Hygiene
Title: Fake Empire Side Story: Emily's Notebooks volume II (pt 12): Hygiene
Author: Alsike
Rating: R
Fandom: X-Men/Criminal Minds
Pairing: Other Emma Frost/Other Emily Prentiss
Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men or Criminal Minds. I owe wizened_cynic for the concept of quantum babies. She does it much better than me. Title stolen from the poem The State of Virginia After Southampton: 1831, by Geoffrey Brock.
Apologies: And now for something a little bit different.
Summary: In a different world, Erik Magnus overthrew the US government when Emily Prentiss was only twelve years old. On that day the course of her life changed irrevocably. This is her story.
Fake Empire Side Stories:
Emily's Notebooks I: The Christmas Revolution
Whore,
Touch, Pain, Fear, Death
Emily's Notebooks II: Nights Spent Listening to Noises
Want, Jealousy, Loyalty, Torture
Original Fake Empire Stories
Awesomely, my computer made it back without losing anything! In celebration, here is the chapter I thought I lost forever!
“You’re awake.”
“God, please don’t talk.” I buried my head underneath the pillow, my splitting headache pounding in my ears. The pillow smelled wrong.
The voice had been Aaron’s, I was in his bed.
I sat up, flinching at the light that sent electrical spider webs across my field of vision. “What am I doing here?”
He wouldn't look at me. His back was stiff and I could see the slight downward curve of his mouth, already wearing lines into his face. He would look old before his time with the strain of his position. “Angel was worried when you didn’t return. I found you in the hallway.”
I shuddered. The pain of trying to think was almost overwhelming, but I knew at least that what the marchioness had done to me was less than she had threatened. I couldn’t look at Aaron after what she had said. A trickle of wrongness ran down my spine.
“Why did you put me here?” I asked. I couldn’t trust my mind or my memories. Had I done something that I couldn’t remember? “Why didn’t you take me back to my room?” I stared at him through my splayed fingers that tried to guard my eyes from the light.
“I just thought… I didn’t want to disturb…”
His awkward inability to explain himself terrified me, and I hated what was written on his face.
“What did I do?”
“You were unconscious.” He seemed bewildered by my question, and I knew it was worse than I had thought.
I hadn’t done anything. Elizabeth hadn’t made me do anything. My reputation hung by a thread as it was. How dare he do this to me? I stiffened in his bed, my hands clenching tightly around crumpled sheets.
“You’re my boss and that is all! I don’t like you.” I pulled in air through my nose. And slipped out, my bare feet chilled on the cool floor. “How could I, after what you did to me, after what you believed of me? Don’t you dare make me a whore.”
I fled his room, not looking at his face. I knew he would be desperate and apologetic, but I had no way of knowing who saw him carrying me into his room. I had no idea what effect this would have. When you had something to lose there was so much more to fear. I couldn’t forgive him for not realizing what the consequences of his actions could be.
Later I would realize that none of it was his fault. It was my own action, my own mistakes that led me down that path. And it was my own desires, or lack of desire, that betrayed me.
I tried to be sure no one saw me leaving Aaron’s room, but Cyrus was coming around the corner as I ran out. He stepped aside, watching me, and stroking his russet mustachio. I never liked the look in his eyes.
* * *
The migraine stayed with me for three days.
I was angry and irritable, light and sound sensitive, and I just wanted to lie in my room and die.
The only person I could stand to be around was Kurt, because he spoke softly and didn't bump into everything. I heard second hand about the marchioness’ departure and Emma’s subsequent blow out with her sister who left in a huff to no one’s displeasure.
Apparently someone had seen Aaron carrying me down the stairs at least, because there was now a rumor going around that Adrienne had attacked me, and the slaves were more frightened of coming in contact with mutants than ever. Even the kitchen slaves cowered from the cook, whose mutant ability had more to do with never ever mistaking the amount of salt a recipe needed than anything offensive.
