Obviously, if you recognise it, then it's a safe bet that I don't own it. (Like I would be here if I did?) My OC belongs to me (I have the adoption papers to prove it)
As this is my virgin fic (blush), it's my first time,so I should probably issue an amateur warning…
Author notes (READ BEFORE COM-FLAMING):
Yes, it is femslash, to the uninitiated this means two females in love/loving relationship (cue shocked gasps and angry BNP members or people with burning crosses)
Please, if this offends you, piss/sod off, I don't care if it does (you reserve the right to leave at any time) and it basically just wastes both of our times if you flame.
That said, it probably (don't quote me!) won't be that explicit…Surprisingly I blush easily…
There will be swearing. Hopefully it won't become unecessarily so, but it's unrealistic to have Logan say "Gosh, darn it!"
The X-men universe I'm using isn't canon. Don't email me telling me: 'There's no way so and so would be the same age as blah-blah'. It's made up, but based partially on New X-men, the characters will be anyone I have a soft spot for cough X-23 and Beast cough the ages will be shamelessly messed around.
To understand Emma's past, it may help to have read Karl Belllers Emma Frost graphic novel.
House of M and M-Day have not happened (the comic writers must've had a hole in their heads…) Charles Xavier has left the X-Mansion after the death of Magneto (by Logan) and Jean (by Magneto) and left the children's education to Emma and Scott. The Brotherhood is still active under the leadership of Wanda and Pietro but are weakened. FOH and government are still sniffing around for mutants and the school hasn't had it's cover blown. Jean hasn't risen, so Scott and Emma are in a relationship (we'll see about that…).
As for the rest? Well, you'll see…
Chapter 1: Somebody
Emma was awake. The digital glare from the alarm clock flashing lazily on the nightstand on her left, showed that it was 03:10 AM. She sighed quietly as she ran a hand through her sleek white-blond hair and glanced at her lover lying stiffly beside her.
Even in repose, Scott somehow managed to look uncomfortable; a frown wrinkled his brow and he muttered discontentedly, twitching and fidgeting. Also, the fact that he was actually lying with his back to her and refused to be held or even hold her…It was as if he couldn't bear her touch…
Emma would never admit it, but this hurt. It was worse than when she had revealed to Ian, the love of her young life, that she was a mutant and he had subsequently rejected her. Then it had been a sudden severing of emotion, messy, painful as hell, but at least it was a clean cut. He had amputated himself from her life instantaneously.
This, this felt like Scott was gripping her heart tightly in his hand and slowly squeezing the life from it in the most agonizing way he could and refusing to let her go. She wasn't certain that she wanted to leave. What was worse was the way he insisted everything was fine and actually became irritated if she pressed the matter. It was as if he could not see the way was behaving was in any way wrong. He did not talk with her about anything beyond school matters, they did not go out at all and they certainly did not show any displays of affection outside the walls of their own bedroom. He acted as if he was ashamed of her. She had tried to read his thoughts many times to try and find out what was bothering him after he refused to talk about it for so long, but she had been blocked. She hadn't realised Jean had taught him the rudiments of mental shielding.
Of course it was nowhere near an effective barrier to her powerful telepathy, but she didn't want it to be that way with Scott. She wanted him to trust her. Wanted him to love her. She would not violate his privacy…Yet.
Emma stared at Scott's unyielding back. It certainly was representative of their relationship now.
Ever since Jean had died…
'No…Be honest, at least with yourself, darling. He's always been this way with you. He only touches you when he needs something. Your needs come second, or not at all.' Desperately she tried to refute it, only to realise that it was futile to do so.
"Superpowers, a scintillating wit, and the best body money can buy… and I still rate below a corpse." She remembered saying that to Henry while Scott and Logan were tussling on the Mansion's front lawn like a pair of juvenile adolescents. In many ways, she reflected, they still were. She had hid behind a mask of indifference most of her life and it smarted that once she'd began to lower it with Scott he completely shut her out.
Even their lovemaking had become passionless; Scott either acted as if it were a tiresome chore to get over with as soon as possible or was uncharacteristically frantic, as if he were trying to drive away some internal demon. Sometimes she thought that it wasn't actually her Scott was making lo- having sex with. Her qualification as sex therapist wasn't just a fancy piece of paper to decorate her office, she still practiced and lately it was getting harder and harder to ignore what her training was telling her.
She gracefully slid out of bed, careful not to wake Scott and, slipping on a white silk robe which accentuated her voluptuous figure, silently strode over to the liquor cabinet. Taking out a crystal glass, she filled it to the brim with vintage 1965 whiskey.
Scott would not allow her to "Play therapist" while they were having sex, but it didn't stop her from analysing every detail of what occurred. She knocked back the whiskey in one hit, poured another and repeated the action. The expensive alcohol burned a trail down her throat and warmed her cool body. Pity it couldn't do anything for the ice around her soul. Emma chided herself for being so melodramatic and stared into the bottom of her empty glass.
'Bloody Scott Summers has just made me waste about two hundred dollars…' She thought bitterly, then sneered at herself for the weak attempt at diversion.
Tonight, as she and Scott had been enjoying one of the more passionate love-making sessions she had caught, faintly, but still audible, the mental whisper of Jean… as he climaxed. Emma's heart had contracted painfully as the pleasure she was experiencing was washed away by the crystal clear understanding that Scott still loved Jean. Not Emma.
