D'Ancanto

Chapter 2

Tobacco smoke swirled in the air. The shadows moved, reluctantly releasing the form of a man in a short-brimmed fedora and trenchcoat. He was middle-aged or lived rough enough to age him prematurely. A cigarillo dangled from the corner of his mouth.

"You Rogue?"

"Hands where I can see them. Slowly," Marie said.

He raised his hands over his head. "You gotta be. They told me you were cute."

Marie rolled her eyes and flicked her phone open. "Dispatch, this is Detective D'Ancanto from MacTac. I have an intruder in my apartment."

"I want to hire you," Trenchcoat man persisted.

Over the phone, the operator replied, "10-4, Detective. Do you require back-up?"

"I'm fine for now but he may require an ambulance in the near future. I'm either going to shoot him or throw him out the window. It depends on which kind of splat I feel like hearing."

"And you don't got a problem about killing, so you're perfect and I don't just mean your body. You're, what, 36D-26-34?"

Marie narrowed her eyes, pulling a set of flexicuffs from her bag. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can be used as an excuse for me to beat your head in and will be used in court against you as an added insult. Also, ew. You're old enough to be my dad."

He moved a hand over his heart. Marie grabbed it and twisted it around his back. "Don't be like that, sha. I apologize for starting this business deal on the wrong foot."

"Dispatch, this is D'Ancanto; what's my ETA?" She pushed him to the couch.

"Just another five minutes, detective," said the operator. "Is the suspect apprehended?"

"Yup. Can I gag him, too?"

The operator's grin transmitted through the radio waves. "One of those, huh?"

"He's hitting on me, dispatch. He's a perverted old man breaking into my house and hitting on me. It's actually kind of sad. I don't want to beat him up any more; I want to take him back to his nursing home. He's probably just cranky 'cause his diaper needs changing."

"Now that's just mean. You should be politer to your elders or else you get your phone privileges revoked." There was a sizzle then the caramel scent of burnt plastic and the man lunged forward.

Marie cursed. She was tired and not paying attention. Trenchcoat must have used his lighter to get through the cuffs. Dammit, if he destroyed her couch as well-- She ducked down to avoid his reach and quickly had to block a kick aimed to her ribs. The phone flew from her hand. By the clatter it produced, the back cover and battery must have shaken loose. Locking his ankle between her crossed arms, she pulled up and to the right, unbalancing him. He landed on his hands and raised his other leg like a cartwheel; his ankle came loose from her grasp. Marie used upward momentum to deliver a punch to his gut. He grunted but landed solidly on his feet. He held his arms up again.

"I don't want to fight you; I want to hire you," he said.

"Not interested." Marie threw another punch. He dodged it but her left hook was waiting for his throat. He tried to block but he didn't shift his weight quite well enough and her knuckles slammed against his jugular instead.

"You haven't even heard the payment."

"Don't need to."

She faked a right jab and caught him behind the knee when he tried to dance away. He fell-- or let himself fall-- on his back with both legs bent. He kicked up from that angle, catching her in the stomach. Air exploded from her lungs, she reeled back. He twisted his legs again, this time, catching her right ankle. Marie went down hard on her stomach, her elbow catching on the dining table.

Okay, now she was angry.

She stayed on the floor until she felt him stand over her. Then she whipped around, one elbow bent, one fist clenched. The elbow caught him in the upper thigh; as he crouched over, the fist pounded into his jaw.

"Will you stop hitting me?!" he yelled.

"I told you I'd had a rough day but you wouldn't listen," she said. "Now, stay put before you break your hip."

"Yes, ma'am, Miz. Police Detective, ma'am." He leaned against her dining table. On his hands. Which were no longer in flexicuffs.

Marie snatched an empty metal fruit bowl off the kitchen counter and flung it at the man's head. He ducked; she aimed a kick at his jaw. He caught her heel and stood up, throwing her off balance. Her back thwacked on the wooden floor. Marie backrolled away from him to buy herself a couple seconds to breathe while back-up showed up. If back-up showed up. She really should've just brought him in herself but there were protocols.

