Back Before We Were Brittle
Title: Back Before We Were Brittle
Author: Alsike
Fandom: X-Men/Criminal Minds
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Emma/Emily, Young!Emma/Emily
Disclaimer: Not my girls. Title from Say Hi to Your Mom.
Word Count: 7800
Apologies: I can't stand my writing these days. And I've been working on this in short spurts from 11:30 to midnight most nights, and I'm wiped. But I think it's done. I actually found my notes on this from about a year ago and finished it up, so all the good bits are probably from then.
Summary: Being an X-Man comes with certain dangers, such as inadvertent time-travel.
It all started when the X-Men showed up at the BAU looking for Emily. It was after hours and Emily had gotten a call from Garcia and Hotch who were working late saying that she really needed to get to the office. Garcia on the phone was halfway between intently horrified and amused. "You really, really need to get in here."
And she really, really did.
There was a new big bad apparently. A mutant, or alien, or magician, they weren't sure, who had the power to manipulate time. They hadn't really realized how it worked, until they were fighting him, and he had touched Emma, and... she had changed.
Hank said there were tachyon particles clinging to the teenager, suggesting that she had actually been swapped from the past for their Emma, rather than her being Emma suffering from an age regression. He was working steadily, trying to find a way to swap them back. But meanwhile...
"I still don't see why we can't just put her with the students," said Scott, scowling, and not looking at Emily.
Emily was stunned by his stupidity. Or perhaps it wasn't stupidity, it was just maliciousness. "You can't do that. Putting her with her own students as a teenager? Do you want to shame her? She'll never teach for you again if you do that."
"That's what I said," Jean agreed with a smile. "But we really don't have the capabilities to watch her and keep her separate while we're fighting him. So we came to you."
Emily's mouth opened and then closed and then opened again. "Wait, what? You want me to..."
"You tend to have a certain rapport with her, even when she's... not herself."
"At seventeen?"
"Surely you can manage to not fuck her for a week?" sneered Scott.
Emily pressed her lips together and didn't punch him. Her eyes narrowed. "Fine. I'll look after her, if only to keep her away from you."
* * *
The girl was sitting on the bench outside, her face sullen, her shoulders hunched and arms crossed. Her dully pale blonde hair was cut short, and noticeably greasy. Logan leaned against the wall a few feet away, and met Emily's questioning gaze with a helpless shrug.
"Good luck," said Jean, patting Emily's shoulder.
And then the girl looked up, eyes bright and hard, and her face was the same. "Who the fuck are you?" she snapped.
Emily couldn't respond, too stunned by the impossible sight in front of her. She was thinner, her cheeks hollow, her cheekbones too sharp, and so young. She was a mess, savage and direct, nothing like the cool collected calm of the older woman.
The girl scowled. "You're not even a mutant?" And Emily flinched back, not expecting the probe or even realizing why she should defend against it. The girl's eyes widened. "You...? Oh my God!" Her face contorted in disgust. "You can't leave me with her! You can't!“
Scott banged out the door, Logan hurrying after. Jean smiled apologetically, "I'm sure you'll be fine," she said, and followed the men.
Emily slammed her shields shut, and glared at the teenager. They hadn't even been very explicit memories. "Get out of my head if you don't want to see it! You aren't her. It's none of your business."
"I won't ever be her!"
"Maybe someday you won't be a bigot either."
"I'm not a bigot!" Emma snarled. "But I'm not a faggot, and even if I were there's no way I'd be attracted to you!" She looked her up and down. "You're, like, old, and unfashionable, and human."
"Well, I'm not attracted to seventeen year old brats." Emily grimaced. This had been the worst idea ever. She glanced at the ratty girl and wondered what on earth had been going on in the past to have Emma come through looking like that. "How long has it been since you washed your hair?"
Emma flinched visibly.
Emily reached out to touch her shoulder and the girl jerked back. "Look," Emily said. "You're not under threat. I'm not going to touch you. I don't want to touch you. I'm just going to look after you until the X-Men find a way to send you home. That's all."
Emma looked at her, suspiciously.
Emily sighed. "Have you eaten yet?"
"Eaten what?"
"Dinner?"
Emma shook her head.
"Then let's get out of here. I'm starved." Emily offered a hand. Emma glanced at it, and got up on her own, but as they walked out of the FBI offices she stayed close behind, almost like she trusted her.
* * *
Emma ate a lot. But considering how skinny she was, that might have been to make up for it. Emily considered her as she inhaled curry and rice. Christ, she was a teenager.
"You're seventeen."
Emma glanced up, brow furrowed, fork hovering in mid air. "So?"
"You still living at home?"
Emma flinched again. "Why do you care?"
