Hellfire 9
Title: Hellfire (9/12) (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: Still pounding away. Oh, the drama.
Hellfire is all nicely tagged at my journal. I'll figure out the linking eventually.
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?
What was Emily doing here? God! The whole point of this charade was to keep her out of this. Clearly she had the self-preservation instincts of a sacrificial goat. And she was just standing there, gaping, as if every woman in this room didn’t have even less clothing on.
Emma felt her face go hot, and she was certain it was anger burning in her chest. How dare she risk herself like this? Emma was going to mutilate her.
But she couldn’t do it here; that was obvious. She fixed her with a look. << Outside. >>
The command hit Emily like a splash of cold water, and the compulsion forced her a step towards the door. She shook it off, pushing it out of her head and glared. She was not about to bend over and obey that woman’s every wish. And honestly, what had she been thinking? That it would be easier to do this in person rather than over the phone? At least on the phone she had some independence, even if she didn’t use it. At least she wasn’t completely vulnerable there.
She could feel the barely restrained vicious fury in the word that had been bolted into her head. There was going to be a scene, that was obvious, and she didn’t need an audience for when she let go. (Because she was holding on so tightly, had been ever since that phone call, and she didn’t know what she would do if she let go of all that anger and betrayal she was keeping bound up so tightly.)
Emily continued on her path towards the door, which brought her within six inches of Emma, but she didn’t turn her head, didn’t show any signs of recognition or acknowledgement, and stepped out onto the landing. She leaned against the wall and wished to god that she hadn’t come.
Forty seconds later she opened her eyes to find Emma glaring at her.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
That was rich. “Oh, you didn’t want me to come? Everyone else seems to think you were trying to lure me here.”
Emma stepped forward, using her height to intimidate, to press her against the wall, and Emily caught her breath, unable to be so close to her and not look. There was so much to see. And what she saw made it so obvious that all the things she had been hoping were lies were not. It didn’t make a difference to the ache inside of her, the way she couldn’t tear her eyes away. She just wished that she could blame the compulsion to press herself against the warm skin and bury her nose in the fur on someone else.
“You shouldn’t be here.” Emma said, sparing a quick glance back over her shoulder, and again, it was nothing but an insult.
“Why? Because I can’t take care of myself?” Emily glared at her. “Because I’m too weak for you, too human? I’m just the wrong species, aren’t I? I’m not good enough for you.”
That got a reaction. “Shut the fuck up about things you don’t understand.” But she still wasn’t looking at her.
“Then I guess I can’t talk at all,” Emily snapped. “I don’t understand anything. Are you going to explain it to me? Explain why they wanted me here? Explain why you even bothered with me when you’ve been with every man here?”
“What?” Emma turned back to her, staring incredulously, and then pushing through her shields. They were weak with hysteria, but it was humiliating to feel them knocked down so easily. Emily struck out with the memory, with Sebastian’s words, with the glance around afterwards, all the men, well-dressed and cruel, and the women, no different, and did everything she could to keep back the rest.
<< Are you going to tell me? Or are you going to lie? I don’t know which I would prefer. >>
<< You want to know? >> It would have been a laugh if it hadn’t been a thought. << You really want to know how many of these men I’ve slept with? >> A touch like ice closed around her mind, and she was pressing into her, closing her down, and choking off something, if not her breath perhaps the very beating of her heart. << I don’t want to know yours. I don’t because it doesn’t matter. If you touch someone else, if you want someone else, I’ll know, and I’ll kill you. >>
Emily struggled against her grip, fought her as hard as she could. Emma was ice inside and steel out, and all her vaunted strength, her confidence, was lost in a frenzy of anger and fear. << You can’t… >>
<< What would you say if I told you I had slept with them all, not even just the men, all of them? Would you call me a whore? Turn away from me? Others have on less than that. >>
<< Stop defending yourself. Stop testing me! Just tell me the truth! >> And she pushed back, pushed as hard as she could.
<< I haven’t, you idiot. Why- >>
And for some impossible reason, by some impossible means, Emily pushed through.
