July 19, 1966
Moira knew what day it was before she woke up, the knowledge sharp even when her eyes were closed. It was still dark outside and the alarm hadn't gone off, but she could almost feel when July eighteenth became July nineteenth. She took a deep breath, her hand fisting the material of the blanket.
She continued to lie still in her husband's arms, taking deep breaths and closing her eyes. There was no chance that she was going to get back to sleep, but if she did stayed still then she could almost pretend that she was still asleep. Warm lips on her neck reminded her that she wasn't the only one haunted though.
"Go back to sleep Moira," Charles said.
"Fine words coming from you," Moira said.
He held her closer, his forehead touching her back. Moira opened her eyes and sighed. She knew that her family had been luckier than most. Her husband and all of her children, even the one she had nearly miscarried, were alive. They never celebrated Kevin's birthday on the nineteenth though. He deserved a day where everyone could be happy. It was why they celebrated his birthday on the twenty-first. There was enough seperation for it to be a truly happy event.
Even so Kevin had been born on the nineteenth during the very hour that the Night of Fire ended. He'd been a miracle, a child that really shouldn't have survived his birth. Moira liked to think that it was the universe's way of telling them that from death there could be life, and that it was possible to carry on.
For others that message was harder to hear. She thought of Kayla and Logan, of the daughter they had left behind. Katherine and Christopher were gone too, their sons left behind with what remained of the Hellions. Clarice had looked like a ghost, mourning the man she had loved. She remembered seeing Raven holding Jimaine, a child who would never know her parents, while Stefan cried into Azazel's shoulder. She remembered the broken looks in Erik and Lorna's faces.
There were countless other children, parents, friends, and lovers who had spent the last five years without the people they cared about. In a few hours she would have to stand by her husband as they held a memorial service. All of Genosha would be united in a day of national mourning, the buildings and citizens draped in black.
That morning, just like every July the nineteenth for five years, was hard to wake up to. She squeezed Charles' hands, closing her eyes again.
Lorna always woke up before the sun rose on July nineteenth. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and got ready. Lorna dressed quietly in the traditional Genoshan mourning clothes. In the past five years she had become an expert in how to fasten the veil and tie the sash. It was almost a force of habit.
She walked out of her room, carrying a basket with her gardening tools. Neena was leaning against the door, already dressed in her mourning uniform. She'd traded off with Arthur at midnight, just like she always did. Lorna was constantly guarded by someone, whether it was while she was sleeping or going to school, because of July nineteenth. There was no other way to remember it.
The morning air was warm, but the sun hadn't risen yet. She went into the rose garden. Lorna had already selected the white roses that she was going to use the night before, but she hadn't cut them. Her mother had always taught her to wait until the last possible minute to cut roses. The longer they were left growing the longer they stayed fresh and pliable.
When she had gathered up the right amount of roses Lorna resumed her trip. Neena stepped aside before she went into the inner level of the rose garden. She didn't say a word to her; she hadn't said anything since Lorna had woken up. Lorna nodded to her as she walked past. Neena had always kept her distance when Lorna visited her mother, as had Arthur. She was eternally grateful to them for that.
She knelt in front of the tomb, pushing her dress out of the way. Without looking at the tomb where her mother's remains lay Lorna began dethorning the roses. When that was done she began twisting them into a wreath, just like her mother had showed her almost a year before her death.
Lorna worked in silence, tears gathering in her eyes. Her vision blurred as her fingers wove the stems together into a basic frame. She stopped every now and then to wipe her eyes, adding new roses. Lorna didn't stop working as dim light flooded into the enclosure, her back becoming stiff and her fingers sore.
At long last she finished the wreath. Lorna wiped her eyes and picked it up. She gently propped it against the door of the tomb. The white roses seemed to blend into the pure white marble of the tomb. Her father had even had roses carved into the four points of the tomb, remembering his wife's love of her garden.
She bit her lip, her tears flowing freely. There was no wreath to make then, and she saw no reason why she should try to check her tears anymore. Lorna didn't even put up her hand to wipe them away. Five years had passed since her mother had died, but it hadn't stopped hurting. It had just gotten a little easier to deal with. July nineteenth always made it seem as though it had happened yesterday though.
A hand touched her shoulder. Lorna looked behind her and saw her father standing there, his expression sad. She took a deep breath; he always came. Without a word she threw her arms around them. He didn't say a word, just allowed his daughter to cry in silence. He had never said anything. There wasn't anything to say. It had already been said five years ago.
Erik looked down at his daughter. He had come to the tomb five years ago before the sun had risen. He'd intended to come later with Lorna, but he'd planned to have a little time by himself. Instead he'd seen Neena outside of the tomb's enclosure, looking worried but not alarmed. Erik had gone in and found his daughter kneeling at Susanna's tomb, putting the finishing touches on a white rose wreath.
She'd cried with him and he'd held her. Her hands had been cut from the flowers, her abilities at dethorning and manipulating flowers still in their infancy. It had been a different pain that she'd cried about though, and he'd held her during that. Erik had shared her pain, but he hadn't cried with her. All of his tears had been shed long ago; there weren't any left.
Things weren't that different now, not really. They were both a little older, and they were both a little more tired. He wondered what Susanna would have thought about Lorna going to school. She probably would have said that she should have been going sooner, but if she were there then it was likely that she would have. He wouldn't have been so scared that Lorna would share her mother's fate if she was there.
That wasn't going to happen though. He'd failed her mother, but there was no way that he was going to fail his daughter as well. He was going to keep Lorna safe. He'd sworn as much to Susanna, one hand on her coffin right before her burial. Lorna was the part of her mother that lived on, Susanna's green eyes and gentle nature passed onto their daughter.