But for the first time they weren’t completely off base. I was just glad Elizabeth was gone. I truly knew what to fear, and I would be more skittish around her than the cleaning crews were around Emma.
After having been attacked by a telepath, after knowing what it could be like, discovering what they had the ability to do, I still did not know how I would react around Emma. Would I fear her for what she could do? Or would I trust her because she hadn’t done it, not to me at least?
She hadn’t been home much, at the court at all hours, coming back late and then staying in her office on the phone. I didn’t know what it was about. I didn’t really want to know. With the threat of Baron Frost’s visit hanging over me, I felt that the more I knew, the more risk I was taking.
Kurt was the one who told me that the marchioness had left, and my relief was visible even though my headache was still clinging. It had been fading in intensity a bit every day, so I hoped that either it would go away, or I would get used to it.
I told him what had happened, and how it hurt me physically, but he was too sensitive to my moods to be passed off by that. He touched my arm and looked at me, worry vivid on his face. I couldn’t help but admit what else the marchioness’ attack had done to me.
“I just felt so helpless. I didn’t know how to fight…” I looked down at the floor. “I don’t know how to deflect. I can school my face and my body language. I can make myself as good as invisible to someone who is only looking with his eyes. But I don’t know how to school my mind. Not when I really do hate someone.”
Kurt frowned and considered this pensively as he patted my shoulder in some semblance of comfort. “I am sure there is a law against it, but I could teach you some techniques to strengthen your shields. Among mutants it is considered polite to have a little restraint on your thoughts. I do not see why humans should be forced to be impolite, ja?”
That was when the lessons started. We called them meditation lessons so that no one would suspect, and oddly enough, many of the techniques were based on meditative practices. And the skills are all based on abilities gained through meditation. Even breathing practice, trying to stay focused on just one moment of your breath, say, when it passes through your nostrils, for ten breaths without thinking of anything else, is a difficult skill to master. But that was only the beginning. Going about my everyday tasks, I practiced being aware of my breath, of how I walked, how I placed my feet. But the ultimate goal is being aware of your own mind. You never just exist; you are always aware of your own thoughts, aware of your emotions, but not overwhelmed by them. Once you have built that second level of rational thought, and cemented it in place, you work on hardening it. It isn’t like building a wall. It’s more like weaving a basket, weaving yourself inside a basket. First you must contain yourself, and then you can work on shutting others out.
Kurt said that most people never got beyond the self-containment. I thought I had once been good at that, but recently I had lost control. He said numbness was different than self-awareness.
The one thing that made this particularly challenging was that he was not a telepath, so I had no way of knowing whether or not it was working. But I remembered how it had felt when I had gained enough strength to pull against the bonds, to strike her. I weaved for hours in my imagination, and knew it would not be effective. But finally I found that feeling again and when I pulled my weave tight it felt solid. It existed, not in my memory or my imagination, but in my consciousness.
* * *
I had only finished my second lesson, and was attempting to concentrate on breathing as I walked, when Aaron called to me in the middle of the refectory. I was still offended that he had brought me to his room (put me in his bed), and I hesitated. He should not have approached me there. He should have found somewhere private to have such a conversation, but he didn’t. He pulled me to the side and spoke quietly, but everyone was watching.
“Emily.”
I cringed to hear my name out of his mouth. It sounded wrong and foreign, and it said everything I did not want to hear.
“You need to listen to me!” he hissed sharply at me. “You’re right. No one trusts you because you… you served her willingly. But if it was seen that-”
“You disgust me.” I knew better than to shout it, but I shouldn’t have said it at all.
I had a hundred reasons for feeling that way. Some would say he was pretty enough. I would say he looked like me. Some would say he was a trustworthy and fair man. I saw someone who whipped a woman and then cried his apologies to be little more than a hypocrite.
I knew him well by now. I knew he tried to be fair. He tried to be kind. In his position it would never be easy, and that was admirable as well, but trying to manipulate me this way was low.
“If you want me, if you care for me, just say it, and let me accept and reject you by my own will. You do not have the right to force me.”