Emily chewed on her lower lip and considered her. It was probably better to not let her know too much about her future, although whatever she had seen in her head had fucked that up dramatically. "Well, I've met your dad."
Emma cocked her head, eyes suddenly intent and interested, if still suspicious. "You have?"
"So, I'd understand if you weren't living at home."
Emma shrugged. "I moved out."
Emily nodded, that made the lack of food and the limited hair-washing make some sense.
Emma frowned. "You knew that."
"I didn't."
"You knew I was going to move out. You didn't know if I already had."
"I can't just tell you things."
Emma snorted. "Please? Are you trying to make sure the world doesn't explode or something? If it were going to it wouldn't allow this to happen in the first place. Anyways, there's nothing you could tell me that I would believe anyways. Like, high-school teacher? Why the fuck would I want to do that?" She rolled her eyes. "And banging you. This is probably some sort of weird hallucination."
Emily just smiled, feeling sad. She really wouldn't believe her. And she couldn't try to protect her either. All the shitty things that were going to happen to her had to happen, or nothing would be the same. "Well, it's pretty weird for me too."
Emma raised an eyebrow. "Not a fantasy?"
Emily snorted. "Seriously? No. Having my hot superhero sometimes girlfriend swapped for her scrawny little sexually-confused teenage self?"
"I'm not confused! I'm just straight." she scowled, glancing away. "My brother was gay."
"Christian?"
"Yeah." She frowned. "I guess, I told you about him."
"Actually, I've met him."
Emma's eyes widened. "Is he-"
And Emily felt so guilty. She shook her head. "He's still..." She looked at the girl. "He'd like seeing you. He'd probably recognize you." He had shown her the picture of Emma, probably a few years before this, in a schoolgirl uniform with her hair darker, looking awkward and uncomfortable at having her picture taken. "Isn't she pretty?" he had asked, and she had said yes: pretty, and soft, and breakable. This girl was already broken.
And she looked like she had been hit with something. "He... he doesn't recognize her?"
"Emma..."
The girl looked away and wouldn't speak for the rest of the meal.
Emily showed her to the guest room and came back with some pajamas and a towel to find her sitting on the bed, looking lost. "Are you all right?"
Emma looked up and rubbed the back of her fist across her eyes. "Yeah." Then she looked down at the things Emily had brought. She had one of the slinky cammis Emma had left behind, but had brought the pair of flannel pants she always stole and a t-shirt instead. This girl was already so nervous about being taken advantage of.
"You like these," Emily offered, and Emma looked up at her, face tense and upset.
"Everything's different," she said. "I just..." She covered her face. Emily reached out and touched her shoulder. This time Emma didn't jerk away. She leaned into the comfort. "I feel like someone with amnesia. It's all already happened, and all the things I hoped for or just hoped would be different... none of the things I wanted-"
"You don't know that."
"Christian's the same." She looked up at Emily skeptically. "Apparently you're the person I end up with. I teach high school. I just dropped out of high school. It's like I've just forgotten. I can't escape. And you keep telling me I'm not supposed to change things."
"How do you know it's not what you want?"
"Because I'm straight."
Emily laughed. This was getting old. "I wasn't actually talking about that. Sexuality is pretty fluid, and I think you'll figure that out for yourself eventually."
Emma grimaced. "But you? Some women I could think are attractive. But you're just sort of normal."
"And you're a skinny little bitch."
"Hey!"
"I'm just saying, you're not such a great catch yourself."
"Fuck you."
"I thought you said you weren't into that."
Emma pressed her lips together and almost looked amused for a moment. "Fine. But my life is shitty now, and apparently I'll grow up and it's like all the things I hoped would happen... What's the point?" She shook her head. "If you had known where you'd end up when you were seventeen, would you have worked your ass off to get here?"
Emily looked at her. "When I was seventeen?" First year of college, feeling abandoned and lost, without Michael, in a different country than her mother, and yet she hadn't even imagined how much worse it could get, how many more things she would have to suffer before she could even reach this sort of equilibrium. "I was a kid. And everything I wanted back then... it wasn't worth the price I had to pay. This is worth it, having friends and a job worth doing, and..." she looked at the girl, who looked back, blue-grey eyes wide.
"And me?"
Emily looked away. "When I do. As you can see, sometimes I'm graced with a visit when she isn't too busy saving the world or teaching her students, or lost in a different time, but I'm not high on the priorities."
Emma frowned at her, as if there was something she was trying to understand. But that had been bitter enough, and it was time to leave. "Look," she said, touching Emma's arm. "You'll be okay. You'll get back, and it will be okay."