Trenchcoat took a step back as well. "Are you gonna listen to me now?"

"Sure. What the hell," said Marie. She might as well stall him.

"My bag's there by the window. It's got a manila folder in it. Take it out and have a look."

"And it's not anthrax because?"

He threw her a withering look. "Who raised you? Howard fucking Hughes?"

"Who?"

"You don't know... just… open the bag, sha."

Marie pulled a pair of nitrile gloves from a box on a side table before going through the bag. Like the man said, the only contents were papers in a manila folder. She pulled them out and spread them on the table. Senator Simon Trask gazed vaguely past her shoulder in several large glossy photographs.

"I knew lobbyists were cutthroat but I didn't think they resorted to breaking into houses for votes," said Marie. "Regardless, I didn't vote for that douchebag and I never will."

"Good. 'Cause I'm going to pay you to kill him."

He had balls. Or brain damage. "I'm not going to kill anyone."

"Sure you are. Everyone's got a price."

"No I'm not. But thanks to your insistence, I can let Trask's people know to expect an assassination attempt."

Trenchcoat shrugged. "Suppose you could try. Wouldn't make a difference, not to those racist assholes. Me, I think they'll laugh at your face and maybe beat it 'round for being an uppity genejoke. Better to wipe him off the planet and profit as well, hein?"

Sirens clanged down the street. Despite herself, Marie glanced away at the noise. It was only for a split second but Trenchcoat was gone. Only the pictures remained on the table. Senator Trask's campaign poster grinned.

Heat from the steel balcony grates bit through her vest. Smoke obstructed her sight line, even through goggles. Her hands cooled the rifle stock.

Marie kicked off her sheets, sweaty and short of breath. Her arms tingled with the memory of fire; she rubbed them, her eyes fluttering closed. Would the smell of smoke never leave? She opened her eyes again and turned towards the clock. 4:54 in the morning. That was just cruel. She pulled a pillow over her head and tried to sleep again. She could not afford to look shitty at the office on press day.

Affable, clean-cut with blond hair, blue eyes and sixteen-foot white wings, Warren Worthington III's ascent into Boston's mayoral seat had as much to do with entertainment media as with changes in human-mutant relations. The mutant community could not have picked a better spokesperson. The cameras loved him and the connotations that went with his wings. In response to allegations from childhood acquaintances of Warren creating a media persona during his first grassroots campaign, he spoke passionately about freeing his true self along with his wings, how keeping them bound affected his personality especially social interaction and self-worth. That much-quoted interview improved the mutant condition even more.

The interview printed five years ago. Last year, he became the first elected official in the United States who was openly a mutant. He hadn't bound his wings since the Alcatraz Attacks; fashion designers vied to create clothes to accommodate them. Those angel wings trailed behind him as he walked up the street towards the station with the police commissioner on his left, the mayor of New York on his right and an excited crowd all around. A mob of photographers and cameramen from legitimate and tabloid companies raised a ruckus, trying to capture his attention. Smiling shyly, Warren shook hands and conversed with anyone who sidled next to him, making his trek up to the station a slow one.

Marie's fellow officers pressed their faces against the glass, waiting. Marie quickly checked her hair in case she got caught in a background pic then turned back to her report on Pyro's meltdown. Charlotte was no help; despite her crush on Worthington, she took the day off to take her son to a prestigious day camp in Pennsylvania. Made Marie wish she had someone to go home to besides a vain betta fish.The microphone and speakers set up on the sidewalk were loud enough for her to hear all the press statements but it was Warren's, the last one, she heard.

