Hellfire 7
Title: Hellfire (7/9?) (Sequel to Human)
Author: Alsike
Fandom: X-Men/Criminal Minds x-over
Pairing: Emma Frost/Emily Prentiss
Rating: R
AN/Disclaimer: Not my girls.
Apologies: I said there would be plot, but the party isn't until Friday, so, another chapter where nothing happens. I wish this one actually had some sort of driving force, but I'm so close to finishing it. Then I can go back and edit Human, which I have realized is this horrible twisted drama-sink in the middle. And work on my Extraordinary Gentlewoman (O.o reference) story, of which I now have almost an outline!
Oh, and school starting again blows. I'm taking two classes, *two* and yet I already have four Syntax articles to read for next week. Oh Noam Chomsky, why can you not write in any coherent manner, without citing yourself forty seven times?
Summary: Emma's an X-man now, but she wasn't always fighting for truth, justice, and peaceful-coexistence. Emily has had a taste of her past, but is she ready to meet the White Queen?
<< Emma! Phone for you! >> Jean called up to her, and Emma blinked up from the papers she wasn’t quite managing to grade, confused. No one ever called her through the mansion line. Everyone important used her cell phone, and everyone unimportant was routed to her secretary.
<< Who is it? >>
<< She wants to speak to you! >>
Emma found the extension buried in a drawer and plugged it in. “Hello?”
“Ms. Frost?”
“Yes.”
“This is Andrea, head nurse at the Restwood Institute for the Psychologically Afflicted.”
Emma’s grip tightened on the phone. “Yes?”
“This is a courtesy announcement, informing you that one of the patients here recently succeeded in his attempt to commit suicide. We are very apologetic at our failure, and desire to let you know that we are doing everything possible to prevent this horrific occurrence from repeating himself.”
“Is Christian all right?” Emma hated officiousness in all its forms, and this woman was rubbing her in every wrong direction possible. But she knew better than to start yelling before the important information had been provided.
There was almost a smile of relief in the woman’s chirp of a voice as she responded. “Oh yes, patient Christian Frost seems undisturbed. The incident occurred in a different wing. Right now he’s having arts.”
Emma groaned internally. She still wanted to squash the nurse like a bug, but couldn’t work up the anger at her cheerful report. Just the way they spoke of him, as if he were an unruly four year old, made her feel sick and sad inside.
“Thank you for informing me. If the situation does not improve, I will look into the possibility of having him moved, as I am certain many others are already planning to do.”
There was a small gulp on the other end of the phone, which was satisfying, and Emma hung up and sighed.
<< Is everything all right? >> Jean inquired, pryingly.
<< Just another incidence of someone sensibly getting out of this world before it’s been shit forever. >>
There wasn’t a response, which was a relief, and Emma turned to diamond to cut everyone off. She moved to her bed and lay down, though it bent deeply under her, and stared at the ceiling.
Sometimes it was easier to pretend that her brother was dead than consider his real existence. That institution was the best one in the United States. (There was one better in Switzerland, but she wasn’t comfortable with having him so far away.) But it still wasn’t a place with horseback riding and silverware. It still wasn’t what he deserved.
But he hadn’t deserved this life at all. Just go and never look back, that was all she had wanted him to do. She didn’t care if he abandoned her. It was her own obligation to save herself. She had been so proud of him when he walked away. She had wanted to be him, knew that she would turn her back just like he did some day. She wished so much that he could have truly cut his bonds. But she had done everything she could and she still felt them dragging her down. She was still a Frost, and would always be one.
Even if they escaped their father, and the house he had made, where nothing was good enough but perfection, where there was nothing more important than success, they carried his eyes in their own heads. They hurt themselves because they could not come up to his imaginary standards. They hurt others in their drive to fulfill them.
Christian hadn’t hated their father. He had disliked him, and disagreed with him, but he hadn’t hated him. Adrienne had been angry with him, had felt betrayed. Cordelia had taught herself not to care. But Emma had hated him.
She hated him even now because she saw herself in him. Teaching, joining the X-men, all of these had been ways to distance herself from him. But in the end, she could not suffer failure. She knew how important it was to be perfect, inside and out.
She wasn’t perfect right now. But she was better than Christian, who would never be perfect again.
Jean was at her door. “Hey.”
