Chapter One : Alpha
Kurt looked surreptitiously around after teleporting to the little red mailbox just outside the mansion's gates. The smell of brimstone hung in the air for a moment before being borne away on the warm breeze. The faster it dissipated, the better; on one particularly still day, old Mrs Macgregor had called the Bayville Fire Department, swearing that "Those hooligans on Xavier's property" were burning wood in a direct violation of local bylaw. A more rational sort would have taken this as a warning not to be so obvious in daily life, but the driveway was long and Kurt just couldn't muster the energy to walk down the stairs, out the door, and all the way down to the edge of the property.
He withdrew an incredibly thick stack of paper from the box, shuffling through them in idle curiosity. Junk, junk, junk, an issue of Seventeen magazine for Kitty, a letter for Rahne postmarked from Scotland, and this month's Playboy addressed to Ray. More junk, Scott's cell phone bill, junk again, a letter for Mrs Macgregor that Kurt debated delivering to her door, the electrical bill... The amount of mail that could accumulate after three days was staggering.
And suddenly, there was a loud honking noise and the sound of screeching tires as a bright red Maserati flew around the corner and headed straight towards the gates, loud music blaring from its radio. Kurt just barely registered the song as he dove out of the way and the heavy metal gates swung open. The sleek sports car didn't even slow down as it barrelled onto the property, leaving skid marks in its berth as it raced towards the doors to the mansion.
Kurt dusted the leaves from his fur, grateful that the image inducer hadn't shorted out after the impact. He scanned the area once more, warily, rubbed his hip, and prepared to teleport back t the mansion to see what the hell all that was about, while the music was still cutting cleanly through the evening.
Would a written invitation signed: "choose now or lose it all," Sedate your hesitation or inflame and make you stall?
Jean watched the newcomer step in with the same feeling of excitement mixed with responsibility that she always did. She loved meeting new people, but also had to acknowledge that she would be given the role of mentor and tour guide for the first few weeks while the new recruit sorted themselves out and integrated with the rest of the student body. This could be as simple as showing them around the grounds, to as involving as sitting in their room at two in the morning, trying to quell a young teen's fear about leaving home and coming to terms with their gifts. She was hoping that this student would fall into the former category.
The girl who crossed their threshold was tall and had fair, unblemished skin. Her legs were long and her body, though slim, was not lacking in curves. With her incredibly blonde hair, she looked like the cover girl for Sports Illustrated's swimsuit issue, or a Victoria's Secret angel. Her face was equally pretty, with high cheekbones, a proportionate nose, full pink lips, and incredibly blue eyes surrounded by thick, dark, eyelashes. She was dressed almost entirely in white, from the low-cut tee that showed off her ample chest to the skinny white jeans that only emphasized the fact that her legs didn't touch. Her heels were high and gold and matched her purse. Everything she wore, from the sunglasses atop her head to those incredible shoes, screamed money.
Emma Frost, from what little the Professor had told her, was a problem case out of Boston that he'd been trying to get a hold of for months. Professor Xavier hadn't said much else about the student, ostensibly so as not to create any premature judgments among the others. So what did Jean know? She could tally the points on one hand.
One, the girl was from Boston. Two, she as telekinetic, much like Jean. Three, she was her age. Four... There was no four. Three things the Professor had told her. and the rest she'd need to learn by actually speaking to the student. Problem case or not, she reasoned, Emma Frost looked pleasant enough. They could talk about their shared abilities, which was usually a good conversation point for those unaware of how the school worked. They could talk about clothes, certainly. And Jean had always wanted to visit Boston. But still, she had her misgivings about going into this relatively uninformed.
The problem was trying to forge a bond without having to dig into a student's mind. Generally speaking, the Professor could fill her in on the student's life, or they'd be the ones approaching the mutant, and she could get a few cues based on the home environment. But this time the girl had come to them, tearing up the driveway in a car that cost as much as college tuition, in the kind of clothes that Jean could only dream of affording. There were very few places she could go with this. She didn't like breaking the level of trust with a new student by scanning their minds without their permission. Sometimes that trust was all that kept them there in the first few days of enrolment, knowing that there was one person in the house who would never use their powers against them, and who would respect their personal space.
"Emma Frost," the Professor said by means of greeting, inclining his head towards the girl, "Welcome to the Institute. I trust your drive here went well?"
"It was fine," the girl replied. Her voice had no trace of a Bostonian accent, to Jean's surprise. "People around here drive like seniors, though."
