Thanksgiving, 2 years later
Title: Danny Zuko Timestamps: Thanksgiving, 2 Years Later
Author: Alsike
Fandom: X-Men/Criminal Minds x-over
Pairing: Emma Frost/Emily Prentiss
Rating: R
AN/Disclaimer: Not my girls.
Word Count: 1393
Apologies: The first timestamp, angsty as hell.
It was sort of awkward to be in college and still have her mother wrangling invitations to Thanksgiving for her when she was going to be out of the country. And if it hadn’t been an invitation to the Frosts’ Emily probably would have just stayed in the dorm for break. Maybe it was just morbid curiosity, but there was no way she wasn’t going. She handed her overnight bag to the servant that had opened the door and looked up, catching sight of Emma on the balcony just as she disappeared through a doorway.
She joined the party, taking a flute of champagne, happy that there were a lot of people she didn't know there, and hoping that none of them would recognize her even if they did know her mother. She waited for Emma to come down, and when she did she just watched. She watched her all through dinner, distracted enough that Cordelia had to stab her hand with a fork to make her pass the Cabernet.
There was something wrong with Emma, that was really fucking obvious. It had been a while since Emily had seen her, over a year, but there were some things about Emma that really shouldn't change. The most important one was her gaze, straight and blatant and unashamed. That was Emma, and this girl, who wouldn’t look up, who sat hunched in her jacket and loose jeans was not Emma. She was sixteen, she was supposed to be flirty and gossipy and wearing skanky clothing, not dark-colored shirts with long sleeves. She tried to disappear upstairs right after dinner, but Emily skipped pie and caught up to her outside her bedroom door.
“Emma-“
But she didn’t stop. Emily grabbed her arm to halt her and Emma flinched away.
Emily dropped her wrist as if it had burned her, and her flinch kind of had. They were supposed to be friends, even if Emma had stopped her sporadic correspondence a couple of months ago.
“Hey,” she tried, doing everything she could to make it sound normal.
“I don’t really feel like hanging out,” Emma muttered into her collar. “And I’m straight now.”
Emily didn’t laugh; in the context it wasn’t really laughable. “I just wanted to catch up. You haven’t written me in a while.”
Emma shrugged.
“Are you okay?”
When she looked up, Emma’s eyes were wide and a little frightened, but she quickly ducked away again. “Of course. I’m fine,” she said, a little brittle, but getting stronger, until it almost had her usual defensive snap.
Emily faked a smile. “I didn’t see Christian at dinner. Is he coming at all this weekend?”
And then it was like something in Emma broke; maybe it was the lies. Her face emptied of color and strength like someone had taken a shovel and scooped it out. “No,” she said weakly. “He’s never coming back.”
“Why?”
Emma’s lips tightened and she gave a shrug as if it should be obvious. “Because our father found out. He beat his boyfriend to within an inch of his life and when Christian wouldn’t go to hetero camp he kicked him out and cut him off.”
“Oh god, I’m sorry.”
“Why should you be sorry!” Emma nearly screamed it. “Your mom knows you're a faggot and she doesn’t give a fuck. You’re not spending your life waiting for your family to turn on you and decide that it’s time to destroy you!”
“Emma!” Emily grabbed her arms and pinned them to her sides, then pulled her close into a hug. ‘Not giving a fuck’ was seriously not how she would describe her mother’s attitude, but that wasn’t important now. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for Christian and I’m sorry you’re scared and I wish you had called me because you shouldn’t have had to deal with this alone.”
Emma was sobbing into her shoulder and Emily quietly clicked the lock of the door behind them and lifted her just enough to move her to the bed. She laid her down and curled in next to her. Emma’s fingers were buried deeply into her arms, but she didn’t care, even if it would bruise. “What good would you have been?” Emma muttered bitterly into her chest.
“I dunno,” Emily whispered. “Just… If you had wanted to run away I could have reminded you that you can come to me. I promised you that, remember?”
Emma’s grip loosened on her arms and she seemed to curl into herself, even paler than she had been before. “No, I can’t. I…” She looked sick.
And this was what Emily was scared of. She was scared it was something so bad that she couldn’t even try to fix it. It was bad that Christian was gone, but he wasn’t dead. “Hey,” she reached out. Emma rolled away and sat up, wrapping her arms around her legs and looking away from her.
“I had sex with a guy,” she said, sharply, but not quite with the tone she would have used if she was proud of it.
But it was still like a punch in the gut. Emily sat up, turning the other way, not wanting Emma to see her ugly expression if she happened to look back. “Yeah?” she snapped, harshly, like she didn’t care.
Emma swiveled and slapped her. Emily’s hand went to her cheek and she stared at Emma’s pale face, red eyes, and the tense lines by her mouth. She looked betrayed. “I-“
“If you fucking say you’re sorry-“
Emily halted her apologies. It wouldn’t be enough anyways. “Are you okay?”
Emma looked away. “Yeah.” She shrugged. “I said yes. I just… He was drunk, and I thought he was less likely to get pissed if I just said yes.”
“Emma,” it was almost a whimper.
“And you were gone for a long time.” Emma started to cry quietly. “You were gone, and your letters suck, and you know how to do stuff like make friends and meet nice people, and you were always going to find someone nicer than me. And I wish I hadn’t. It hurt, and it wasn’t good at all, and I feel disgusting all the time and I don’t want people to look at me, and I couldn’t call you, or write you, but you didn’t write me. And Christian was gone, and I just wanted to see if I didn’t have to be different, didn’t have to depend on you for everything.”
“I love you,” Emily whispered.
“Shut the fuck up! You don’t have any idea what that feels like!” And Emma was so certain and so desperate.
“You do?”
“Yeah. I do.”
And Emily leaned in and Emma met her halfway.
The kiss hurt, but they didn’t stop. They devoured each other’s mouths, fingers digging into clothes, pulling apart seams and popping off buttons, hands finding secret half forgotten places. Emily had a moment of hesitation when Emma’s hands slid up under her shirt and her hips ground into her, so clearly desperate for more, and she thought it might be wrong to do it, when she was hurt, but Emma’s kisses were hot and wet and she sucked hard on her lower lip, and she couldn’t stop.
“Show me you feel it,” Emma hissed into her neck. Emily’s hands were splayed over her ass, and she froze at the quiet words, then she flipped Emma over and moved her weight on top of her, sliding a knee between her legs and leaning in for a kiss.
Emma cried a little as they fought for dominance, but Emily had something to prove. She opened Emma’s jeans, sliding them down off her hips and all the way off, then her underwear, and spread her legs. Emma jerked slightly, as if she wasn’t totally okay with it.
“Is this alright?” Emily asked, pressing a soft kiss to her abdomen.
“Yeah,” Emma managed weakly. “It’s totally fine.”
“Good,” Emily threw her a lazy smile. “I missed the way you taste.”
They didn’t stop that night, until they passed out around dawn, Emma’s blonde head pillowed on Emily’s chest. “I really do love you,” Emily murmured into her hair. It wasn’t funny, but she couldn’t help how desperately and irrevocably she cared about this girl.
But when she left the next day, she left alone.