“What do you want?”
“Are you still leaving for the weekend tomorrow?”
“Do I have to clear everything with you?”
Jean smiled. “You’re going to DC, right?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to-”
“No.” Emma cut her off. “I have business. And don’t you dare tell me what I ought to do with my time or my relationships.”
Jean just smiled again, terrifying as always. “Tell Emily ‘hi’ for me. I would like to meet her again at some point, whatever messes you’re making of the involvement.”
She slipped out and Emma collapsed back on the bed with a groan.
The phone call about Christian had made her wonder whether she ought to go at all. Perhaps her ‘no one is the white queen but me’ attitude was too much of result of her father’s influence. It was her disinclination to give anything up, even when it would be better to close the door on that part of her life and move on. (This thought sounded uncomfortably familiar to her. She tried not to wonder why.) The club was her own psychosis, a past she couldn’t escape. But letting it go, leaving it to its own devices without knowing what was going on was far too frightening to contemplate. Even the good Professor hadn’t been able to do that.
* * *
“Find anything? Damning or saving?”
JJ was leaning over Emily’s shoulder, peering down at the file.
“Emma said once that her family had produced a madman and three sociopaths. I think her sister fits the definition of sociopath unnervingly well.”
“She was one of four?”
Emily nodded absently.
“Nice that she included herself as a sociopath then.” JJ chuckled. Emily ignored her.
“I wish I knew what the White Queen was, what it meant. I should have asked Ororo when I had a chance.”
“Isn’t it a chess piece?” JJ cocked her head. “White starts the game, and the Queen is always the most powerful piece on the board.”
“Power,” Emily mumbled. “It’s almost strange how old fashioned that idea is. How long has it been since we had a case where there was a good traditional power grab as a motive?”
“Are you counting serial rapists?”
“Oh,” Emily frowned. “Not that long then, I guess.”
I know what you mean.” JJ sat down on the edge of her desk. “We spend so much time dealing with psychopaths and irrational behavior that we forget that some people kill because they’ve decided that it is the most convenient method to attain their goals.”
“It’s easy to call that a psychosis, like sociopathy or just misanthropy to an extreme, but it’s not that extreme, is it? We just assume that it’s normal for everyone to think that killing a person is so heinous that no one in his right mind could consider it. But not everyone’s mind is the same.”
“And when you’re dealing with mutants,” JJ said, baldly, as if waiting to be called on it, “killing a human might not even be comparable to killing a person. I knew boys in high school who killed cats for fun. When we’re not even the same species, what sort of empathy should we have?”
Emily couldn’t respond to that. The twisted power plays of the party were still fresh in her mind. Roger Crooke hadn’t been a psychopath. He had been angry and jealous and threatened, so he had used the deaths of those he considered worthless to try to get rid of the one he hated. But he was just a human, and even to him, there were so many people, other humans, he considered worthless.
“Why are you still working on this anyway?”
“Because this has been an incredibly boring week.” Emily glared at her. “Why haven’t you given us anything to do?”
“You’ve had a consult every day! Two yesterday! It’s not my fault if you’re all geniuses and finish them in less than four hours.” She scowled. “And Hotch has been in meetings with Strauss all week, so we’re lucky we haven’t had any big cases.”
Emily glanced over at her, curious. “Meetings, what for?”
JJ looked shifty.
“They’re not going to split the team, are they? I heard… about ideas for a team specifically focused on mutant serial crime.”
“Hotch will never do that,” JJ said firmly, shaking her head. “I did hear some discussion about bringing people in for training, within the team. He wouldn’t break us up, not now that we’re all getting along so well again!” She laughed, but looked serious again quickly. “I didn’t hear anything about a special mutant squad. But… with your solo collar this past weekend, you’re kind of setting yourself up to lead it if there was one.”
Emily glared. “It wasn’t a solo collar. And my psych reports are still terrible. If they want me to repeat that, they had better get me a tackling gymnast, a genius, and a telepath.” She frowned, considering. “It was actually a bit like having Morgan and Reid with me, and…” Her eyes drifted.
“Don’t you dare compare me with that… woman.”
“It’s all right. I couldn’t do it in my head either.” Emily glanced at her file again and transcribed list of names. The top one was Sebastian Shaw. “I have other reasons to still be looking at this too.”