“It’s for your sake-”
“Don’t do me favors!”
“I do think it would be good, not just look good,” he said awkwardly. “I respect your competence, and I rely on your fearlessness, and I would be happy to…”
It wasn’t as if I even knew how a declaration of affection was supposed to go, but I was disappointed with his.
“I already said I don’t want you.” That was too sharp and too loud, and he stepped up to me and grabbed my arm.
“Don’t do this. They’re all watching you. What will they think?”
I jerked my arm from his grip. “You may be my boss, but you cannot make me do this.”
Emma could make me do this, had made me. Her sister could have. The marchioness could have. But Aaron had no power over me anymore. “If you try to force me, I can speak with Mr. Cage. I can go over your head.”
Mr. Cage knew my number off by heart. The cook and the housekeeper both called for me specifically (and by name, thanks to Kurt’s introductions). I had power.
It was only later that I would realize that this was the most inappropriate thing I could ever have said in the refectory. It was foolish, and it nearly killed me.
* * *
I wasn’t speaking to Aaron except for terse exchanges of instructions, and he hadn’t asked me to fill in the menial chores that the slaves were too afraid to do for a few days, so I was surprised when he knocked on my door, one night, late, past curfew.
His eyes were always cold when he looked at me now. “Your mistress needs assistance. Bring a mop and a bucket.”
The ‘your mistress’ was new, and bit into me like the lash. It wasn’t as if she had called for me. It wasn’t as if I had even seen her in the past week. She was busy, and I was kept running errands in the working part of the house.
I had no idea what had happened.
It was the footman Jessica who told me. She stopped me in the hall on the way to my mistress’ room. Her leather gloves and the sweat on her face suggested that she had been the one to drive her home. She put her hand on my shoulder, which was a surprise, because she had always been disgusted by me, for multiple reasons.
“Don’t bother her,” she said harshly, looking me in the eyes. “You go in there, clean, and get out. Don’t even look at her. She’s been shamed enough today.”
My eyes widened. “What happened?”
Jessica wrinkled her nose, and pulled her hand from me as if I burnt. “It’s none of your business.”
That was true enough. I looked away and made to start down the hall again. But her voice made me pause.
“You know she’s been working nonstop. She was putting together a bill, trying to get support for it.” Jessica shook her head. “That bitch got up today, rescinded her support, and drove it into the ground.”
I closed my eyes. It wasn’t difficult to guess who she meant by ‘that bitch.’ If I had to choose an epithet for the marchioness, I would have selected the same one.
It was the scent that tipped me off when I stepped into the dim room, of what my task was going to be. Liquor and vomit had never seemed that distinct from each other, but the blend was still better than vomit and blood.
Emma was sprawled across her bed, still dressed, making little moaning noises of discomfort.
I tackled the bathroom first, as that was the worst of it. Her office was a disaster as well though. It looked like she had raged through it and ripped up her files. I just put most of it in a pile. It wasn’t my job to decide what she should keep and what she should discard.
The trouble was, Emma herself, smelled like a bar. Jessica might want to protect her, but I was not impressed by this method of dealing with her problems. From the cook’s previous comment about her sister’s drinking habits, I assumed it was a familial issue, but if so, it was even less excusable. One should attempt to overcome one’s family’s failings, not imitate them.
I finished tidying up her room, but I didn’t feel comfortable leaving her like that. She didn’t have any signs of alcohol poisoning, but she was coughing every once in a while, and would grimace afterwards, like there was a bad taste in her throat. She mumbled for water, and I brought her some. She didn’t look at me or seem to wonder where the water came from, but she hardly opened her eyes, just enough to make a weak flail for the glass and spill on herself.
I sat on the edge of the bed as she drank and then tried to find the side table with the glass without opening her eyes.
“I could have told you she was only trying to manipulate you,” I said, as I guided her hand towards the table. Emma put the pillow over her head and turned away from me. “You didn’t ask me.” I shook my head. “No reason to ask me.”
