Danny Zuko Timestamps: The End
Title: Danny Zuko Timestamps: The End
Author: Alsike
Fandom: X-Men/Criminal Minds x-over
Pairing: Emma Frost/Emily Prentiss
Rating: NC-17
AN/Disclaimer: Not my girls.
Word Count: ~2900
Apologies: I've really, really been trying to get this done, and I'm so sorry for going AWOL, but grad school? It's kind of a lot of work. I had 20 hours of homework last weekend. This weekend I was just awesome and managed to get 80 pages of syntax read before 11 AM on Saturday. And there is way too much socializing! I don't know how people get anything done. But yay! Here it is, finally, the end of Danny Zuko!
And props to mayireadtoday , who had it pegged from the beginning.
Emma’s 22nd Birthday
The year after Michael’s death
Emma was kind of counting the days now, second guessing herself every few weeks, and calling, and being incredibly bitchy on the phone, and not apologizing, and demanding information about what Emily was doing, what she was thinking. Emily was fine though. She was putting her life back together, after screwing it up by abandoning her job and running off to Spain for six months.
“Well, you didn’t run off to get married, at least. So you’re not an idiot.”
Emily laughed, managing to actually laugh at her stupid comments again, even the ones that had way too much to do with Michael. “It’s still kind of hard to get around on my resume.”
But she had managed to get some sort of interview at least, doing translating and logistics for the Immigrants’ Rights division of the ACLU. And the office was in Philadelphia, so that was something at least.
“So I’m graduating in like three months. I got into a program at NYU.”
There was a tense interval of silence.
“You’re coming home?” And that one hit right where it hurt. Emma was damn glad she was on the phone and Emily couldn’t see her face.
“I’m moving back to the states. I’m not moving back in with my dad.”
“I- I didn’t mean that.”
“I know.” There was another moment of quiet. She didn’t know how to read this. She wanted to know what it meant, what it was supposed to be. “You’re happy?” she asked.
“I’m happy.”
There was another long pause then. “Okay,” Emma said finally. “Okay. I’m happy too.”
* * *
Tabitha glanced up and smiled. “You’re in a good mood today.”
Emily closed her mouth and smiled awkwardly. She was talking a bit more than usual. “I guess I am.”
“Want to tell me why?”
“Oh,” Emily shrugged, but couldn’t help the grin. “Emma’s coming home.”
Unexpectedly, Tabitha looked hesitant. “Cordelia’s sister Emma?”
Emily frowned, confused. “Yeah.” Cordelia had introduced them. She had said, “Emily, I know you said you don’t want anyone, but this girl isn’t into serious, and she’s really hot. You will enjoy it.” And she had.
“Oh.” Tabitha smiled. “That’s good. I’m happy for you.”
Emily blinked, nonplussed.
“I guess we probably shouldn’t do this anymore.”
“What? Why?”
Tabitha shook her head. “Cordelia told me about you and Emma.”
“We broke up.”
“You said she’s coming home.”
“I didn’t mean to me.” But her mouth twitched at the words. She pressed her lips together and looked away. “I don’t know what we’re doing. I thought she was making me wait for something, until the story was right, until it was logical, until it wouldn’t be too hard, so it would last and we could make it. But I thought… I thought we had hit that time when Michael died. I thought she understood how I was so scared to let her go again that I didn’t let her leave the room for nearly a week. She took me to the funeral, finally, and I started putting myself back together, but I thought it wouldn’t have to be without her. And now she’s coming home but I don’t know if that means she’s decided that we've had enough time and she wants me back, or if it’s just a coincidence, and she’s finally done with school and wants to come back so she can teach here.”
“Does it matter? You've had enough time, and she told you she’s coming back. This is probably the best chance you have. Take it.”
* * *
Emily drove up the weekend she flew in, and helped haul boxes and furniture up six floors and drove her around, shopping for the things she needed and the things she hadn’t brought back with her from France.