* * *
Part 8
Author: Alsike
Fandom: X-Men/Criminal Minds x-over
Pairing: Emma Frost/Emily Prentiss
Rating: R
AN/Disclaimer: Not my girls.
Apologies: I said there would be plot, but the party isn't until Friday, so, another chapter where nothing happens. I wish this one actually had some sort of driving force, but I'm so close to finishing it. Then I can go back and edit Human, which I have realized is this horrible twisted drama-sink in the middle. And work on my Extraordinary Gentlewoman (O.o reference) story, of which I now have almost an outline!
Oh, and school starting again blows. I'm taking two classes, *two* and yet I already have four Syntax articles to read for next week. Oh Noam Chomsky, why can you not write in any coherent manner, without citing yourself forty seven times?
Summary: Emma's an X-man now, but she wasn't always fighting for truth, justice, and peaceful-coexistence. Emily has had a taste of her past, but is she ready to meet the White Queen?
<< Emma! Phone for you! >> Jean called up to her, and Emma blinked up from the papers she wasn’t quite managing to grade, confused. No one ever called her through the mansion line. Everyone important used her cell phone, and everyone unimportant was routed to her secretary.
<< Who is it? >>
<< She wants to speak to you! >>
Emma found the extension buried in a drawer and plugged it in. “Hello?”
“Ms. Frost?”
“Yes.”
“This is Andrea, head nurse at the Restwood Institute for the Psychologically Afflicted.”
Emma’s grip tightened on the phone. “Yes?”
“This is a courtesy announcement, informing you that one of the patients here recently succeeded in his attempt to commit suicide. We are very apologetic at our failure, and desire to let you know that we are doing everything possible to prevent this horrific occurrence from repeating himself.”
“Is Christian all right?” Emma hated officiousness in all its forms, and this woman was rubbing her in every wrong direction possible. But she knew better than to start yelling before the important information had been provided.
There was almost a smile of relief in the woman’s chirp of a voice as she responded. “Oh yes, patient Christian Frost seems undisturbed. The incident occurred in a different wing. Right now he’s having arts.”
Emma groaned internally. She still wanted to squash the nurse like a bug, but couldn’t work up the anger at her cheerful report. Just the way they spoke of him, as if he were an unruly four year old, made her feel sick and sad inside.
“Thank you for informing me. If the situation does not improve, I will look into the possibility of having him moved, as I am certain many others are already planning to do.”
There was a small gulp on the other end of the phone, which was satisfying, and Emma hung up and sighed.
<< Is everything all right? >> Jean inquired, pryingly.
<< Just another incidence of someone sensibly getting out of this world before it’s been shit forever. >>
There wasn’t a response, which was a relief, and Emma turned to diamond to cut everyone off. She moved to her bed and lay down, though it bent deeply under her, and stared at the ceiling.
Sometimes it was easier to pretend that her brother was dead than consider his real existence. That institution was the best one in the United States. (There was one better in Switzerland, but she wasn’t comfortable with having him so far away.) But it still wasn’t a place with horseback riding and silverware. It still wasn’t what he deserved.
But he hadn’t deserved this life at all. Just go and never look back, that was all she had wanted him to do. She didn’t care if he abandoned her. It was her own obligation to save herself. She had been so proud of him when he walked away. She had wanted to be him, knew that she would turn her back just like he did some day. She wished so much that he could have truly cut his bonds. But she had done everything she could and she still felt them dragging her down. She was still a Frost, and would always be one.
Even if they escaped their father, and the house he had made, where nothing was good enough but perfection, where there was nothing more important than success, they carried his eyes in their own heads. They hurt themselves because they could not come up to his imaginary standards. They hurt others in their drive to fulfill them.
Christian hadn’t hated their father. He had disliked him, and disagreed with him, but he hadn’t hated him. Adrienne had been angry with him, had felt betrayed. Cordelia had taught herself not to care. But Emma had hated him.
She hated him even now because she saw herself in him. Teaching, joining the X-men, all of these had been ways to distance herself from him. But in the end, she could not suffer failure. She knew how important it was to be perfect, inside and out.
She wasn’t perfect right now. But she was better than Christian, who would never be perfect again.
Jean was at her door. “Hey.”
“What do you want?”
