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kmomof4 · 4 months

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A Christmas Surprise Ch. 3

We are back with the next ch of A Christmas Surprise!! In this ch, Killian takes Emma out for NYE. I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!!!

Summary: Elsa Jones enlists her friend Emma Swan to come up with a scheme to surprise her niece Alice Jones when her Papa, Killian, returns from deployment just in time for Christmas.

From the beginning on ao3/ Current ch

Rating G Total Christmas fluff ahead!!!

Words 4550 of 18,550

Tagging the usuals. Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed.

@jrob64 @teamhook @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @artistic-writer @xarandomdreamx @undercaffinatednightmare @the-darkdragonfly @stahlop @superchocovian @pirateprincessofpizza @tiganasummertree @anmylica @cosette141 @motherkatereloyshipper @zaharadessert @jonesfandomfanatic @ultraluckycatnd @jennjenn615 @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @kymbersmith-90 @booksteaandtoomuchtv @wistfulcynic @mie779 @snowbellewells @lfh1226-linda @aprilqueen84 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @pirateherokillian @elfiola @ilovemesomekillianjones @justanother-unluckysoul @poptart-cat-78 @myfearless-love @goforlaunchcee @searchingwardrobes @gingerpolyglot @gingerchangeling @djlbg @cocohook38 @cs-rylie @thisonesatellite @donteattheappleshook @deckerstarblanche @veryverynotgoodwrites @wefoundloveunderthelight @fleurdepetite @alexa-fangirl-forever @bluewildcatfanatic @qualitycoffeethings

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

New Year’s Eve arrived, and Killian was thoroughly beside himself. The last week had been a whirlwind of activity that included talking to Alice about moving to Storybrooke permanently, polishing up his résumé, getting up to speed on what was required to get his architectural license renewed, not to mention planning the date with Emma.

It had been almost twenty-one years since he’d graduated with his degree, and his head was spinning with the requirements he’d need to meet to get his license in place. Thankfully, since he wasn’t reporting back for active duty for another month, he had time to get it all done and submit his résumé to Liam’s firm before returning to Boston.

Alice was ecstatic about staying in Storybrooke, at least through the end of the school year. She realized quickly that as happy as she was with her Papa being home, she didn’t want to leave her school, Henry, or her cousins behind to move back to Boston permanently.

Killian, Liam, and Elsa agreed it was a bit premature to tell the kids about his job opportunity, just in case it didn’t come to fruition, but after Liam talked with his boss, and then Killian talked to him as well, he was having trouble keeping a lid on his excitement. Everything was falling into place, and he couldn’t be more thrilled.

He wondered how much he should tell Emma on their date tonight. He wanted to be completely forthright with her about his intentions, but he didn’t want to scare her off, either. This was only their second official date, after all. And the first where they’d be completely without their family for the duration.

He looked at himself in the mirror and ran his fingers through his hair, touseling it just a bit. He was a little old to be preening in the mirror like this- now that he was in his 40’s, just a touch of frost was evident at his temples- but he had to admit, Emma Swan sent the butterflies in his stomach into flight like no one ever had before, and he wanted to look his best.

He came down the stairs to see everyone gathered in front of the fire, laying out Harry Potter Trivial Pursuit.

“Aren’t you going to wait for Henry to get here?” he asked.

Liam and Elsa looked up at him, matching grins on their faces. “Papa!” exclaimed Alice. “You look so handsome!”

Killian scratched behind his ear as Alice ran for him, throwing her arms around his waist.

“Thank you, Starfish.” He looked up at the rest of his family, happy to see all the smiles directed towards him. “I’m going to head out, but we’ll be back to drop off Henry in about twenty minutes.”

“We’re on teams anyway,” Elsa informed Killian as he turned toward the door. “And the boys are going first. As good as the kids are at Harry Potter, I expect it’ll still be Alice and Henry’s turn by the time he gets here, if it’s gotten to their turn in the first place.”

Killian chuckled his agreement before heading out into the night. Just a few minutes later, Killian was standing on Emma’s front stoop. He took a deep calming breath before knocking on the door.

“Hi, Mr. Jones!” Henry exclaimed, opening the door wide for Killian to enter.

“Hello, Henry,” Killian said, stepping into the foyer of the small house where Emma and Henry lived. Killian looked around at the tidy and tastefully decorated home before turning his attention back to the beaming boy in front of him.

“So where are you taking my mom tonight?” he asked.

Killian chuckled and scratched behind his ear, not surprised, but also not quite prepared for the boy’s question.

“I’ve made reservations for us at a restaurant in Portland that has an entire evening planned to ring in the new year,” Killian explained. “I hope your mother enjoys it.”

Henry’s eyes turned mischievous as he nodded. “My mom doesn’t date,” Henry informed him. “My dad died before I was born, and she hasn’t gone on a single date in my entire life. So I’m sure whatever you have planned, she’ll enjoy.” Henry’s gaze turned suddenly serious, and Killian’s heart rate picked up just a bit as he waited for the boy to gather his thoughts. “I love my mom a lot,” he said. “And I want to see her happy. Just, don’t break her heart, ok?”

Killian’s heart melted at Henry’s statement and request. The seriousness of his words demanded a genuine and heartfelt response. He knelt before Henry and placed his hand over his own heart.

“Henry,” he began, looking him right in the eyes, “You have my word. I will never knowingly hurt your mother. I can tell already, just from the time I’ve spent with her, that she is a priceless treasure, and her heart even more so. And if she were to deign to place it in my hands, I will honor and protect it to the end of the world and time.”

Emma stood around the corner from the foyer with tears in her eyes. She had stopped in the hallway when she heard Henry telling Killian that she never dated. He wasn’t quite accurate in his statement, but looking back now, she realized just how long it had been since she’d been on a date. She’d had a few dates when Henry was a baby, mostly at her mother’s behest. Mary Margaret Swan’s belief in True Love and Happily Ever After and how intertwined they both were would rival any Disney princess.

But hearing Henry’s request and then Killian’s response made her so glad they were both unaware of her presence. It gave her a few moments to dry her eyes and compose herself before greeting her date.

Killian rose to his feet as she came around the corner. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth at the gorgeous man in front of her. He wore a black suit that fit him perfectly. The scruff along his jaw had filled in a little more over the last week since she’d seen him, and Emma had to fight to keep her own jaw from hanging open. Her eyes roamed over him in blatant appreciation, and when she finally met his gaze, she caught her breath at the flame of desire she saw there. She didn’t know what he had planned, but she hoped her outfit was appropriate.

Killian’s gaze took Emma in from head to toe. He didn’t even attempt to hide his unabashed attraction and admiration from her. She wore a perfectly sinful, yet modest sleeveless black dress. It clung to every one of her curves, its neckline coming nearly to her neck and the hemline hitting her just above the knee. She wore black stockings and black wedge heels, perfect for dancing. Killian licked his bottom lip as his eyes met hers. He reached out his hand and took hers.

“It’s freezing outside, darling,” he said. “You’ll need a heavy coat.”

“I was born and raised in Maine, Killian,” she informed him with a smile. She opened the foyer closet and pulled out a long red wool coat. She handed it to him, and he held it open for her with a wide smile on his face as she slid her arms in and he settled it on her shoulders. She reached behind her under the collar and pulled her long hair out. She didn’t miss the way his eyes darkened at her innocent action. She needed a distraction and quickly. “Do you have your bag ready, Henry?”

“They were getting ready to start Harry Potter Trivial Pursuit when I left, Henry,” Killian called as the boy ran back to his room to grab his coat and overnight bag.

“I’m ready,” Henry exclaimed as he came around the corner again. Killian opened the door for them both and let them precede him into the frigid night air. He’d left his car running so it would be comfortably warm inside when they got in. It was cold enough outside that just the few minutes he’d been inside their home, would have been enough for all the heat accumulated on the drive over to be completely lost.

When they arrived back at Liam and Elsa’s house, Elsa’s earlier assessment was proven true. The twins had finally missed a question about five minutes before they arrived, and now Alice was already on her first pie piece. Henry jumped right in.

“Bye, guys,” Killian called. He chuckled when he was completely ignored.

Elsa waved distractedly at them. “Go, have fun! We’ll expect you home by one, Killian.”

Killian laughed. “I’m forty-one years old, Elsa. Little old for a curfew.” And with that, he ushered Emma back out the door.

Once they were on their way, Emma turned to Killian. “So where are we going?”

“Liam told me about a relatively new place in Portland that he and Elsa found a few months ago,” Killian said. “When I looked them up, they had an entire evening agenda for ringing in the new year. So I thought we could try it.” He looked over at her, gratified that her happy countenance was unchanged.