There was a sharp flicker of a repressed thought and she caught the edge of it before it fled.
That I know of, was what Emma had thought, what she had tried to keep back. There was a flash of memory: heat, scratchy fabric against her eyes, metal tight around her throat, the rough floor digging into her knees.
<< Don’t! >> Emma dragged her out and slammed up defenses around that area. << I don’t want you there! I don’t want you to see that. >>
<< Emma… >> Emily couldn’t move, or think. She had nothing except the sharp panic threading through her veins.
<< It’s all fucking Jean’s fault. I can’t… I can’t keep control, even of my own memories. >>
<< What was it? >>
<< Nothing. >> Emma pulled away from her, but didn’t block her out, didn’t chase her away. << It was nothing. Just an idiotic piece of the Hellfire Club’s hazing ritual. They lock an inhibitor collar on your neck, blindfold you, bind your hands, and you’re sent out as the party entertainment. All they want is to humiliate you, and you can either participate in your own humiliation, or resist, and have it forced upon you. >>
<< Emma… >> This time the name itself ached. Emily knew too well that Emma would not easily bend her back. She didn’t want to imagine what they would do to someone who didn’t want to play.
<< Don’t pity me. I chose that. I chose to suffer what I needed to suffer, so I could get what they had to give. And I had it. I had the power. I regained my pride, my wealth, destroyed my enemies and made new ones everywhere I turned. I took advantage of it. >>
And too much of this made sense, too many of her desperate practical decisions which were always so wrong. << Just like you take advantage of everything. >>
Emma stiffened. << I never claimed to be anything but selfish. I never will. Maybe I thought that you deserved better, and that I should let you go. But you know that you make me vulnerable, and yet you still throw yourself into a pit of snakes. >> Emily couldn’t deny it. << Please go. Do you know enough now to be afraid? >>
<< I knew enough to be afraid the moment I walked in the door. >> Emily shook her head, closing up her wounded shields, closing her out, even as she felt an involuntary tug against her mind, trying to keep her nearby. “I am trying to be less stupid. I’m sorry. I’ll get my coat and go.” And she looked up, wishing to be brave. “Would you…” she trailed off.
Emma stared at her, knowing, too well, what she was asking, and wanting, too much, to agree. “I can’t.”
Emily turned away quickly. “Fine. That’s… fine.” She hurried toward the stairs. “Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.”
She disappeared down the steps, and Emma slumped against the wall, covering her face with her hands. “Oh fucking god,” she muttered to the universe. “This shouldn’t be so hard.”
She couldn’t go back in yet. She had no composure left, not now, not after Emily had ripped another secret away from her, and not blamed her, not hated her for it. There was only so much forgiveness you could take before you wanted to fucking shoot yourself.
* * *
Emily had no idea how to find the cloakroom or the servant who had taken her coat. She tried a few doors, but they were all locked. And some of them were numbered and labeled, which was worse. She was considering abandoning her coat as collateral damage, when one finally opened. It was a large room, with a raised area, like a stage, and there were a few people standing in it, talking amongst themselves. A fire was roaring in the giant fireplace, implements glowing red-hot beside it.
Emily was about to retreat when she heard someone cough behind her and turned. It was a man she recognized from the party the week before, greasy grey hair and a bald crown.
“Lorne,” she said, as she recalled the name.
“Miss Prentiss.”
Lorne was standing with a tall handsome man, with piercing light eyes and close clipped pale grey hair. But the falcate lines on his face were cruel ones.
“May I present to you, my master. Winston Frost, the White King.”
* * *
No one familiar was there. Sebastian wasn’t there either. She stretched out. He was downstairs, with some others who felt familiar, and… Emma froze. Then she hurried as fast as her boots could take her towards the door.
I should have just said yes and taken her home.
* * *
“So, you’re my daughter’s new… toy.” Winston Frost was remarkably well preserved for a man in his mid sixties. His ice blue eyes were at once familiar and repulsively strange.
