Analysis
The hallway was cold and lit by flickering fluorescent bulbs that cast an unflattering sallow glow onto everyone who walked them. Emma Frost wrinkled her nose in distaste as she caught her reflection in the glass on a heavy steel door. Her usually flawless skin looked haggard, a combination of the poor lighting and the tiled walls. The building was rather clinical, institutionally white and sterile.
The Vorobyov Institute, a hospital specializing in mental disorders and psychotherapy, quickly rising through the ranks to becoming one of the top names in the world when it came to the diagnosis and psychiatric treatment. Emma had no reason to visit the clinic on a normal day, but that particular Monday wasn't particularly routine. The phone call had come at 2:30 am in Boston, rousing her from her sleep. She'd pulled her eye mask away and grabbed her phone, cursing that she had left it on that night.
It had taken an hour, but the Professor had managed to convince her to go.
Getting into the small independent country had been an absolute nightmare. A tiny monarchic state on the fringe of political upheaval after the untimely death of half the royal family. Murder. King, queen, princess...and prince. It had been the teen prince's birthday, shared with a twin sister. The two children, born within the same minute, were to set a political precedent. The country had no qualms about the sex of their rulers; daughter or son, the firstborn child had fair right to the throne. The twins were to possibly start an oligarchy, and time would tell how well that would work.
Now there was no chance to find out.
Dead, slaughtered, the bodies so badly mutilated that one thought that perhaps an animal had been let loose in the palace, and an eldest daughter with motivation, but a supposedly airtight alibi. The princess had been out with friends celebrating her birthday that night, away from her family for some reason, and swore up and down she had nothing to do with the crime. Emma had a strong hunch that she was lying.
There was no proof linking the girl to the murders, and she was set to take the throne any day now. With one caveat: the parliament, with its limited power, had insisted upon the girl's complete psychiatric analysis at the best hospital in the country. At seventeen, technically a ward of the state upon the death of her parents, the girl had no choice but to comply.
So far, from what the Professor told her, there had been absolutely no luck in getting the girl to speak. The best psychologists and psychiatrists in the world had been called in, to no avail. A friend had called in Professor Xavier, but for reasons that Emma could not understand, he hadn't extracted anything from the girl, by speech or by force. Emma had fast-tracked her way through Harvard's psychology program, a double major with business.
So why the Professor had called Emma in, after everything that had transpired between her and the X-Men, was beyond her.
She met him outside the examination room. He was dressed for warmth. A black turtleneck, a v-neck sweater, and a thick wool scarf. Beside him stood Ororo Monroe, standing tall and stately next to him in an unzipped down parka. He was flanked by Jean Grey on the other. Emma caught the other girl's eye and smirked, raising her eyebrows in recognition.
She wasn't surprised at her rival's stony reaction. Apparently she was still bitter about the Scott situation two years earlier.
"How were you unable to get anything out of the girl?" Emma demanded, getting straight to the point. Independently running Frost Enterprises had done nothing if not made her more direct in her interactions with others. The Professor's ever-calm smile set her teeth on edge. It reeked of condescension. "She's not immune to telepathy."
"Perhaps not," he replied, "But it seemed unethical in the situation."
"How? Accidentally picking up on the girl's thoughts isn't against any rules."
"Just because those rules have not been written yet doesn't mean that it's right. I also think that you and the Princess may be able to bond somewhat, perhaps form some sort of rapport."
"She's fine with mutants, but she doesn't want anyone in her head," Jean stepped in. "We're respecting her wishes."
"Because she's a princess?" Emma asked, absentmindedly twirling a lock of hair around her finger. "Or because you have a conscience?"
"Some of us do, Emma, believe it or not." Jean's hair swayed menacingly. "We all draw the line somewhere."
"How cute, a pointed remark," she replied coolly. "So I'm supposed to get what, exactly, out of her?"
"Just a psychoanalysis, Emma," Ororo answered. "Just to make sure that she's fit to take power. The girl has had quite the traumatic experience."
"I'm sure she thinks she does," she muttered, hand on the doorknob. "Trust me, we'll talk."