“That sounds fun.”

“The prix fixe menu on the website sounded great,” he told her. “I don’t remember what all was on there, but it included four courses, with several choices for the main course. The entré I remember was the Surf and Turf, lobster and a six ounce filet. I’ll be getting that,” he said, licking his lips.

“That does sound good,” Emma agreed.

“And after dinner, there’ll be dancing and they’ll be turning on the broadcast from New York for the ball drop.”

Emma was excited. A fancy dinner and dancing. She’d never been dancing before and she hoped she didn’t embarrass herself. Or him. She really liked him, and being so close with Elsa, she was keenly aware of how invested her best friend and her husband were in this new relationship.

“I heard you and Henry,” she said quietly. “Before I came in.” Emma bit her lip as she smiled when his cheeks flamed and he scratched behind his ear. The nervous tell of his was adorable and made her want to kiss the spot where he always scratched.

“I, ah…” he stammered.

“It’s alright,” she rushed to reassure him. “Your words were very sweet, and I don’t want you to worry that they’ll scare me off.” She took his unoccupied hand in hers and turned fully to him, taking in the flush on his cheeks and the ticking of the muscle in his jaw that told her just how anxious he was about her response. “I haven’t dated much since Henry’s father died, but I…” She looked down for a moment, a little anxious about revealing quite so much. But then she remembered Killian’s exact words to Henry. Words that were definitely not meant for her ears. Not yet anyway. She took a deep breath and continued. “I like you, Killian. A lot. And finally meeting you after listening to Elsa and Alice talk about you for nine months,” she paused again, steeling herself for her next words, “I know that you are very special, too. I’m looking forward to getting to know you better.”

Emma was normally a bit more circumspect about her thoughts and feelings. About anything, not just matters of the heart. But everything she already knew about Killian- from his words earlier, to her own observations, to the information she’d gleaned from Alice and Elsa- told her that this man before her was very special indeed, and her heart would be safe in his hands.

Killian had to blink rapidly to clear his vision so he could see to drive. He cleared his throat a couple of times before speaking.

“I’m looking forward to getting to know you better too, Emma,” he said sincerely. They were silent for a few moments before Killian spoke again. “You said you haven’t dated much, but Henry said you hadn’t dated at all.”

Emma laughed good naturedly. “Yeah, he was a baby the last time I went on a date. I’d be surprised if he remembered that.”

“He said his father died?” Killian asked. “If you wouldn’t mind sharing that, I’d like to hear it.”

“No, I don’t mind,” she replied easily. “It’s been a long time. Henry’s father was a lobster fisherman. We met while I was still in college at BU. We’d been together for several years, I was teaching in the Boston public school system, and we’d just gotten engaged. But he got caught in the lines on his boat and was swept overboard.”

“Oh, Emma,” Killian breathed. “I’m so sorry.”

Emma’s smile was small and soft. “I found out a few weeks later that I was pregnant.” She paused for a moment, blinking back her own tears. She hadn’t spoken about that time in her life in many years. “It was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. After Neal was gone, I came home. I wanted my mom,” she said with a shrug. Killian gave her a soft, understanding smile. “I was on summer break, and when I found out I was pregnant, I couldn’t face returning to Boston and the home I’d shared with him, pregnant with his baby, knowing that I’d be raising our child alone. I got out of our lease and turned in my resignation to the school system. At least here, I had family, a support system I didn’t have in Boston.”

“I’m so glad,” Killian said.

The rest of the drive was made in companionable silence. Emma already knew about Milah from their first date, and Killian didn’t want to trivialize what she’d shared with him by immediately jumping to another topic of conversation. It wasn’t much farther to the hotel that housed Bacarmi Restaurant and Wine Bar, and they could just as easily pick up the conversation once they arrived. Just a few minutes later, Killian pulled up to the valet parking station.

After passing off the keys to the attendant, he opened Emma’s door, holding his arm out for her to take. Bacarmi’s was on the top floor of the hotel, and when they entered, they were immediately taken to their table near the back windows, giving them a spectacular view of the city.

“How did you get reservations here?” Emma whispered as soon as the maître d’ left them with menus. “This looks like the kind of place that would be booked for New Years in June!”

Killian blushed and scratched behind his ear again. “Apparently they hold a certain number of reservations on holidays for military servicemen and women and first responders. And since I qualify…” he trailed away, slightly embarrassed. He didn’t serve his country to be recognized as a hero or anything of that sort, but he had to admit, benefits like this for his service were quite welcome.

“That is lovely,” Emma said sincerely.

“It is,” Killian agreed, then turned his attention to his menu. “Ah, there it is,” he said excitedly, “Surf and Turf. A six ounce lobster with herbed butter paired with a six ounce filet topped with porcini compound butter, sautéed spinach and kale, and whipped potatoes.”

“That sounds delicious, but I’m looking at the seabass.”

Killian nodded in agreement. “Lump crab, lobster sauce, parmesan risotto and sautéed broccolini. That does look good.”

Once their wine and meal order was placed, their conversation flowed naturally. Emma told Killian about growing up in Maine and how Elsa had helped her get a job at Storybrooke Academy. Killian told Emma about some of the antics he and Liam got up to when they were growing up, and about his years in the service. And now that dinner was concluding, the thoughts from earlier returned of just how much he should share with Emma about his future plans. He watched her carefully as she took her last bite of chocolate mousse cake dessert.

Emma swallowed and took another sip of the best wine she’d ever enjoyed before meeting Killian’s gaze. His eyes were mesmerizing in the low light, but she could see some hesitancy and even a small amount of trepidation swirling in their depths.

“What is it, Killian?” she asked gently.

Killian dropped his head for a moment, a bit chagrined that he hadn’t kept his thoughts better concealed. There was nothing for it. In the face of a direct question, he had to answer her honestly. Not that he’d even consider telling her a falsehood, but he wasn’t sure how wise it was to bare his heart and mind to her quite this much at this point in their relationship.

“Speaking of my career in the Navy,” he began, looking her full in the face again, “You know that I’m about to retire.” Emma nodded. “I was commissioned not long after I graduated college with my degree in architecture. My commitment is done at the end of May, but with my terminal leave saved up, I’m out on April 11. I hadn’t given much thought to what I’d do once I was out,” he continued with a shrug. “I mean, I have some savings and I’ll continue to be paid at full salary until the end of May, then my retirement pay kicks in. Alice and I would be able to live comfortably for several months before I’d need to find another job. But as far as what that job might be, I really hadn’t thought about it.” He looked at her again, his eyes bouncing back and forth between hers, trying to read how she was taking this surplus of information. “Until Liam and I had some time to ourselves Christmas Eve after everyone was in bed,” he continued. “You know what he does, right?”

Emma nodded. “Of course. He helped me find our house not long after Henry was born, which is how Elsa and I met. I’d been living with my parents since moving back.”

Killian nodded. “Well, his firm also builds, and they are about to open a new division dedicated to commercial property. He encouraged me to submit my résumé and move here permanently once I retire.”

His eyes met hers again, and Emma was stunned to see a question in them. Was he asking her opinion on what he should do after he retired? Surely not.

Her eyes were wide and her mouth hung open slightly before she swallowed hard. Killian could have kicked himself. He’d shared too much.

Emma placed her hand on top of his where it lay on the table and laced their fingers together. “You have to make the best decision for you and for Alice,” she said. “Would I be happy if you moved to Storybrooke permanently? Yes,” she acknowledged, and Killian could breathe again. “But, it’s not my opinion that matters.”

“Alice doesn’t want to leave Storybrooke,” he informed her. “Of course, she’s happy I’m home, but she loves her aunt and uncle, she loves her school and her friends, and she loves you and Henry, and I don’t want to take her away from all of that. If I don’t have to.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Liam talked to his boss and explained my situation, and when I talked to him, we really hit it off. Liam thinks, and I agree, that my chances of being hired once I’ve separated from the service are pretty high.”

“Oh, Killian,” she breathed, “that’s wonderful! When will you know for sure?”

“The online portal for applicants will open at 8 am Tuesday morning,” he said. “My résumé is ready to go, but I will have to get my license reinstated, and that means sitting for the licensure exam on the 8th.”

“A week from tomorrow,” Emma said quietly. “Then you’ll have to go through all the interviews and things?”

“Yes,” Killian agreed. “But Liam’s boss, Nemo, said that he didn’t foresee any problems with bringing me on, and I’d likely have an offer in hand before I had to report back to duty on February first.” Killian smiled at her and rubbed her knuckles with his thumb. “I know this is a lot of information to take in and probably not the best topic of conversation on our second date, but I wanted you to know what I was thinking about my and Alice’s future and maybe start to explore how you and Henry might fit into that future.”