"Thank you so much for your interest," he began. "Thank you especially to the City of New York for having the foresight to create the Mutant Crimes Task Force. There are those who say this unit promotes racism and segregation. They mistakenly believe this is was our country's sole solution to bridging the gap between the mutant community and the rest of humanity. They are wrong. This is only the first step, the acknowledgement that while mutants are a unique people, they are people. I know the plan is to create a body of experts not only on mutant crimes but on crimes against mutants. That these experts will teach others in the force through experience, research and example. My hope is that someday soon, we won't need a specialised task force because all police officers everywhere will have the understanding to serve the mutant community equally and in unity with all other people of America."

He waited for the cheers to subside.

"I will be in New York for the day with the head of the Boston's Committee for Public Safety, Joan Bianchi. We want to understand how the Task Force works in order to integrate their methods throughout the entire Boston Police Department. I will also meet with Ororo Munroe of Xavier's Institute regarding funding and curriculum for Massachusetts Academy, the boarding school for mutants which opened in Boston four years ago. If I can be informal for a second, I am ridiculously excited about this visit. We've come so far in such a short span of time. It was right here in New York State that we took a giant step towards making this country truly the land of the free, no matter your religion, race, sexual preference, or genetics. Thank you so much again for the warm welcome."

"Okay, everyone, squeeze your panties dry; he's coming in," Everett called out.

Half the staff scrambled to look productive; the other half didn't bother pretending. Marie ducked behind her computer but Warren zeroed on her anyway. With a marginally smaller entourage in tow, he tapped gently on her desk. "Hey."

"Hey." She flashed him a close-lipped smile meant to deter further conversation. Several of the other officers were already gaping at her.

"You're coming to dinner at the Institute tonight, right?"

"I don't really go to the Institute much anymore."

"All the more reason to visit."

"I've got patrol tonight and I really can't get out of it." The police commissioner mouthed something along the lines of "just go" but Marie was adamant. "There's only ninety-eight of us for all five boroughs of New York City so every spare set of eyes count."

"That's really too bad. Maybe next time." Warren shook her hand, bent down to kiss the air beside her cheek, and moved on.

Marie tried to go back to writing her report but just as she feared, the encounter curtailed work. She could have borne it all well enough but the captain called her to his office at the start of patrol and ordered her to take the night off for the dinner. "You can give him a lot of insight, D'Ancanto. He'll trust it more coming from a friend."

"We're more like acquaintances," Marie said. "We had mutual friends but we never really talk to each other much."

"Really." Captain Harper steepled his fingers. "D'Ancanto, I'm asking this as a favour for the whole unit. Worthington's got a lot of pull these days; if he approves something, every other city follows. If he likes what he sees here, he might put a good word in to the commissioner or the mayor. Heck, even the state officials might back him up. We could use the funding."

"I'm no good at politics."

"Then don't even try. Just be yourself."

The man really couldn't stop talking in PR quotes. Marie tamped down the urge to roll her eyes.

"Is this going to be a paid leave?"

"Come on, D'Ancanto, you can't do this out of the goodness of your heart?"

"Bills to pay, Captain. Also, you're ordering me to a high school reunion. Do you remember the emotional hellhole you go through in high school? Now multiply that by the X-factor."

Captain Harper sighed. "I can give you a bonus out of the PR fund if you attempt to be sociable."

"Done."

At the gates of Xavier's Institute, Marie realised the promise of a bonus wasn't enough. She should have demanded to see the actual amount on the cheque. She eased her Chopper-by-way-of-Kawasaki ratbike down the driveway, the matte black clutter of the engines a contrast to the bright gardens. The formal English landscaping was long gone; Storm's aesthetic leaned towards the natural. Flowering vines tumbled through Boston ivy. Mismatched urns overflowing with more flowery things occasionally dotted the edging. The central reflecting pool at the top of the driveway had been replaced by a more organically shaped pond. Lilies and duckweed hid fat koi while papyrus and cattails spiked out of the rounded river stones surrounding the pool.

