Not many people were as close to Dr. Michael Morbius as Jack Russel, Martine Bancroft, and, oddly, Jennifer Walters and Sue Richards were. He considered himself a friend of Reed's, but in truth, Sue actually came to the high-security prison and would bring him books. Jennifer would always visit and tell him how his appeal was going; she had gotten his sentence down from twenty to life to just three to five years. His good behavior was really helping too.
Jack liked to come about once a week, usually with Martine at his side. It was a normal Tuesday, Michael looking as terrible as he did in prison. Orange was not his color. She had slipped a letter under the glass that had already been read. Of course the prison checked it first. Both Jack and Martine wanted to reach through the glass when they saw Michael cover his face to hide the tears that started to flow freely. "She can't… she can't be alone. Please, Martine, go and keep her company."
"She hates me, Michael; she has since we cancelled our engagement. You know how your mother is."
"…I don't know what to do." It was the first time in a long time he had muttered those words, feeling lost. It was Jack who called Jennifer. Jennifer told the Fantastic Four about their meeting, doubting there was any getting Dr. Morbius to Greece before the sickness took his mother from him. Sue, however, marched up to her husband and was quick to remind him who got Michael out of prison LAST time he needed a favor. It was only six months ago that Morbius had been pulled out to help Reed try to stop the miscarriage. He was called in at Jennifer's recommendation. Who knew blood better than Michael Morbius?
Michael had apologized for not being able to help save her child just before he was returned to prison. He had not much use to them, but he had hugged Sue before he was led off, promising to be there should she ever require his help again.
"You're not staying near him that long." Reed argued back to his wife before Jennifer suggested Michael's partners in the Midnight Sons. Blade, Ghost Rider, and the Werewolf.
It was less than six hours later that Michael was marched out of the prison in shackles, Johnny, Jack, and Blade around him as they walked him onto the jet. Martine was already on board. Michael hated that despite how badly he wished he could trade places with his mother, to let her live instead of him. Most of the flight he sat with his head rested on Martine's shoulder. Too upset to be bitey. Not even meeting the banter of those around him.
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When the plane landed just outside the city of Nafplio, it was late, the sun already down. Michael was the only one who knew the place well enough to drive them through the narrow streets, no easy task when his shackles could not be removed for anything short of changing clothes. Martine did not like being shoved in the car with Michael, Jack, and Blade. Johnny rode his motorcycle behind the car. Michael so rarely drove, but he knew the roads well enough to get them to his childhood home quickly. The keys and car were left aside as he moved fast, the shackles clanking as he dashed inside the house he grew up in. The door was left open as he bolted up the stairs, shoving neighbors and old friends out of the way. Of course she wasn't alone like he feared. As it was, he was the one feared, people making the sign of the cross and backing away. His watchers followed him inside the house, seeing the living vampire on his knees holding the hand of a woman who was clearly in bad shape, but she looked a lot like him. She had a deep olive tan and kind chocolate eyes. Watching her son as he kneeled next to the bed.
"Mamá, eímai edó. Parakaló, prospathíste na polemísete." He spoke as he clutched her hand. Of course, Martine was the only one in the room who realized what he was saying as the woman gently squeezed his hand in return. While Martine walked up behind him and placed her hands on his shoulder, smiling to the woman who was almost her mother-in-law, she didn't speak.
He could only nod and bite his lip; one of his fangs broke the skin. As his blood trickled down his chin, she took her terminal breath. "Time of death…" he started to speak as the old doctor near him started writing.
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It was raining heavily, the perfect backdrop for how Michael felt as he and his friends walked behind her coffin as it was being pulled slowly up the hillside to the large graveyard. Martine was clutching his hand as they walked. They may no longer be engaged, but they would always be close if she had a say. Michael was trying to ignore the flashing of cameras from all around. Reporters speaking, he could hear it as plain as day.