A soft smile spread across Emma’s lips. “I don’t think it’s a bad topic of conversation at all.”

A wide smile bloomed on Killian’s face as he rose to his feet, still holding her hand in his. “Well then, Swan, may I have this dance?”

A live band was getting ready to play on the opposite side of the room. Emma followed Killian to the empty dance floor, just as the band started playing The Carpenters Merry Christmas, Darling.

Killian put his arms around her, drawing her close. She could drown in the cerulean depths of his eyes and she wouldn’t mind one bit.

“I’ve never danced a slow dance like this,” she whispered.

Killian’s grin was thoroughly delighted. “Well, there’s only one rule. Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

They danced for hours. The band was very good, playing classics like Nat King Cole’s Unforgettable and Frank Sinatra’s The Way You Look Tonight. They also played Let’s Start the New Year Right, by Bing Crosby, 1999 by Prince, and Happy New Year by ABBA. Sting’s Brand New Day and Rod Stewart’s What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve? were also included. As midnight approached, the band played NSYNC’s Kiss Me at Midnight. Emma couldn’t keep the grin off her face as she and Killian danced closely, Killian singing the words in her ear.

Baby, it’s New Years Eve

A time we can believe

In making wishes

Dreams come true

Just for me and you

Kiss me at midnight

Dance into the morning light

Party into the new year

All my friends are here and when the time is right

Kiss me at midnight

The band stopped playing and the volume on the big screen TVs in the bar area was turned up so they could all join in the countdown to the ball drop.

“Five… four… three… two… one!” they shouted. “Happy New Year!” The noise around them was deafening with the party horns and noisemakers being blown and shouts welcoming the turn of the calendar. Moments later, the band launched into Auld Lang Syne.

Emma stared into Killian’s eyes. He appeared to be as spellbound by her as she was by him. She couldn’t look away. This was a man she could love. She had no doubt. He held her close swaying to the music. Everything around them faded, and Emma wanted nothing more than to feel his lips on hers.

“Happy New Year, Emma,” he whispered.

“Happy New Year, Killian,” she replied just before his lips captured hers.

Emma all but melted in his arms at the feeling. Her lips parted when his tongue traced their seam, gently requesting entrance. Desire flared inside her as their tongues tangled. Killian held her close, one arm wrapped around her waist, holding her tightly against him, the other running through her hair. Emma tightened her own arms around him, never feeling as desired or as beautiful as she now felt in Killian’s arms. Much too soon, air became necessary and Killian pulled away from her.

They were both breathing heavily as they stared into each other’s eyes, still oblivious to anything around them.

Killian was completely gobsmacked. If it was possible to fall head over heels in love with someone from a single kiss, then that was exactly what had just happened to him. But it wouldn’t do to say that out loud at this moment in time. He thought back to his words to Henry earlier this evening when he’d promised to protect Emma’s heart were he so blessed to be gifted with it. A small smile touched his lips as he realized it was the other way around. His heart was unequivocally hers. To the end of the world or time.

Killian touched his forehead to hers. She still seemed a bit dazed from their kiss, and he couldn’t help the surge of male pride that flowed through him at that realization.

“I should probably be getting you home.”

Emma giggled, her eyes sparkling mischievously. “You’re probably right. You do have a curfew after all.”

Killian snorted. “You don’t think they’ll be waiting up for me, do you?”

Emma raised her eyebrows slightly. “If I know Elsa, I expect she will.”

Killian groaned and Emma giggled again. She was probably right. And if Elsa was up, that meant Liam would be up, too. There was nothing for it, he was gonna have to face the music. At least he wouldn’t have to face the inquisition from the kids tonight. No, Emma would have to join him in the hot seat when she came to pick up Henry.

Killian grinned as he saw the same realizations were coming over Emma as well. He held out his elbow to her and escorted her back to their table where he helped her into her coat.

The drive to Emma’s home was quiet, but they held hands the entire way. And after another kiss on the front stoop of her house, Killian stood there for a few moments once Emma retreated inside. His life had been thoroughly turned upside down in the last two and a half weeks and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Killian arrived back home just a few minutes later and made sure to rattle the front door a bit just in case Elsa and Liam were waiting up for him. Sure enough, when he entered the living room, he found his brother and sister-in-law hurriedly smoothing down hair and clothes as they both sat up on the sofa, trying, and failing, to present a respectable and united front. Killian chuckled, he wasn’t fooled a bit.

“So how was the date?” Elsa asked. Her cheeks were still a little pink, whether from her husband’s attentions or embarrassment at being caught, Killian couldn’t tell. “We want to hear all about it. Did you dance? I’ve never known Emma to dance. Was there a goodnight kiss?”

Killian chuckled again. He cut his eyes at his brother, whose cheeks were also red, but didn’t seem to be as anxious for answers to Elsa’s questions. Killian took a deep breath.

“You’ll have to ask all that of Emma tomorrow,” Killian said with a smile. “Or, later today, rather. We had a lovely evening. Thank you for the recommendation, brother.” With those words, Killian turned toward the stairs and started making his way to his room. But before he got to the top of the stairs, he heard Elsa speak in a low voice.

“He looks happy.”

“Yes, he does.”

Killian paused at the top of the stairs, straining his ears for anything else they might say. But when Liam spoke again, he wished he hadn’t.

“Now, where were we?”

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing! The final ch will be up on Friday!!

#a christmas surprise #krystal writes #art by krystal #christmas fluff

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kaydeefalls · 5 months

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Author's commentary for any part of ch 5 of Queen's Gambit, please!

Heyyy, Queen's Gambit, okay! It's been about ten years since I wrote this, so, y'know, let's see what I can remember.

Ch 5 is the eponymous chapter, right before the dream heist itself. It's also the part where everyone gets drunk at a bar and either succeed or fail to hook up with their partner of choice. I know I wrote that scene with a Fleetwood Mac album on repeat, for some damn reason (it's definitely the song playing at the bar at one point). This section was not easy to write. I don't actually ship Hank/Alex personally, so maneuvering their relationship beats in a way that felt authentic throughout this fic was challenging for me. And while I enjoy Raven/Angel, I'm still not sure I got Angel's voice right in this fic as a whole, so her parts were also tricky (though more enjoyable to write).

More importantly, "queen's gambit" is an opening move in chess, where a white pawn is offered as sacrifice, and that's the general theme of this fic in general and this chapter in particular. Emma Frost is the White Queen, both canonically in comicsverse and metaphorically in this fic series, and she's the one who offers up a "pawn" (Raven) to sacrifice to their mark, Cain. He takes the bait. And though we don't know it at this point in the fic, she really does sacrifice herself for the sake of the game - landing in Limbo, functionally out of play. Yay chess metaphors. I still think the Boden's Mate metaphor worked better overall, but considering how thinly plotted this fic was when I started posting it (literally ALL I knew going in was that Raven would end up in Limbo as part of an inception heist), I think I managed to pull the thread through relatively successfully.

(This is a fic that I would go back and truly rewrite from scratch, if I had the time/energy/interest. I wish I hadn't posted as I wrote. I definitely would have changed some MAJOR elements if I'd written through - nixing the Cain Marko element entirely and cutting the ensemble cast WAY down. Though I have no idea what would have happened to Charles's subplot in that case. Ah, well, so it goes, this is the fic I wound up with and I'm content enough to let it lie.)

Hmm, any other director's cut elements for this specific scene? I got to throw a Wade Wilson cameo in here. He was a LOT of fun to write. I love characters with zero brain-to-mouth filter, they're a blast.

#ask me anything #writing is hard #writing this fic in particular was VERY hard and took me three years #so there's that

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clonerightsenthusiast · 3 months

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cast a shadow on my soul (the stain remains)

[X-Men Comics, Gen, 5.7k words]

Frost found her outside of Shaw's study, propped up against the wall with her fingers pressed to the stinging flesh of her cheek and tears leaving black tracks of mascara down her face.

Tessa hadn't been undercover in the Hellfire Club for long, but she had very quickly come to recognize the distinctive sound of Emma Frost striding confidently down the hallways, and the brush of her mind like an icy breeze. Tessa had identified Emma Frost as the greatest threat within days of her arrival; there was nothing more dangerous to a spy, after all, than a telepath. Fortunately, Frost seemed to expect a certain amount of fear in those beneath her, and hadn't pried too closely. Yet.

(read on ao3)

The clicking of heels on wood came to a stop in front of her, and Tessa straightened up, clasping her hands in front of her and keeping her eyes lowered demurely. They weren't so far apart in Shaw's hierarchy, but Tessa had quickly determined that Frost was ambitious and vain and responded to deference.