The estate had a parking lot now; she took a space close to the garden entrance and dismounted. Her stomach clenched and her hands tingled. Marie pulled her riding gloves off stretched. The tingle remained in her fingers. Oh no. Not this. Not now. Marie pressed her lips together.

There was still time to go; no one saw her yet.

But she'd promised the captain she'd go.

Damn.

On the way to the front doors, she passed two black cars so inconspicuous, they had to be government appointed. A security guard nodded to her as she passed by but didn't stop for identification. That had to be Storm's influence. If it was up to Logan, they'd be carrying semi-automatics.

What used to be the foyer was now a lobby with a U-shaped reception desk. Another guard sat behind it, eye flicking up at her from three monitors on his right. "How can I help you?"

"I... I'm here for the dinner. I think."

The guard raised an eyebrow.

Marie mentally slapped herself then straightened her shoulders back. "Mayor Worthington's expecting me as a consultant for the mutant crimes task force integration unit in Boston. My card."

The guard accepted the simple business card. "The dining room is on the main floor to your left."

Marie tried not to fiddle with her purse straps as her flats slapped on the hardwood floor. Storm had kept the school's impressively old-world finish, adding only free-standing plants and whatever furniture was required in each room. The voices ahead added to her apprehension. The indistinguishable conversations whipped her right back to the last few months at Xavier's. Conversations ending when she entered. Notes left in her room. Pointed stares. Nothing huge compared to stories she'd heard from kids on the street and she still had some friends but... She really should have asked for an exact amount on that bonus.

The dining room doors lay wide open. Floor-to-ceiling windows let dimming fall light in to gild the milling guests. The chandelier and wall sconces kept the room from being too gothic. On the farthest side of the family-style round table were Storm, Warren and Police Commissioner Brock conversing and sipping wine. Closer to her, Jubilee laughed at something Bobby said; he popped an appetizer in his mouth. Some older teenagers sat in a small group, awkward and excited; Marie didn't recognize any of them. Kurt Wagner stood with four men and women in casual suits, comfortably sharing vacation stories. She shouldn't be here. No one saw her yet, it wasn't too late to leave. Marie took a step back and promptly bumped onto a wall of muscle.

"Is that you, Rogue?" Pete's question drew everyone's attention. Great.

Marie turned around and pasted on a smile. She couldn't be mad at him; he was too much of a teddy bear. "Hey, Pete. Still taking up the whole hallway, huh?"

"Faulty neoclassical design." He embraced her, warmly, firmly. "I'm so glad you came. With Kitty here, it's almost a reunion."

"Rogue!" Jubilee waved and bounded over. She squeezed Marie into an embrace, squealing and swaying roughly left and right. "It's been forever! Are you too badass now to come up from the City?"

"Well, considering I know how you drive, I knew if I ever saw you again, I'd have to arrest you for outstanding speeding tickets," said Marie. She nodded to Bobby who had followed Jubilee at a more sedate pace. "Hi."

"Hi," said Bobby. He held out a hand for a shake which Marie accepted but Jubilee let out an "ohforfuck'ssake" and pushed Bobby closer so he tripped into a hug. They patted each other's back quickly. "I didn't know you were coming."

"Me neither," said Marie. "So, uh..."

"Detective D'Ancanto, I'm so glad you accepted my invitation." Warren covered her hand in both of his. "I had just commented to Commissioner Brock about what a small world we live in. Unfortunately, I entered the care of Xavier's when you were just leaving, correct?"

"Yeah," Marie said, unsure of his point.

"Rogue was our student for a year," Storm told the commissioner.

"And then you graduated," said Brock.

"Sort of," Marie said. "I was one of the people who took the first batch of Novomane and my powers were permanently nullified. So I really just hung around long enough to finish my diploma. Warren knows more about the school-- I mean, the Institute than I do."

"What is the Institute's policy on people who take Novomane, Ms. Munroe?" asked one of the unknown adults, a man Marie was pretty sure she saw on CNN once. He had the look of a teleprompter addict about him.

