Vengeance
Title: Fake Empire Side Story: Emily's Notebooks volume II (pt 15): Vengeance
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, Hygiene, Pride, Lust
Original Fake Empire Stories
The climax.
Aaron was still displeased with me for what I had said about the grout, and when he had no other responsibilities for me, he would assign me to work teams. Being on a team meant I was theoretically subordinate to the leader, but it became clear that I was merely on the outside. The leader would make his least favorite team member give me my task, while he would speak in rough whispers to another.
It was the whispers and the eyes that made me uncomfortable. When they looked at me in silent disgust it was one thing, but now they seemed to be evaluating me, and although I did my work, I tried not to say incendiary things, I knew I would eventually fail. I had always failed in their eyes.
When I spoke with Kurt (my reduced free time interfered with our lessons, but we managed to find a few moments to talk) I could see them watching me and shaking their heads. I wanted to smack them with their own ignorance. Emma was one thing, hate the one who owns you, who directs your life, who has the ability to kill you with a thought, and would do so if she thought it was worth the bother. But Kurt did not deserve their hatred.
I needed his friendship. There was something worrying JJ, I could tell, but she would not confide in me. She cried sometimes at night, but she would violently resist any comfort or even a direct order to explain.
The tension downstairs seemed to increase day by day. The fear they had had after the incident that had been instigated by my whipping had faded and was replaced by hatred and anger. I felt that it would only take a single incident to set them off.
And then that incident occurred.
* * *
I had been assigned to the dining service, and charged with cleaning the rug while the others set the table and polished the silver. It had been somewhat awkward, because JJ was assigned to the same service and was not speaking to me.
And then Emma came home early. It was only an hour or so before her usual arrival time, but the other slaves hated to be blindsided by her presence. And they particularly hated her coming into a room where they were working. But she had developed the habit of looking for me and sauntered into the dining room as if this was something completely normal.
Everyone froze. I shot her a dark look. She shouldn’t be here. I was uncertain if she read my mind, but she seemed to laugh at my accusatory expression. She was just passing through, heading towards the far door, she seemed to say with her body.
I was near the far door and I rolled my eyes at her nonchalant attitude. She laughed silently at my expression. And then she reached me, I was certain she was moving past me and towards the door, when suddenly she was there, at my side, and I looked up, already shocked, and she pressed her lips to mine.
She kissed me absently, as if she had forgotten that she wasn’t supposed to. It was barely a kiss, just a moment long, an afterthought, but it was enough.
JJ dropped the tray of silverware she was carrying. It crashed jarringly on the floor. Emma glanced up and considered the surprise on everyone’s faces. Then she looked at me. I was too stunned to move. Heat suffused my face and I couldn’t tell whether it was with humiliation or arousal. The tops of her cheeks started to flush and she touched my arm. Later, she said, pushing it right into my head, and then turned and strode out, attempting to regain some of her confident carriage.
Everyone saw. Everyone knew that I had crossed those lines, and everyone hated me again.
Then they cornered me in the boiler room.
* * *
It was Cyrus and two other men, one bearing a heavy bag of soil. He came up behind me and swung it, hitting me in the backs of my knees and causing me to collapse. Then he brought it down on my back, knocking the wind out of me.
Then he stepped back and they waited for me to recover and get to my feet.
“She’ll kill you for this,” I hissed, still not thinking before I spoke.
Cyrus smiled. He stepped towards me, his body flush against mine, his thumb brushing across my cheek. “Do you really think so? Do you think if you don’t come the next time she calls, she’ll come looking for her slut?”
I swallowed hard. “Are you going to kill me?”
“That seems like a waste to me,” he purred and glanced back at the man with the bag. “Doesn’t it to you?”
He smirked and nodded.
“We just want you to scream when she touches you.”
“How can you not be afraid of what she’ll do to you?”
“Because she won’t get a chance. When she finally remembers you and thinks to look down here, she’ll be dead the moment she sets foot on the stairs. We’re waiting.”
“What?”
“She took everything from me. She took away my dignity, and now I’m going to get it back.” He palmed my breasts, groping them roughly. “I wonder how long it will take her to remember you. Perhaps we’ll lock you in here, keep you for our own use, until you starve.”
I lashed out at him, more nails and shock than force, but I scratched his face deeply enough to make it bleed. He tore the bag of soil out of the other man’s hand and swung it into my stomach, the force slamming me back against the wall.
I cried out in my mind for Emma, but I was no telepath, and I was trapped and isolated in my own mind.
Cyrus brought the bag down overhand, towards my neck and I attempted to block it with my arm. The blow nearly wrenched my shoulder from its socket. I fell to my hands and knees, begging silently for someone to help me.
And then with a sound like a small explosion, Kurt appeared in a cloud of blue smoke. “Ah…” he examined the scene with bewilderment. “Emily… my lady sent me to look for you.”
“The rat! Get him!”
Cyrus pulled an ugly weapon from his belt, a long jagged blade like that of a machete, and lunged for him. There was hardly any room to dodge in the cramped boiler room, and I couldn’t let him be hurt. Though half prone I managed to jerk forward and wrap my arms around Cyrus’ knees, bringing us both to the floor.