"You're the new girl, aren't you?" Frost asked with cool detachment. The fake British accent was obvious to Tessa's ears. Another data point factoring in to her model of Emma Frost: a woman who would do–or be–anything to get ahead.

"Yes," she replied, bobbing her head without raising her eyes. Her face burned where Shaw's hand had connected. She knew, empirically, because a corner of her mind had already processed all the facts and thrown it back in her face, that it was impossible for Frost to fail to put together what had happened. She prayed silently that she would move on without further comment.

"Pull yourself together," Frost said coldly, dashing her hopes. "You're in public, darling, it's unseemly." Frost's cape swished away from her side as she turned to face Tessa and planted a hand on one hip, drumming her fingers against the bare skin there.

"Of course," Tessa said, biting her tongue. The back hallways of the manor were only open to residents and their guests, which hardly seemed public to her, but Frost said it to be hurtful, not accurate, and she'd run the numbers and her best chance for escaping the encounter quickly was to be as demure and deferential and say as little as possible.

Frost's weight shifted as she stood up taller and sighed, evidently coming to some decision. "You're embarrassing everyone," she said, tossing her hair over one shoulder. "You'll have to come with me."

She strode off down the hallway without waiting for a response, and Tessa hurried after her, her stomach sinking in anticipation of what fresh hell Frost had in store for her. Xavier had warned her this assignment would be dangerous; that the Hellfire Club was evil, and powerful, and would destroy her if they learned who she was (or, more importantly, who she was working for). What he hadn't prepared her for was the casual cruelty that seemed to permeate the building and everyone in it. In the short time she'd been here, working for Sebastian Shaw, she had witnessed things that made her sick to her stomach; and it had only been a matter of time until it was turned on her.

Frost didn't take her far; they were still in the residential area of the manor when she breezed through a door, leaving Tessa to slip inside before it shut after her. In the blink of an eye, she had scanned the room and put together the large canopy bed, imposing bureau, and glimpse of white through the cracked door of the wardrobe and put together that, for some reason, Frost had brought her to her own bedroom. Frost herself stopped beside the bureau and gestured impatiently for Tessa to join her.

Tessa did as she was bade, and Frost put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her forcefully down into the seat. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, skin pale except for the bruise blossoming in florid colors across half her face and black lines of mascara running down her cheeks, before Frost gripped her chin with icy fingers and turned her head towards her, tutting in clear disapproval as she inspected her.

"Shaw is an abominable brute, isn't he," she said in a low tone, almost to herself, clicking her tongue. With her free hand, Frost wiped her thumb across the bottom of Tessa's eye, pressing too hard, and came away with dark mascara, wet with tears, standing out against her pale skin.

Frost released her chin and turned to the bureau, digging through the drawers.

"He is what he is," Tessa said politically. She watched Frost intently, her mind racing as she focused the prodigious resources of her mutant mind to making her behavior make sense.

"Such glowing praise from his new favorite pet," Frost said, the corner of her mouth curling into a cold smile. She placed several small containers on the bureau and said, "Close your eyes."

Tessa obeyed, her shoulders tensing at the vulnerability. She flinched at something cold and wet touching her face. Frost tutted impatiently and gripped her chin again, holding her still as she wiped tears and smudged makeup away with firm strokes.

"If you intend to stick around," Frost said, beginning to dab at Tessa's bruise with something cold and soft, "You really ought to get these things for yourself. I can assure you this won't be the last time dear Sebastian takes a swing at you."

"I was… careless," Tessa said, swallowing around a lump in her throat as her mind jumped back to the incident.

It had been a newspaper discarded haphazardly on Shaw's desk. She'd been in the middle of reciting to Shaw his requested update on the state of his affairs when she'd noticed the article on the front page of the paper – or, perhaps more accurately, the picture: five young people, exhibiting mutant powers, in matching uniforms, with the headline emblazoned above declaring them UNCANNY X-MEN.

She zeroed in on the paper immediately, devoting more and more of her mutant ability to making sense of it, exploring the possible explanations. It was the X that gave it away, that damnable X – it screamed Xavier's handiwork, Xavier's research, Xavier's crusade. But who were these X-Men? Who were these mutants that he had gathered and outfitted like young Avengers and sent out to be the public face of his movement? And the real question, like a dagger in her chest – why wasn't she with them?

Tessa was so focused on thoughts of these X-Men, used to multitasking without effort, that she didn't even realize she'd stopped responding to Shaw until his backhand had sent her flying through a coffee table.

"You'll learn not to be quickly, if this wasn't lesson enough for you," Frost's voice cut through her thoughts, and Tessa breathed a sigh of relief that her psychic defenses were adequate to shield the storm of incriminating thoughts and emotions brewing in her mind. "But Shaw has always had a horrid temper and a tendency to take it out on the women around him. Open."

Tessa obediently opened her eyes, meeting Frost's icy blue gaze. It occurred to Tessa, suddenly, that Emma Frost was her age – or close enough. Surely, Xavier had been aware of her; a young mutant, and a powerful telepath at that – how could he not be? Had he approached her? Or had he simply left her to Hellfire? What had he seen in Emma Frost that had made him write her off?

Had he seen the same in her?

"Look up," Emma murmured, tipping Tessa's head back to apply new mascara to her lashes. "It's waterproof," she added. "If you're going to cry, do go out and get yourself some."

Tessa aborted a nod at Emma's disapproving noise, and instead held still as she applied the new makeup. She didn't bother trying to explain that it was the shock, more than anything, that had brought tears to her eyes – that she would be prepared, now, to better weather Shaw's temper. She took the advice, condescendingly given as it was, as kindness shown in the only way it could be in a place like this. When she was finally released, she turned to look at herself in the mirror and her breath caught in her throat.

There was no sign of the bruise; her face looked as if she'd never found herself on the wrong end of Shaw's mutant strength. She raised a hand and tentatively touched where she knew the bruise was, half-expecting it to have disappeared, and winced at the pain shooting across her cheek.

"You're lucky we have similar skin tones, darling," Emma said, busying herself with putting the makeup away. "It's best to cover them up quickly. Don't let anyone see you weak."

Tessa swallowed until she was sure her voice would come out steady, and then said, "Thank you. I know you don't… care for me."

"It's on all of us to keep up appearances," Emma hummed. She stepped away from the bureau and Tessa took her cue to stand up. Emma straightened her cape until it fell straight, clicking her tongue, then gave Tessa one last, long look.

"He underestimates us, you know," she said in a low voice, lingering with her hands on the hem of Tessa's cape. "Do make of yourself something more than he thinks, hm?"

Abruptly reaching her limit of humane connection, Emma whirled around and took a few steps away, clearing her throat. "As you were, Tessa," she said loudly.

"Good day, Emma," Tessa responded in kind, leaving the room with a businesslike stride, all the while wondering what it was about the two of them that Charles Xavier had seen fit to throw them to the likes of Sebastian Shaw.

–

On Krakoa, the Hellfire Club in many ways felt a world and a lifetime away – and in others, closer than ever. While monitoring the vast transit system, Sage used a portion of her brainpower to track the location at all times of Sebastian Shaw.

It often wasn't hard; Shaw had never been one to mingle with the common people, and when not sitting in session on the Quiet Council, was most often holed up in his habitat on Hellfire Bay, or back in New York rubbing shoulders with the human elite. Keeping track of him elsewhere on the island was difficult at best without help, but a few months into working with Black Tom, he'd picked up the habit of giving her a warning when their paths might cross.

Shaw had left for New York that morning, and Tom had only bade her a glassy-eyed farewell when she'd left the hub to make her way to the Green Lagoon, tired and aching for a drink, so she wasn't at all prepared when she'd walked past a gate on the way and it spat him out right into her path.

He seemed as surprised to see her as she was him, his expression shifting to momentary annoyance at having his path blocked before recognition and a gleeful cruelty sparked in his eyes.

"Tessa," he said smoothly, stepping into her space. His lips curled up into a mean smile. "How lovely to see you. It's been too long."

Sage held her ground, forcing her shoulders back and her chin up to meet his eyes, as far from demure Tessa's default posture as she could manage. He still wore the same overpowering cologne; her brain helpfully fetched a reel of memories, years of standing at his right hand breathing in the same scent as she bore witness to (or the brunt of) his cruelty. Not for the first time, she cursed her own perfect recall.

At the same time, another part of her mind was helpfully reminding her of the gun stashed inside her jacket, and her best odds of temporarily disabling Shaw long enough to escape if necessary. His mutant power made conventional weaponry and hand to hand combat both exceedingly dangerous; but Sage had spent a long time thinking about how to fight him if she had to.