"As you all know, Xavier's Institute houses the only medical facility specifically for mutants," said Storm. "We have seen many adverse effects from the drug due to the lack of appropriate clinical trials as well as a dearth in knowledge about mutant physiology. What most do not understand is that powers are not isolated in one part of the system. It is part of the genetic code inlaid in every cell in a mutant's body. We all know that deleted genes in baseline humans often result in health disorders. There was so much deception when Novomane first came out, begging your pardon, Warren--"

He waved it away. "It's true. Calling it the Cure was the biggest deception of all."

"-- that we really shouldn't judge those who fell for the hype, as they say."

"At least some people got their powers back," said Kitty.

"But some keep taking Novomane," Commissioner Brock said. "Are there any side effects to that?"

"The simplest answer is we don't know," said Storm. "It is far too soon to make generalisations. I will say that in my experience, those who continue to use Novomane often have issues outside of their physical health."

She hadn't changed a bit. Marie curled in her fingers and turned to Pete to change the subject. "So, is dinner as good as it smells?"

"Better," he said. "My mom's on loan from Massachusetts Academy tonight."

They began walking to their seats. "Man, I've missed her."

"She's missed you, too. She wants you to visit the school to tell all the girls that you can eat three full meals a day and still look beautiful in a dress."

Marie grinned up at him. "Pete! Are you flirting with me?" A blush spread quickly over his fair skin, making Marie laugh.

They sat together on the table. Kitty appeared at the last minute to sit on Pete's other side. Jubilee plunked herself beside Marie as well but Bobby sat several places away with Kurt, a councilman and a doctor named Cecelia between them. Light political debates swam between football conversation and homework gripes. Warren sat across the table from Marie, charming donations for Massachusetts Academy from his seatmates. She had no idea why he wanted her here if he wasn't even going to talk to her. It was probably just political bullshit and the captain didn't know it. She helped herself to another serving of the soup for the lack of anything else to do.

Kurt turned from the councilman to address her. "Marie, I hope it is permissible for you to speak of your work? Some of the students expressed interest in the police force." He gestured to the kids at the table. "Will you share more of what it is you do?"

"I, ah." Marie fought not to fiddle with her spoon. "What do you want to know?"

"Do you do normal cop stuff?" one of the kids piped up.

"Of course. I'm actually a detective now." The students perked up so Marie felt comfortable enough to keep talking. "We're set up in pairs: a mutant and a baseline. It's supposed to be senior and rookie; right now most of the seniors are baselines but we have one detective who came out as a mutant after ten years in the service so he's the senior one in his set."

"I heard mutant cops can't have guns," said another student.

"That's not true; we're assigned hand guns. We're also allowed to use our powers to our discretion but we have to log it just like we have to log using any other weapons. I'm actually also doing some specialised training kind of like SWAT."

"Yeah, I heard from your captain that you were key in taking down the source of the Manhattan fires two days ago," Warren said.

"Actually I--"

"His name was John Allerdyce," Storm said from across the way. "What he did was wrong but please give him the dignity of a name."

Abashed, Warren said, "I'm sorry. I didn't know. Did you know him?"

"He was one of our students long ago who unfortunately lost his way. We tried many times to talk him out of Magneto's extremist views but--"

"But John's a stubborn ass," said Bobby. "The more you tell him not to do something, the more he wants to do it."

"He had very negative baseline experiences, a lot of fear and absolutely no money. Terrorist groups exploit things like that, and twist it," Pete added.

One of Johnny's last words replayed in Marie's head. I'm already dead. She shivered. What the hell did he mean by that anyway? He'd sounded desperate. The Johnny she knew would never show weakness like that, out in the open. Cockiness was his defence mechanism. What on Earth had him so scared he'd let himself burn rather than surrender to the X-Men?