I wrinkled my nose when she turned, because it was clear the sheets hadn’t been changed in a while, and she had been sick enough that her clothes stunk.
“You can’t sleep like this.”
She curled into herself, turning away from me, and muttered something like, “go away.”
I muscled her out of the bed and into the bathroom. She complained like a sleepy child, but didn’t resist.
“I don’t know what your legislation was about, but it wasn’t worth this. She wasn’t worth this.”
I stripped her. She was more pliant than when I was offering her sex, and I shoved her into the shower without resistance. She shrieked when the water hit her, but it warmed up quickly, and she stood there, swaying slightly on her feet. I wasn’t entirely certain if she was awake, but I left her there and went to change the sheets on her bed and find something clean for her to wear.
She hadn’t washed at all when I got back, so I made sure her hair was clean. This required me getting half into the shower with her, so I was mostly drenched by the time she was suitably hygienic.
“You need to pay attention to the effects your actions have on other people. For a telepath you aren’t very sensitive.”
I dried her off and dressed her. “Wallowing is not an effective way of dealing with your problems,” I scolded her. “And what idiot took you drinking?”
She leaned weakly into my shoulder, mumbling incomprehensible half responses to my criticisms, until I put her into her clean bed. She wasn’t coughing anymore and looked much more comfortable. I, on the other hand, was damp and sweaty.
I was about to leave and glanced back, standing at the door. Her wet hair was sticking to her face and the pillow and she seemed to have already fallen asleep.
I hadn’t been afraid of her for a moment. I hadn’t even thought of it. How could you be afraid of someone so undeniably human, mutant powers or not?
“You deserve better than her,” I said quietly. “I can’t say I’m a better option, because honestly, I’m not. But you deserve better because you are better.” I shook my head. What evidence did I have for that? The whole downstairs would disagree with me. “Maybe not are, but can be. I believe that,” I frowned. “For no good reason. But I believe it.”
“Fuck off,” Emma mumbled and pulled the pillow over her head.”
* * *
Author: Alsike
Rating: R
Fandom: X-Men/Criminal Minds
Pairing: Other Emma Frost/Other Emily Prentiss
Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men or Criminal Minds. I owe wizened_cynic for the concept of quantum babies. She does it much better than me. Title stolen from the poem The State of Virginia After Southampton: 1831, by Geoffrey Brock.
Apologies: And now for something a little bit different.
Summary: In a different world, Erik Magnus overthrew the US government when Emily Prentiss was only twelve years old. On that day the course of her life changed irrevocably. This is her story.
Fake Empire Side Stories:
Emily's Notebooks I: The Christmas Revolution
Whore,
Touch, Pain, Fear, Death
Emily's Notebooks II: Nights Spent Listening to Noises
Want, Jealousy, Loyalty, Torture
Original Fake Empire Stories
Awesomely, my computer made it back without losing anything! In celebration, here is the chapter I thought I lost forever!
“You’re awake.”
“God, please don’t talk.” I buried my head underneath the pillow, my splitting headache pounding in my ears. The pillow smelled wrong.
The voice had been Aaron’s, I was in his bed.
I sat up, flinching at the light that sent electrical spider webs across my field of vision. “What am I doing here?”
He wouldn't look at me. His back was stiff and I could see the slight downward curve of his mouth, already wearing lines into his face. He would look old before his time with the strain of his position. “Angel was worried when you didn’t return. I found you in the hallway.”
I shuddered. The pain of trying to think was almost overwhelming, but I knew at least that what the marchioness had done to me was less than she had threatened. I couldn’t look at Aaron after what she had said. A trickle of wrongness ran down my spine.
“Why did you put me here?” I asked. I couldn’t trust my mind or my memories. Had I done something that I couldn’t remember? “Why didn’t you take me back to my room?” I stared at him through my splayed fingers that tried to guard my eyes from the light.