"Sebastian," she said shortly. She took a mean pleasure in the way his nostrils flared at the familiar address. "I'm sure we've both been busy."

Shaw hummed. "Yes, quite," he said. His eyes flicked up and down, taking her in, and Sage resisted the urge to cross her arms defensively. "Stashed away in the transit hub, is it? Does Xavier know he's wasting you as a security guard?"

He raised a hand to her cheek. Sage registered the movement almost before it began and snapped a hand up to catch his wrist before he could touch her.

"Don't," she said shortly.

Shaw raised an eyebrow. Sage stared him down. After a moment, he withdrew his hand, and she let him go. "Well," he said, with a new edge to his voice. "I suppose you're also a part of McCoy's clandestine motley of brutes. Spying for Xavier, now… that is what you're good at, isn't it?" He gave her another once over, this time exaggerating the movement. "Though I must say, Tessa, your last assignment was much more becoming. You really have let yourself go since then."

Sage forced herself to keep a cool exterior while grinding her teeth. It wasn't that she gave a good goddamn about being attractive to Sebastian Shaw; it was the pettiness of it, and the knowledge that he clearly thought she should, that made her want to claw his eyes out.

"If that's all, Sebastian," she said, doing her best to sound bored instead of furious, "I have places to be."

Shaw didn't even have the grace to look disappointed at her lack of reaction. He took a half step back, gesturing broadly with one arm with the same smug smile on his face, and said, "Of course. I wouldn't dream of keeping you. I'm sure our paths will cross again soon."

"Naturally," Sage said. As long as Shaw remained on the Quiet Council, and she on X-Force, it was an inevitability.

How the hell had Charles allowed him to have that seat? And, more importantly, when the hell was Emma going to do something to have him removed?

Shaw's cologne hit her like a punch to the gut as she brushed past him. It was a good thing she was already headed for the Lagoon. Her need for a stiff drink had multiplied.

–

Sage scanned the Green Lagoon like a battle scene. The first order of business was taking note of who was behind the bar. Freddie, as always, but Freddie had expressed just yesterday a concern over her drinking habits, and she didn't have the patience for an intervention today. Not with the headache building at the back of her skull. Instead she used Avalanche as a cover to slide up to the other end of the bar where Anole was working. He was too intimidated by her to ask any questions.

True to form, Anole took one look at her hard stare and hopped to. Sage took her drink and removed herself to an empty table at the edge of the Lagoon, on the far end from the dreadful karaoke performance being put on by a group of teens on the main stage.

And she drank.

It was very loud, sometimes, having her power. Even without her telepathy turned outwards, her mutant mind was always working, always processing, always remembering. Sometimes she just wanted it to be quieter; to sand off the edges of her waking nightmares. When she was drinking, everything slowed down. Just a little. Just for a while. Dukes and Black Tom and Domino and Logan and everyone who was worried about her drinking didn't understand that it wasn't the drinking that was the problem; it was her. It was whatever dark and ugly thing inside her that led her to the Hellfire Club and to X-Force. That wouldn't let her come out of the shadows.

Hello, Sage.

The brush of foreign thoughts against her mind activated an instinctual psychic flinch, a defensive lockdown that she didn't have the wherewithal, after enough alcohol, to tamp down.

"My apologies," the voice said again, this time out loud. Sage looked up from her cup to see who else but Charles Xavier himself approaching, smiling warmly at her from beneath the Cerebro helmet. "I didn't mean to startle you; only to say hello."

"Hello, Professor," Sage said dutifully and then, in a glorious moment of not thinking, snorted loud enough for neighboring tables to hear.

Xavier cocked his head. "Is something funny…?" he asked, still with that smile on his face, just waiting to be let in on the joke.

Sage shook her head, snickering. "'S just," she said, gesturing vaguely with one hand, "your mutant name. 'Professor X'. 'S funny."

Xavier's smile turned indulgent and he folded himself into the seat opposite her. "I suppose it's rather dramatic," he said. "I thought it apropos at the time."

Sage shook her head again, more insistently. An old bitterness crawled up the back of her throat and soured her mood.

"'S not," she said, then swallowed and tried again, speaking slowly and forcing herself to enunciate. It was terribly important, suddenly, that he hear and understand what she had to say. "It's not. Professor X – like being a teacher is who you are, all the time. But you're not. You weren't."

Sage hiccuped and swallowed, staring intently at the bridge of Xavier's nose as his mouth pressed into a thin line. "You're the teacher of mutants – but not all of them. Not me. Not Emma Frost. Not the Hellions – you picked and chose your favorites. The worthy. The heroes. The rest of us you abandoned or found another use for."

Xavier turned his head slightly, and Sage, following the movement, realized with horror that she was talking far too loud, and now the rest of the Lagoon's patrons were openly staring at them.

"Sage," Xavier said in a low voice, "Perhaps we should continue this conversation elsewhere?"

"I–" Sage pushed away from the table, stumbling over her chair's legs. She threw back the rest of her drink to drown the embarrassment choking her. "I have to go."

"Sage–" Xavier reached out a hand towards her as she frantically backpedaled away from the table.

"Don't follow me. Please," she said, turning and running with her head down, pulling the collar of her jacket up to hide her face.

The speed with which she made it back to her habitat was evidence that she was not, in spite of it all, drunk enough. She fished out the bottle of whiskey she'd appropriated from Logan's last Marauders order and set about rectifying that.

What was that? How childish, how – petty, to air decade-old grievances when Xavier had only said hello. Here, in the heart of Krakoa, the whole damn country the man had founded to keep mutants safe. Hadn't she outgrown being angry with him for, what – not being an X-Man at first?

It was X-Force. X-Force, and seeing Shaw, and his petulant comments. It felt, in some ways, like she was back where she started. Doing Xavier's dirty work.

She put a serious dent in the whiskey, and by the time she dragged herself to bed, collapsing fully clothed on top of the covers, her head was swimming so much she could barely think and her mind was terribly, blessedly empty.

–

Sage woke up to a pounding headache, the smell of coffee, and instant regret. She would've rolled right back over and waited for death to take her, except that smell meant that somebody was in her kitchen and she had to make them leave. Her stomach heaved in protest as she rolled out of bed and tugged half-heartedly at her clothes to straighten them, but she managed not to hurl as she shuffled out into the kitchen.

Domino was rooting through her cabinets while the coffee machine on the counter worked away.

"Why do you have loads of coffee and no food?" she asked, balanced on her tiptoes with her head hidden behind a cupboard door.

"The coffee's from Lucas," Sage grumbled, "and I don't cook. Why are you in my house?"

Bishop spent more time off the island sailing with Kate Pryde's Marauders than he spent on it, these days. He made a point to bring her coffee from wherever they'd been last, which was sweet of him. She missed him; missed his friendship and, perhaps even more pressingly, missed having him to watch her back instead of the likes of Arkady Rossovitch.

"Me neither, but at least I have cereal," Domino said, dropping back to her feet and flipping the door closed. She pulled out a pair of mugs just as the coffee machine clicked off. "And I'm making coffee, obviously. What do you eat for breakfast?"

"I don't." Sage plopped into a seat at the island and stared blankly at Domino filling the mugs. "Why are you making coffee in my kitchen?"

"A little birdie told me you could use some."

She groaned and folded over, pressing her aching head to the cool countertop. She wished she could black out properly like normal people, instead of having the events of last night perfectly crystallized forever in her treacherous mutant brain. "Just get me one of the flowers that cures hangovers," she groaned. "Or a bullet."

"You're getting fancy imported coffee."

A mug clunked firmly onto the island beside her head, and chair legs scraped against the floor as Domino took a seat beside her. With a Herculean effort, Sage dragged her head up and pulled the mug towards her, breathing in the bitter fumes. Loathe as she was to admit it, it did make her feel a little better.

The effect was ruined when she glanced at Domino out of the corner of her eye and saw the expectant look on her face. Sage tipped her head back with a groan, closing her eyes. "So everybody knows."

"Mutants are notorious gossips," Domino said, not unsympathetically. "And you picked a fight with Charley Xavier in the middle of the Green Lagoon."

"It wasn't the middle," Sage groused. "And it wasn't a fight."

"The way I heard it, you almost started swinging at the old man." At Sage's glare, Domino put both hands up in front of her. "For the record, my money would've been on you."

Sage pinched the bridge of her nose. "Thank you for your support, Neena," she said through gritted teeth.

"Any time." Domino patted her on the shoulder while Sage begrudgingly sipped at her coffee. "So, you want to tell me why you got wasted and picked a fight with Professor X?"

"No," she said immediately, then sighed. "It's stupid."