Long dark hair, thick eyelashes, thin lips set into a line. A slim body, with wiry arms crossed over her chest. An aristocratic face. Too calm for Emma to believe she was legitimately mourning the death of her family. She almost expected to find blood under the girl's fingernails. No such luck.
"Alexandra," she started smoothly, "I'm here to speak to you."
"I won't."
"Then we do it the hard way."
"You can't make me do anything. This is my jurisdiction, Miss Frost. You have no control over my actions."
"But your parliament does, princess. Last I checked, you're under their authority until this evaluation has been completed, hopefully ending in your favour. But trust me, I have no qualms about walking out of this room and writing a report about your deep-seated psychosis. So we can do it the easy way, or the way I just suggested."
Alexandra's eyebrows raised slightly. "You're bitchier than the other girl who was in here."
"I'm glad you consider me an upgrade."
"You should be treating me with far more respect."
"Run an international company at the age of eighteen while working on your college degree, then we'll talk."
Stony silence.
"You're no better than I am," Emma stated flatly, leaning forward over the table. "Your family may be dead but it doesn't excuse your behaviour."
"Much bitchier than the redhead or the Professor."
"Let's try and expand your vocabulary a little bit, shall we?"
Twenty minutes of eerie silence, broken only by the humming of the fluorescent bulbs above them. Emma had to give the girl credit, she stuck to her guns. She flipped through the file in front of her, skimming it idly. She'd committed it to memory on the flight in; her speed-ready was no more than a pretence.
"Interesting file, you have here. Has a whole lot of conversation fodder. Since you seem to be so unwilling to start our discussion, let's just work with what we've got, hmm? You're set to co-rule in the first oligarchy in this country, you'd be famous world-wide. And all of a sudden, out goes half the royal family. Want to talk about that?"
"Not particularly."
Perhaps Emma had been a bit sharp, but this discussion was going absolutely nowhere, fast.
"What did Professor Xavier say to you?"
"He said that he wouldn't push me to talk. He wouldn't do anything to pry or go against my wishes." Alexandra's stare was unnerving. "Anything. But I don't suppose you have the same kind of honour, do you? I'm surprised you haven't already tried to get in there."
"In where?"
"My head. You're just like him, aren't you? A mutant."
Alexandra watched the other girl with smug satisfaction. She'd completely caught her off guard. It was a bit of a jump, but it looked like her hunch was right. The blonde, who was strikingly pretty, was glaring at her, and her posture changed entirely, radiating stress and tension. The fight or flight response that Alexandra knew so well was manifesting in her psychologist. Perhaps she could have this one disproved by showing her instability.
"Why aren't you denying it?" she continued, warming up to the idea. "It's true. Why would they send in a girl where one of the most brilliant minds in the world failed? He wouldn't call in just anyone. So he must think you're good."
"Don't talk about what you don't know, Princess." There was a warning tone in Frost's voice.
"Pity you aren't living up to whatever his expectations were," Alexandra continued, furiously, with the intent to kill. Frost may have been tall, she may have been wealthy, and she may have been a mutant, but she wasn't escaping this session unscathed. Who did she think she was, trying to come in and speak to her like an equal, like any one of the other doctors that walked through the door only to storm out in frustration.
"If you were any good at this, you'd know everything now. What's stopping you? Too weak? Too honourable? I assure you, others have passed through this room hundreds of times before, trying to help me, and you're no different than they are. Pathetic."
Part of her wanted the girl to go into her mind. To relieve the pressure, to take the edge off the secret. She wondered how it would feel, to have her mind penetrated. Would she feel it? Would there be another presence there? How deep could she dig?
Now Frost was leaning back in her chair, tipping it onto its two rear legs, resting one stiletto heel on the edge of the small table. Her curled index finger rested on a full lower lip, and suddenly the calculating look that she shot Alexandra chilled the princess to the bone. She wasn't one to be squeamish, too feel fear - not after what had happened, not after all those years that she had struggled through...
"I know you killed them, Rosen."
Her veins went cold.
