne said.
She continued threading daisies. She didn't really know what to say to that particular piece of information. Rahne might be able to hold conversations now, but that still didn't mean that she could continue difficult ones. She hoped Doug knew that.
"He's loud and mean," Doug said, "But that's not the worst of it."
Thank you God, Rahne thought, Thank you for giving me someone who fills my silences, says what he needs to say.
"Oh?" she asked.
"My dad listens to him," he said, "Thinks he knows what's what. And my mom goes along with my dad. So if my uncle says that I should go to bed early, or I shouldn't be reading so many books, or asks why I'm not into sports, my dad does too. And then my mom does."
"That's bad," Rahne said.
Doug nodded.
"There's nothing wrong with wanting to read," he said, "That's what my parents say when he's not around. I hate that things are different when he's around."
Rahne added several more daisies onto the chain, still feeling awkward.
"But...if it's just while he's here, then it passes soon, right?" she asked.
"Things like reading, yeah," said Doug, "But they try to do things he tells them. Made me sign up for little league when mom and dad were studying in America."
He began pulling fistfuls of grass.
"Didn't go well."
Rahne finished the daisy chain, chewing her tongue. Now she knew she had to say something. Maybe she should just say what she was thinking. She didn't have any other option, not if she wanted to avoid the silence.
"Well, I like you anyway," she said.
Doug looked up and flashed a grin at her. She grinned back and placed the daisy crown on his head.
"Rahne, I look like a girl!" he said.
"You said you didn't mind," Rahne said.
He took the crown off and put it on her head instead.
"There," he said, "You're prettier than I am, so it looks better on you."
"Prettier?" Rahne asked.
"Like a princess," he said.
She laughed and got to her feet, brushing the dirt off her overalls.
"Not a princess," she said, "A princess isn't interesting."
"The Scottish ones are," Doug said, "Or the queens anyway."
"I wanna be a queen, a queen like Esther," Rahne said, interested, "She was brave."
"Queen Boudica was brave," said Doug, "And she was Scottish like you."
"Huh," Rahne said.
"Well, Celtic."
She shifted her feet.
"What did she do?" asked Rahne.
"She was Queen of those people I told you about who painted themselves blue to fight. She led an army, a really big one," Doug said, "And she used it to fight Romans who tried to take her home. There was a really big war."
Rahne rocked on her feet. It was always cool when Doug told her stories like this. Rahne tried to picture this Boudica leading an army and fighting the people who'd occupied Jerusalem. She looked a little like her mother in her mind's eye.
Render unto Ceasar what is Ceasar's.
"Did she win?" asked Rahne.
"No," Doug said, "But I think the fighting part is important."
Rahne thought for a moment, and nodded.
"But so is winning," she said.
"I guess," Doug said.
Rahne crossed her arms.
"But I don't wannna be a fairytale princess," she said, "A fairytale princess is like Red Riding Hood, isn't she?"
"Sort of," Doug admitted, getting up.
"I'm more like the wolf," said Rahne.
She changed slowly, letting her ears shift and fur grow over her skin. Doug smiled at her and Rahne grinned, baring her eyeteeth.
"Get away from him, monster!"
Rahne felt a strong hand shove her to the ground. A man stood in front of Doug, holding him back from helping her up.
"Freak!" he yelled.
Monster. Demon. Freak. Satan's daughter!
Rahne felt her breath catch in her throat. Her mind began to blink and, suddenly, she was back on the hill, feeling the cold mud squelch beneath her palms. Her whole body felt buried in the cold. She remembered the futility of it all, remembering her mind going out to the only one who had ever given any indication of love.
God, don't let it hurt much, she'd thought, Don't let it hurt much, please, so cold, when I see you, please be warm.
Then her mother had been there, but she wasn't there then-
"What the hell are you doing?"
"What the hell are you doing?"
Moira had been at the facility working on some plans to expand one of the wings. There was just enough money to make it work, although they were going to have to take it in small doses. Even with all of the donations, both by genetic institutions she'd managed to contact and personal contributions, money was going to be tight.
Because of the interest of the genetic institutions, they were going to start off as a very small school attached to a big research facility. That could work in their favor too. Mutants got sick and their unique biology might make treatment difficult.
Usually she didn't like to leave Rahne alone, but she was just playing with Doug on the fringe of the woods. That wasn't a big deal, and she wouldn't be gone for long. It was a point of pride to her that Rahne was to the point where she could be alone with a friend. If Doug had understood what a big step it was, she was sure he would be proud of himself too.
She'd been a few minutes from her home when she'd heard the scream of "Freak!" She'd begun running then, her heart pounding. When she'd seen the man holding back Doug, her daughter in the mud, she'd all but screamed out her question.