* * *
It was the shittiest apartment she had ever seen, and it was undeniably familiar. It didn't even have a stove, just a sink and a bed and a toilet, and she had spent months here. It had been better than being homeless, but just barely.
Emma sat down on the bed and looked around at the strewn clothing and thin blanket. She shook her head. God she had been a mess, and it was only going to get worse. She lay back.
"Come on," she thought fiercely, but even as open as she could make it, she couldn't recognize anyone's mind. "You'd better save me, and soon."
* * *
Without any reason or even a good excuse, one week turned into two, and then three, and then four. Jean was apologetic. "We're doing everything we can. As soon as Henry has a way, we'll tell you."
But that way didn't seem to be easily found.
At first it was uncomfortable. Emily panicked internally about leaving a teenager (sullen, entitled, and a runaway) alone in her house, but there wasn't any other option. The way to make her leave, with all of Emily's electronics, jewelry, and other ready-cash items, and leave quickly, was to assign a babysitter to watch her. So Emily bit the bullet and just trusted her. It wasn't as if the building couldn't just burn down one day while she was gone. This was... nothing like that.
But when she got back from work Emma was just dragging herself out of bed. Emily had forgotten that teenagers like sleep more than anything else.
Although, after a while, the amount of sleeping she was doing was beginning to worry Emily. She slept all day most days, and when Emily got home, she was antsy and upset.
"Look, you need to do something!" It was either that or a prescription for anti-depressants.
"Like what?" Emma snapped back.
"I don't know! Breakdancing classes, or volunteering, or something. What do you want to do with your life?"
Emma just looked at her, and Emily was slapped in the face with the knowledge that she really didn't know. Emma, the most driven, dedicated, and success-obsessed person she knew, had been a complete wash-out as a teenager.
"Nothing?"
Emma shrugged, but her expression was pained. "What does anyone do with their life? You work a shit job and spend your time chasing after people who don't care until you die."
Emily groaned. "Just... go on the internet and find a hobby."
Emma looked at her. "The what?"
She actually looked curious and Emily weighed the benefits of her being interested in something against the dangers of letting someone who had the potential to turn into Emma loose on the future. "Uh, just, try not to rewrite too much of history when you get back."
* * *
Emma hated this. Maybe Emily didn't intend to be a creepy pervert out to get her, but every once in a while she would look at her, just a little too long, with that stunned expression on her face, and a tangled mess in her head of not her, not her. She would catch flashes of unprotected thoughts. "Not as pretty," "God, when will she grow up," "I wish..." and they were infuriating. Everything Emily did and said was infuriating.
And it felt wrong and strange to be in this new time, with all these new things. It wasn't even like it was so far in the future, but it was far enough that it felt absurd. It felt absurd enough to have hot water and soap and shampoo and clean sheets, and weird things like the internet made it fantastic. This couldn't be her future, because she never wanted to go back to her past.
She wasn't planning on mentioning it, just take off one day with enough cash and stuff to keep her in funds for a while. But Emily never let up. The X-Men hadn't checked in in a while and she was annoyed. "Aren't they even trying to get you back?"
"What if I don't want to go back!"
Emily looked horrified, and Emma had never felt so useless or unwanted. But of course she would be horrified. Emma not going back would be like holding her lover hostage, no matter how fucked up a relationship they were in.
"You'd force me to go back just for sex."
"Emma."
That was the Emma that referred to her, not the one Emily sometimes mumbled at night with the door shut. The neural networks were entirely different. Even if they weren't different people, she'd never compare. "Don't lie to me!"
"I'm not going to lie!" and she had made Emily angry again. That was good. Emily always felt more real when she was mad. She wasn't always on tenterhooks, trying to keep her shields up, and looking at her, and trying not to think dirty thoughts about her girlfriend. "I want my Emma back. Of course I do. But I don't want you to be miserable, or feel like I'm trying to hurt you. Why wouldn't you want to go back?"
"Because I don't have anything there!" She didn't understand. She was stupid. "I ran away from home. I've been living on the street for months. I've been fired and hungry and cold and dirty and miserable. I have an apartment now, a shitty room in a basement, and I'm working, and it sucks. Why would I want to go back there?" Emma looked at her, at the strain on her face. She looked sorry, but her mind felt pitying, and a little tragic, and Emma forced her way in. Emily slammed her out in a moment, but not before she saw more. She saw darkness, and chains and cuffs and pain, and writhing disgust in her belly, and overwhelming repeated loss, each time with the impact of a gun shot at point blank range. And she wished she hadn't. "It gets worse? You're telling me it gets worse!"
"I'm not-" Emily winced at the obvious lie. "Yes. It gets worse, but it gets better too."