“Are you still leaving for the weekend tomorrow?”
“Do I have to clear everything with you?”
Jean smiled. “You’re going to DC, right?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to-”
“No.” Emma cut her off. “I have business. And don’t you dare tell me what I ought to do with my time or my relationships.”
Jean just smiled again, terrifying as always. “Tell Emily ‘hi’ for me. I would like to meet her again at some point, whatever messes you’re making of the involvement.”
She slipped out and Emma collapsed back on the bed with a groan.
The phone call about Christian had made her wonder whether she ought to go at all. Perhaps her ‘no one is the white queen but me’ attitude was too much of result of her father’s influence. It was her disinclination to give anything up, even when it would be better to close the door on that part of her life and move on. (This thought sounded uncomfortably familiar to her. She tried not to wonder why.) The club was her own psychosis, a past she couldn’t escape. But letting it go, leaving it to its own devices without knowing what was going on was far too frightening to contemplate. Even the good Professor hadn’t been able to do that.
* * *
“Find anything? Damning or saving?”
JJ was leaning over Emily’s shoulder, peering down at the file.
“Emma said once that her family had produced a madman and three sociopaths. I think her sister fits the definition of sociopath unnervingly well.”
“She was one of four?”
Emily nodded absently.
“Nice that she included herself as a sociopath then.” JJ chuckled. Emily ignored her.
“I wish I knew what the White Queen was, what it meant. I should have asked Ororo when I had a chance.”
“Isn’t it a chess piece?” JJ cocked her head. “White starts the game, and the Queen is always the most powerful piece on the board.”
“Power,” Emily mumbled. “It’s almost strange how old fashioned that idea is. How long has it been since we had a case where there was a good traditional power grab as a motive?”
“Are you counting serial rapists?”
“Oh,” Emily frowned. “Not that long then, I guess.”
I know what you mean.” JJ sat down on the edge of her desk. “We spend so much time dealing with psychopaths and irrational behavior that we forget that some people kill because they’ve decided that it is the most convenient method to attain their goals.”
“It’s easy to call that a psychosis, like sociopathy or just misanthropy to an extreme, but it’s not that extreme, is it? We just assume that it’s normal for everyone to think that killing a person is so heinous that no one in his right mind could consider it. But not everyone’s mind is the same.”
“And when you’re dealing with mutants,” JJ said, baldly, as if waiting to be called on it, “killing a human might not even be comparable to killing a person. I knew boys in high school who killed cats for fun. When we’re not even the same species, what sort of empathy should we have?”
Emily couldn’t respond to that. The twisted power plays of the party were still fresh in her mind. Roger Crooke hadn’t been a psychopath. He had been angry and jealous and threatened, so he had used the deaths of those he considered worthless to try to get rid of the one he hated. But he was just a human, and even to him, there were so many people, other humans, he considered worthless.
“Why are you still working on this anyway?”
“Because this has been an incredibly boring week.” Emily glared at her. “Why haven’t you given us anything to do?”
“You’ve had a consult every day! Two yesterday! It’s not my fault if you’re all geniuses and finish them in less than four hours.” She scowled. “And Hotch has been in meetings with Strauss all week, so we’re lucky we haven’t had any big cases.”
Emily glanced over at her, curious. “Meetings, what for?”
JJ looked shifty.
“They’re not going to split the team, are they? I heard… about ideas for a team specifically focused on mutant serial crime.”
“Hotch will never do that,” JJ said firmly, shaking her head. “I did hear some discussion about bringing people in for training, within the team. He wouldn’t break us up, not now that we’re all getting along so well again!” She laughed, but looked serious again quickly. “I didn’t hear anything about a special mutant squad. But… with your solo collar this past weekend, you’re kind of setting yourself up to lead it if there was one.”
Emily glared. “It wasn’t a solo collar. And my psych reports are still terrible. If they want me to repeat that, they had better get me a tackling gymnast, a genius, and a telepath.” She frowned, considering. “It was actually a bit like having Morgan and Reid with me, and…” Her eyes drifted.
“Don’t you dare compare me with that… woman.”
“It’s all right. I couldn’t do it in my head either.” Emily glanced at her file again and transcribed list of names. The top one was Sebastian Shaw. “I have other reasons to still be looking at this too.”
* * *
Part 8