"Wife of actor Makarioa Morbius and mother of serial killer and Nobel Award-winning scientist Michael Morbius." He closed his eyes and kept walking. What a mar on her beautiful memory… her son, the serial killer. Her son. The failure to his name. The man who couldn't just die and leave his family name untarnished. He had forty days of mourning to follow this, and yet, he doubted his heart would ever heal. Could a life be measured in 40 days?
He lost Emil to his first bloodlust. He kept begging Martine to move on, to go find someone new and have the children she always wanted, yet here she was holding his hand as they followed his mother to her final resting place. He wished he could throw himself into the hole and just die. No, that was dramatic and wouldn't help; all he could do was walk in his best suit with shackles on his ankles and wrists, wearing the best-fitting black suit he could find, being photographed while he and the others walked.
Neighbors and extended family were not far behind as they reached the top of the hill. Johnny, Jack, Blade, he himself, and one of his cousins stepped forward, lifting the casket as they walked through the tightly packed stones. The casket was symbolic; she wouldn't go into the ground in it. In five years her bones would be removed and given to the family. He wasn't about to explain it all to the others. He just stepped back while the graveside service happened.
As the others dispersed to go eat, Michael stayed, watching her be removed from the casket in her shroud and laid into the dirt.
The priest then spoke in English as he watched the shaggy-haired American walk up and throw an arm around Michael. "It seems to me you are not so alone, Michael."
"That's right, buddy, now come on. You gotta eat something. You can't just ignore all of this." "Jack, please." "Nope, come on, you are being more morbid than your name. Don't watch them bury her; come sit with us.
Maybe after he would just binge through everything he could find in his mother's kitchen before he had to bolt the doors forever. He never intended to come back here, yet he would never sell it. No, he had to get back to prison soon. Even if he got a moment, he felt some pain lift watching the Midnight Sons talking to people he grew up with, and Martine sitting close holding his hand again as if he was not a monster.
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doesnotsparkle) wrote2020-02-24 01:55 pm
Death in the Family - CW, parental death, suicidal thoughts.
Jack liked to come about once a week, usually with Martine at his side. It was a normal Tuesday, Michael looking as terrible as he did in prison. Orange was not his color. She had slipped a letter under the glass that had already been read. Of course the prison checked it first. Both Jack and Martine wanted to reach through the glass when they saw Michael cover his face to hide the tears that started to flow freely. "She can't… she can't be alone. Please, Martine, go and keep her company."
"She hates me, Michael; she has since we cancelled our engagement. You know how your mother is."
"…I don't know what to do." It was the first time in a long time he had muttered those words, feeling lost. It was Jack who called Jennifer. Jennifer told the Fantastic Four about their meeting, doubting there was any getting Dr. Morbius to Greece before the sickness took his mother from him. Sue, however, marched up to her husband and was quick to remind him who got Michael out of prison LAST time he needed a favor. It was only six months ago that Morbius had been pulled out to help Reed try to stop the miscarriage. He was called in at Jennifer's recommendation. Who knew blood better than Michael Morbius?
Michael had apologized for not being able to help save her child just before he was returned to prison. He had not much use to them, but he had hugged Sue before he was led off, promising to be there should she ever require his help again.
"You're not staying near him that long." Reed argued back to his wife before Jennifer suggested Michael's partners in the Midnight Sons. Blade, Ghost Rider, and the Werewolf.
It was less than six hours later that Michael was marched out of the prison in shackles, Johnny, Jack, and Blade around him as they walked him onto the jet. Martine was already on board. Michael hated that despite how badly he wished he could trade places with his mother, to let her live instead of him. Most of the flight he sat with his head rested on Martine's shoulder. Too upset to be bitey. Not even meeting the banter of those around him.