Before he could answer, she'd shoved him away from her daughter and pulled Doug from his stunned hand, standing in front of them. Rahne immediately scurried up so that she could hide behind Moira. Her eyes met his, and he glared at her.
"I don't know who you think you are-" he said.
"I'm Rahne's mother," Moira snapped, "Who the hell are you?"
She could feel the righteous indignation flowing through her, the sheer fury at anyone who would dare lay a finger on her little girl.
"I'm Doug's uncle," he spat.
Moira frowned. Yes, Doug's father had mentioned that his brother Phillip was coming for a visit. He hadn't mentioned that he was insane, but sometimes people tend to forget little details like that when they talk about their family.
"And that gives you what right to talk to my daughter like that?" she demanded.
He sneered.
"I'll do that to any freak who's trying to poison my nephew."
For a moment Moira had no idea what he was talking about. Then an unpleasant, churning anger began in her stomach.
"My daughter isn't a freak," she said, "She's not the one being an asshole to children. Now get the hell away before I call the cops."
He took another step forward. Moira could feel his hot breath on her face.
"Oh yeah?" he asked, "And you intend to make me...how?"
Moira could see Phillip smirk. He was expecting a slap, something that would sting but he could shrug off. All men expected a slap when they ran into an outraged woman. She wasn't sure why: maybe they'd watched too much tv.
No matter. It never hurt her, because it meant that they weren't expecting a punch, and a proper punch, putting the weight on the right foot and stepping into it. He reeled beneath the impact of her fist, disoriented.
Her father had taught her what to do next, something that the CIA had never quite understood the value of. Moira kicked him in the crotch as hard as she could, sending him to his knees, crying out in pain. Once he was on his knees, she kicked him across the face.
Once he was lying prostrate, his nose a bloody mess, Moira picked Rahne up. Rahne was older than she had been the night that she had curled up into Moira's side long ago. She was bigger and heavier, but anger and worry gave her strength.
She pulled Rahne into the yard, grabbing onto Doug's hand with her spare arm as she did so. Moira slammed the fence after them, locking it as Phillip began to look up.
"You little-" he wheezed.
"There is nothing original you can call me," she said coldly, "Now get the hell off of my property before I call the cops."
"I'm not in your damn yard-"
"I'm not talking about the damn yard," Moira hissed, "I'm talking about the damn island."
Phillip looked at her with wide, disbelieving eyes.
"That's right," she said, "It's all mine."
Phillip's eyes slid from her to Doug. He shrank back and Moira stepped in front of him.
"I'll release him to his parents, and no one else," she said, "If your brother has any sense, then he's not going to let you anywhere near his child ever again."
Phillip sneered at her as he staggered to his feet.
"You really think you're something, don't you?" he snapped, "Some sort of hot shot?"
Rahne whimpered and Moira narrowed her eyes. An old, sharp pain had come back. This freak had hurt her daughter, and she hadn't been there to help. She remembered the hospital, the crippling pain and guilt when a loved one is injured and you knew that you were to blame. It had been another lesson she'd learned from Charles.
She looked him in the eye, let him see just what he was going up against. She drew memories of the beach, of the ships and the sailors, the shots, the threat of nuclear war. He had no idea who she was.
"You may be a monster," she said, "But I've gone up against people who could eat twelve of you for breakfast and still come out hungry."
She leaned in a little.
"So I'll say this one more time: get the hell off of my property before I call the goddamn cops," she said.
Phillip blinked at her, and then he staggered towards the other end of the island. Moira picked up Rahne again and jerked Doug forward by his hand. Her mind was pounding away, and she scarcely registered what was she was doing.
She felt herself close the door and lock it. Then she sank down, holding her daughter close to her. Doug was staring out the window, his eyes wide and his lips not moving. She felt sorry for him, but a sudden harsh breath made her realize that she had to deal with her own child first.
Rahne's hands were clenched in the fabric of Moira's shirt, her eyes squeezed shut. Moira began to stroke her hair.
"It's okay," Moira said, "It's okay."
Her daughter took another harsh breath. Moira wasn't sure why she wasn't crying: maybe she had already used her tears years ago. She bowed her head and let out a slow breath.
"It's okay sweetheart," she said, "I'm here now."
Rahne hiccupped.
"I love you," she said.
"I love you Moira. You'll never know how much."
Moira took in a harsh breath as the memory rocketed through her mind. It was like being stabbed. She increased her grip on Rahne, trying to force past it, force past the feelings of confusion that were welling up inside her.
"Was scared he was gonna hurt you," Rahne murmured.
Moira swallowed, still struggling for her bearings.
"No one can hurt me," she said.
The only one who could had already done his worst. The new memory was making things more confused, more messed-up, but she had no idea how to deal with that.
"Both of you," Moira said, "I want you to know something."
She closed her eyes.
"If anyone ever tries to hurt you, come to me," she said, "I'll take care of them."