Dear Diary

Dear Diary

Part Two

Thursday, July 15

It's evening here in Rouen, and I'm so tired – although this time it's not from jetlag but from actually getting here. Knowing how to drive is one thing, diary – actually doing it is another matter. Added to that, the locals are getting rowdy. I think it must be because it's near the weekend, and they're as tired as I am – only they're not showing it one little bit. Perhaps if I'd visited somewhere quiet like the Channel Islands, I'd be getting more sleep right now.

Oh well… I made my bed and now I've got to lie in it and not get any rest, despite my best efforts.

And that's not just because of the noise outside. I'm… excited, too, in a weird kind of way. After what happened yesterday – which I'm still going to get Mum back for, don't you worry about that – I can't stop smiling. I feel like a weight's been lifted off my shoulders. Even if I'm still not completely comfortable with the whole situation – and I'm not – at least I know Hank understands. I know Mum would too – but then, like she keeps telling me, that's her job. Hank doesn't have any such obligations, so he could just as easily have snapped my heart in two without a second thought.

But he didn't.

Oh, I know that means about as much as getting smiled at by a cute (there's that stupid word again! What is wrong with me?!) guy from across the street, but it makes me feel a lot better, nonetheless. Hank's a good man – if a little lax with his razor – and I know he'd never do anything to hurt me. Like I said before, he's probably too afraid of upsetting Mum or me to do that – he'd probably feel that he was betraying his Hippocratic Oath. He includes emotional pain in the "do no harm" part, I guess. I'm grateful to him for that – I don't know what I'd have done if he'd done anything else. Maybe I'd have finally given in to these feelings, I'm not sure. It's so strange… I don't know what to write to explain how I feel, diary. Mum would, I think, but then Mum's had a lot more practice than I have. Maybe I should be looking at it from the other direction – what would Dad do? What would Uncle Scott do?

Uncle Scott would probably try to put a brave face on and try to make out that nothing happened – either that or he'd take Aunt Jean up to Anchorage for a while and "share his feelings." Or he might just talk to the Professor and try to get somebody else's perspective on the whole situation – but if you ask me, the Professor seems like the wrong person to ask. His lover is millions of light years away, after all – he's hardly the one to ask about romantic problems, when he's got going the longest long distance relationship that I've ever come across (not that I've come across many, diary, but you get the idea). And Dad?

A few years ago, Dad would have probably curled in on himself and brooded, alone, in the dark – but I don't think he'd do that now. He'd probably tell me that I have to grab life with both hands and not let go until I've squeezed every last bit of fun out of it. That sort of sums him up in one sentence – my dad, the millionaire playboy, who finally found his heart again after losing it so long ago.

It's funny, diary – I have two dads, effectively, but I feel closer to my legal dad than to my biological one. I suppose that's because Scott is doing his best just to let Mum and Dad raise me as their own – he has enough offspring to worry about already, what with Nathan, Nate and Rachel running around doing their own thing all over the planet. Oh, I know he loves me – he shows me that every day I'm around him – but I just get the feeling that he's afraid I might end up bitter and alone and scarred like Nathan, or possessed by the Phoenix Force like Rachel, or virtually out of control and bouncing from place to place like Nate. All of those things are weighing on his mind, I think – it'd be pretty unusual if they weren't. Dad, on the other hand… he doesn't have those fears at the back of his mind. I'm just "daddy's little girl" to him. We drink beer in front of the TV together (well, he drinks beer. So far I've been forced to drink lemonade, but I'm working on that…). We go to Coney Island together. We visit the Village together. We do Dad and Daughter "stuff". I know that Scott and Dad will both be watching me closely when I… if I… manage to get Hank to go anywhere with me, but I'm guessing that getting Dad's approval will matter more to me than getting Scott's. I'll be happy to get it, sure, but if I don't, then… I won't get it. That's not saying anything negative about Scott, though – it's just the way I feel…

Good night, diary. I think I'm getting eyestrain from the way that this lightbulb is flickering, so I'll stop now. Maybe I'll get some sleep, maybe I won't… we'll have to see… g'journey, diary…

Friday, July 16

I walked a lot today. I walked through the town at about seven in the morning, and I didn't stop until I came back here twenty minutes ago. I bought myself some croissants for breakfast, and just one pain au chocolat as a special treat. Mum would probably scold me for doing that – considering her diet regime and how much exercise she gets, she doesn't really have to worry about getting fat, but me? I still have to watch what I eat, even with an "optimised metabolism" (or whatever the hell Hank says Sinister "gifted" me with). Still, eating the croissants warm while just sitting on a bench in the centre of the town, watching the place slowly coming to life was a wonderful experience – I'd never thought of doing that before, even back home. This is what Mum and Dad wanted me to do the most, I think – just to see how humanity works, right down to the most everyday level. It's… interesting.