'Was it ever me? Was I just a distraction? Has he always pictured someone else?' She gave herself a mental shake. She was tired of feeling insecure, lost and pathetic.
Replacing the glass and bottle in the cabinet again, she made her way back towards their-no, Scott's, bed.
She realised that reading Scott's mind was unnecessary. She'd only been deceiving herself.
She had been a fool.
Divesting herself of the robe, she laid herself elegantly out on the bed, looking like a nude marble sculpture.
This man, this Boy Scout,had reduced Emma Frost, the ex-White Queen of the Hellfire Club, to a pitiable, lovesick woman. He had made her weak. He had rendered her vulnerable. And he didn't give a damn.
Never before had she ever required comfort, support and love from someone so badly.
'Liar,' Her mind flatly told her, 'When you were a child, before your family warped you, you loved Christian. Before Troy was killed, you cared for him…Before Astrid betrayed you, you trusted her…And Ian…even after he completely rejected you,you loved him …The problem is after, you pushed everyone else away. No one could get close enough to hurt…or love you…'
'Scott and Jean made me recognise the loneliness I'd been carrying around for so long…' Emma mused to herself. 'But Scott has just made me feel it even more…'
She remembered as an adolescent, dreaming of growing up and meeting a wonderful man, a strong, brave and caring man. He would love her unconditionally, support her in teaching and allow her into his heart completely and utterly. There would be no secrets or distrust like there had been between her parents…They would be…happy…
Well, that time was done. She had grown up and there was no such person, let alone a man. She was finished now. She had had enough. No more would she lower herself to crave or need anyone's love again, it only ever caused her pain and hurt. Emma would debase herself no longer. She would be no bed warmer for anyone, not even Scott Summers. She didn't want to, but…
It was time to become Emma Grace Frost, the White Queen, again.
Blinking furiously, Emma rolled over and moved to the left-hand edge of the bed, furthest away from Scott and curled up, wrapping her arms around her knees and pulling them to her chest.
She would not cry…
Behind her she heard Scott stir.
"Jean…love you…so much…" he mumbled. Emma flinched and finally could take it no more. She extended her powers and used them to stimulate part of Scott's brain and send him into deep REM sleep for the rest of the night.
As her body began to be lulled by the combination of strong alcohol and mental and physical exhaustion, a solitary tear slid silently down her face.
She didn't need anyone.
She would not be weak.
I want somebody to share
Share the rest of my life
Share my innermost thoughts
Know my intimate details
Someone who'll stand by my side
And give me support
And in return
She'll get my support
She will listen to me
When I want to speak
About the world we live in
And life in general
Though my views may be wrong
They may even be perverted
She will hear me out
And won't easily be converted
To my way of thinking
In fact she'll often disagree
But at the end of it all
She will understand me
I want somebody who cares - Depeche Mode; Somebody
For me passionately
With every thought and with every breath
Someone who'll help me see things
In a different light
All the things I detest
I will almost like
I don't want to be tied
To anyone's strings
I'm carefully trying to steer clear
Of those things
But when I'm asleep
I want somebody
Who will put their arms around me
And kiss me tenderly
Though things like this
Make me sick
In a case like this
I'll get away with it
- Depeche Mode; Somebody
In our dreams is when we all are at our most vulnerable. The border between the conscious and unconscious mind oftentimes begins to blur and the innermost desires of our hearts are brought into light…
In her sleep, Emma's mental defences, already weakened by the emotional turmoil she was experiencing, were lowered…
The X-Mansion was still. Not a sound disturbed the stillness surrounding it. To the casual observer, nothing would appear to be out of the ordinary. Even most mutants would not be able to tell the difference. Only telepath would feel the disturbance ripping through the otherwise calm night.
Keening sounds of mental anguish were silently screamed into the night. They radiated outwards from the epicentre of the blonde's mind. They were searching for a kindred soul, something or someone to share and understand her pain.
Emma was completely unaware of what she was doing, unconsciously seeking out comfort. Her mind reacted on a purely instinctual level; like an abandoned new born child, she cried out for someone to hear and come and end her loneliness.
Her pain spiked and flared on the mental plane, like a distress flare, making it easy for telepaths to reach out and identify her. This was incredibly dangerous, however luck seemed to be with Emma that night.
The next day, telepath's across the globe would complain of the most intense migraines they'd encountered since they came into their power. Many would have passed out or experienced nose bleeds. Most would not be able to recall details of the previous night, only a vague feeling of grief for something they'd lost, or perhaps never had. The intensity of Emma's frustration and suffering seemed to have blinded them to the cause of their pain.
It did not stop there.
Within the universe, there are certain rules that are supposed to be infallible, unbreakable and therefore form the very fabric of our existence. The veil between worlds is never meant to be breached. Different realities are never meant to mix or collide.
Only in the rarest of circumstances, on the bluest of blue moon's can this even begin to be theoretically feasible.
However, tonight, this line was going to be crossed. Emma's pain would set in motion a chain of events beyond anyone's control. She was, unknowingly, to reproduce the butterfly effect on an inter-dimensional scale…
The resonance of a distant mind with Emma's would be the catalyst to tear the veil of reality and set new boundaries for what was, and was not, possible.