“You bitch!” One of the other men was on my back, grabbing my hair and jerking my head up, the edge of a knife sliding across my throat. I spared one thought to wonder where on earth they had gotten these weapons, and another to face the immediacy of my death. I would die there. I wouldn’t be raped at least, a small comfort, but I would die.
Suddenly a blue pointed tail wrapped around the knife and the man’s wrist and jerked it away from my throat. I rose up, shoving the man off of me, and reached out, catching Kurt’s proffered hand.
And with a bang we disappeared.
* * *
We reappeared in the library, I stumbled away from Kurt, shocked and motion-sick, and fell into Emma who caught me like it was a surprise.
I told them quickly about the threats, about the plans, and Kurt quickly left and he and the other footmen put the entire downstairs into lockdown.
I had to tell the story again to Mr. Cage, Emma pacing along the edges of the room, and then things started happening with a speed I could barely comprehend.
The downstairs was cleared, the weapons caches taken away and destroyed. The slaves were all locked in the cafeteria and any found outside of it were killed on sight. When the entire downstairs had been ripped apart, walls torn down, flooring torn up, people’s personal possessions burnt, the interviews began.
I watched them. Not by choice, but my mistress never gave me permission to leave.
If they were resistant they were drugged, given a sedative to make them compliant, and Kurt and Jessica would bring them into the room. Then my mistress would break open their mind and discover their knowledge of the plot, their degree of support for it, and their ability to be broken.
JJ cried. She had just known enough to be afraid, and she had known it was a threat to me, but felt helpless in the face of everyone’s determination.
The ringleaders were separated from the followers, and the few who had not been involved, due to some complications in their thoughts, whether a dislike of violence, or a familial link to mutants which they had hidden among their fellows, were spared.
The followers were sold.
The ringleaders were executed.
I watched the executions from a high balcony, near where Emma stood, also watching, her eyes hard and cold.
It wasn’t until they put the bag on Cyrus’ head and turned him to face the wall that I realized I had become exactly what Irina told me I would.
I had done it without doubt, without hesitation. My own life had been in danger, but I had known that for long enough and done nothing about it. When Emma’s life had been threatened, I had chosen to send them to their deaths.
Was I protecting the greater part over the majority? I could not say that, for there were so few left here, even if less than half had actually been killed.
I had chosen to protect my mistress alone, but my rationale was simple. My fate was tied to hers. It was by none of my doing, nor of hers. I was always an outcast from my own kind, and as there was no one else willing to open her arms to me, I had to protect the only thing I had left.
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, Hygiene, Pride, Lust
Original Fake Empire Stories
The climax.
Aaron was still displeased with me for what I had said about the grout, and when he had no other responsibilities for me, he would assign me to work teams. Being on a team meant I was theoretically subordinate to the leader, but it became clear that I was merely on the outside. The leader would make his least favorite team member give me my task, while he would speak in rough whispers to another.
It was the whispers and the eyes that made me uncomfortable. When they looked at me in silent disgust it was one thing, but now they seemed to be evaluating me, and although I did my work, I tried not to say incendiary things, I knew I would eventually fail. I had always failed in their eyes.
When I spoke with Kurt (my reduced free time interfered with our lessons, but we managed to find a few moments to talk) I could see them watching me and shaking their heads. I wanted to smack them with their own ignorance. Emma was one thing, hate the one who owns you, who directs your life, who has the ability to kill you with a thought, and would do so if she thought it was worth the bother. But Kurt did not deserve their hatred.
I needed his friendship. There was something worrying JJ, I could tell, but she would not confide in me. She cried sometimes at night, but she would violently resist any comfort or even a direct order to explain.
The tension downstairs seemed to increase day by day. The fear they had had after the incident that had been instigated by my whipping had faded and was replaced by hatred and anger. I felt that it would only take a single incident to set them off.
And then that incident occurred.
* * *
I had been assigned to the dining service, and charged with cleaning the rug while the others set the table and polished the silver. It had been somewhat awkward, because JJ was assigned to the same service and was not speaking to me.
And then Emma came home early. It was only an hour or so before her usual arrival time, but the other slaves hated to be blindsided by her presence. And they particularly hated her coming into a room where they were working. But she had developed the habit of looking for me and sauntered into the dining room as if this was something completely normal.
Everyone froze. I shot her a dark look. She shouldn’t be here. I was uncertain if she read my mind, but she seemed to laugh at my accusatory expression. She was just passing through, heading towards the far door, she seemed to say with her body.
I was near the far door and I rolled my eyes at her nonchalant attitude. She laughed silently at my expression. And then she reached me, I was certain she was moving past me and towards the door, when suddenly she was there, at my side, and I looked up, already shocked, and she pressed her lips to mine.
She kissed me absently, as if she had forgotten that she wasn’t supposed to. It was barely a kiss, just a moment long, an afterthought, but it was enough.