"I had hoped the mutant officers of Mutant Crimes Task Force would use their powers to prevent casualties but I suppose when one removes that option, only deadly force remains." Storm studiously did not look at Marie but she knew who that comment was targeted at.

"I'm sorry, Ororo, could you please just yell at me and get it over with?"

"I don't know what you--"

"Yes, you do. You've been digging at me since I came in. You just cannot get over the fact that I'm happy. I am very freakin' happy without my powers, okay?"

Far too calmly, Ororo folded her hands on the table. "That is your prerogative, Marie."

"Yes it is. And I don't appreciate the passive-aggressive swipes you're dishing out just because you've got baggage from the kids who 'failed'."

"Perhaps you're the one who-- " Storm snapped her mouth shut, took a breath and said, "We'll talk about this after dinner."

"Let's not." Marie stood up. "I'm done with dinner, thanks. It was great. Compliments to your mom, Pete. I'm going to go home."

Warren followed her outside. "Marie! Hey, Marie, wait. Wait up." She slowed as she got to the door. "I'm really glad you came."

"I'm not." At his raised brows, she said, "Coming back here is so surreal. It was the one place I really felt like I belonged but now, it's anything but."

"Ororo can come off strong."

"She's a tank."

"So are you," Warren pointed out.

Marie covered her face with one hand. "I can't believe I said all of that in front of company. Please, let's never speak of this again."

"Consider me a vault." He leaned beside her on the balustrade, "I hate to be the quintessential politician tonight but I do have a favour to ask of you."

It was her turn to arch her brows. "I don't think I can match your donation to MassAcad, Mr. Mayor."

He shook his head. "What do you know about a crime syndicate called the Guild that supposedly controls all the crimes down the Atlantic coast?"

"Boogie monsters for rookies. I stopped believing in them two months after grad."

"It might not be all fairytales," said Warren. "I don't like the crime rate pattern in Boston."

"You have something against a downward trend in murders?"

"Only when it's alongside an upward trend in all other crimes. Larceny, possession, violent crimes, ninety-nine percent of them without witnesses. The ones that do get arrested walk on technicalities. It reeks of a major mob take-over with infiltration. I think I have someone crooked in the office." He frowned. "Several someones in several offices."

"You suspect your police department?" Marie asked.

"Not everyone but, yeah. I just... being here, working with the X-Men, it gives you a bit of a second sense when things aren't quite right, y'know?"

She completely understood. One of the reasons she went into police work was the X-Men training she received. The work felt normal. Instinctual. "MacTac steps on enough feet as it is. Besides, IA takes care of crooked cops; only they have access to information like that."

"But you have access to databases that I don't. God, Marie, please don't look at me like that. I swear this isn't paranoia."

"Give me three good reasons why and Xavier's doesn't count."

"I've heard a lot of... unsettling things in council as far up as Boston. Things that concern the safety of both baselines and mutants, but if I poke my nose too far in I'll get slammed in the circles for having biases."

"Which you do."

"Of course I do. Everyone does and if they say otherwise, they're lying. I have to be perfect, Marie." He gestured to the brightly lit dinner party inside. "They need me to be."

For the first time, Marie noted the shadows under Warren's eyes, tastefully covered with make-up and the droop of his wings. He'd lost weight, too; the night carved knife-edges from his cheekbones. He did have to be perfect. As the first mutant elected into public office, he represented Xavier's dream of harmonious integration between baselines and mutants. And he had to do it with cameras around all the time.

"I'll let that go as reason number one," she said.

"Man, you're a hard ass. Logan taught you well." He ran a hand through his hair. "We're seeing a scary upswing of mutants joining or forming gangs. Worst case scenario: the old mob connections have them as enforcers hence the complete takeover. Even worse case scenario: it's a mutant gang that's done the take over, giving the rest of the world more reason to hate and fear us."

"And reason three?"

