This is a part of my "Facing The Music" timeline and comes after "Distance Between Two Hearts." This story deals with domestic violence and rape, so be warned. As always, what is Marvel's is Marvel's. Thanks to Ryan for making me think about why would Moira stay in an abusive relationship.

For Ann, whose abuse was seen by others' blind eyes, including my own, for way too long.

The grass was tall here, Moira noted with a bitter frown. Taller than she expected it, even if she hadn't been out to see Kevin's memorial in a long time. Slowly, reverently, she started to pluck the blades of grass around it, reliving memories from not that long ago.

An ancient Celtic lullaby broke the silence of the moment, and Moira remembered holding her son close, rocking him back and forth. She poured every thing she had into him, showering him with love, affection, guidance, and attention. She tried to be the perfect mother, and give her son the best of childhoods. What then caused her son to turn into Proteus?

Could it have been genetic? Could Joe's inherent evil had been passed on to his son? Or was it how Kevin was conceived, the brutal attack that left her in the hospital for a week? Or maybe, even with all the love that had been given Kevin, he was just meant to turn out to be like he did? There were too many unanswered questions but they were all that Moira had left of her son.

Now, humming the lullaby, Moira started to dig at a weed that had taken root at the base of the stone. Her mind raced back to the day she met Joe and, once again, she asked herself how could she not have seen the signs. Then, again, she asked herself how could she have known that Joe, whom she once loved, would turn out to be so different than the man she thought she married.

Sure, he controlled the dates from start to finish with regimented plans, but that wasn't really a sign of a potential abuser. She had thought it romantic that he cared enough to make sure that they had plenty of time together. And he had every right to be jealous of Charles, her then fiancee and insist she end the relationship. And a man had needs that needed to be met, and she was glad she was the one he turned to.

Soon, she was wearing what he wanted her to wear, only talking to the people he wanted her to talk to, doing only what he wanted her to do. When he suggested that she drop out of school to marry him and move to Einburg within three months of meeting him, she gladly did it. Every waking moment became another opportunity to please her Joe.

Soon, the stress got to her and she began to make mistakes. Silly little things like balling up Joe's socks instead of folding them together, or not making sure that the towels in the guest bedroom were the perfect shade of butterscotch. It was so hard being a politician's wife.

The first time he hit her she felt so... relieved. The unnamed tension, the fear, the pressure came to a head and she saw what this relationship was. Her Joe was under so much stress and she was failing him so badly that he felt the need to hit her. And she accepted it, having never seen differently.

The hitting increased, and her Joe stopped caring enough to hit her where she could hid it. A fork placed where the teaspoon should have gone meant that she was stabbed repeatedly with the offensive fork. She wore a drink that Joe deemed too hot, slept in a tub of ice for turning on the air conditioner too early. Black eyes, bruised lips, cut hands, and deep gashes were her punishment for angering her husband.

And the doctors at the hospital seemed to accept that she just slipped on some stairs, fell off a chair, or accidently stuck her hand through glass. Spousal abuse didn't happen to college educated women, didn't happen to a politician's wife, didn't happen in the noble class. It was something that happened to others, the uneducated, the underclass, the unseen.

Moira became a broken, beaten shadow of who she was meant to be. Every time she walked into the doctor's office, she remembered her dream of becoming a doctor. But she lived in the shadows, afraid to speak out, to move, or to be.

One night, after scrubbing the toilet with her toothbrush, a punishment for not having done the job to her husband's exacting standards the first time, she realized he wasn't going to get better. Her life wasn't going to get better unless she did something. So she did.

The next week, Joe MacTaggart and wife were expected to make a trip to New York so, in secret, Moira contacted the only person she knew that she could count on, her ex-fiance, Charles Xavier. He agreed to help her without question or hesitation.

Moira bundled up what valuables she was allowed to keep and stashed away some money. She added an extra suitcase to the stuff she was sending over and hid her important papers in it. Charles contacted a lawyer and had divorce papers drawn up. And she steeled herself for the worse.

It was the worse beating she ever got from him. When she was too weak to resist him any longer, Joe MacTaggart raped his wife, ignored her barely vocalized pleas for him to stop, just like he had time and time before. And when he was done, he zipped up his pants and lit a cigarette, taking a sadistic pleasure in burning her with it. Finally, when he had beat her again, he walked out and caught the next flight back to Scotland, taking with him her passport and credit cards.

Charles found her there an hour later, in too much pain to move. Pale and drawn, as if he had seen a ghost, he called the hospital. And later, he and Amanda Voight welcomed her into his home and helped her down the long path to emotional and physical recovery.

Moira later discovered that she was pregnant, and decided to bring the child into the world. She could have never held who his father was against him. For the next few years, she'd pat him asleep with one hand and read her text book with the other.

Kevin was the focus of her life for so long and it hurt so much when he died. Moira had loved him in spite of his actions and she still missed him, even to the beautiful summer's day that she was spending tidying up his grave site.

Moira looked down to where Rahne and Sam were picnicking. In so many ways, her adopted daughter had been a lot more practical about love than she was at Rahne's age. Rahne was taking her time, getting to know her friend as her boyfriend, and learning how to fight with him, laugh with him and love him. When the time came that Sam would ask Moira for Rahne's hand in marriage, Moira would have no problem saying yes.

Seeing how love could turn so bad made her more appreciative of how it could go so well. Sean loved her regardless, totally and honestly. At one time, he wanted to marry her, but fear held her back. Now, fear of rejection held him back from asking again. And she was older, settled in her ways, happy to have what she had.

And in a odd way, her survival of her marriage to Joe MacTaggart helped her in her daily struggle. When her body was reluctant to move, she could force herself to walk just as she did back then. When her joints felt like they were on fire, she could still use them because she had before. And when she wanted to give in, she could push herself to continue because she had survived a marriage to the devil and Legacy wasn't going to claim her.

Moira touched her fingers to her lips and then softly pressed them to the right side of the K in Kevin, remembering how she would make the same motion when she checked up on her sleeping baby. She would always love him and always miss him but today, like every day, was best spent among the living. Too soon she would join her son here on this hill.