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Adria Lafayette says, “You are never doing this again!” and Lunella’s entire body rejects it. Rejects it hard. Rejects it like an organ transplant. Her mind buzzes with half-baked plans, with terror, with that familiar shaking of her hands.
“No.”
It slips out. It’s not even intentional. It’s just so full-bodied, so powerful, it eeks out her chest like blood from a gash. Lunella feels herself straighten, her shoulders square. Battle ready. She’s going to fight for this.
Mom’s face tightens. She’s scared too, Lunella realizes. “Excuse me?”
“No, ma'am,” she corrects, even though that’s not what she means. Lunella shakes with the force of her refusal- shakes her head, shakes her chest, shakes her hands. Everything’s shaky. “I can’t stop.”
It’s not a won’t type of situation. Lunella simply didn’t think her body would be able to at this point. So much of herself is tied up in Moon Girl- her confidence, her dreams, and even her nightmares- that if she tried to stop it would fundamentally change something inside of her. It’s too late. She’s too far gone.
“You don’t have a choice,” Adria reminds her. “I am your mother. You can’t just-”
Lunella rocks on her heels. “S.H.I.E.L.D. wants me,” she blurts out, and it’s true, sure, but interrupting is a great way to get grounded. Lunella feels out of control. “I’ve been given three seperate recommendations for seperate areas of study they’re willing to fund me for. And that’s not counting the offers I’ve gotten to study in Wakanda and Hala.”
(She doesn’t tell her mom that the Wakanda one is for Lunella- which, unlike S.H.I.E.L.D., will require a permission slip- and that Hala is from Kid Khree, making it less than official. What’s one more lie to the list?)
“You can’t just threaten me-” Adria starts, stops, and pinches her nose. “So, what? I have to let my baby risk her life or you leave us? How is that right?”
“I don’t wanna leave,” she says, because she doesn’t. Because leaving feels permanent, and Lunella can’t stand the thought of one day leaning over a building and watching as her mother celebrates another birthday without her. “But I can’t stop.”
“Yes, you can,” she insists. Adria falls to her knees and grabs her shoulders. Lunella feels her jetpack jostle awkwardly as her mom squeezes. Moon Girl’s suit isn’t really built for close contact. “Baby, you know why I’m doing this, don’t you? This isn’t a punishment.”
“It feels like a punishment,” Lunella replies, but somehow this feels worse than just a grounding. She could live with a grounding.
“It’s not, sweetheart. I love you. I’m so proud of you. But I’m not gonna have you risk your life.”
Lunella blinks back tears. “What happened to one girl can make a difference?”
“One girl can make a difference. But not like this.”
“Lu-” Mimi starts, breaking the silence from the rest of the Lafayettes, and Lunella’s hands tighten into fists. It’s not fair. Mimi isn’t getting grounded. Mimi isn’t losing her only way to cope. “Maybe you should-”
“No,” she says harshly. “I can’t stop, Mimi. I can’t.”
There’s a sudden, strong shrieking of metal. Devil lets out a warning as the last scraps of his metal arms give in, falling out of the holster and towards them.
It’s instinct. It’s her job. Lunella rockets forward and shoves her mother away. The metal lands solidly behind them, just barely clipping her ankle. She lets out the smallest little yelp.
Adria’s gaze hardens. “You see? You see? You should never put yourself in harms way like that! What if you died?”
“What if you died?” Lunella echoes back, frazzled. “This is what I do! This is what I have to do!” She gestures frantically to the ripped metal. “You didn’t think to run! I did! That’s what I’m good at- thinking of ways out of danger!”
Lunella shudders as she remembers Molecule Man’s touch. She just forgave the man who almost killed her. A hurt ankle is nothing. “I can’t stop,” she whispers, like a broken record. “I can’t.”