JJ dropped the tray of silverware she was carrying. It crashed jarringly on the floor. Emma glanced up and considered the surprise on everyone’s faces. Then she looked at me. I was too stunned to move. Heat suffused my face and I couldn’t tell whether it was with humiliation or arousal. The tops of her cheeks started to flush and she touched my arm. Later, she said, pushing it right into my head, and then turned and strode out, attempting to regain some of her confident carriage.
Everyone saw. Everyone knew that I had crossed those lines, and everyone hated me again.
Then they cornered me in the boiler room.
* * *
It was Cyrus and two other men, one bearing a heavy bag of soil. He came up behind me and swung it, hitting me in the backs of my knees and causing me to collapse. Then he brought it down on my back, knocking the wind out of me.
Then he stepped back and they waited for me to recover and get to my feet.
“She’ll kill you for this,” I hissed, still not thinking before I spoke.
Cyrus smiled. He stepped towards me, his body flush against mine, his thumb brushing across my cheek. “Do you really think so? Do you think if you don’t come the next time she calls, she’ll come looking for her slut?”
I swallowed hard. “Are you going to kill me?”
“That seems like a waste to me,” he purred and glanced back at the man with the bag. “Doesn’t it to you?”
He smirked and nodded.
“We just want you to scream when she touches you.”
“How can you not be afraid of what she’ll do to you?”
“Because she won’t get a chance. When she finally remembers you and thinks to look down here, she’ll be dead the moment she sets foot on the stairs. We’re waiting.”
“What?”
“She took everything from me. She took away my dignity, and now I’m going to get it back.” He palmed my breasts, groping them roughly. “I wonder how long it will take her to remember you. Perhaps we’ll lock you in here, keep you for our own use, until you starve.”
I lashed out at him, more nails and shock than force, but I scratched his face deeply enough to make it bleed. He tore the bag of soil out of the other man’s hand and swung it into my stomach, the force slamming me back against the wall.
I cried out in my mind for Emma, but I was no telepath, and I was trapped and isolated in my own mind.
Cyrus brought the bag down overhand, towards my neck and I attempted to block it with my arm. The blow nearly wrenched my shoulder from its socket. I fell to my hands and knees, begging silently for someone to help me.
And then with a sound like a small explosion, Kurt appeared in a cloud of blue smoke. “Ah…” he examined the scene with bewilderment. “Emily… my lady sent me to look for you.”
“The rat! Get him!”
Cyrus pulled an ugly weapon from his belt, a long jagged blade like that of a machete, and lunged for him. There was hardly any room to dodge in the cramped boiler room, and I couldn’t let him be hurt. Though half prone I managed to jerk forward and wrap my arms around Cyrus’ knees, bringing us both to the floor.
“You bitch!” One of the other men was on my back, grabbing my hair and jerking my head up, the edge of a knife sliding across my throat. I spared one thought to wonder where on earth they had gotten these weapons, and another to face the immediacy of my death. I would die there. I wouldn’t be raped at least, a small comfort, but I would die.
Suddenly a blue pointed tail wrapped around the knife and the man’s wrist and jerked it away from my throat. I rose up, shoving the man off of me, and reached out, catching Kurt’s proffered hand.
And with a bang we disappeared.
* * *
We reappeared in the library, I stumbled away from Kurt, shocked and motion-sick, and fell into Emma who caught me like it was a surprise.
I told them quickly about the threats, about the plans, and Kurt quickly left and he and the other footmen put the entire downstairs into lockdown.
I had to tell the story again to Mr. Cage, Emma pacing along the edges of the room, and then things started happening with a speed I could barely comprehend.
The downstairs was cleared, the weapons caches taken away and destroyed. The slaves were all locked in the cafeteria and any found outside of it were killed on sight. When the entire downstairs had been ripped apart, walls torn down, flooring torn up, people’s personal possessions burnt, the interviews began.
I watched them. Not by choice, but my mistress never gave me permission to leave.
If they were resistant they were drugged, given a sedative to make them compliant, and Kurt and Jessica would bring them into the room. Then my mistress would break open their mind and discover their knowledge of the plot, their degree of support for it, and their ability to be broken.
JJ cried. She had just known enough to be afraid, and she had known it was a threat to me, but felt helpless in the face of everyone’s determination.
The ringleaders were separated from the followers, and the few who had not been involved, due to some complications in their thoughts, whether a dislike of violence, or a familial link to mutants which they had hidden among their fellows, were spared.
The followers were sold.
The ringleaders were executed.
I watched the executions from a high balcony, near where Emma stood, also watching, her eyes hard and cold.
It wasn’t until they put the bag on Cyrus’ head and turned him to face the wall that I realized I had become exactly what Irina told me I would.
I had done it without doubt, without hesitation. My own life had been in danger, but I had known that for long enough and done nothing about it. When Emma’s life had been threatened, I had chosen to send them to their deaths.
Was I protecting the greater part over the majority? I could not say that, for there were so few left here, even if less than half had actually been killed.
I had chosen to protect my mistress alone, but my rationale was simple. My fate was tied to hers. It was by none of my doing, nor of hers. I was always an outcast from my own kind, and as there was no one else willing to open her arms to me, I had to protect the only thing I had left.