"'Cause I get you?" Emma sneered. "If I cared about you at all, it wouldn't be like this. It's obvious I don't live here. I don't even come here that often. I just use you for sex and you let me."
The look on Emily face was chilling. "I'm not that desperate."
"Then you love me. It doesn't mean I care. I'm just a slut, apparently."
"It's not that easy." Emily shook her head and slumped down on the couch. "I'm sorry that your life is shitty, and I'm sorry you don't believe that what I have with... with you is worth anything. But it's worth something to me. And I want her back. And if your life is so terrible, fix it." Emily cut off her protest with a look. "You're a lot more powerful than you think you are, and I'm not just talking about your mutation. You're the strongest person I know. And you can save yourself if you really want to."
Emma looked at her, and had never felt quite so guilty or quite so helpless in her entire life.
* * *
PART II
In some ways it was comforting having the girl there. Emily would drag herself in at some horrible hour and Emma would look up from the couch, and frown, and say, "What's for dinner?"
It was rather like having a cat. One of the unfriendly ones who would scratch if you got too close when they were in a bad mood.
And teenagers ate a lot. Emma ate a disgusting amount of food, never got off the sofa, and was still a bony little piece of nothing. And she wasn't very into take-out or microwave cooking either. She couldn't cook for herself to save her life, but she tended to look at Emily critically when it was Indian food again.
"Can't you cook anything? I bet you can't even make an omelet."
Emily glared at her. She took it as a challenge. Emma sat on the counter, watching skeptically as Emily managed a floppy tube-shaped mushroom-speckled egg-thing.
"Are you serious?"
"You try!"
Emma snorted and slid off the counter. She added mushrooms and onions and garlic and eggs, and then frowned as the eggs started to cook. She plied the spatula. She plied the spatula again. Emily smirked and tried not to laugh audibly.
Emma glared at her. "Clearly you have faulty equipment."
But after that Emily came home to messes in the kitchen and sometimes food. On that Saturday Emma hauled her out of bed and told her that they were going to cook something. It was kind of a disaster, but they both made the disaster, and Emma laughed.
It sounded the same as it would and for a moment Emily forgot and turned, wanting to kiss her. But it wasn't the one she wanted, so she smiled instead.
* * *
"What are you doing?"
Emma had a fat paperback library book on her lap that looked like test prep or something and was lounging on the couch poking Emily's computer on occasion. She glanced up. "Mmm?" And then she smiled. It was a bit unsettling, particularly because it was the self-satisfied one that Emily was most used to seeing after Emma had delivered a particularly witty barb and made JJ turn seven kinds of red with steam coming out of her ears. It was all she could do to not ask with heavy trepidation, "what did you do?"
"I'm teaching myself programming."
"Oh," Emily said, and then considered this. "Oh." She grimaced. "Really?"
Emma shrugged. "It would be stupid to work here, since I couldn't bring back money except in bills printed before 1990, and that might be problematic, but I can bring back things that are in my head."
"Just... remember what I said about rewriting history."
Emma rolled her eyes and went back to her book.
"And don't kill my computer!"
* * *
Her life had sucked when she was seventeen. And she remembered just how vile it had been. Troy was probably still alive. He had liked her and helped her, and she had been so desperate. She had been spiraling down and she just dragged him down with her.
But the girl wasn't here, and she looked the same as always, had the same abilities. They must have swapped. She didn't remember traveling in time though, and even scanning for a block was futile.
She had been a smart kid, but she hadn't had any idea of what she should do. Being homeless had been a crash course in real life, and she had gotten out as soon as she could and never looked back. The little things, being clean, being full, those things had been important to her, and she had done terrible things to make sure she kept what she was so sure she deserved.
Troy might get himself killed anyways. But if she could just... give this girl a second chance. God knew she would have appreciated a little help. It might screw up the timestream, but this whole mess had already done that. Something simple like transcripts, that would hardly be a blip.
* * *
Emily needed to stop trying to mother her. It was weird. Particularly because she could tell that Emily also thought it was weird, since every time she did it, she'd let off crazy uncomfortable feelings, and neither of them liked it.
"Oh shit, I've got to go." Emily stumbled out of her room, shoes in one hand and dress held closed. "Fucking zippers."
Emma froze, staring at her: pale skin, red dress and lipstick to match. "Your hair's up."
Emily smiled. "I have to go to dinner with one of my mother's old colleagues. Diplomatic circles are a pain in the neck."
Emma got up and took her shoes away from her, putting them down, and Emily turned around. Emma's fingers found the zipper, and as she dragged it up, slowly, she leaned in, to smell the scent of her skin and her hair. She reached the top too soon. "You're good."