He laughed. "You'll find that that very peace is what will make Bayville the ideal place for you to fully come to terms with your powers."
"I doubt it." Emma raised an eyebrow. A perfectly plucked, arched, eyebrow. "It already bores me."
"It may at first," The Professor replied with a smile, "but you'll see how exciting things can get soon enough. I'm sure Jean will explain further as she helps you settle in."
"I'll help you with your bags," Jean volunteered with a friendly smile, holding her hand out to the girl. "I'm Jean Grey."
"Professor Xavier already said that," Emma pointed out, giving Jean the curtest possible handshake she had ever received. She had the grip of a businessman. "I can handle my own luggage." As if to punctuate her point, a train of suitcases and duffel bags, all expensive, floated into the foyer behind her and dropped to the ground.
"How about I show you your room, then?"
"Lead the way," said Emma, tapping one foot on the floor.
Jean shook her head and looked at the Professor in despair from behind Emma's back.
She'll come around. She's had a rough time of it, but I'm certain that after you girls bond, she'll fit right in with the rest of the student body.
I hope you're right, Professor.
Helping Emma Frost unpack her bags was probably the worst task Jean Grey had undertaken in her entire stay at the Institute. The girl barely spoke, just flopped down on the bed with her arms behind her head, telekinetically moving her belongings around the room in a gesture that Jean understood on a primal level. She was fighting for dominance, showing off her powers in a way that was meant to unnerve. It was no different than a fight between Wolverine and Sabretooth, two alphas fighting to come out on top.
"Maybe you should give your powers a rest," Jean suggested. If the girl had just recently manifested, her stamina wouldn't be that great. From personal experience, she knew about the excruciating headaches that could result from prolonged usage of untrained abilities.
"I can handle it. Trust me. Get off my bed. It's small enough without you sitting on it."
"You must be having a hard time getting used to Bayville," Jean said kindly. "You must miss Boston a lot."
Emma levelled her with a cold blue gaze the colour of a gas flame. She raised her eyebrow in a gesture that Jean would soon connect with resentment and rage. Nary the ghost of a smile crossed her beautiful face.
"Listen, Joan. This guidance councillor bullshit isn't going to work on me. No kidding, Boston's different compared to Bayville. If you aren't going to help me get my stuff in some kind of reasonable order, you may as well leave and spend this glorious Friday studying algebra ahead of time so you'll have more time to run for student body president when school starts."
Jean's blood boiled, and her roots raised a bit with rage. It was a by-product of her telekinesis and her adrenaline function. Whereas most people would feel their arm hair rise slightly as adrenaline function increased, Jean also felt it in the roots of her hair, which seemed to rise and float away from her head ever so slightly when her temper rose, or when faced with a terrifying or dangerous situation.
As if mocking her, Emma's pale blonde hair mirrored the actions of her own. "You can start with my shoes. Line them up according to heel height."
"I'm sorry?"
"The Professor said you were going to help me. You don't seem to want me to use my abilities, so you may as well get to work."
She waved a manicured hand in her general direction. Her nails were pale pink and long.
"Emma, this may be difficult, but you'll come to see that the Institute is full of people just like you, who'll want to be your friend. You can trust us, I promise." A pair of kitten heels flew neatly into the closet.
"If you want me to trust you, prove your loyalty and put my stuff away without swiping it. Those stilettos are worth more than your life insurance policy." A pair of stunning Louboutains dangled mere inches from Jean's nose.
Her patience was wearing incredibly thin. Every attempt at kindness was being met with attitude, with the kind of cold and calculating snide comments that Jean had never expected from a teenager. A bitter old woman, maybe, but never somebody who seemed to have the world at her fingertips, a girl like Emma Frost.
"Maybe I should get to bed, it's getting late."
"It's eleven o'clock on a Friday, it's not like anybody's going to meet you there, so you may as well do something useful with your time."
"Do you want me to stay and help you, or do you want me to stay and do everything for you? There's a huge difference, you know. Or do you want to be alone?"
"Personally," Emma drawled, twirling silky hair around her fingers, "I don't care what you do. You're bent on making me feel welcome after three hours of sitting here, making stilted, inane conversations, thinking that I might actually care. I don't need to read minds to read character, Jenn, and right now, you're annoying me. Do us both a favour and back off."
Jean's jaw tensed as her scalp prickled again. Then she did something she had never done before: she turned her back on the new recruit and walked calmly out of the room, shutting the door behind her.