“Emily,” Emily replied flatly. She didn’t care one inch for his tone. She didn’t care about anything he had to say. Her rejection was complete and it was time to just go home.
“It’s a disgrace. At least her brother was only a worthless human. But that she should stoop to this, my most admirable child.” He shook his head. “I’m truly sorry for you. She’s only doing it to make me angry. True mutants don’t have that taint. Homosexuality is just another sign of the deterioration of the sapiens genome.”
It burned a little because he was so clearly behind on the news of the complete disaster that was their relationship. But Emily laughed. “Is that what mutant supremacy sounds like? How dull. You just recycle other people’s prejudices. Can’t think of anyone new to hate?”
“Be careful child.” His eyes were narrow and cold. “You’re playing in water over your head. It would be only too easy to ruin you.”
Somehow she couldn’t look away from him. She just stared, wondering what it would be like to grow up with this as her parent. Even if everything Sebastian had implied about her mother had been true, it was vastly clear that she had been so lucky in comparison.
“Do what you must.” Emily shrugged. “There’s little recourse when someone hates you for what you are.” She tried to move past him, towards the door.
Winston’s hand shot out and grabbed her shoulder, spinning her around again. He glared, and she wondered if he would hit her. She didn’t care. She’d taken a beating from younger, stronger men than he. “Do you think you’re special? Do you think she’d choose you for something real? She wants one thing from you only, and I hope you figure out what it is before you let yourself get into deep.”
“Are you trying to protect me from her?” Emily almost laughed. “I know what she wants. I needed something too, and I took it. I’m satisfied.” And he would never understand what that truly meant.
Winston sneered and laughed at her. “God, you’re just as much of a whore as your mother was.”
Emily froze. But he turned away and before she could manage to find the words that fit her furious retort, she felt a hand on her wrist and then a sharp prick. She jerked her arm away but a burning lethargy shot into her arm. The last things she saw before everything went black were Sebastian’s smile and Winston’s sneer.
* * *
Part 10
Author: Alsike
Fandom: X-Men/Criminal Minds x-over
Pairing: Emma Frost/Emily Prentiss
Rating: R
AN/Disclaimer: Not my girls.
Apologies: Still pounding away. Oh, the drama.
Hellfire is all nicely tagged at my journal. I'll figure out the linking eventually.
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?
What was Emily doing here? God! The whole point of this charade was to keep her out of this. Clearly she had the self-preservation instincts of a sacrificial goat. And she was just standing there, gaping, as if every woman in this room didn’t have even less clothing on.
Emma felt her face go hot, and she was certain it was anger burning in her chest. How dare she risk herself like this? Emma was going to mutilate her.
But she couldn’t do it here; that was obvious. She fixed her with a look. << Outside. >>
The command hit Emily like a splash of cold water, and the compulsion forced her a step towards the door. She shook it off, pushing it out of her head and glared. She was not about to bend over and obey that woman’s every wish. And honestly, what had she been thinking? That it would be easier to do this in person rather than over the phone? At least on the phone she had some independence, even if she didn’t use it. At least she wasn’t completely vulnerable there.
She could feel the barely restrained vicious fury in the word that had been bolted into her head. There was going to be a scene, that was obvious, and she didn’t need an audience for when she let go. (Because she was holding on so tightly, had been ever since that phone call, and she didn’t know what she would do if she let go of all that anger and betrayal she was keeping bound up so tightly.)
Emily continued on her path towards the door, which brought her within six inches of Emma, but she didn’t turn her head, didn’t show any signs of recognition or acknowledgement, and stepped out onto the landing. She leaned against the wall and wished to god that she hadn’t come.
Forty seconds later she opened her eyes to find Emma glaring at her.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
That was rich. “Oh, you didn’t want me to come? Everyone else seems to think you were trying to lure me here.”
Emma stepped forward, using her height to intimidate, to press her against the wall, and Emily caught her breath, unable to be so close to her and not look. There was so much to see. And what she saw made it so obvious that all the things she had been hoping were lies were not. It didn’t make a difference to the ache inside of her, the way she couldn’t tear her eyes away. She just wished that she could blame the compulsion to press herself against the warm skin and bury her nose in the fur on someone else.
