Summary: Six times Marie D'Ancanto was frightened and one time she wasn't
Disclaimer: Property of Marvel and Fox and Stan Lee and blah blah blah...
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one.
She was three and it was the first time she could remember her grandparents visiting.
The moment they stepped in through the front door, her grandmother bent down to give her a hug.
But instead of being engulfed in the warmth of her grandmother's arms and the smell of jasmine perfume tickling her nose, she got a handful of fake teeth and a grandparent with inverted lips.
After that incident, she screamed long and loud every time her grandmother came within sight.
They cut their visit short by four days.
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two.
Her best friend was having a slumber party. Of course, scary movies and dark rooms would be a part of it.
They were thirteen, practically adults now. They could handle watching R rated movies. They were sooooo mature – at least more mature than the dorky boys at school who still thought throwing spitballs and pulling ponytails were the way to a girl's heart.
They put in Nightmare on Elm Street first, thinking they would laugh at a supposed monster who scared kids with overgrown fingernails.
But instead, they huddled together under the same blanket, eyes wide open, empty soda cans on the floor, until the sun came up and her friend's mother asked what was wrong.
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three.
She couldn't believe he was here, in her house, in her room (the door closed! oh my god!), lying on her bed.
He was one of the most popular boys in school – football player, A-student, rich…so pretty even some of the girls were jealous of his looks.
Having him here made her nervous though. She kept babbling about her dream road trip to Alaska, telling him about which highway she would take and where she would stop. She only managed to shut up when she saw him trying to discreetly hide a yawn.
Such a Southern gentleman.
She laid down next to him, not knowing what else to do, when he leaned closer and closer to her until his lips were touching her own.
Her first kiss.
She was beyond thrilled, thinking she will write about this in her ruby-red diary hidden in her desk drawer then call all of her friends (and then some) and brag about how he was the one who had initiated the kiss.
But everything goes haywire.
His veins looked like they were about to burst out of his skin, black and pulsing and unnatural. He kept gasping like he couldn't get enough oxygen into his lungs, almost like a fish out of water trying to find the will to survive. He shook like he was having a seizure, never stilling for a moment and almost breaking her bed.
She doesn't even notice when her parents come running into her room.
She was too busy screaming.
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four.
She wondered what she had done in her past that she deserved this.
Was it the time she stole a dollar out of her mother's purse to buy candy? Or when she lied to her father about who dropped his favorite coffee cup then tried unsuccessfully and rather pathetically to cover up the deed with superglue and putty? Or maybe it was the time when she cheated on her math test by copying off of Caroline Brady, the school's certified overachiever and nerd extraordinaire?
Were all those things so terrible that she deserved to be held by this helmet-wearing-metal-loving nutjob so he can help everyone rapidly 'evolve'?
She doesn't want to die. Not like this. She doesn't want to be a martyr. She doesn't even believe in his stupid cause.
She hated what evolution did to her.
Magneto stepped in front of her as she pulled on the chains again, hoping they would break this time. All she can do was to helplessly ask him not to do this. But she knew even as the words escaped her mouth that he wouldn't listen. He'd simply tell her it was for the greater good then place his bare hands over her cheeks and wait for his version of evolution to begin.
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five.
The way the fire swiftly moved at his will was mesmerizing. His hands waved back and forth, throwing the flames left and right, then behind and front. For a moment, she wished she had powers like that instead of this life draining 'skin disease.'
It was when the police car jumped in the air, aglow with fire, that she realized he was getting out of control. He couldn't keep this up. Someone will eventually have an opening to stop him. Stop him with a gun and a bullet.
Like someone did with Logan.
And he wasn't like Logan. He wasn't going to heal himself and get back on his feet, crack his neck, and pretend nothing dramatic just happened.
He'll bleed.
He'll bleed and he'll die.
She touched him, bare hand on bare ankle, trying to suppress the images of an enraged man with clenched fists and a severely burnt woman lying in a hospital bed that invaded her mind. She couldn't dwell on those stolen memories now – maybe later, in the darkness of her room – because she needed to stop him before he got himself killed.
Because if she lost him…
She shuddered involuntarily at the thought as the last of the flames died down and the Blackbird landed on the front lawn of the Drakes' home.
If she had realized then that she would lose him anyways by fancy words and even fancier magic tricks (because, really, Magneto never changed), she wouldn't have touched him.
She didn't want her last memories of him being how his father used to beat him so savagely and how his mother ended up the first victim of his mutation.
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six.
For the ten billionth time, she had doubts about her decision.
It shouldn't have been a hard decision – her mutation was the bane of her existence, getting rid of said bane would make her existence easier.
And two plus two equaled five.
She had to ask herself again if this was really the solution, if she was really doing this for herself or for the cold comfort of a boy who didn't really love her.
She just didn't know anymore.
And this uncertainty, this unknown…it doesn't sit well with her. It was like a rock in the pit of her stomach, just waiting for the right moment disrupt her equilibrium.
The slam of the examining room door jolted her out of her thoughts.
She looked up to see a nurse in blue scrubs walk in, carrying a metal tray with a hypodermic needle and a small bottle of yellow liquid that she assumed was the 'cure' on top. She watched as the nurse punctured the top of the bottle with the needle, drawing in a small amount of the liquid that will 'cure' her. The nurse gave her a slightly sinister looking smile and started to take a step towards her, holding up that hypodermic needle like it was a lollipop.
She mused silently she should have written on the information sheet they made her fill out in the lobby that she was never ever any good around needles.
It was the last thought she had before everything went hazy then black.
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+1.
She sat at the table, twisting the ring around her finger. She smiled at the sight of it.
Her childhood dreams of giant diamonds and pink roses and long white lace gave way to a simple gold band and yellow daisies and a strappy summer dress. No planning, no table settings, no RSVPs, no big church…just the two of them, Logan, the minister and his wife in a small non-descript chapel, then later, in celebration, burgers and fries (his favorite) and chocolate frosted cupcakes (her favorite) at a nearby restaurant. Logan would deny vehemently he cried the entire day, even with photographic evidence of him being held in the comforting arms of the sympathetic minister.
It was a year since they officially committed themselves to each other and another two years since he came storming back into her life. She calculated two years even though it was probably more like three because she was the type of girl who can forgive but not forget past hurts and betrayals and mistakes. He did leave her, leave her to maniacally follow a man who tried to kill her.
He surprised her though. She knew he would be tenacious when he came looking for her but that he would somehow manage to worm his way back into her heart (as if he had really left it), make her forget those hurts and betrayals and mistakes, never in a million years would she have believed it until one morning…
They were lying in her bed, the sun shining through her homemade curtains that he helped put up, and out of the blue, he had asked her and she said yes without a second thought.
It wasn't until then, hitting her like ten tons of bricks, that she realized what that feeling was, that warm gooey melt-in-your-mouth type of feeling she had been having for months now…
She was happy. Deliriously happy.
"Marie?"
She looked up, her hand stilling on her finger, and saw him standing next to her chair. He bent slightly, balancing himself with a hand on the back of her chair and the other on her cheek, to press his lips against hers. After all this time together, she still got a thrill of feeling his skin against her own (screw Worthington! she was a smart girl and she got her own cure with a little hard work and a patient boyfriend).
He slid into the chair close to her own before gently grasping her hand away from playing any further with her ring. "Happy anniversary."
Her smile grew, warmed by both his words and the way her hand always nestled in his so nicely and perfectly. "Happy anniversary." She paused only long enough to give him another kiss. "I ordered already. Burgers and cupcakes."
A deep rumble of laughter came up through his throat – a sound that always managed to send tingles down her back.
She has nothing to be scared of.
Not anymore.