That evening they collapsed on the just-purchased sofa with a jug of Thunderbird and Morroccan take out, and Emma leaned back against the arm, tucking up her feet, and just watched. Emily felt eyes on her and glanced over, a little hesitant, but never afraid.
“Lentils?”
“You seeing anyone?” Emma asked, and wondered how much she had already had to drink.
Emily gave an awkward smile and shrugged. “Not anymore. There was a girl, but it ended a couple of months ago.”
“Yeah?”
“It was never that serious to begin with. I met her through Cordelia, before Selene took her out of rehab.”
“One of Cordelia’s picks?”
Emily laughed. “Hey, the sex was really hot. Ballerinas are insanely flexible.”
Emma snorted. “Definitely one of Cordelia’s.” But her eyes skittered over Emily’s relaxed form and she wondered. Her mouth twisted slightly. “Why’d it end?”
Emily flinched, eyes wide like a deer about to be splattered over the pavement by an oncoming car. “It just- did.”
“You’re a shitty liar,” Emma drawled and gestured for her to offer her glass up to be refilled.
“Fine. She heard you were coming back and decided to save me the trouble of breaking up with her. I’ve never been preemptively dumped before. Cordelia apparently told her way too much about whatever she thinks about ‘us.’”
Emma harrumphed. “Bitch. It’s not like she wasn’t impaired ninety percent of the time I saw her when you were around.”
“I think I was a shitty roommate.”
“I don’t know. Frosts tend to be good at hiding the fact they’re blitzed. And, as you so presciently pointed out when you were fifteen and met my mother, we have the addiction gene.” Emma flashed a half-sly, half-apologetic smile. “Why do you think I haven’t been able to give you up?”
Emily snorted and rolled her eyes. “You can just say you want to have sex, you really don’t need to flatter me first.”
Emma laughed and crawled across the couch to sit in her lap. “You don’t think I can be romantic?”
“If comparing me to your sister’s heroin addiction is exemplary? No.” But she set down the half-finished glass of rotgut and curled her fingers around Emma’s waist. Emma grinned and leaned in until the tips of their noses brushed. She twisted a lock of Emily’s hair contemplatively around her finger.
“Okay,” she said, in something approaching a whisper, and leaned closer to her ear. “I want to go to bed with you.” I want it every night.
She didn’t say it. She just caught Emily’s lower lip in her teeth, biting just hard enough to hurt, and tugging. A small sound released from Emily’s chest and she tilted her head up, offering her mouth to be kissed. So Emma kissed her, and stopped asking questions.
Emily’s hands were cool as they ran up her back, under her shirt, and Emma closed her eyes, breathing into her mouth, and wished she could hold tighter, wished Emily would never let her go.
* * *
It was a good year. Emma was still busy with school and Emily was settling into her job, but sometimes Emily would drive up on weekends, and sometimes Emma would take the train down. They would sleep late and stay in bed until later, and then go out, shopping or museums or playing tennis or getting drunk or eating at disgusting ethnic restaurants that Emily could find without a map, and it was almost like that summer again. It was almost perfect.
But every Sunday afternoon was awful, every time they had to go back, had to remember that it was still just the occasional weekend, just like it had been for years. And she couldn’t say it, she couldn’t say ‘don’t see anyone else,’ couldn’t say, ‘don’t make plans that will take you farther away from me,’ or ‘time’s up now, game over.’
Emma had come back from Paris because Emily had had enough time to find someone else and she was still muddling around, calling her occasionally, being generally sweet and utterly irresistible, and she couldn’t handle it anymore. So she had come home. But Emily wouldn’t take the fucking hint already.
If the interview went well, she’d tell her, Emma told herself. But Emily wasn’t home afterwards, so she found the key, let herself in, and decided to wait.
* * *
Ten years after
“You’re in the hospital? Emily!”
“I’m fine! I was out for like thirty seconds!”
“How the fuck did you get on the wrong end of a thrown rock, you idiot?”
“The protesters were blockading city hall. I was just trying to get out so I could get lunch.”
“You didn’t think to use the back door?”