Domino snorted. "You're a lot of things, Sage, but 'stupid' isn't one of 'em, and I know enough about Xavier to know plenty of people have plenty of reasons to be pissed at him." She bumped her shoulder into Sage's, jostling her. "So spill."

Sage took a long sip of coffee in the vain hope that Domino might simply evaporate by the time she finished. When that didn't work, she sighed again and reluctantly lowered her mug. "It was a long time ago," she hedged.

Domino only raised an eyebrow.

Sage raised her hands to rub at her temples. "I met Xavier when I was young. Just a kid, really. I saved his life from a cave-in, and he explained what I was – what a mutant was. And then, a few years later, I met him again. And he sent me undercover to spy on Hellfire Club."

She could remember it so clearly; she was young, alone in a cruel world and eager to latch on to the hope of the dream Xavier explained to her. He'd warned her it would be dangerous; what he hadn't gotten across was how degrading it would be, how that much time spent with the inner circle of the Hellfire Club seeped into your soul like a poison.

He also hadn't said there was an alternative.

Sage ran a finger around the rim of the mug. "What I didn't know was that around that time, he was gathering mutants to form the original team of X-Men."

Domino gave a low whistle. "So Chuck doesn't pick you for his team, and instead of spandex, you spend your teen years in lingerie and leather?"

Sage clenched a hand into a fist, staring at the skin stretched white across her knuckles. "I was Sebastian Shaw's personal assistant for years," she said. "Alone, surrounded by some of the worst both man and mutantkind had to offer. And I only got out because he left me for dead – worse than dead." With her free hand, she covered her eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. The memory of Bogan was like a scar in her mind – a glitch in her programming, making everything around it stutter and warp. "Storm found me, saved me, and brought me to join her team – they were functioning without Xavier's blessing at the time. They didn't know or trust me. Storm was the only one who knew what I had been doing."

She shook her head sharply. That wasn't the point. The X-Men had ultimately welcomed her. As alone as she'd been at the time, their distrust had hurt; but of course they couldn't have known. It would have endangered all their lives to have known.

She tried again, loosening her fist and instead clutching her mug for stability. "It… when I learned about the X-Men, I asked myself, why did he send me here, instead? What did he – this wise, old, man – what did he see that made him turn me away? What was wrong with me?"

She pressed the meat of her palms, hot from the mug, into her eyes, hard, as if she could push the tears welling up back into their ducts. "It's been years," she said, hoarse. "It doesn't matter anymore. Xavier just caught me at a… bad time."

Domino was quiet for a long moment, then said, "I'm no X-Man. God knows, that is not my gig." She laughed a little at the thought. "But thanks to Cable, I've known a lot of kids that grew up to be X-Men. I watched those kids go through hell and come out – well, to be honest, some of them are complete basket cases." She said it fondly, the corner of her lips curling up into a small smile. She shook her head, turning her attention back to Sage. "But they're still some of the finest young men and women I've ever known, because that's what it takes to be an X-Man."

Sage laughed bitterly. "If your point is that I shouldn't beat myself up because the standard is too high –"

"My point," Domino cut her off, taking one of Sage's wrists and pulling her hand away from her face, "is that those kids had help. They had guidance. Sure, it was mostly grizzled old mercenaries, but there were people looking out for them. You spent all that time in hell with just yourself to keep it together, and you came out the other side an X-Man." She squeezed her wrist. "My point is, it takes a hell of a person to do that. Maybe Xavier saw that in you. Maybe he knew you could handle it."

Sage breathed out and let herself consider what Domino was saying – that maybe, all those years ago, Charles had made a calculated gamble; that he hadn't been worried only with her capacity to carry out her mission, but to come out the other side relatively whole. It was – plausible. "Maybe," she said out loud for Domino's benefit.

Really, it meant more to hear her say it than whether or not it was true. X-Force was becoming a nightmare, another cruel turn in the cycle of her life, but she wasn't alone in it. More than anything the Hellfire Club had to throw at her, what had killed her was going through it on her own. But not here. Not since joining the X-Men.

She leaned over to bump her shoulder against Domino's and swallowed until she was sure her voice would come out even as she said, "Thank you. For the coffee."

Neena tapped their mugs together with a warm click. "Any time."

–

When Sage finally made it to the transport hub, carrying a thermos of more coffee and feeling much better thanks to some Krakoan medicine, there was a present waiting for her on her console. A single stark white rose in a narrow crystal vase. Sage smiled to herself as she traced a petal with one finger. Emma almost never acknowledged their shared history, unless it was to express her disdain for Shaw. Whatever she had seen from him yesterday must have moved her to reach out.

She thought about what Domino had said, about the kind of person to leave the Hellfire Club and join the X-Men. Maybe the two of us had the same thing inside us, after all, she mused, running her thumb over the blunt curve of a thorn.

"Sage?"

Sage went very still at the sound of Xavier's voice behind her. A rush of shame and humiliation nearly bowled her over as hearing him triggered the memory of last night – somewhere under that, though, she registered that he'd spoken aloud.

"I don't mean to disturb you, but I –"

"I'm sorry," Sage interrupted, whirling around to face him. She braced her hands behind her on the back of her chair. "For last night. It was… shameful."

"Water under the bridge, my dear," Xavier said, waving a hand. He paused for a moment, awkwardly clearing his throat. "In fact, I believe I owe you an apology. One long overdue."

He inclined his head slightly. "We never spoke about your original mission, after you took your place on the X-Men. Had I realized you harbored such… insecurities, I would have broached the topic much sooner."

She opened her mouth to object, to explain away last night's outburst, but he held up a hand to stay her.

"Please," he said. "Let me finish."

He didn't mean to condescend to her; Sage didn't know Xavier as well as many of the other X-Men, but she knew him well enough to know that. It still rankled. But she held her tongue.

Charles continued. "The road to Krakoa hasn't been an easy one, you know as well as I," he said. "But especially in those early days, it was a struggle. Mutantkind had so many enemies, and so few allies. Mutants themselves were still few and far between." He started pacing, a few short steps to either side. "We were fighting a hopeless war. I wanted students, but I needed soldiers. And I needed spies."

He turned on his heel to face her again. "You were right, Sage: I was not your professor. I was your general. I thought it was necessary; but whether history will prove my judgment wrong or right, it should not have been that way. And I am sorry."

Her younger self would have been moved to tears to hear that – to hear any acknowledgment of the injustice of her position from the man she'd pledged her future to. But here and now, the apology felt awkward and hollow. She realized abruptly that she didn't want one. Not from him.

Xavier, standing tall in a sleek bodysuit, with the shadow of the threshold slicing across his face, his eyes covered by Cerebro and his hands clasped behind his back, looked light-years away from the kindly old man in a wheelchair she'd met all those years ago. Or maybe it was the opposite – maybe he looked more like the man who'd sent her away than he ever had.

In another life, a little voice said in the back of Sage's mind, I would see this man as my father.

Maybe that was a gift he'd given her. The gift of clarity; of distance. When she was younger she had clung to the idea of him, the only person she could call an ally. The only one who might mourn her if she died undercover. But she wasn't that isolated child anymore. She could see him through clear eyes. He was not the beloved mentor to her that he was to so many mutants on Krakoa.

This man was not her father. She didn't need his approval.

Sage cleared her throat. "I appreciate the thought, Charles, but it's not necessary," she said in a clear, even voice. "You caught me at a bad time last night. I promise I don't spend all day resenting you for past sins." She said nothing of his present ones.

Xavier paused, perhaps put off by her flippancy, but nodded. "Of course. I'm glad to hear it. Well, I'll leave you to your work. If there's anything I can do–"

"Do better," Sage said, cutting him off. "For the next generation. They deserve better than to be used the way we were."

Xavier smiled a sad, tired smile, and gestured widely as if to encompass all of Krakoa. "That is the goal of all I do. Krakoa is both reward and promise – for our past struggles, and of a brighter future for all mutants."

Krakoa had enough dark secrets – even just that she knew of, and she had no doubt there was more that she didn't – that the thought didn't fill Sage with confidence. But she nodded and turned back to her console, a clear dismissal. After a moment, she heard Xavier's footsteps leaving the transit hub.

Krakoa wasn't perfect. Far from it. There was more hard, thankless work to be done to secure the future of mutantkind – work that, frankly, she didn't trust Xavier to oversee. But she would do it. It was the kind of work she was good at. She took a sip of coffee and looked at the white flower and her lips curled up into a small smile. And she wouldn't be doing it alone.

Sage cracked her knuckles and got to work.