Jean had almost forgotten about the incident the next morning as she prepared for breakfast. It was Saturday, probably not a lazy one, she thought, throwing on a pair of yoga pants and a fitted sweatshirt. Whatever Logan had in store for them, it would require a certain amount of comfort. A brush ran through her long hair as she washed her face at the bathroom sink. Telekinesis helped to cut her bathroom time in half, which in a home as crowded as the Institute, was much appreciated.
The sound of laughter greeted her from the dining room as she made her way downstairs. It sounded like almost everyone was awake, though she didn't doubt that some of the boys would be straggling down far later. They'd had quite the video game tournament the night before, lasting until somewhere around four in the morning. She'd joined them for a couple of hours, having been unable to sleep after her infuriating exchange with Emma Frost -
-who, she realized with great shock, seemed to be holding court at the dining room table, surrounded by the other students. She wore some sort of ruffled white tunic that seemed to both float away from her body and cling to her chest, without making her look pregnant. Her hair was smooth and her face radiated without a stitch of makeup. She was laughing, smiling, gesticulating with one hand while engaged in conversation with Scott of all people, occasionally touching his shoulder as if punctuating what she said. Kitty sat next to her, and by the looks of it, the two were getting along just fine. There was a roar of laughter as Emma wound up some sort of wild story about her drive in.
"-so he gave me a free tank of gas!"
Even Scott was shaking his head with an appreciative grin. Stiff, serious, Scott Summers was laughing at that kind of thing? Jean was astounded. Maybe the previous night had just been a case of nerves and anxiety, getting used to a new environment. Maybe Emma had slept off her exhaustion; after all, she had driven the entire route alone. She smiled, relaxed her tense shoulders, and approached the small group.
"Morning everyone," she said, "How did you sleep, Emma?"
She received a cold, blank stare in return. "Like anybody else. Closed my eyes, and when I woke up well.. it was over." Kitty giggled at the dry wit. Jean's smile felt a little more forced.
"Glad to hear it," she said, before pouring herself a cup of coffee from the carafe on the table. She'd need it, if this beginning was any indication of how the day would continue.
"Right." Emma turned to Bobby and tapped the end of his nose with her long index finger. "Hey Popsicle, can you do me a favour?" She asked sweetly. "Can you get me a yoghurt? A girl like me could get lost in a mansion like this."
Jean doubted that, but Bobby seemed to soak it up. He returned from the kitchen in record time, holding a small tub of plain yogurt. He'd even garnished it with fresh berries, which she'd never seen him eat of his own accord. They didn't fit into his four food groups of meat, Cheetos, ice cream, and soda.
"Extra cold, too! You're a doll, Bobby Drake." Emma looked at him through thick lashes as she ate a spoonful slowly, seeming to savour the taste, but there wasn't anything lewd about the gesture. "You are so nice, all of you, welcoming me like this!"
"Like, no problem, Emma!" Kitty said as she stirred her cereal. "Are you going to join us in the Danger Room later?"
"Danger Room? That's cute. Maybe I'll swing by, see if it lives up to its name."
She threw her head back and laughed. Her teeth were even and white. Jean's eyebrows furrowed slightly and her lips pressed against each other.
Jean Grey, mutant abilities and all, had never been bullied before. A lot of it, she had to admit, was probably due to lucky genetics. She wasn't overweight, hadn't suffered debilitating acne or the curse of an early unibrow. Her red hair was well-behaved and she didn't wear glasses over her emerald green eyes. She didn't even have any freckles. There hadn't been anything about her to make fun of, at all, and she didn't go out of her way to antagonize people. She found it easy to mix with others, she liked children, and she was responsible. She didn't break promises and tried her best not to let people down. Her grades were good, but she was also athletic and had a lot of school pride, so she had escaped a nerdy reputation. Even her powers were easily hidden, so as not to draw unwanted attention to herself, which Jean was always incredibly thankful for.
It was something out of Mean Girls. It was infuriating. It was alienating, the way they all flocked around her like bees to a lily. There was always a bustle of activity around the newest student, but the novelty usually wore off in a few days, when basic bonds had been made. But she knew, without reading Emma's mind, that she was playing off them. She wasn't going to dig - that seemed unethical - but there was something off in Emma's sweetness, her gentle flirtation with everyone around her, regardless of age or sex. How could a girl who had been so cold just hours before have warmed up so much, in such a strange environment? It didn't make sense.
It bothered her, now. Everyone seemed to be preoccupied with stories about Emma and her car (which mainly interested the boys, who had seen it in the driveway) or Emma and her vast shopping trips (which kept the girls squealing.) Scott had said good morning and was engaging her in conversation, but even he seemed to be sucked in by Emma's bubbly newness. Jean's stomach churned slightly.