“You shouldn’t be here.” Emma said, sparing a quick glance back over her shoulder, and again, it was nothing but an insult.
“Why? Because I can’t take care of myself?” Emily glared at her. “Because I’m too weak for you, too human? I’m just the wrong species, aren’t I? I’m not good enough for you.”
That got a reaction. “Shut the fuck up about things you don’t understand.” But she still wasn’t looking at her.
“Then I guess I can’t talk at all,” Emily snapped. “I don’t understand anything. Are you going to explain it to me? Explain why they wanted me here? Explain why you even bothered with me when you’ve been with every man here?”
“What?” Emma turned back to her, staring incredulously, and then pushing through her shields. They were weak with hysteria, but it was humiliating to feel them knocked down so easily. Emily struck out with the memory, with Sebastian’s words, with the glance around afterwards, all the men, well-dressed and cruel, and the women, no different, and did everything she could to keep back the rest.
<< Are you going to tell me? Or are you going to lie? I don’t know which I would prefer. >>
<< You want to know? >> It would have been a laugh if it hadn’t been a thought. << You really want to know how many of these men I’ve slept with? >> A touch like ice closed around her mind, and she was pressing into her, closing her down, and choking off something, if not her breath perhaps the very beating of her heart. << I don’t want to know yours. I don’t because it doesn’t matter. If you touch someone else, if you want someone else, I’ll know, and I’ll kill you. >>
Emily struggled against her grip, fought her as hard as she could. Emma was ice inside and steel out, and all her vaunted strength, her confidence, was lost in a frenzy of anger and fear. << You can’t… >>
<< What would you say if I told you I had slept with them all, not even just the men, all of them? Would you call me a whore? Turn away from me? Others have on less than that. >>
<< Stop defending yourself. Stop testing me! Just tell me the truth! >> And she pushed back, pushed as hard as she could.
<< I haven’t, you idiot. Why- >>
And for some impossible reason, by some impossible means, Emily pushed through.
There was a sharp flicker of a repressed thought and she caught the edge of it before it fled.
That I know of, was what Emma had thought, what she had tried to keep back. There was a flash of memory: heat, scratchy fabric against her eyes, metal tight around her throat, the rough floor digging into her knees.
<< Don’t! >> Emma dragged her out and slammed up defenses around that area. << I don’t want you there! I don’t want you to see that. >>
<< Emma… >> Emily couldn’t move, or think. She had nothing except the sharp panic threading through her veins.
<< It’s all fucking Jean’s fault. I can’t… I can’t keep control, even of my own memories. >>
<< What was it? >>
<< Nothing. >> Emma pulled away from her, but didn’t block her out, didn’t chase her away. << It was nothing. Just an idiotic piece of the Hellfire Club’s hazing ritual. They lock an inhibitor collar on your neck, blindfold you, bind your hands, and you’re sent out as the party entertainment. All they want is to humiliate you, and you can either participate in your own humiliation, or resist, and have it forced upon you. >>
<< Emma… >> This time the name itself ached. Emily knew too well that Emma would not easily bend her back. She didn’t want to imagine what they would do to someone who didn’t want to play.
<< Don’t pity me. I chose that. I chose to suffer what I needed to suffer, so I could get what they had to give. And I had it. I had the power. I regained my pride, my wealth, destroyed my enemies and made new ones everywhere I turned. I took advantage of it. >>
And too much of this made sense, too many of her desperate practical decisions which were always so wrong. << Just like you take advantage of everything. >>
Emma stiffened. << I never claimed to be anything but selfish. I never will. Maybe I thought that you deserved better, and that I should let you go. But you know that you make me vulnerable, and yet you still throw yourself into a pit of snakes. >> Emily couldn’t deny it. << Please go. Do you know enough now to be afraid? >>
<< I knew enough to be afraid the moment I walked in the door. >> Emily shook her head, closing up her wounded shields, closing her out, even as she felt an involuntary tug against her mind, trying to keep her nearby. “I am trying to be less stupid. I’m sorry. I’ll get my coat and go.” And she looked up, wishing to be brave. “Would you…” she trailed off.
