Notes: This is very OLD. I wil be updating sooner or later, but this is all posted in it's original form, completely unedited any farther than it had been. I apologize if it seems a bit rough!
And anyone who's been sticking with me on this, (heh)
you know this story deals with quite a few mature
themes, so y'know, if you're offended by things like
that, don't read, k?
And for the rest of you, on with the show!
,V, Onyx Frost
Chapter 4
Emma had always considered herself a patient person. Patience was a virtue she couldn't have survived without. Right now, as she sifted through the darkness of her own thoughts, she wondered where that virtue had gone.
The sedative Sean had given her hadn't fully worn off and her powers had not returned full strength just yet. It frustrated her more then she could recall most anything ever frustrating her before. Oh sure, there were a few things that still topped it, like when she found out the Hellions had been killed, or when Sean was being absolutely impossible about something, but this definitely was on it's way to overcoming them.
This dark pit in her mind needed to be breached, and she just couldn't bring herself to do so. She herself had locked some of those memories away, but most had just been cut off by the mind of a child who couldn't cope. She needed to face it all. She felt alone in her quest.
Paige found Sean in the kitchen with Beast and Phoenix. They sat at the table talking softly. Too softly for her to hear from the door. It didn't matter, she already knew they were talking about Emma. Emma was really the only thing up for conversation lately. What was worse, was Emma herself knew as much, and it put her in a foul mood when she was paying attention. Luckily for everyone, she seemed to have better things to focus on.
The trio looked up at Paige as she stepped into the room. Jean smiled softly to her, Hank looked at her expectantly, and Sean looked at her with an ache in his eyes. She looked away. She looked up to Sean like a father, and it hurt to see him falling apart like this.
It was painfully clear these days, to everyone, that Sean had more then a passing affection for his fellow teacher. Sure, it might have started as nothing, maybe a playful flirt here and there on both of their parts, but it had evolved far past that now.
She looked back to them and cleared her throat, which had gone dry on her. "Miss Frost went to the BioShpere."
Hank frowned slightly and looked to Sean. "I thought you said you gave her the sedative at nine?"
"I did," he responded softly.
The bestial man glanced at the clock on the wall, which incidentally was a yellow smiley face whose tongue wagged back and forth gaily as the seconds ticked away. A prank of Jubilee's which no one had bothered to change. "She should be out for at least another two hours."
Paige took the opening to speak up. "Well she's awake sir.. and she didn't really seem groggy either. She said she was going to take a walk in the BioSphere."
Jean was the first to stand, though McCoy wasn't far behind her. "We should go check on her then."
Hank and Sean both nodded and they filed out the back door, leaving Paige to clear the coffee mugs off the table.
She needed help. This was too hard for her to do alone. She blamed it on how weak her powers were, but really, she was afraid to open the door. It had remained closed and hidden for so long, she had hoped it had just disappeared. Now, as a telepath, she knew, she knew things didn't happen that way. But it never made her stop wishing it would.
She needed help. She didn't want to admit it, but she needed the help of a seasoned telepath. She only knew of three that qualified. She would never ask Xavier. Through everything, she still didn't trust him enough for that. Psylocke had never hidden the fact that she disliked Emma. She would probably help, but she might not go out of her way to avoid painful methods. There was only one option left. She needed-
Speak of the devil. She glanced up just in time to see Sean, Hank and, wouldn't you know it, Jean, walk up to her. How perfect was that? Well, that leveled the field a bit for her. She wouldn't have to ask for Sean to call her. Knowing Jean, she would suggest a way she could help, leaving Emma to- grudgingly- accept.
She didn't stand to greet them, not that she really could have if she wanted too. The sedative was still making itself known to her, leaving her weak. That being the reason she had sat down under the tree in the first place.
"Em," Sean started, "Hank's come tae check on on ye."
She smirked. "How delightful.. it's my mind that's bruised, and here the doctor comes to prod at my body." An unusual icy flame sparked in her eye as she recalled her nightmares. "Typical."
"That's why I'm here." Jean. Of course; Emma had given her the perfect opening.
"This may seem a surprise to you Mrs. Summers, but I hate telepaths."
Jean smiled slightly. "All those who aren't you, hmm?"
"No.. I said all didn't I?" Emma grinned, letting them in on the joke. Sure, she was jesting, but it wasn't all that far from the truth really. Every time a new memory surfaced in her nightmares, she tended to feel more tainted.. and she hated it. Hated herself for not being strong enough to handle it before. Hated herself for not being strong enough to face it now.
"How do you feel physically Emma?" Hank cut back in curiously.
"Tired."
"We can sedate you again if you-"
"No! No more sedatives! Do you hear me? None!" She was glowering at him fiercely, and he felt that if they did try to sedate her, things might turn ugly. He glanced to Jean for any advice she might have to offer, but she was watching Emma in the most peculiar way.
Jean could see the hatred in Emma's eyes, anyone could. But being an empath, she knew it was a cover up. She didn't sense any anger towards any of them from her, only dread and.. fear? Jean hadn't really known Emma all that long, or all that well, but fear and Emma Frost were never spoken in tangent to each other. Fear just wasn't something anyone ever saw in Emma. Fear towards her, yes, but not from her. She felt Emma's astral form shiver in plain gut wrenching fear as she pulled back into her mind, her shields tightening against the outside scrutiny.
She shook her head slightly as Emma closed her eyes and motioned for Banshee and Beast to stand down for a moment. As they visibly relaxed, she closed her own eyes and made a feathery brush against Emma's shields. Emma?
She expected Emma to push her back, or even pull her shields even tighter. What she expected and what she saw were two completely different things. She was admitted into the plane of Emma's mind, but Emma herself was nowhere in sight. "Emma?"
The 'world' around her began to take shape. Bare white walls formed around her. A checkered black and white tiled floor beneath her. Off white ceiling tiles with little sound proofing holes above her. She was
standing in a hall that seemed to have no end in either direction. No doors either. Jean looked for any clue that would point her in the right direction.
The ceiling looked old, like it had been through many years of disrepair, though the floor looked as if it had just been laid out. She wondered if that was significant.
She placed her hand upon one of the walls, and pulled it away when she felt it tacky and wet. Looking at her hand, she realized the paint was wet. Frowning slightly, she looked to where she had touched the wall. The white where she had touched was completely gone, revealing the sea foam green that lie underneath.
"You broke it." Jean turned.
There was a young girl watching her. Her dirty blonde hair was in disarry, her white t-shirt and pants torn and stained with blood. Jean almost didn't recognize her, but her ice blue eyes were unmistakable. They held the same silent anger that Jean had seen in Emma's before. 'Angry at the world' as psychologists' say. "Emma?" she questioned.
"You broke it."
"Broke what?"
"The wall."
The girl, Emma, pointed at the place where Jean had touched the wall. The green hand print was no longer there. It had been replaced by a jagged hole.
Jean blinked, and didn't understand. She didn't have time to ponder it over. A blanket of white washed over her, and she knew no more.