“I just thought… I didn’t want to disturb…”
His awkward inability to explain himself terrified me, and I hated what was written on his face.
“What did I do?”
“You were unconscious.” He seemed bewildered by my question, and I knew it was worse than I had thought.
I hadn’t done anything. Elizabeth hadn’t made me do anything. My reputation hung by a thread as it was. How dare he do this to me? I stiffened in his bed, my hands clenching tightly around crumpled sheets.
“You’re my boss and that is all! I don’t like you.” I pulled in air through my nose. And slipped out, my bare feet chilled on the cool floor. “How could I, after what you did to me, after what you believed of me? Don’t you dare make me a whore.”
I fled his room, not looking at his face. I knew he would be desperate and apologetic, but I had no way of knowing who saw him carrying me into his room. I had no idea what effect this would have. When you had something to lose there was so much more to fear. I couldn’t forgive him for not realizing what the consequences of his actions could be.
Later I would realize that none of it was his fault. It was my own action, my own mistakes that led me down that path. And it was my own desires, or lack of desire, that betrayed me.
I tried to be sure no one saw me leaving Aaron’s room, but Cyrus was coming around the corner as I ran out. He stepped aside, watching me, and stroking his russet mustachio. I never liked the look in his eyes.
* * *
The migraine stayed with me for three days.
I was angry and irritable, light and sound sensitive, and I just wanted to lie in my room and die.
The only person I could stand to be around was Kurt, because he spoke softly and didn't bump into everything. I heard second hand about the marchioness’ departure and Emma’s subsequent blow out with her sister who left in a huff to no one’s displeasure.
Apparently someone had seen Aaron carrying me down the stairs at least, because there was now a rumor going around that Adrienne had attacked me, and the slaves were more frightened of coming in contact with mutants than ever. Even the kitchen slaves cowered from the cook, whose mutant ability had more to do with never ever mistaking the amount of salt a recipe needed than anything offensive.
But for the first time they weren’t completely off base. I was just glad Elizabeth was gone. I truly knew what to fear, and I would be more skittish around her than the cleaning crews were around Emma.
After having been attacked by a telepath, after knowing what it could be like, discovering what they had the ability to do, I still did not know how I would react around Emma. Would I fear her for what she could do? Or would I trust her because she hadn’t done it, not to me at least?
She hadn’t been home much, at the court at all hours, coming back late and then staying in her office on the phone. I didn’t know what it was about. I didn’t really want to know. With the threat of Baron Frost’s visit hanging over me, I felt that the more I knew, the more risk I was taking.
Kurt was the one who told me that the marchioness had left, and my relief was visible even though my headache was still clinging. It had been fading in intensity a bit every day, so I hoped that either it would go away, or I would get used to it.
I told him what had happened, and how it hurt me physically, but he was too sensitive to my moods to be passed off by that. He touched my arm and looked at me, worry vivid on his face. I couldn’t help but admit what else the marchioness’ attack had done to me.
“I just felt so helpless. I didn’t know how to fight…” I looked down at the floor. “I don’t know how to deflect. I can school my face and my body language. I can make myself as good as invisible to someone who is only looking with his eyes. But I don’t know how to school my mind. Not when I really do hate someone.”
Kurt frowned and considered this pensively as he patted my shoulder in some semblance of comfort. “I am sure there is a law against it, but I could teach you some techniques to strengthen your shields. Among mutants it is considered polite to have a little restraint on your thoughts. I do not see why humans should be forced to be impolite, ja?”
That was when the lessons started. We called them meditation lessons so that no one would suspect, and oddly enough, many of the techniques were based on meditative practices. And the skills are all based on abilities gained through meditation. Even breathing practice, trying to stay focused on just one moment of your breath, say, when it passes through your nostrils, for ten breaths without thinking of anything else, is a difficult skill to master. But that was only the beginning. Going about my everyday tasks, I practiced being aware of my breath, of how I walked, how I placed my feet. But the ultimate goal is being aware of your own mind. You never just exist; you are always aware of your own thoughts, aware of your emotions, but not overwhelmed by them. Once you have built that second level of rational thought, and cemented it in place, you work on hardening it. It isn’t like building a wall. It’s more like weaving a basket, weaving yourself inside a basket. First you must contain yourself, and then you can work on shutting others out.