"You wanted me to read your mind," Emma continued, bringing her chair back to its original position and leaning against the table. "So I did. You can't even deny it - the curiosity was killing you."
Alexandra's smug smile disappeared.
"But that's not why I'm here. I know you were acquitted of all charges. I'm not one for legality. I'm here to tell your parliament that you're fit to rule. So prove it to me, or I go digging again. Why did you do it?"
The princess seemed to find her words again.
"You have no idea the kind of dysfunction that runs rampant in monarchies." Emma picked up the undercurrent to Alexandra's words and smiled faintly.
"I'm sure I know. I understand. Hell, I can commiserate. My dad wasn't the nicest man either. Doesn't mean I killed him." That was someone else's job entirely. "But what about your brother? Your mother?"
"I had to free them," Alexandra replied. "They couldn't stay, not after everything that happened. My father had to go. He was an amazing ruler but a horrible man. A poor excuse for a human being, a wolf."
A quick scan of the girl's mind revealed that she was telling the truth. Well, partially.
"But that's not the only reason, Alexandra," Emma said coolly. "Try again."
"I wanted to rule," Alexandra said in a terse whisper. "An oligarchy? Honestly? It's unprecedented. It goes against everything I was taught. I don't settle for second best, Frost."
Emma knew that feeling very well. She'd been raised the same way. But luckily, she'd had the wherewithal, the chance, to leave and never look back. There may have been casualties in her family -fuck, her siblings were proof enough, without getting into her parents- but Emma had gotten away. Here, in this godforsaken little country, where could the girl escape? Russia? Siberia? She'd be recognized in an instant.
She understood the ambition behind the princesses' actions - she could pick up the waves of anger, of barely repressed fury bubbling beneath the surface This was a girl with resentments galore, who was the product of the wealthy, cosmopolitan, elite, forced into the illusion of joyous grandeur. It piqued her curiosity.
She dug deeper, justified it as part of her session. And promptly wished she hadn't. The resulting images that flashed through her mind were too close to her own experience to be comfortable. Even through the diluted medium of another girl's memories, Emma still remembered exactly how it felt to be the target of rage, of impossible standards, of irresponsible parents. At least she'd had school and independence on her side. Some of what Alexandra had dealt with seemed unbearable.
Suddenly, the girl's decision to kill seemed like a rational response to environmental stimuli.
When push came to shove, hadn't she done the same?
"I don't blame you," she said abruptly. "I don't. I am willing to sign the papers declaring your total mental stability."
"Really?" Alexandra looked suspicious. "You won't go to the police?"
"While a treasonous murder trial would be incredibly interesting," Emma said, standing up. "I would have to go shopping for an entirely new wardrobe." She gestured to her outfit. Skin-tight, low-cut, and stunning as always, underneath her glorious coat. She shot the girl a sly grin and held her hand out.
"You'll excuse me f I don't bow. You haven't been coronated yet. Call me after the ceremony. Maybe I can bail you guys out of this economic crisis."
"Maybe I can have you arrested on an ethics breach," Alexandra responded with dry humour.
Despite the rough beginnings, maybe the session hadn't gone so badly after all.
Emma reclined in her deep bathtub, letting the thick foam cover her body as she lifted a glass of white wine to her lips. Her eyes were trained on the television mounted on the wall. The coronation was on most major news networks. She couldn't have avoided it if she tried.
She watched as Alexandra Rosen sat ion the throne with perfect posture as the crown was set upon her head. She looked older - but it wasn't just the makeup or the traditional robes. The girl had an uncanny calm in her eyes that suggested that she was all too ready and all-too prepared for this moment, It was what she had been preparing for her entire life. By hook or by crook. Through trauma and trouble. At any cost.
And that was something Emma could get behind.
-FIN-
Author's Notes: Posted significantly later than I would have liked. This is Meneldur's prize for her submission to the "Snow Day" contest that I had back in December. As per her request, a story about her OC, Alexandra Rosen, whose snow day has a far more sinister meaning. As always, reviews and critiques are always appreciated!