She wasn't one for jealousy, but she couldn't deny the feeling.
Emma arched her back as she settled into the lounge chair and adjusted her oversize sunglasses (Gucci). She debated adding another layer of tanning oil to her already glistening skin, but decided that a tan wasn't work potentially ruining her new white Versace bikini over. It looked good; her pale skin had the absolute faintest glow to it, just enough to contrast the fine material of the suit. The halter top, she had ensured, was low cut enough to show off her fantastic cleavage, but supportive enough to be functional. She had high standards for clothing; never would she buy into a cheap trend. (She'd pay full price and be all over it six months before Americans even realized it was trendy.)
Whatever the Danger Room session was, she'd skipped it. The other students had explained it as some sort of extreme simulation room they used for training, which only served to justify her absence. She knew her powers enough to know that she didn't need any further training to master them. She was good, she was hot, and she was smart. If that confidence made her a bitch in the eyes of everyone else in the mansion - like she'd ever really call it a mansion, with any seriousness - well, so be it, she'd be the resident bitch.
"Frost!" Her name was barked gruffly by a short man she'd never seen before. She lowered her glasses to stare at him with cold eyes.
"Do I know you?"
"You'll wish you didn't if you don't get your ass to the Danger Room right now."
A light dawned on her. "You must be Logan, correct?"
"Well I ain't Storm," he scowled. She noted appreciatively the way his shirt was partially unbuttoned to show off some very nice pectorals. Unfortunately, she knew, he wouldn't be the type for a teenage fling. She didn't even care that he was a good seven inches shorter than she was.
"Feel like escorting me?" she asked, innocently. "I didn't think I'd have to go, my training suit hasn't been shipped over yet."
"Right, that's cute." She'd never seen a grown man snarl before. Legitimately, animalistically, snarl. It was sexy. "Now, get up, grab your stuff, and let's get moving."
"What are we doing, anyway?" she asked, standing up and slipping into her leather sandals, the ones with the braided leather thong. She gathered her towel and spare clothes, deliberately taking her time. Rugged and manly as he was -and she had to admit a certain weakness for that type- she wasn't going to let him think that she was doing this to please him in any way. She slowly folded her tunic and tucked it into her white leather Linea Pelle satchel, doing the same with her leggings. She knew he was getting impatient, and she loved the feeling.
"What you're doing is testing your defences. We're gonna see how you measure up."
"And how do you measure up?" She paused for effect. "I bet you're the best of all."
"Get moving, Blondie." Logan sounded deadly. "Jean's waiting for you."
"Jean?" Emma felt like laughing. "Well then, I guess I should hurry up, shouldn't I? I wouldn't want to take her away from her other plans." Moping, selling Girl Guide Cookies, and helping seniors cross the street, she wanted to add, but refrained.
She stepped ahead of him. It wasn't hard; her legs were much longer than his. She purposely swung her hips a little more than normal as she marched into the mansion, the beginnings of a plan forming in her mind.
"You're a cunning girl, Emma," Winston Frost said. She could smell the Scotch he'd just poured. It was vintage. For once, just once, she picked up on an appreciative tone in his voice. He was proud of her. But he was anxious as well. He was drinking to cover the malaise she knew he felt. He hadn't expected this much from her; he hadn't broken her spirit yet, and he didn't know quite how to take it. "You remind me so much of myself at your age. Intelligent, ruthless, with a taste for blood. You'll go far, girl, if you only follow my example."
She'd refused to follow his example. Stodgy hypocrisy wasn't her style and she'd told him as much.
But she'd go far regardless, she knew.
And it would start in that Danger Room.
Author's Notes:
This is my first fic in a while - I have about three chapters already written, with more on the way. I hope to be on a pretty even two-three week posting schedule. If anybody finds any errors in my writing, let me know! I hope to bring some multidimensionality to Emma Frost's character - if all goes well, this will be the first arc in a three-part series.
Comments and constructive criticism are much appreciated!
Edit: It has been pointed out that Emma Frost isn't telekinetic. I am aware of this, and of her canon powers - her telekinesis has generally been shown as very latent, and will not be taking a primary role in the story. The gradual development of events in later chapters will be dealing with this issue, and Emma's later focus on telepathy.
Song lyrics used : Incubus - A Certain Shade of Green off the album S.C.I.E.N.C.E. (1997)
