Title: The First Stage of Grief is Denial
Author: CodeNameTargeter
Fandom: Astonishing X-men/Avengers
Characters: Emma Frost, Tony Stark
Prompt: 30. Death
Summary: Tony tries to help a friend in need but he can't unless she helps herself first.
Author's Notes: Set right after the Breakworld arc of Astonishing X-men. Probably AU
The knocking on the door barely registers in her mind as she stares silently out the window. The sound of a familiar voice calling her name reaches her ears but she makes no acknowledgement of it. Even the opening of the door is not enough to make her turn around.
Instead, she simply watches the rain.
"Emma?" he says again, more hesitant this time. "The door was unlocked. I figured you wouldn't mind me coming in."
"I don't lock it anymore," she answers aloofly, making no move to look at him. "Just in case he comes back and I don't hear him.
He sighs, running a hand through what was formerly immaculate hair and taking another step towards her. "He's not coming back, sweetheart."
She merely pushes a fallen sleeve back on to her shoulder again. "Everyone's said that and they say I'm the pessimist."
"That's because you are," he says with a straight face before cracking one of his famous grins. "How have you been?"
"Since Breakworld?" she asks, raising a querying eyebrow and turning her head to look at him. "I've been better. I'll be better when the entire team's home again."
He raises an eyebrow of his own before deliberately asking a question he already knows the answer to. "Did Logan disappear off to Canada again?"
"He's sitting downstairs in the lounge drinking a beer," she replies smoothly, pausing only for a few moments to confirm her guess of his location with her telepathy. "But you already knew that, dear." He nods curtly in acknowledgement. "Why did you really come here, Tony?"
"To say hello to a friend who seems to be ignoring those of us she knows in the City," he offers lightly. She gives him a look, one that he knows all too well from their days together years ago. Sighing, he corrects himself. "I came because I heard you weren't doing too well."
"I'm fine," she says lightly and far too quickly, a faint and equally fake smile passing quickly across her face. "I've just been busy with the students." It's his turn to give her a look of disbelief. Shrugging, she wraps her arms around herself. "Fine, dear, be that way. Yes, I miss him and I wish he'd come back to me."
A hand raises as if to gently touch her arm reassuringly but it drops down again just as quickly. "Emma, you can't grieve for him forever. Not everyone comes back from the dead no matter how much we wish they would."
"Aren't you the philosopher?" she comments rhetorically, smirking as she turns away again.
"Emma, I'm serious," he snaps back. "A lot of people are worried about you and your insistence that he's coming back isn't helping set their minds to rest."
"He is coming back," she says resolutely, turning away from him once more.
Large hands plant themselves on slender white shoulders as he roughly spins her around. "Look at me, damnit."
All she does is raise an eyebrow. "I am, dear. You're too close to look anywhere else."
"I want you to understand something for me, Emma," he says firmly, one hand reaching up to cup her cheek. "Scott Summers is dead. Will you please just realise that? He is dead and he is not going to walk in that door and come back to you."
"He's an X-man," she replies coolly, blue eyes never wavering from his. "We always come back eventually."
"Scott Summers is not coming back," he snaps back through gritted teeth. "He is dead and buried in that goddamn cemetery you have outside."
"He's an X-man," she repeats. "He's not dead."
Frustrated, he drops both of hands back down to his sides and turns sharply on his heel, taking several hasty steps away before halting and turning to look back. "It's alright to grieve, Emma, but you can't live in denial for the rest of your life."
She couldn't hold his gaze any longer as she dropped slowly to sit on the edge of her untidy bed. She couldn't stand to see the pity in his eyes. The pity for her.
"I'll be here for you if you need me, sweetheart, but you've got to help yourself first," he concludes, looking at her expectantly but his words fell on deaf ears.
"He'll come back," she whispers.
He doesn't say anything and just continues his short walk to the door. When he reaches it, he pauses in the open door way to turn back to her once more. He opens his mouth to say something but shuts it just as quickly.
The door slams shut behind him, leaving her alone once more. Alone and waiting. Waiting waiting waiting.
He's going to come back. She knows it. All she has to do is wait and he'll come back to her and she won't be alone anymore.