"Thanks, darling." Emily slid into her shoes and leaned in, brushing a light kiss over the girl's cheek. "Try not to burn down the house, okay? I've left my credit card. You can order takeout if you want."
And then she was gone. Emma just stared at the closed door, shocked.
"Bored?" Garcia brought over a few DVDs and smiled brightly. Emma stared at her, then stepped aside to let her in.
"I never realized she was beautiful."
Garcia looked blank. "Who?" Then she raised an eyebrow. "Emily?" She grinned. "Aww, it's like fate."
Emma flushed. It meant nothing. Of course Emily was attractive, and classy, and well-bred. Even if she grew up to be some kind of lesbian, she still had good taste. "Shut up. And explain Object-Oriented programming to me, okay?"
* * *
Emma fell asleep on the couch on her lap as they were watching Community. Emily's fingers ran through her short soft hair. It was fluffier than it would be, not so heavy and sleek, and the roots were starting to show.
"You're perving on me, aren't you?" Emma mumbled, and then curled up even closer to her, rubbing her head into Emily's leg. Emily pulled the blanket over her and stroked her head. Maybe she would start to purr.
Sometimes someone, Garcia or JJ or a worried disapproving Hotch, would ask her "What if you don't get her back? What if this is all you get?"
Well, Garcia was the one who asked it with the wiggled eyebrow, and the subtext of "What if you never get to bang anyone else?"
"She's seventeen! I'm twice her age!"
"So what are you going to do?"
"Send her to college?"
"Emily..."
But it wasn't that strange. It wasn't like being a parent. She just needed something stable and she was pretty self-motivated. Garcia, who could speak to machines, was actually kind of impressed at how fast she was learning programming. Although possibly the teacher and the telepathy both helped. And she would do her own thing. What Emily would do, now that was not so clear.
* * *
"Are you bleaching your hair?"
Emma stiffened but kept her head bent over the sink. "So what? My roots are showing."
"I'm not criticizing you." Emily watched for a moment, unable to keep the smile off her face. "Do you need some help there?"
"No."
Emily ignored her protest and slipped on the extra pair of latex gloves. She started working the bleach into the roots. It was far easier to do this when you could see what you were doing. She had been able to stop when she met Michael though. His way was exceptionally attractive and completely pain free. She threw out both pairs of gloves when she was finished, and sat back on the edge of the bathtub.
"Three minutes?"
"Five."
"It doesn't have to be white."
"Yes, it does."
Emily laughed. "Want me to read to you while you wait?"
Emma scowled, but she didn't say no. Emily dug out a New Yorker and read her the talk of the town.
"You know," she said, when they were washing it out. "I was thinking a little about what you said when you first got here."
"Huh?" Emma half grunted, water running down her face.
"You said that if this wasn't supposed to happen, it wouldn't have happened. Maybe you are supposed to change things." She wasn't supposed to feel sad when she said that. But if this Emma didn't make the mistakes hers had, it was more likely than not that she'd never meet her. It had been such a one in a million chance. And yet it had already changed, just having this girl here, letting her know what she had discovered. But she was just a kid, and Emily was supposed to protect kids. And if she could give her a chance to make her life one with just a tiny ounce less pain than Emma's had had, she needed to do that. "Are you in school still?"
Emma glanced up through the sluicing water, giving her a 'what do you think' look. "I ran away from home. I have a job."
"What are you doing?"
Emma frowned. "Dishwashing," she muttered.
Emily snorted, and Emma jerked up out of the sink and shook out her hair, spattering bleach-scented water droplets everywhere. "Shut up! I'm not talking to you." She picked up her towel and stormed off, slamming the door to her room.
Teenagers. Emily grinned. "Go back to school!" she yelled through the door, and went off to figure out what to make for dinner.
* * *
"You don't have any pictures of her."
Emily gaped like an idiot. "Did you just... go through all my drawers?"
Emma glanced around. Maybe she should have picked up after herself a bit more. She shrugged. "I wanted to see her. To see what I look like."
Emily was grinning strangely and looking at her chest. Emma probed at her head to find out why, but she was blocked. She crossed her arms instead.
"Why don't you have any pictures of your girlfriend?"
"I have one." Emily gestured to the mantelpiece where there was a nearly white piece of printer paper with some yellow markings.
"That's not a picture. That's trash."
Emily eyed it and frowned. "Maybe I should print out a new one?"
"You have it on your computer? Do you have any other pictures on your computer? I went through most of your files."
Emily looked horrified for a moment, and Emma caught a flash of the image of an unmarked DVD before it was slammed down.
"What was that!"
"You don't... you really don't want to see that much of yourself, okay?"
Emma flushed, feeling angry and upset. "I knew you were a pervert."