#x-men #tessa sage #emma frost #neena thurman #charles xavier #sebastian shaw #my fic #how do you even tag sage btw. did my best ig lol #have the sage fic that i had to exorcise from myself. i love her. queen of being wronged by xavier

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kayssweetdreams · 11 months

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Maestro Hiccups 3: Chaos Incarnate Ch 58

Your eyes land on the multicolore frozen lake. It looked very..."hiding spot"-y. "Maybs the Collector is hiding over there." You muse "Only one way to find out." Leo says as the three of you run over to the frozen lake, taking the now Dollfied Kaylo with you.

As soon as the three of you reached the lake, you searched around for anything that looked even remotely like a hiding spot, but all you saw was the iced over colorful lake. Emma leaned down the at the strange water "Hey...this isn't water, it's paint!" She exclaimed in shock. "This is insane! What on earth happened to this world?!" You asked in worry.

Suddenly, a rustling noise caught your ear. You look around and see a small patch of bushes moving. Leo gets in front of you and Emma and puts up a brave front "W-Who's there?!" He shouts, trying to hide the tremble in his voice. "I could be asking you that." Another voice answered, one being much older than him. "Is this your lake?" Emma asked "You could say that." The voice answered back.

You raise an eyebrow "Well...how about you come out and let us see you?" You ask. "I...don't know. Those weird magic waves making everything go nuts caused me to look...a little weird." The voice answered. "You have no idea. We won't laugh. Promise." You say.

"Alright...here I come." The voice said. Suddenly, a large, snow white rabbit with Ice blue eyes popped out of the bushes and directly in front of you. You let out a shout of surprise at the sight of the large rabbit. "Who-What-HUH?!" Leo exclaimed in shock "I know, but trust me. Normally I am NOT the Kangaroo." He says, a cheeky smile appearing on his face. This made you and the kids look confused "Uh...Kangaroo?" You asked.

"Yeah. Because a...nother person quite literally looks like this." He says. "O...K...Say, you haven't seen a small child in celestial themed clothing float by have you?" Leo asks "Actually, did see a shooting star float by here, maybe it has to do with what you just described." He said. "Thanks...by the way, what your name?" You ask. "Easy. Jack Frost." He says.

You freeze in your steps. THIS was Jack Frost?! How on earth did he become a giant white rabbit? "Jack Frost? As in the Jack Frost Kaylo is friends with?" You ask. Jack's eyes widened "You know Kaylo?" He asked. "Yeah...actually..." You start, showing Jack the small Kaylo doll in your hands "What Happened to her?" He asked. "Erm...The Collector turned her into a doll..." you explain.

Jack's eyes narrow "Now that you say that...I did see the Collecter. But I'm not sure if he can hear us. I do wanna help you though." He says. You considered his words. Even though you've visited several worlds so far, you've always been met with the inhabitant of said world...and then something HAPPENED. But then again, Kaylo was friends with Jack, and this was his world...even if the pink haired girl was a doll now

#Balan Wonderworld #Rise of the Guardians #Leo Craig #Emma Cole #Jack Frost

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hookedonapirate · 1 year

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Lady Cassidy's Lover

Summary: 1919 England, Emma Cassidy, wife of a baronet, finds herself trapped in a loveless marriage after the war leaves her husband, Neal, paralyzed from the waist down and unable to produce an heir.

Despite the obstacles, she sticks by her husband's side at Goldby Hall, his family's estate, but when she meets former army lieutenant and Neal's aloof gamekeeper, Killian Jones, she feels curiously drawn to his distant blue eyes and quiet demeanor.

At first, she seeks him out for reprieve from her soulless, mundane existence at Goldby Hall, but what starts out as purely physical quickly turns into more than either of them expects.

But Emma is a baronetess, wife of an aristocrat and Killian is a working class servant. Their love affair is frowned upon, and she risks losing her title, her wealth and her position in the world by being with him. But she is determined to get her happy ending with the man she loves. Even if it means losing everything else in the process.

A/N: Thank you @ultraluckycatnd and for looking this over and for being amazing!

After receiving a comment from the swanfire police, (and no, I don't care if this shows up in "your" tags), I'm feeling quite sassy and classy myself and feel even more inspired to make this fic VERY enti-Neal :-)

Hope you all enjoy!

Catch up: Ch 1 I Ch 2 I Ch 3 I Ch 4 I Ch 5 I Ch 6 I Ch 7 I Ch 8 I Ch 9 I Ch 10 I Ch 11 I Ch 12 I Epilogue

Also on: AO3

Chapter Two

Dear Mary Margaret,

I’m a thoughtless lout for not writing sooner. In my defense, Goldby needed an enormous amount of tending to. But we finally have a full staff who’ve done wonders in restoring the place. Neal’s strength has returned. I’m still the only one he’s willing to let help him, but every day he can do more and more on his own. He’s writing all the time, which keeps his spirits up, and he’s already finished his first novel.

It is quiet here in the country. I miss the life we had in London, and, of course, I miss you. We have had some guests. Mostly Neal’s old bachelor friends. It’s hardly surprising most of them haven’t found women, believe me. Now and again, we also get visits from writers whose advice Neal has sought out. Apparently, my old friends all seem to think misfortune is contagious.

I know you and David have been traveling everywhere since the war ended, but once you’ve settled back home, I would love to see you.

Your loving sister,

Emma

Emma and Neal take a walk through the park, the rolling hills sparkling with a thin layer of morning frost and the crisp air nipping at her skin. Or rather, Neal chuffs cautiously down the knoll in his motorized chair while Emma walks alongside him, keeping a hand on it in case it decides to roll on its own.

This is her life now. Taking care of Neal, bathing him, dressing him and now taking him out for walks. They had hired staff to cook and clean, but when it comes to helping Neal get around, he’ll only let Emma help him. She doesn’t mind the brisk air, though. It’s just as bitter as she feels, and it helps numb her thoughts.

But the idea she may never feel the touch of a man ever again, the idea she may never feel the warmth of his skin or have a man inside her sends a chill of loneliness through her. Unless she ever left Neal, of course. But it would seem so cruel to leave her paralyzed husband, all because he could not make love to her. It’s not just that though. The war had changed him. Hardened him. Like it had to a lot of people. Left a wound that goes deeper than his physical injury.

He’s no longer tender and thoughtful like he was. He never shows her affection except for a peck on the cheek every now and then. Whenever she tries to be intimate with him, he pushes her away, saying he can’t because of his injury. But he still has his hands. He could still touch her, caress her, make her feel less lonely, make her feel wanted at least, but he chooses not to. Every day, he chooses something else over her.

“Where are we going?” she asks him curiously. Usually when she tries to go for a walk, he begs her not to leave him to fend for himself, even though she never plans on being out for very long.

“There’s somewhere I’d like to show you.”

Ever since they came here to Goldby, he’s been working on a novel or painting or entertaining guests, making use of his hands by doing everything he possibly can with them except for those activities that would make him an affectionate husband to his wife. She tries not to blame him though, she truly does. He was forever injured, and she can’t even imagine the pain he has suffered and the guilt he feels. So she makes sure to never let him see her sad or ungrateful. She makes sure he knows she cares for him and will do anything for him, just as a wife should.

Emma opens the wooden gate to the forest, where everything seems to be motionless, with the exception of a jay jeering loudly and a flock of small birds flying around. There used to be deer and archers and monks paddling along, but now there is nothing. No game or pheasants are present, for they had all been killed during the war, leaving the forest unprotected.

They come to a clearing Sir Rumpelstiltskin had cut during the war for trench timber. There’s nothing left but dead bracken, large, lifeless stumps and patches of blackness where the woodmen had burned the brushwood and rubbish. The forest still has some mystery but Sir Rumpelstiltskin’s cuttings had all but wiped it out.

When they reach the crown of the bare knoll, where the oaks had once stood, he stops and gazes out over at the faraway trees to the colliery railway. “I used to come here as a lad and sit for hours. It’s one of the finest views in all the Midlands. I want to restore these woods. If these places aren’t preserved, there’ll be no England left. Our way of life will end, never mind what we gave up to defend it.” He sits in contemplative silence for a moment before turning his head to look at her steadily. “I mind not being able to have a son here more than any other place.”

Emma swallows the large lump in her throat, knowing it’s not possible for him to have a son. Or a daughter. They’ll never be able to have children and that doesn’t sit very well with Emma. She can tell it doesn’t sit well with Neal either. “I’m sorry we can’t have one.”

“Almost be a good thing if you had a child with another man.”

Emma chuckles softly. She’s positive he’s joking, there’s not even a doubt in her mind he is, but when she studies him for a few seconds, he doesn’t even crack a smile. “You’re not serious?”

“Why not?”

“Why not?” Laughing again, she plants herself on a stump next to him. She can’t believe they’re having this conversation. “Because…because we’re married. I married you, Neal.” She places a hand on his arm. “Why would you even suggest such a thing?”