And what was even more interesting was the fact that not one of the people I met – not a one – called me a "filthy mutie", even though I'd forgotten to put my contacts in. They were a little taken aback, I think, but they were polite anyway – and they didn't form a rampaging lynch mob like you'd see sometimes on the news back home. It's probably one of the reasons why Mum and Dad come here so often; at least here, Dad can go around without his image inducer and just be who he is. I think if I went to Amsterdam it'd probably be even more relaxed – there, you can pierce everything every which way, and nobody bats an eyelid – but here, it's more of a surprise. It's a nice surprise, sure, but a surprise nonetheless. And with that said, I really don't want to risk it again. Given what Hank says about norms in general, it's probably better for me not to give them any bait that might tempt the less tolerant ones into trying to hurt me. Today was a nice break from having to hide what I am, but that doesn't mean I should get lazy. I came here for a holiday, but I'm not going to get complacent because of that. It'll be safer in the long run.

I wonder how Hank manages to cope with what he is – what he's become. I know his current form isn't the one he was born into, but still… it must be hard for him, sometimes, to be so publicly known as "that blue-furred guy from the Avengers", and for him not to really be able to go out in public without an image-inducer. People who don't know him any better probably think he's a monster, but then they don't know him one bit. He's kind, gentle, and he… listens. No matter how much he talks in between what you have to say.

Oh God, diary… I start off writing about how much I enjoyed today, and I end up soaking you in drool. Some big mature girl I am. I guess I have more of a crush on Hank than I thought. And I thought it was pretty big anyway.

Which means it's going to be even more fun when I get back home…

… if your definition of "fun" means tongue-tanglingly awkward – even if I want to go through with it, I'll probably end up babbling like an idiot.

Oh well – perhaps the next few days will help take my mind off the whole business. G'journey, diary – I really have to get some sleep now; after last night, I feel as if I've been awake for two days straight. When you start to feel like somebody's poured sawdust into your eyes, it's not a good sign…

Saturday, July 17

Well, I'm supposed to be moving again tomorrow – I don't know if I really want to. I like this town. It's peaceful – something I've been missing a lot recently. Whether it's been internal problems or problems with relating to the world, I've not really been settled as much as I could be. Mum and Dad (and Scott and Jean) have been a great help, but I think this was really what I needed. Being here, doing things for myself… I feel like a human being, not some specially created killing machine. And with that in mind, I think I can safely say… I'm free. Free to do whatever I want, whenever I want to do it (within reason, I guess. I can't see Mum being overly pleased if I decided to join a travelling circus, or something equally stupid like that).

Hmm. Travelling circus… Now there's an idea for a future career option. Maybe I should stock up on sequins and swimsuits now… no. I don't think I'd really fit in.

That's the problem with me, really, isn't it? I don't really fit in except with my own kind.

My own kind. What an awful thing to say. Humanity is my own kind, not just mutantkind. Sometimes I still let Sinister's stupid, pointless, vicious dogma slip through without realising it, and I think this was one of those times. It hurts me to be reminded of what I was, diary; I never want to go back to that. I hope I never will.

But sometimes, diary, I feel like there's this red veil across my eyes – like I'm seeing the world through His eyes, through His morals, through His... oh, I don't know what He sees the world with. It's getting easier to push it away, but it'll always be a part of me, no matter how much I try to forget it.

It's a pretty sobering thought. Makes everything else seem pretty inconsequential when you think about it, doesn't it, diary? All I can do is try to get on with my life as best I can. That's all.

It's not much, I suppose, but it'll do. It'll do.

If it means proving Sinister wrong, it's got to be worth it.