"I'm not the exhibitionist one!"
"Are you serious? I don't even like sex." Emily's jaw went slack, and Emma realized she had said too much. "I mean, it's not like I've even..."
"Don't worry," Emily said, cutting her off with a rather inappropriate grin. "You will."
Emma stared at her, and swallowed the lump in her throat. "Oh. Okay. Good to know."
* * *
She was watching her mouth. That was what tipped Emily off, the way she sat, stiff and uncomfortable, her face just a slightly more petulant version of the impenetrable mask she would wear when she was older, but Emily could always read her eyes. And they were the same. She licked her lips, purposefully, and the girl stiffened, flinching just enough to make it obvious, and Emily laughed quietly to herself.
Who would have thought that she would be attractive to a seventeen year old?
* * *
Seriously, Emma wasn't going to freak out about this. She wasn't. Because honestly, this was nothing to freak out about.
Maybe if she had still been in school, or had been working, and was trying to deal with this, she might freak out. But her father couldn't judge her here, and she didn't have any friends anyway, and that boy she had been stringing along at the restaurant had probably given up on her by now. And it was just Emily. Maybe it would always be just Emily. And maybe it didn't make sense to like someone who was old, and looked tired and unhappy when she got home from work, and couldn't cook to save her life, and was clearly a pervert. (Once the hint was there, she had examined the computer more carefully, and the bedroom, and she was totally a pervert.)
That was kind of scary, not that Emma was scared, or anything, but still. She wanted, but was scared of getting more than that. But just a little bit. She wanted that. She wanted it... very much.
* * *
"I never considered liking breasts before," Emma said, sitting on the counter, her legs swinging. Emily froze in the doorway but managed not to drop the groceries on her foot. "But I like yours, I think."
"Um, thank you? Do you think you could help me put the groceries away?"
She did it uncomplainingly, and Emily worried about what she intended to charge for her helpfulness later.
The fact was, Emily was not attracted to seventeen year olds. She was honestly such a child, in so many ways. And yet every once in a while she was Emma, and Emily had never not been attracted to Emma. But she was also a young woman sometimes, going on excitedly about a short program she had written, or something else strange she had noticed about the future. (Emily cringed every time, because maybe she had started out as a wash-out, but Emma, in any time, had never had any scruples about cheating. Time travel was probably cheating. But that just made it more interesting.) And honestly, she could see how this girl could turn into someone like Emma, but the things she would have to suffer for it to happen... sometimes Emily wanted her to have her stay someone brash and hotheaded, unelegant, and innocent. The fury was still there, just repressed, and no longer triggered by aspersions cast on her sexuality, her directness and basic tendencies to violence had been trained out of her. And her Emma would never admit that at one point in her life she hadn't had full control of all things related to physical desire.
They weren't the same. But this girl had her own charm. But knowing what would happen was a tragedy she had to force herself to forget.
* * *
They were just having dinner, and laughing at something inane, and Emma gave her that look, the one that had always used to mean, "I want to jump your bones," and Emily froze. It was different, on this kid, already dark and intense, but less sultry, less practiced. It went right into her gut.
She looked happy, that was the difference. Emily had seen that look combined with anger, or annoyance, blatant desire, and even inexorable misery. But she had never seen it like this. And that hurt.
And then the girl looked up, her eyes clear and blue, and pained. "I like you," she said. "I wish..." and then she couldn't say anything more, and the feeling overwhelmed her face, and Emily knew, far too well, what she was thinking, about the sacrifice, and how this was all too late. She was just seventeen, and it was still too late.
"I like you too. And you're not like her, not really, but I still..." Anything more and it was seducing a minor. Emma gave her a harsh look.
"Thanks," she spat, roughly and not quite sarcastically enough. She shoved out her chair and left. Emily cupped her forehead. That had gone well.
* * *
Emma had spent the night puking her guts out, and as dawn rose she was almost able to sleep. Emily finished cleaning the bathroom again and sighed, stripping off her rubber gloves and wiping down her face with a clean rag. She slipped into Emma's room and watched her sleep. She thrashed a little, and mumbled, and Emily moved over to her, touching her forehead, but it was cool. A nightmare probably, she looked like she was in pain, and Emily touched her shoulder, hating to wake her after that awful night.
"You all right?"
Emma's eyes blinked open, and looked past her.
"You going to puke again?"
She shook her head. Emily slid onto the bed and put her arm around her gently. For once, Emma didn't pull away.
"Nightmare?"
She was quiet for a moment and then she responded. "You don't have any idea how bad my family was."