He looked past Lorna at the tomb of her mother. Her body had been interred there, the design and location a well-kept secret. Most Genoshans didn't know that she was buried there, and he hoped that he could keep it that way. It was for Lorna and him, Susanna's husband and daughter. Not anyone else.
There were things about it that he hadn't even told Lorna. For one, there was a space for him when he died. He'd put the details of it in his will, a small clause for his daughter to read when he did pass. He had hurt Susanna enough during her life. He wasn't going to hurt her in death by letting himself be buried anywhere but by her side. She deserved that.
"You can light the candles this year," Emma said.
Laura blinked, her eyes wide with the responsibility. She took the match from Emma and put it to the first candle. The wick took quickly, a bright flame jumping up. A black ribbon had been wrapped around it, as well as the candle next to it. Laura lit the two candles for her parents, being careful of the flame on the end of the long match.
Emma blew out the match and held Laura close to her. For a moment that day it was easy to forget her recent troubles with Namor and concentrate on an old sorrow. She watched the tiny lights flicker in the dark of the room, one for a man that Emma had only begun to understand upon his death and the other for the sister she had lost twice.
She touched the side of Laura's head, resurrecting the memory of Logan saying goodbye and Kayla telling her the story about the moon. Laura had always watched those memories with tears in her eyes, but she needed to remember them. It seemed only right that Kayla had told her that story; she had told it in her own way to everyone she'd loved and feared losing.
With no light from outside and with both of them wearing black clothes, the first time Emma had worn such a color in a year, it was hard to see. It was almost night where they were, but pain wasn't restricted by geography. Five years ago, at around that time on Genosha, the Sentinels had touched down on their shores. A nightmare had begun and their safe haven had been consumed in flames.
Clarice walked in, her own black dress trailing behind her. Emma nodded to her as she sat down next to them. She had dismissed the aides back to their quarters to mourn in their own way. Most of them had lost people that night and, as the developing tradition decreed, were going to light candles for the ones that they had lost.
She lit two candles next to the ones for Kayla and Logan. Emma knew that they were for Margali and Sabu. She had whispered stories about them to Laura, although she knew that they were still just a vague concept to her. Emma knew that they were only a little less vague to Jimaine, their little daughter. Azazel had asked her to give her some memories soon. Emma had agreed, promising to do so when she returned to Genosha.
Clarice lit a third candle, her hands trembling. Emma knew that it was for Calvin. She watched as Clarice swallowed. Calvin's engagement ring was still on her finger, a constant reminder of something that could have been. Sometimes Emma wondered why Clarice hadn't lost her mind, wearing that. Then again, Clarice had always been stronger than her.
Jimaine tugged on the Genoshan veil over her head. Stefan straightened it for her. He often wondered about his little sister. She was all bright eyes and hair, her voice sing-songy, curious and unable to stay still. Jimaine was still when July nineteenth came around though, as was Kurt. The two of them had grown up with this somber holiday, a reminder that terrible things could happen at any time in any place.
They didn't have the memories that he did though, the ones that came back in alarming clarity every July nineteenth. Kurt hadn't even been born when the Night of Fire had occurred. Jimaine had been there, but she was too young. She couldn't remember the ceiling crashing in, their father's hand leaving his, the bullets that had ended the lives of their parents.
Stefan envied her for that. He envied Kurt for not being born, for not knowing what it was like to have security taken away. At the same time he didn't envy the fact that neither of them knew his parents. Jimaine wasn't anything to envy, knowing at a very young age that her parents were dead and that the people who had taken them in were just foster parents.
He supposed that it was Azazel's way of keeping Sabu and Margali alive. There wasn't any way to do that though. Stefan had learned how easily things could fall apart now, learned that the world wasn't as safe a place as he'd thought. Though he was young he knew that it was a lesson that everyone, mutants and humans, would have to learn eventually.
"On this fifth anniversary of our nations greatest tragedy, we come together to remember those who passed."
Alex stared at the television as Magnus spoke. The King and the Prime Minister were giving speeches at the Night of Fire memorial with other dignitaries behind them. It was quite like the first speech, given the day after the Night of Fire. Alex hadn't watched it then, only vaguely listened to it. He'd been too deep in thought to think too much about it.
Now his attention was fixed on it. Scott sat next to him, looking down. Doug was across the room, sitting next to Heather. A few of the other Hellions were scattered around the room. Morph wasn't there though; he'd gone with a few of the other Hellions to do maneuvers to honor those who had died, as well as their fallen comrades.
It was a general ceremony though. A private one was going to be held at the Hellion base. Alex would be attending that one along with Scott and the rest later. For now it was best where for him to stay where he was. He wasn't a Hellion or a child anymore. He didn't think he had been a child for five years.
So much had happened over the past few years. He thought of the evaluation that he had tucked away in his room. Would his father be proud of him? He was sure that he would be. Even his mother, who probably hadn't wanted him to be a soldier, would have been proud. They had always wanted him to do well.
His brother folded his hands in his lap. Without saying anything Alex wrapped an arm around hm. They'd come a long way since Alex had told Scott to stop being a baby at the Hellion base. There was no reason to say that now, no reason to pretend to be brave. The immediate danger was gone; it was time to mourn.
Lorna stood next to her father, wearing traditional Genoshan mourning clothes. Alex closed his eyes and thought of white roses being pressed into his hands. If he lived to be one hundred he would never forget that. They had been the only thing that had really, truly helped that day.
"On this, the fifth anniversary of that tragedy, we look to the future, and know that these sacrifices were not in vain," Magnus said.
Alex opened his eyes. He hoped to hell that they hadn't been.