Disclaimer: Marvel's not mine. Neither is any of their stuff, except for the few comic books I own. TCP concept isn't mine other - that honor goes to Kielle and Phil Foster.
Many more wonderful TCP fics can be found at the TCP Warehouse, run by the wonderful Kielle. My stories are there under the pen name Sylk.
Shannon was her parents' darling little girl. Daddy's little angel, Mommy's little helper. Since the day she had been born, they had always called her special. Even when they'd found out just how special their daughter was, their love and care didn't change. If anything, it increased. Just because their little Shannon was a mutant, that didn't mean that they had to abandon her or leave her by the wayside. She was theirs.
It helped that she looked normal. Even close up, there was no outward indication that Shannon was any different from any of the other babies around her. Her eyes were brown, her hair black, though it lightened to blond within a few weeks. There were none of the shocked looks or averted eyes that some of their friends' children had to go through. Their little girl was just as normal as could be, if only the normal eyes could see.
She was different though - Shannon's skin could not be broken in any way. No needles could get through, no surgeon's blade or knife could pierce her skin. In a way, it was a benefit for the family. No skinned knees, no splinters to remove. No band-aids. There were the disadvantages - schooling was going to be a problem because she could never get her shots. Her parents figured they'd worry about that when the time came.
As it turned out, the time never came. Shannon, so little and wise for her age, started to complain of headaches and backaches. Soon she began throwing up on a daily basis, unable to keep food down. X-rays revealed cancer.
At first, her parents were optomistic; Shannon was special. She could beat anything because she was so special. Then the doctors came with the reality check her parents were forgetting, what they termed forever after as the 'bad news.'
Just as Shannon's mutation would not allow anything to pierce her skin, this hadn't changed simply because the situation was life-threatening. Chemotherapy wouldn't work - the needles wouldn't pierce her skin. Surgury was out of the question - how could one operate on a child like Shannon? Even if an operation had been possible, the cancer was in an inoperable position. Radiation was the only option left to them, the option that would normally be the last choice in a situation like theirs. This particular cancer had a record of resistance to radiation.
In essence, their special little girl was going to die because she was so special. Barely the age of 4, Shannon understood and accepted it with a calm that impressed the doctors. There were no accusations, no tears or angry shouts. Unwilling to seem less mature than their daughter, her parents bottled their feelings up inside of them and treated her to a whirlwind of the world while she was still able. The little girl saw Disney World, swan with the dolphins, and was truly her parents' princess.
Then she took a turn for the worse. Confined to home, to her bedroom, Shannon still managed to maintain her cheerful disposition. There was always a smile on her face, though sometimes it seemed it wasn't quite as wide as at other times. She never complained, no matter how many times she threw up or had to go to the bathroom, no matter how much it hurt.
Finally, one night, with her parents sitting by her side, Shannon breathed her last and released her hold on this life, moving onto the next. There was a small smile on her face; it was the day before her fifth birthday. Her parents sat there, willing her to breathe again, willing her to wake up and ask about the presents they had bought. Only when the sunlight finally rolled in through the curtains that had been open so that Shannon could see the stars did they realize the truth.
Their darling little girl was dead, and it was all because she was special. She was a mutant, whose gifts had killed her.
The service drew a fairly good size crowd; there were her doctors, her family, her friends from preschool who didn't understand why she didn't get up. Her parents accepted the condolances numbly; nothing could replace their little girl. After the service had ended and everyone had left, they knelt by the grave and wondered why it had been their girl. Why did others with gifts get to live while their little girl's gift had taken her life from her?
Eventually, Shannon's story was being told. Not at benefits for cancer research centers or young children with cancer, but at FoH meetings and rallies, where the reasons for mutant separation or extermination stood clear. Those people understood their story, understood their resentment. Their daughter had deserved to live more than any others out there. She'd been young, an innocent. If her gift had taken her from her loved ones, why should other gifted ones be allowed to harm their loved ones, be allowed to survive to contribute to the corruption that was slowly overtaking the human race?
They still visited Shannon's grave on her birthday and the anniversary of her death. Her picture adorned every available surface they had. The small smile that had graced her face for so long appeared everywhere, always in support of FoH. For some, her story brought tears to their eyes, for others, determination to their hearts. Mutant gifts caused harm in the end, no matter how innocent, they said. Shannon's parents drove that story home, telling of their darling little girl who died where she should have lived - and who now lived on that others should die.
In the end, Shannon was a very special girl.