Emily sighed. “They’re just keeping me overnight. We should wrap up the meetings tomorrow and be home by nightfall.”
Emma scowled into the phone. “Why are they keeping you overnight?”
“I don’t know! To make sure I don’t have a blood clot or something. Christ, Emma. I’m trying not to panic here. I hate hospitals.”
“I know,” Emma said softly. “Sorry.”
“It's okay. How’s your job hunt going?”
“I actually had an interview today,” Emma said, a little musingly. “I think it went well.”
“A high school?”
“Yeah, college prep. It’s for French, and,” she laughed a little. “They need a tennis coach.”
Emily laughed. “When are you visiting next? I want a rematch.”
“Oh please. You still suck. There’s no way you’ll beat me.” Emma glanced around the pleasant living room she was in. It wasn’t her fault if Emily didn’t know how to hide a key.
“Yeah, but come soon. I miss you,” Emily said softly and a little groggily.
“Your pain meds clearly want you to sleep.”
“Yeah…”
“I miss you too.”
* * *
The delegation got back late, and Emily got a ride home, still too groggy from the pain meds.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Casey asked her as she let her out.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just gonna sleep for three days. I can never really rest in the hospital.”
Emily let herself in and froze on the threshold, looking at the stack of luggage sitting next to her sofa, the extra pair of shoes next to her own and the fresh scent of Indian takeout.
Slipping off her shoes she padded through the dark house and mounted the stairs to her bedroom. Emma was splayed out over the bed on her stomach, face buried in the pillows, fingers curled into the sheets by her head.
“Hey,” Emily whispered, touching the side of her face. “You’re going to have to shove over. No hogging the whole bed.”
Emma murmured vague acquiescence and didn’t move an inch. Emily laughed quietly and got a quick shower before pulling on underwear and a t-shirt for bed. Emma woke up a little more when Emily moved her forcibly to make room.
“Emry,”
“Hey stranger.”
“I got the job,” Emma murmured, wrapping herself around Emily like a limpet.
“Awesome.”
“Yeah. ‘s like six blocks from here.”
“What?” Emily hadn’t even known it was in this city.
“Mhm. Can't get rid of me now.”
“I could never get rid of you,” Emily whispered, but Emma was already asleep.
* * *
“I threw out your coffee maker. It was vile.” Emma said dropping onto the bed and handing Emily a cup of espresso.
“You… threw out my coffee maker.” Emily took a sip of the espresso and sighed. It was thick and bitter and absolutely perfect. It made her miss Europe like nothing else. “So you’re going to make me this every morning?”
“Not weekends.”
“Wait… not on weekends?”
Emma shrugged. “Well, I have to be at work by seven thirty, and you don’t go in until nine, so it’s not a big deal. But I’m sleeping in on weekends.”
“So you’re going to come here and make me coffee?”
Emma just looked at her as if she were stupid.
“You’re moving in,” Emily said flatly. It wasn’t a question.
“Well,” Emma grinned. “Technically, I’ve already moved in. I just need to unpack.”
A week or so later
“Emily, darling. Look, I know you’re still young, and that I shouldn’t worry. But I don’t want you to be lonely.”
Emma wandered into the room and raised an eyebrow. “My mom,” Emily mouthed. Emma grinned and dropped onto the couch and put her feet in her lap. “Foot rub,” she commanded. Emily obeyed.
“I’m not lonely, mom.”
“You haven’t been in a serious relationship since that British boy died.”
Emily rolled her eyes and made Emma squeak by digging her thumbs into her arches. “Michael was never my boyfriend, mom. He was gay. And I dated after he died.” She hadn’t mentioned Tabitha to her mother, since it really had been for the sex.
“I just don’t know if you’re open anymore.”
Emma snickered at the expression Emily made.
“Look, mom. Do you remember Emma?”
“Emma?” There was a pause. “Do you mean that delinquent Frost girl that you were obsessed with when you were fifteen? I heard she was very rude to her father and then left the country. I always liked the other one better, the one that lived with you in New York. What was her name?”
