Emma pulled up the hood of her jacket a little more. She was surprised how easy it was to disguise herself; she just had to wear clothes that weren't white. That was why she was walking the streets in a hooded brown jacket with a red scarf and a blue skirt. Even if she did showed her face and ran into someone from the Hellfire Club then they wouldn't look at her twice. The White Queen wore white. Commoners wore other colors. Simple as that.
She sat down on a bench and pulled out a book. Her eyes scanned the text and she waited patiently. There were a few footsteps and a bag was set down next to her. Emma waited for a reasonable amount of time before pulling the bag close to her and reaching inside. There was a dossier disguised as a book of poetry. Jason was being tight-lipped as to how he planned on rising through the ranks. She personally couldn't care less. The White Queen had to keep on her toes though. She'd put spies in every camp of the rest of the Lords Cardinal. Emma held no illusions; they did the same to her. That was why she picked up her information herself.
Opening the book she read on. There was a file for one Maria Jackson, CIA scientist. Her eyebrows raised. While the name was different the picture was definitely of Jason's daughter, Martinique. There was nothing there stating she was a mutant and apparently she had been born in Maine. More lies.
Apparently she was working for someone called Stryker. There was a picture of him enclosed too. Her eyes narrowed. Her time in a CIA holding cell came back to her. She should have killed him. It would have been difficult, but she could have done it. Still, there was no reason to brood on that. The time had passed. Now she only had to figure out why Jason felt the need to put his daughter with something called 'Weapon X'.
Putting that book back she picked out another one. This was of a more personal nature but could still be viewed as gathering information on her enemies. That was the only reason she had let someone else go and find it in the first place. It was a dossier about one Megan Gwyn. She started reading, bored by how predictable it was. Then, around page ten, it got interesting.
Megan Gwyn wasn't seven. She had, in fact, looked seven for three years now. If anyone had gone back a little further they would have realized that she looked six for several years too. Megan wasn't aging in any predictable pattern. What was worse was that when her age froze her mental development froze too. Remaining young forever was a curse if your mind also stayed the same. While her sisters had grown up Megan had stayed a child. No one knew when she would grow up; she could in theory be an eternal child. As a child she would be weak. Just another reason for her father to hate her.
Pausing Emma looked down at her skin. If anyone looked closely they could see the scars that remained from when she had battled Magneto and Professor X in Massachusetts two years prior. What they couldn't see was the way that it was constantly repairing itself. Shaw had told her it had something to do with the way she could change into her diamond form. Her skin cells reproduced at a rapid rate.
If anyone asked Emma said that she was twenty-seven. Her real age was closer to sixty. Of course, unlike poor Megan, she could control it. If she wanted to be twenty-seven for another eighty years than she could. And if someone bothered to help Megan than she could probably control it too.
The White Queen shoved the thought out of her head. Getting sentimental would help no one. Putting the books back she got up and brushed off. She'd stop in a bathroom somewhere and change into white clothes before she reached the Hellfire Club. That way her disguise would remain intact. You had to put on a show.
"Are you sure you want to see these?" said Lorna.
"Of course," Erik replied.
She laughed uneasily. They sat together at a bench in a park in the village outside of the school. After the first meeting he had asked to see her in a place that wasn't in the school. The very idea of Hank walking in on them sent shivers down his spine. When he was ready he'd tell her who he was. Or more specifically, when he thought she was ready to join him.
He'd also radioed Mystique and Azazel that he wouldn't need them for some time. After all, it was best if they didn't know about his daughter just yet. Erik trusted them in every other matter in his life; just not this one.
"They're just pictures," he added.
"Yeah, my baby ones," Lorna said, "Ones before I could focus my eyes or mom could use a camera. But if you insist."
Lorna smiled. No matter what her protests he could tell that she was happy he'd asked to see them. It showed he was interested in hearing about her whole life. Yet, more than that, it was showing him a part of her life he was never going to see otherwise. In the years ahead much could happen, but he would never get those years back.
She opened up the photo album. The first one was a fuzzy picture of Susanna holding her, straight out of the hospital.
"Grandpa took that one," she said, "For all his medical brilliance he couldn't seem to get a good picture of me."
"Let's not jump to conclusions," he replied.
The next few pages were filled of pictures of Lorna with her mother and grandfather. She'd made a rather cute toddler, swimming in dresses of ribbons and lace. All of them were obviously homemade. He remembered vaguely that Susanna liked to make clothes, and it was probably cheaper than going out and buying them.