Emily paused not entirely sure what to say, and then she just said it. "I have some idea." She rested her head against the warm back of Emma's shoulder and breathed in the scent of sweat and beds in closed rooms and fever. "But I know that if you keep going the way you are, it will only get worse."
"But not forever," Emma said softly. "If I get to have you eventually it can't be worse forever."
Emily just held her as she went back to sleep and tried not to cry.
* * *
Emma had found her liquor cabinet and was drinking what looked like expensive scotch on the sofa in front of the computer.
"What are you doing?"
Emma scowled at her. "Get over it! I've been drinking since I was twelve."
"Not my liquor you haven't!"
Emma filled and held out an extra glass. Emily took it and dropped onto the couch next to her. "Fuck it."
"Did you get any news?"
Emily sighed. The X-Men were getting really good at helpless flapping. "No."
Emma watched her, her eyes sad. "I'm okay," she said. "I like you. I like being here. But I don't... I don't want to stay like this, because it makes you unhappy. I can feel it whenever you notice that this isn't how it's supposed to be. So it would be better if it went back the way it was."
"You're a sweet kid."
Emma's eyes were sharp, watching her. "I kissed someone because I thought he wanted me to. And he didn't. Not in reality. Sometimes you look at me and I can feel you want to."
"I can't."
She nodded. "Fine."
* * *
Emma kissed her. It was sudden and rough, and Emily was nearly bowled over by it. It wasn't like the way she would kiss, total control and hunger. It was desperate and childish and too hard, and Emily pushed her away.
"Calm down, calm down."
"Fuck you!"
"Emma!" Emily grabbed her shoulders. "Calm down. I'm not rejecting you!"
"You're not?"
And Emily cringed. Why not just do it? whispered an Emily with a broad grin and a black leather corset. She's just a child! said a voice that sounded like her mother. You've already hurt her so much, said another Emily, a young one, who really wouldn't understand the problem with this anyway. "Emma," Emily touched her face, fingers brushing against the smooth skin of her cheek, but Emma jerked away.
"You're just going to try to let me down easy like you always do."
"Emma, shut up." Emily cupped her face and kissed her. She made sure it was soft, and commanding, and Emma opened up under her, letting a small sound out of the back of her throat. "You can't kiss like a battering ram, okay?"
"You're going to insult me now too?"
"I'm going to give you a second chance." And Emma frowned, but then she leaned in, slowly and carefully, brushing a strand of hair off of Emily's cheek with her thumb, and tried again. It was soft, and studied, and Emily kissed back, letting it slowly turn into more warm kisses. They slid down onto the couch and Emily dipped her head, pressing a soft kiss against Emma's neck. And the girl shook under her. "I want to, I mean, I..." Emily pulled back and looked at her, trying to read her mind with her thoughts, but this Emma was always a bit harder to access than the other one, not as receptive to Emily's probing. "I can feel what you want, and," Emma bit her lip. "And I want it. It makes me..."
Emily smiled, almost wicked, at the tables finally being turned. "It makes you horny?"
Emma stared at her. "Your eyes turn me on."
Emily blinked, and suddenly, for a moment, she could see herself, not in the way she was used to, not in the way Emma would see her, when she was grown up, as a mess of hurt and home and weakness and attraction, but as this Emma did, as someone confusing and unreachable and taken and someone who she desperately wanted to look at her in the way Emily was doing now, to look at her and want her. Her eyes kept flicking to her mouth and then her breasts and then dropping even lower, and Emily set a hand on her thigh. "Eyes up here, darling."
"I don't know how to do this."
* * *
Her body was different. That was the surprising part, that this girl, different in a thousand ways, was too skinny, and completely angular, no seduction at all, and she kissed like she had something to prove. Emma was always fierce, but she dominated casually, she could crush Emily with a kiss. This girl wasn't her, didn't have her ability or her confidence, but she couldn't lie yet either. It was just desperate. It felt good to be wanted like that.
But she couldn't go beyond kissing her. That was more than she could do, honorably. And then she stopped it. She tried not to feel bitter about it. This girl was only here because she had to be, because she didn't have anywhere else to go. Emma might only rarely come around, but when she did, it was because she wanted to be there, even if it hurt every time she turned around to leave.
She hadn't done a good enough job with not feeling that way though. Emma's mouth dropped to her neck, moving down, and for a moment Emily let herself tip her head back, let herself be. And then she remembered that she couldn't, and pushed her away.
"I'm not the one you want, and I hate that. I want to be the only one you want."
"Emma..." But what could she say? That was true. This girl might be more whole, had so much potential, so many strengths. But she could never really trust someone less shattered than she was.
"Just tell her," Emma snapped. "Tell her that she needs to stop fucking you around and make you happy, because you deserve it."