-----------
When the plane landed just outside the city of Nafplio, it was late, the sun already down. Michael was the only one who knew the place well enough to drive them through the narrow streets, no easy task when his shackles could not be removed for anything short of changing clothes. Martine did not like being shoved in the car with Michael, Jack, and Blade. Johnny rode his motorcycle behind the car. Michael so rarely drove, but he knew the roads well enough to get them to his childhood home quickly. The keys and car were left aside as he moved fast, the shackles clanking as he dashed inside the house he grew up in. The door was left open as he bolted up the stairs, shoving neighbors and old friends out of the way. Of course she wasn't alone like he feared. As it was, he was the one feared, people making the sign of the cross and backing away. His watchers followed him inside the house, seeing the living vampire on his knees holding the hand of a woman who was clearly in bad shape, but she looked a lot like him. She had a deep olive tan and kind chocolate eyes. Watching her son as he kneeled next to the bed.
"Mamá, eímai edó. Parakaló, prospathíste na polemísete." He spoke as he clutched her hand. Of course, Martine was the only one in the room who realized what he was saying as the woman gently squeezed his hand in return. While Martine walked up behind him and placed her hands on his shoulder, smiling to the woman who was almost her mother-in-law, she didn't speak.
"Mi klais ton Michael, írthe i óra mou. Min párete pollá provlímata, kánte aftó gia ména, gio mou."
He could only nod and bite his lip; one of his fangs broke the skin. As his blood trickled down his chin, she took her terminal breath. "Time of death…" he started to speak as the old doctor near him started writing.
---------
It was raining heavily, the perfect backdrop for how Michael felt as he and his friends walked behind her coffin as it was being pulled slowly up the hillside to the large graveyard. Martine was clutching his hand as they walked. They may no longer be engaged, but they would always be close if she had a say. Michael was trying to ignore the flashing of cameras from all around. Reporters speaking, he could hear it as plain as day.
"Wife of actor Makarioa Morbius and mother of serial killer and Nobel Award-winning scientist Michael Morbius." He closed his eyes and kept walking. What a mar on her beautiful memory… her son, the serial killer. Her son. The failure to his name. The man who couldn't just die and leave his family name untarnished. He had forty days of mourning to follow this, and yet, he doubted his heart would ever heal. Could a life be measured in 40 days?
He lost Emil to his first bloodlust. He kept begging Martine to move on, to go find someone new and have the children she always wanted, yet here she was holding his hand as they followed his mother to her final resting place. He wished he could throw himself into the hole and just die. No, that was dramatic and wouldn't help; all he could do was walk in his best suit with shackles on his ankles and wrists, wearing the best-fitting black suit he could find, being photographed while he and the others walked.
Neighbors and extended family were not far behind as they reached the top of the hill. Johnny, Jack, Blade, he himself, and one of his cousins stepped forward, lifting the casket as they walked through the tightly packed stones. The casket was symbolic; she wouldn't go into the ground in it. In five years her bones would be removed and given to the family. He wasn't about to explain it all to the others. He just stepped back while the graveside service happened.
As the others dispersed to go eat, Michael stayed, watching her be removed from the casket in her shroud and laid into the dirt.
"Máikl, den chreiázetai na meíneis. Boroúme na to cheiristoúme aftó." The priest spoke as he came to stand next to the monster wearing the body of the boy he once knew.
"Óchi, prépei na meíno. Aftí eínai ó,ti mou échei apomeínei." He shook his head.
The priest then spoke in English as he watched the shaggy-haired American walk up and throw an arm around Michael. "It seems to me you are not so alone, Michael."
"That's right, buddy, now come on. You gotta eat something. You can't just ignore all of this."
"Jack, please."
"Nope, come on, you are being more morbid than your name. Don't watch them bury her; come sit with us.
Maybe after he would just binge through everything he could find in his mother's kitchen before he had to bolt the doors forever. He never intended to come back here, yet he would never sell it. No, he had to get back to prison soon. Even if he got a moment, he felt some pain lift watching the Midnight Sons talking to people he grew up with, and Martine sitting close holding his hand again as if he was not a monster.