There was one picture that made more of an impact than any other. Lorna was standing on shaky feet and holding her mother's hand. With her other hand she was flailing, like she was trying to reach someone else's hand. It made him surprisingly angry that he hadn't been there to catch it.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a metal fork bend. He covered it up quickly. While they had only briefly discussed thier powers each knew what random metal bending meant. He didn't want her to think that it was her he was angry at.
After a few pages her grandfather dropped out of the pictures. He inquired about it, already knowing the answer.
"He uh, had a heart attack when I was four," Lorna said, "I can't really remember him; but he didn't throw mom out the minute he found out she was pregnant. A lot of guys would have done that back then, a lot still do. But he helped raise me until he died."
"Dr. Dane was always a good man," said Erik, "You should have seen the parties he organized for the hospital around Christmas. We all got something, no matter how small. Even the ones like me who didn't celebrate Christmas."
"You're Jewish right?"
Erik tilted his head.
"Does that bother you?"
"No," Lorna said, "I just wondered. Mother raised me Christian. Does that bother you?"
He shrugged.
"No. You were brought up one way, I was brought up another," said Erik.
Lorna smiled and turned the page again. This time the chubby toddler had grown into a willowy child. There was a picture of her in a ballerina outfit.
"Lorna, you didn't mention you did ballet," he accused.
"I still do it when I have time," she said, "But it's around this time I manifested my powers. I didn't want anyone to see my hair and I just wanted to stay away from crowds. Mom wanted to give me an outlet though."
Sure enough he could see that it was at this point Lorna had started to cover her hair. In all the pictures after she turned eight her hair was wrapped up somehow. Sometimes it was free for recitals and gym meets but he suspected people assumed that it was part of the performance. His eyes flicked to the fact that Lorna was now freely sporting her hair in a public place.
If nothing else you gave her confidence Charles, he thought.
The pictures became scarcer. Hesitating Lorna pointed to one of herself standing with a little girl, her mother, and an unknown woman.
"That's Dr. MacTaggert," she said, "And her adopted daughter Rahne."
"Charles told me about them," he said.
She hesitated again. The next picture was of Lorna and Susanna. They weren't doing anything in particular, just standing together.
"That's the last picture I took with my mother before the accident," Lorna said blankly.
He felt wary as he always did on the subject of Lorna's mother.
"I am sorry about that," he said.
"She was a really great mother," said Lorna, "She could have run from me but she didn't. I sent knives around the kitchen. She could have put me up for adoption but she didn't."
Erik shifted uncomfortably.
"Susanna was a good woman," he agreed.
Lorna bit her lip.
"I'm not trying to sound accusatory, but why did you leave her?" she asked, "It was one of the only things that she was vague on."
Erik had been expecting the question. It only surprised him that she had decided to ask it on their third meeting instead of their first. He assumed it was her nerves.
"We were…going down different roads," said Erik, trying to speak carefully, "She recognized it as much as I did. We had been together so long that we were expected to stay together. It was the norm. But…we were different people by the time we parted ways. I was a different person."
He stopped.
"I'm not going to lie to you; I wanted revenge against the people who had murdered my parents. The camps…my powers…it had all happened so fast. I grew angrier as I realized little was being done to apprehend war criminals who had escaped. Susanna wanted to move on but I couldn't let go," he said, "She hadn't been in the camps and I felt that, though she was trying, she couldn't understand. I was young and the wrongs done to me and my people were still fresh in my mind. I used my power, the power you inherited, in an attempt to bring some sort of justice to those who had escaped. Where I was going was dangerous and destructive. She knew that, but she also knew that she couldn't stop me."
His words died. He found himself wondering how he had been able to say all of that. He had kept back many things from her, not explaining that he had killed more former Nazis than most soldiers. Erik hadn't even told her about the Brotherhood yet. He thought that after so much time with the X-men a gentle lead-up was in order. There was no way he was leaving his jewel of a daughter behind with people who would leave her defenseless.
Across from him Lorna nodded slowly.
"I can't say that I understand fully," she said, "But you've been through so much; I don't have the right to judge. And…thank you for telling me that dad. It can't have been easy."
Her hand wiped at her eyes. All at once he realized that she was crying for him. It had been so long since anyone had done that that at first he was surprised. Then he wrapped an arm around her and leaned closer to her. She griped his arm and he stroked her beautifully mutated hair. Erik smiled.
"There's no reason to cry for me Lorna," he said, "No reason at all."