To the Moon and Back {Marc Spector x daughter}

Found {Chapter 1}

Warnings: fighting, swearing, dissociation, ableism

Word count: 919

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I can hear them laughing about me but I don't say anything.

I just move on with my day.

That's what has been drilled in my head since the day I became disabled.

Whatever they have to say isn't worth my time. Not this time.

I try to block them out. Pick your battles, 'Maris... a voice in my head says.

I know they're trying to antagonize me.

"Cripple..." I heard someone whisper. Okay, now they've drawn the line. Something in me takes over, fueling me with anger. I can feel my consciousness being pulled to the left, leaving me watching from the outside. 

A common experience when I'm mad.

I watch myself pull the sword out of my cane. They don't get to make fun of me.

Just because I'm disabled does not mean you can bully me.

I don't care that we're at school. Hearing the scream and run away from me is worth it.

Of course, the resource officer decided that that was the perfect moment to ruin my fun. I was sent to the office to wait for an hour until the principal decided he wanted to see me.

"Amaris. Weapons are not allowed at school. You remind me of your father, always picking fights," he said, reminiscing of the old days.

My dad went to this school when he was younger, too. According to all the teachers who had him, I'm just like Marc Spector. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not.

The balding old man in front of me looks tired of my antics. Sorry I can't be the perfect student.

My adoptive mother bursts through the door, a halo of curls bouncing on her head in frenzied anger.

"Hi, Layla..." I wave, tensing up.

"Don't 'hi Layla' me! What made you think that this was a good idea?! Where did you get a cane sword??" she demands.

"I dunno," I shrug my shoulders, not meeting her burning gaze.

"We'll, Ms. Spector," the principal turns to me, "We're going to have to suspend you for two weeks."

I pretend to look upset but secretly I'm overjoyed.

After we leave school, with Layla tightening his grip on my wrist, which hurts by the way, she drags me to the car. I'm practically flying with how fast she's walking. I can't keep up!

Once we reach her car, she slows down.

Buckling up, Layla takes off, lead foot heavier than normal.

"I swear. You're just like your father..." she mumbled under her breath as the world zooms past us.

"The amount of times I've heard that..." I start.

"We're going to London," she says suddenly.

My face lights up.

"It's not a vacation, so don't treat it that way. I've found Marc,"

I nod, trying to contain my excitement of seeing my dad again.

"Does he want to be found?" I ask.

"Maybe? Maybe not. You can never tell with that man," she sighs exasperated.

My father has always been mysterious. About his past, his family. My mom.

I just know my mom was a beautiful Egyptian woman and now she's dead. I was told I have hair like hers, long with tight curls.

My skin is a mix of my dad's Hispanic tones and my mom's Egyptian tones which makes a beautiful bronze speckled with freckles all over my face and shoulders.

I wish I had known my mom.

Layla makes a tight turn onto an exit ramp that leads to an airport.

"Oh, we're leaving now?" I puzzled.

"Yes. Something might or could have happened to him," she said slowing down into a long term parking lot. She hands money to the machine that's at the entrance and quickly finds a parking space.

We get on a charter bus to the airport and weasel our way through TSA. Weirdly enough, they don't check my cane.

In a flurry, we finally reach the boarding door just in time. The door was just about to close.

We collapse on our seats and sigh in exhaustion. That was a lot. My legs are sore in the bones. Rest will make it feel better.

The flight attendants walk through safety procedures that I daydream through.

An old man has the aisle seat, Layla with the middle and I with the window.

As soon as the plane takes off, I feel my ears pop because of the pressure. My cane leans against my legs.

The aircraft levels out as we reach max altitude.

"14 hours until we reach London, England!" the pilot said in a very bad, Dick Van Dyke-esque British accent.

This is going to be a long ride.

I open my eyes and see we've started to land.

"What time is it?" I ask.

"You asked five minutes ago. Its 9:13," Layla answers with her eyes closed.

I must be tired because I don't remember asking.

We get off the plane and find our way to a motorcycle renting place. My mom is badass in the fact she knows how to ride one. She finds one with a dorky side car and tells me to sit in it.

"Oh, come on!" I protest.

"You're still in trouble, young lady," she gives me the mom eyes.

I comply, realizing there's no point in arguing with her and buckle up.

"I tracked his phone to this location in the city. Near our old place," she says, punching the GPS into her phone.

She takes off and we're zooming. That's Layla El-Faouly for you, lead foot and all. My hair whips past, hitting the back of my helmet. Some strands end up in my mouth. I spit them out, tightening my grasp on my cane to make sure I didn't lose it to the wind.

Layla stops suddenly, in front of a man who has fallen onto the street.

"Marc?"

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A/N: What do we think? I had to wait until Moon Knight was over to write this and then I had executive dysfunction. Hope this ends up with a good audience because I love when that happens.