Kurt said that most people never got beyond the self-containment. I thought I had once been good at that, but recently I had lost control. He said numbness was different than self-awareness.
The one thing that made this particularly challenging was that he was not a telepath, so I had no way of knowing whether or not it was working. But I remembered how it had felt when I had gained enough strength to pull against the bonds, to strike her. I weaved for hours in my imagination, and knew it would not be effective. But finally I found that feeling again and when I pulled my weave tight it felt solid. It existed, not in my memory or my imagination, but in my consciousness.
* * *
I had only finished my second lesson, and was attempting to concentrate on breathing as I walked, when Aaron called to me in the middle of the refectory. I was still offended that he had brought me to his room (put me in his bed), and I hesitated. He should not have approached me there. He should have found somewhere private to have such a conversation, but he didn’t. He pulled me to the side and spoke quietly, but everyone was watching.
“Emily.”
I cringed to hear my name out of his mouth. It sounded wrong and foreign, and it said everything I did not want to hear.
“You need to listen to me!” he hissed sharply at me. “You’re right. No one trusts you because you… you served her willingly. But if it was seen that-”
“You disgust me.” I knew better than to shout it, but I shouldn’t have said it at all.
I had a hundred reasons for feeling that way. Some would say he was pretty enough. I would say he looked like me. Some would say he was a trustworthy and fair man. I saw someone who whipped a woman and then cried his apologies to be little more than a hypocrite.
I knew him well by now. I knew he tried to be fair. He tried to be kind. In his position it would never be easy, and that was admirable as well, but trying to manipulate me this way was low.
“If you want me, if you care for me, just say it, and let me accept and reject you by my own will. You do not have the right to force me.”
“It’s for your sake-”
“Don’t do me favors!”
“I do think it would be good, not just look good,” he said awkwardly. “I respect your competence, and I rely on your fearlessness, and I would be happy to…”
It wasn’t as if I even knew how a declaration of affection was supposed to go, but I was disappointed with his.
“I already said I don’t want you.” That was too sharp and too loud, and he stepped up to me and grabbed my arm.
“Don’t do this. They’re all watching you. What will they think?”
I jerked my arm from his grip. “You may be my boss, but you cannot make me do this.”
Emma could make me do this, had made me. Her sister could have. The marchioness could have. But Aaron had no power over me anymore. “If you try to force me, I can speak with Mr. Cage. I can go over your head.”
Mr. Cage knew my number off by heart. The cook and the housekeeper both called for me specifically (and by name, thanks to Kurt’s introductions). I had power.
It was only later that I would realize that this was the most inappropriate thing I could ever have said in the refectory. It was foolish, and it nearly killed me.
* * *
I wasn’t speaking to Aaron except for terse exchanges of instructions, and he hadn’t asked me to fill in the menial chores that the slaves were too afraid to do for a few days, so I was surprised when he knocked on my door, one night, late, past curfew.
His eyes were always cold when he looked at me now. “Your mistress needs assistance. Bring a mop and a bucket.”
The ‘your mistress’ was new, and bit into me like the lash. It wasn’t as if she had called for me. It wasn’t as if I had even seen her in the past week. She was busy, and I was kept running errands in the working part of the house.
I had no idea what had happened.
It was the footman Jessica who told me. She stopped me in the hall on the way to my mistress’ room. Her leather gloves and the sweat on her face suggested that she had been the one to drive her home. She put her hand on my shoulder, which was a surprise, because she had always been disgusted by me, for multiple reasons.
“Don’t bother her,” she said harshly, looking me in the eyes. “You go in there, clean, and get out. Don’t even look at her. She’s been shamed enough today.”
My eyes widened. “What happened?”