* * *
As if it was a trigger, the next day the X-Men contacted Emily. They had found a way to switch them back.
"This should manage to isolate both signatures and switch their positions in time," said Hank, avoiding technicalities. "However, it's very possible that by doing this, a different timeline has already been split off, and by returning this young Emma to her real time, there is a possibility of splitting it again, unless she is not drastically affected by her time here."
Emily sighed, that was unlikely. She was going to be lonely with the teenager gone. But Emma prodded her shoulder and tugged her over to the other side of the room.
"Hey," she said, voice soft. "Don't be depressed about me going, when you were moping about missing your girlfriend for this whole month."
"I was not." But she couldn't help smiling. This girl was a brat.
Emma smiled back. "I like that. Do that more."
"What?"
"You're prettier when you smile. Sometimes you really look your age, but when you let yourself laugh and stuff," Emma shrugged. "I want to fuck you."
Emily laughed quietly, hoping the X-Men weren't overhearing this. From the looks on Logan and Jean's faces, it seemed like they were, but Scott wasn't, thankfully. "You are too, you know?"
"What?"
"Prettier when you smile."
Emma's eyes softened, falling to her lips.
Hank coughed. "We really should move this along."
Emily touched her cheek, then leaned in and kissed her gently. Emma kissed back, warm and undemanding, just like she was, and nothing like she would be, and then Emily let her go. Emma gave the room a casual wave, and walked through the net, and was gone.
* * *
And Emma walked back through the other way, perfect and untouched as ever. She smiled giving a vague wave to the assembled watchers. Emily blushed. Scott grumbled.
"I'm afraid you're stuck with my company for a little bit longer," she said. Her eyes flicked to Emily, a suspicious expression crossing her face.
"Hey," says Emily.
"Hey yourself," Emma replied with an arched eyebrow. "You slept with her didn't you?"
Emily gaped. "What? Why would you-"
Emma grinned. "I don't have to read your mind if it's written all over your face, darling. And you're projecting it. 'Don't think that I banged her when she was seventeen,' 'Don't think that it was awesome.' 'It's totally not repressed pedophilia."
"I'm not thinking that!"
"I don't blame you for it."
Emily snorted. "You wouldn't, would you? But honestly, you were a lazy brat at seventeen, and I only made out with you. And it was a public service. You had no idea how to kiss."
"What!" Emma roared, and Emily laughed and laughed.
"It's true." She cupped Emma's cheek and leaned in to kiss her. "But maybe there was a little bit of seeing you in her, and missing you like crazy."
That made Emma smug, but that was normal, and she kissed her lightly, then pressed her thumb against her lower lip.
"She told me to tell you something."
"What?" Emma mumbled, curious.
"She said..." but Emily couldn't say it, so she stepped away, ducking her head, lied instead. "She said that you should let yourself be happy." She smiled a little. "And if should be easy, because you're with me."
Emma looked at her and laughed quietly. "As if you've ever made anything easy."
Maybe not. But Emma's arm curled around her waist, bringing her near, and keeping her there. And being kept, that was all she had really wanted.
"Of course, this means that if we're ever in the reverse position, I have free rein to do whatever I please."
"Wait what? Why do you have permission? I never said that!"
"You thought about it."
"Seventeen and up! Any younger and you keep your hands to yourself!"
* * *
The apartment was as shitty as ever, but there was a folder and a sheet of paper lying on her bed. Emma frowned and picked them up. She opened the folder first. It held her Snow Valley transcripts, registration papers for a nearby public school, and an account book for a small bank account in her name. She gaped at them for a moment, and then looked at the paper.
"Darling self," It read.
“I know self sufficiency is a noble goal, and blah blah, but I hated living in this shithole and working those shitty jobs, and I know you do too. I'm certain that you've already realized that manual labor is a dead end that you don't want to be stuck in, so go the fuck back to school. You're smart enough to get scholarships on your own. You don't need your father, and I want you to prove it.
“Perhaps this is changing the timeline, but I really doubt that this will have drastic effects. The real drastic effects are your decision. If you really want to preserve the universe, you should mind-wipe your memories, and pretend anything you learned about my life is not yours. But you're me. And even knowing that it will get better, that it will be fine, won't make you just submit to the way things ought to be. So whatever you decide you want, go after it. I trust you.
“Your Possible Future Self.
“PS. If you wanted to know... right now Emily Prentiss is a senior at Yale, and next year she'll be heading to New York to start working at the UN. If you're planning on snagging her, you've got three years before the CIA does. Good Luck.“
Emma grinned and folded up the paper. Mindwipe? Why the fuck would she do that? She was going to be awesome, and she was getting started at it right away.
FIN