"Shit spreads. If it's happening in Boston, it's going to happen here. If it hasn't already. What are the crime patterns in New York City, Detective?"

"How's ziff use in Boston?" Marie threw back.

"Ziff? It's the new meth. We already have an email hotline specifically for ziff-related questions and crimes."

"That's the crime pattern in NYC as far as MacTac is concerned. We haven't heard anything about the Guild. We're too busy with the real gangs."

"But Marie, if the Guild story is true, this means there's really just one gang for all crimes this side of the Mississippi."

"Do you know how impossible that would be? Even the original Sicilian mafia families in their heyday couldn't maintain the organization and internal politics to move as a unit. How could one or two families actually be in charge of all the thefts, prostitution, trafficking and assassinations in the country?"

"Not the country, just the East Coast."

"Well, hell, that's much more reasonable."

"I didn't know cops could be sarcastic."

"I can 'cause I'm the cynical Xavier's flattie drop-out."

Warren made a face.

"What? I'm goddamn reappropriating the word, okay?"

"Marie, I understand. No, I really do. I saw all sorts of mutants go through Worthington's clinical trials and some of them had mutations that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemies. People who sweat acid but didn't have acid-proof skin, precogs so plagued by their visions they lost their minds, water-breathers separated from their families because they couldn't live more than five minutes on land or even simple, physical mutations that mean you get beat up if you turn the wrong corner. I know about crippling mutations just as much as I know about wonderful ones. These--" he ruffled his wings-- "pretty much mean I can never pass. But it was my choice to embrace my mutation. My choice to reject everything my father deems normal. That doesn't mean it's right for everyone. Ororo, bless her, doesn't see it that way."

"Which is why I didn't want to go to dinner," said Marie. "Okay, so you want me to hunt down a fairy tale."

"Every sparkly bit of pixie dust you can find."

"And if I find something in the Worst Scenario list?"

Warren grimaced again. "Then we both do what we have to do. Even if it means Internal Affairs and risking a mutant backlash."

"Deal." Marie stuck out her hand. Warren took it. Then he pulled her into a hug tighter than she thought their relationship-- more of an acquaintance really-- warranted. She patted his back, uncomfortable. "Um. Okay. How many highballs did you have, Mr. Mayor?"

"Take care of yourself, Detective." He smiled and waved, centrefold perfect.

She swerved a few times on the way back home. That dinner took a lot out of her. Her hands still tingled all the way to her elbows from keeping everything in. This wasn't right. All the stress must have gotten to her.

Leaving her bike parked crooked, she bolted up to her apartment. The tingles spread over her chest now and down her back. Her key slipped twice before she took a deep breath. She was going to be okay; this wasn't an emergency.

Still, she dropped all her stuff on the dining table, uncharacteristically messy, and headed straight for the fridge. In the back was a grey, unlabelled, plastic box. Marie took it out, put it on the counter. The cupboard over the fridge held a bigger box with all the caps, needles, sterile saline, tubing and individually wrapped alcohol swabs. She used a stool to pull that container out. Opening the grey box, she pulled out a small vial of her meds. She snapped the top off, mixed with it with some saline and spiked it with the business end of the tubing. The clear fluid trickled down the plastic tube. When a drop bubbled off the tip, she capped it with a needle and headed to the couch.

A small framed sketch of matryoshka dolls hung over the couch, marking the middle. Marie took it off and hung the saline bag on the nail. As she sat down, she studied her arms. She just took meds last month so if she poked there again, she ran the risk of looking like a junkie. Feet it was then. Using the other alcohol swab, she rubbed a vein on to top of her foot clean.

The worst part of the med wasn't the needle going it, it was aiming. That half second before it went in and she anticipated the pain. This time, the tip slid cleanly through. Marie pulled the steel needle out, leaving a tiny plastic cannula in her vein. She adjusted the med's height just high enough to set proper the drip rate then sat back and waited for the bag to empty. Her powers were nullified for another month.