Jessica wrinkled her nose, and pulled her hand from me as if I burnt. “It’s none of your business.”
That was true enough. I looked away and made to start down the hall again. But her voice made me pause.
“You know she’s been working nonstop. She was putting together a bill, trying to get support for it.” Jessica shook her head. “That bitch got up today, rescinded her support, and drove it into the ground.”
I closed my eyes. It wasn’t difficult to guess who she meant by ‘that bitch.’ If I had to choose an epithet for the marchioness, I would have selected the same one.
It was the scent that tipped me off when I stepped into the dim room, of what my task was going to be. Liquor and vomit had never seemed that distinct from each other, but the blend was still better than vomit and blood.
Emma was sprawled across her bed, still dressed, making little moaning noises of discomfort.
I tackled the bathroom first, as that was the worst of it. Her office was a disaster as well though. It looked like she had raged through it and ripped up her files. I just put most of it in a pile. It wasn’t my job to decide what she should keep and what she should discard.
The trouble was, Emma herself, smelled like a bar. Jessica might want to protect her, but I was not impressed by this method of dealing with her problems. From the cook’s previous comment about her sister’s drinking habits, I assumed it was a familial issue, but if so, it was even less excusable. One should attempt to overcome one’s family’s failings, not imitate them.
I finished tidying up her room, but I didn’t feel comfortable leaving her like that. She didn’t have any signs of alcohol poisoning, but she was coughing every once in a while, and would grimace afterwards, like there was a bad taste in her throat. She mumbled for water, and I brought her some. She didn’t look at me or seem to wonder where the water came from, but she hardly opened her eyes, just enough to make a weak flail for the glass and spill on herself.
I sat on the edge of the bed as she drank and then tried to find the side table with the glass without opening her eyes.
“I could have told you she was only trying to manipulate you,” I said, as I guided her hand towards the table. Emma put the pillow over her head and turned away from me. “You didn’t ask me.” I shook my head. “No reason to ask me.”
I wrinkled my nose when she turned, because it was clear the sheets hadn’t been changed in a while, and she had been sick enough that her clothes stunk.
“You can’t sleep like this.”
She curled into herself, turning away from me, and muttered something like, “go away.”
I muscled her out of the bed and into the bathroom. She complained like a sleepy child, but didn’t resist.
“I don’t know what your legislation was about, but it wasn’t worth this. She wasn’t worth this.”
I stripped her. She was more pliant than when I was offering her sex, and I shoved her into the shower without resistance. She shrieked when the water hit her, but it warmed up quickly, and she stood there, swaying slightly on her feet. I wasn’t entirely certain if she was awake, but I left her there and went to change the sheets on her bed and find something clean for her to wear.
She hadn’t washed at all when I got back, so I made sure her hair was clean. This required me getting half into the shower with her, so I was mostly drenched by the time she was suitably hygienic.
“You need to pay attention to the effects your actions have on other people. For a telepath you aren’t very sensitive.”
I dried her off and dressed her. “Wallowing is not an effective way of dealing with your problems,” I scolded her. “And what idiot took you drinking?”
She leaned weakly into my shoulder, mumbling incomprehensible half responses to my criticisms, until I put her into her clean bed. She wasn’t coughing anymore and looked much more comfortable. I, on the other hand, was damp and sweaty.
I was about to leave and glanced back, standing at the door. Her wet hair was sticking to her face and the pillow and she seemed to have already fallen asleep.
I hadn’t been afraid of her for a moment. I hadn’t even thought of it. How could you be afraid of someone so undeniably human, mutant powers or not?
“You deserve better than her,” I said quietly. “I can’t say I’m a better option, because honestly, I’m not. But you deserve better because you are better.” I shook my head. What evidence did I have for that? The whole downstairs would disagree with me. “Maybe not are, but can be. I believe that,” I frowned. “For no good reason. But I believe it.”
“Fuck off,” Emma mumbled and pulled the pillow over her head.”
* * *