“Cordelia,” Emily said flatly. “The one that got addicted to drugs, whored her way into two bad slasher movies, and then became the sex slave of one of the most powerful women in New York?”
“Emily! Don’t say those kind of things!”
“She called me the other day,” added Emma, conversationally. “She’s going to be in another movie. Some Indie flick that an ex-stripper friend of hers made.”
Emily covered the mouthpiece. “Still clean?”
Emma shrugged. “She’s still with Selene. If I were with that crazy bitch I’d have to be on something.”
“Is there someone there with you, Emily?”
“I was trying to tell you, mom. Emma-“
“Tell her we’re getting married,” Emma said, laughing. Emily pressed the phone to her chest and frowned.
“Don’t you think that you moving your ass in here is enough? And anyways, when I freak her out that much, it’s not going to be a joke.”
Emma grinned. “No? You planning on getting down on one knee? Because yesterday you were trying to kick me out. Oh, oh, tell her I’ve finally gotten out of prison and have decided to go straight by setting up a tattoo parlor in the back of your house.”
Emily glowered. “Will you ever grow up?”
“Are you kidding? I teach high school.”
“What was that?” Elizabeth asked sharply. “Something about marriage and prison?”
Emily groaned. “Nothing. Just, Emma got a job here, so-“
“You’ve been seeing her again? Emily! Just because you were childhood friends-“
Emily snorted. “We really weren’t childhood friends.”
“Because the little tramp couldn’t keep her hands off of you!”
Emma grinned as she overheard. “I didn’t realize I had created that strong of an impression. It’s been what? Ten years?”
“You know she can hear you, mom.”
“Why is she in your house? It's past ten on a Monday.”
“She lives here.”
Dead silence was all that hit Emily’s ear.
“Are you trying to give me a heart attack, Emily? It sounded like you said that she lives there.”
“She does.”
“And are you… seeing each other?”
Emma snorted. “Seeing a lot of each other.”
“Shut up,” Emily pinched the skin of her ankle.
Emma kicked her in retaliation. “Seriously, why aren’t you naked right now? I’m actually prepared for tomorrow. I could be fucking you, but you’re talking to your mom.”
“Are you telling me to shut up?”
“No.” Emily scowled. “I was telling Emma. It didn’t work.”
“Are you seeing each other?”
“Yeah.” Emily made a face. “We never totally stopped seeing each other.”
Emma snorted. “Yeah, just the Paris-New York commute kind of sucks. But it wasn’t exclusive, so it wasn’t dating.”
“Are we dating now?” Emily inquired.
“Well, you haven’t taken me out yet.”
“I never took you out the first time.”
“Yeah, but I was fourteen. I had no standards. And you did take me out. You kept making me eat Mexican food.”
“Oh! There’s this incredible Transylvanian restaurant downtown. Friday?”
“Are you serious? Transylvanian food? Is that like blood?”
“Emily!” he mother roared through the phone. “Plan your assignations later! Just tell me you aren’t doing this to spite me?”
“I think you overrate your importance in her life,” Emma snarked.
“Mom. I’m not doing this for any reason except that she moved herself into my house when I was away, and I like her. I’ve always liked her.”
Emma kneaded her lap. “Aww, you’re so sweet. But you seriously want to eat Transylvanian food? Because that could be a deal-breaker between us.”
“That’s because you have no adventuresome spirit.”
“I teach high school!”
“Emily!”
“I’m really not lonely, mom. I have to go. My girlfriend will continue to be irritating unless I take her to bed.”
Emma snorted. “You going to rip my bodice too?”
“She has to get up early,” Emily clarified with heavy emphasis.
Elizabeth sighed. “Go on, enjoy your carnal youth. But good sex is not something to build a relationship on.”
“Yes, mom,” Emily said dutifully, and said goodbye.
Emma scooted into her lap when she hung up and hooked her arm around her neck. “Well, if you can’t build a relationship on good sex, it’s lucky ours is excellent.”
Emily laughed and kissed her.
She tasted like summer.
FIN