Emma stared at her, knowing, too well, what she was asking, and wanting, too much, to agree. “I can’t.”
Emily turned away quickly. “Fine. That’s… fine.” She hurried toward the stairs. “Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.”
She disappeared down the steps, and Emma slumped against the wall, covering her face with her hands. “Oh fucking god,” she muttered to the universe. “This shouldn’t be so hard.”
She couldn’t go back in yet. She had no composure left, not now, not after Emily had ripped another secret away from her, and not blamed her, not hated her for it. There was only so much forgiveness you could take before you wanted to fucking shoot yourself.
* * *
Emily had no idea how to find the cloakroom or the servant who had taken her coat. She tried a few doors, but they were all locked. And some of them were numbered and labeled, which was worse. She was considering abandoning her coat as collateral damage, when one finally opened. It was a large room, with a raised area, like a stage, and there were a few people standing in it, talking amongst themselves. A fire was roaring in the giant fireplace, implements glowing red-hot beside it.
Emily was about to retreat when she heard someone cough behind her and turned. It was a man she recognized from the party the week before, greasy grey hair and a bald crown.
“Lorne,” she said, as she recalled the name.
“Miss Prentiss.”
Lorne was standing with a tall handsome man, with piercing light eyes and close clipped pale grey hair. But the falcate lines on his face were cruel ones.
“May I present to you, my master. Winston Frost, the White King.”
* * *
No one familiar was there. Sebastian wasn’t there either. She stretched out. He was downstairs, with some others who felt familiar, and… Emma froze. Then she hurried as fast as her boots could take her towards the door.
I should have just said yes and taken her home.
* * *
“So, you’re my daughter’s new… toy.” Winston Frost was remarkably well preserved for a man in his mid sixties. His ice blue eyes were at once familiar and repulsively strange.
“Emily,” Emily replied flatly. She didn’t care one inch for his tone. She didn’t care about anything he had to say. Her rejection was complete and it was time to just go home.
“It’s a disgrace. At least her brother was only a worthless human. But that she should stoop to this, my most admirable child.” He shook his head. “I’m truly sorry for you. She’s only doing it to make me angry. True mutants don’t have that taint. Homosexuality is just another sign of the deterioration of the sapiens genome.”
It burned a little because he was so clearly behind on the news of the complete disaster that was their relationship. But Emily laughed. “Is that what mutant supremacy sounds like? How dull. You just recycle other people’s prejudices. Can’t think of anyone new to hate?”
“Be careful child.” His eyes were narrow and cold. “You’re playing in water over your head. It would be only too easy to ruin you.”
Somehow she couldn’t look away from him. She just stared, wondering what it would be like to grow up with this as her parent. Even if everything Sebastian had implied about her mother had been true, it was vastly clear that she had been so lucky in comparison.
“Do what you must.” Emily shrugged. “There’s little recourse when someone hates you for what you are.” She tried to move past him, towards the door.
Winston’s hand shot out and grabbed her shoulder, spinning her around again. He glared, and she wondered if he would hit her. She didn’t care. She’d taken a beating from younger, stronger men than he. “Do you think you’re special? Do you think she’d choose you for something real? She wants one thing from you only, and I hope you figure out what it is before you let yourself get into deep.”
“Are you trying to protect me from her?” Emily almost laughed. “I know what she wants. I needed something too, and I took it. I’m satisfied.” And he would never understand what that truly meant.
Winston sneered and laughed at her. “God, you’re just as much of a whore as your mother was.”
Emily froze. But he turned away and before she could manage to find the words that fit her furious retort, she felt a hand on her wrist and then a sharp prick. She jerked her arm away but a burning lethargy shot into her arm. The last things she saw before everything went black were Sebastian’s smile and Winston’s sneer.
* * *
Part 10