“So you could have a child to dote on, to fill your days. As far as anyone else knows, I might still be capable of fathering it. If we raised it here at Goldby, it’d be ours, and if we had a son, it would carry on my family name. Don’t you think it’s worth considering?”

She stares at him like he’s gone mad. He might just have, as far as she’s concerned. What kind of man would be willing to let his wife be impregnated by another? It’s absurd! Nevermind that the child— her child—is just an it to him. “Do you really mean this?”

“Well, of course, I wouldn’t want you to yield yourself completely to him, but the mechanical act of sex is nothing when compared to a life lived together. If you govern your emotions accordingly, we could arrange this like a trip to the dentist.”

“A trip to the…” Emma scoffs, not believing what she’s hearing. A mixture of bewilderment and fear eats away at her. But if anyone is capable of the mechanical act of sex without giving their heart away, it’s her. She has done it before, so obviously she can do it again. Right? As long as Neal is the one she comes home to, what’s the harm in it?

But that’s not really the point. Neal is okay with his wife being touched by another man. It’s as if he wants her to be.

“And you wouldn’t mind who the man was?” She can’t believe she’s humoring this ridiculous idea of his.

“I trust your judgment. You wouldn’t let the wrong sort of fellow touch you. He would have to be someone of the utmost discretion. The Cassidy name depends on it.”

“Would you expect me to tell you who this man was?”

He shakes his head. “Best I don’t know.”

“An heir really means this much to you?”

“It means a lot to the people here. I know you can do it for them and for the Cassidys. You do agree with me, don’t you?”

She’s silent after that. And as they make their way back to Goldby, she’s overwhelmed by his words. Even if Neal claims to be okay with it, it’s so absolutely wrong. She couldn’t possibly be with another man just to give her husband an heir. Not only is it absurd, but it would be foolish. What would everyone think? They know he’s paralyzed and can’t have children, so where on earth would they assume the child is coming from?

Her thoughts are halted when Neal’s chair gets stuck in the mud, and she has a difficult time getting the thing moving again. She struggles with it as a black spaniel darts out onto the path in front of them, barking.

A man wearing navy blue velveteens and gaiters and holding a gun strides toward them so suddenly, Emma’s heart jumps out of her chest, fear jolting through her, afraid he’s about to attack them with how quickly he’s moving toward them.

“Jolly! Come here, lass!” He stops to salute them before continuing downhill behind them after the dog.

Emma lets out a sigh of relief.

“Jones?” Neal calls over his shoulder

The man stops in his tracks and turns around.

“I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind giving us a hand getting this chair started again? The engine isn’t really made for uphill work.”

“Not at all.” Slinging his gun over his shoulder, the man heads toward them. He’s tall and handsome with broad shoulders, his chin and cheeks sprinkled with a light dusting of ginger scruff. He doesn’t look at her at all, only at the chair as he approaches it from behind.

Emma steps back to give him room, and the dog runs around her in circles, leaping and barking, tail wagging excitedly. She watches in fascination with a smile.

He sets his gun down on the ground off to the side of the trail and rises, glancing at the spaniel. “Down, Jolly,” he chides softly with a thick brogue, his voice deep and gravelly.

Emma laughs a little, trying to ignore the way butterflies form in her belly from merely his voice. “She’s just being friendly.”

“Emma, this is the new gamekeeper, “ Neal announces proudly. “Jones, have you met her ladyship yet?”

“No, Sir.” The man removes his hat, revealing his thick, dark hair as he lifts his head.

Her breath catches as he stares straight into her eyes with his deep, ocean blue ones, as if he is curious to see what she’s like. Suddenly feeling shy, her cheeks flushed, she bends her head, and he switches his hat to his other hand and bows slightly. “Have you been at Golby for some time, Mr. Jones?”

“I was raised here, your Ladyship.” He tucks his hat into the inside of his jacket and grabs the rail of the chair.

He might almost be a gentleman. Nevertheless, he’s a curious and distant fellow, his eyes holding a look of suffering and detachment, yet a surprising warmth. He reminds her of a soldier, rather than a servant.

When Neal starts the little engine, Jones carefully turns the chair toward the incline and pushes the chair up the steep rise of the knoll, breathing sharply through parted lips.

Emma can see him struggle a little at getting the wheels of the chair through the mud. “Need some help?”

“Jones is quite capable of pushing on his own.”

Despite her husband’s insistence, Emma steps beside Jones and helps him push the chair through the last bit of mud, not failing to notice the small distance between them. He smells like forest and sweat and musk, making the inside of her nostrils tingle. She quite likes his manly scent.

“There we are,” Neal says triumphantly, not even noticing she had helped.

“Is that all then, Sir Neal?” the man asks.

“That’ll be all.” Neal continues ahead on his own, calling over his shoulder. “Good day!”

“Good day, Sir.”

Noticing her husband does not show the slightest bit of gratitude toward the gamekeeper, Emma turns around as Jones heads away from her, Jolly striding beside him. “Thank you! That was kind of you. I hope it wasn’t too heavy.”

He turns toward her, his eyes quickly moving to hers, a teasing yet gentle smile, playing across his lips, his eyes twinkling. There is something very charming about him and sweet, behind those distant eyes. “Oh, no, not heavy at all,” he assures her. “Good day, your Ladyship.”

As Emma catches up with her husband and helps him at the hill, she can hear the gamekeeper clicking his tongue and the dog barking. She peers over her shoulder and loses her breath yet again when he too looks back, their eyes connecting once more.

She quickly turns away and continues to push her husband’s wheelchair, trying to forget how blue the man’s eyes are. But why can’t she? She has seen blue eyes before, for heaven’s sake!

Surely none as alluring or beautiful as his.

“Not tired, are you?” Neal asks her, blissfully unaware of the pull between his wife and his gamekeeper.

“Oh, no. Not at all.” But she is. A strange yearning—a dissatisfaction, rather—had formed inside of her. Neal doesn’t notice, it’s not something he’d probably ever be aware of. The stranger, however, knew. Perhaps it’s why he kept his guard up around her.

“Who is your gamekeeper?” Emma asks curiously, wanting to know more about him.

“Jones. You saw him back there.”

“Yes, but where did he come from?”

“Nowhere. He was a Misthaven boy. Son of a collier. He was keeper here for two years before the war. Came back home a full lieutenant. My father always had a good opinion of him, so I took him back. I’m glad to have him. It’s almost impossible to find a good man around here. Gamekeeping needs someone who knows the people.”

“And is he married?” The question tumbles out of her mouth before she can stop it. After the earlier conversation she had with Neal, she doesn’t want him to think she’s asking for any reason other than pure curiosity.

“He is. But his wife carried on with other men while he was at war and is now with a collier at Stacks Gate.”

“So, they’re divorced now?”

“Not properly, I don’t believe. But there never was much proper about Milah.”

“So this man is alone?”

“As far as I know, yes. He had a brother, but he died in the war.”

Emma’s heart clenches. The man was not only betrayed by the woman he loved, but he also lost his brother and now lives in a small village alone.

She knows very much what it’s like to be alone. She once thought having a husband would make her feel less alone but being with Neal has only heightened the inward emptiness that is gradually spreading in her soul. They’re more like roommates than husband and wife, and she is his caretaker. They don’t even sleep in the same bed anymore. He sleeps on the main floor in the library among the books so he doesn’t have to fuss with the stairs, and at night Emma goes up to her bedroom and to her empty bed. Alone.

All alone.

With no one to give affection to, no one to show affection in return, no one to hold her, no one to wake up next to. She had truly missed him while he was gone, she read every letter he wrote her and she was excited for his return. She feared for his life, but she had held onto the hope that he would survive. The hope that they could finally get their honeymoon and begin their married life and that she would have someone to go to bed with and wake up next to.

Earlier, Neal talked about her having a child and giving an heir to Goldby. Perhaps having a child would make her feel less lonely. Perhaps a boy or girl would fill the empty void in her life that’s been there since Neal left for the war. But she’d hate herself if she only had the child so she would feel less lonely. Not to mention, Neal’s suggestion made her physically ill. The fact her husband would rather have an heir than a faithful wife rattles her mind and soul more than she can comprehend.

~*~

The next morning, she sits with her husband at the table eating breakfast. Or rather, he’s eating and she’s sitting quietly, playing with her food, her stomach full of knots as she thinks about what he had suggested yesterday.

Neal takes a bite of his breakfast and looks up, noticing she has barely touched her food. “You ought to eat something. You’re wasting away.”

She’s surprised he even noticed. Lately he has been occupied with everything other than her. Mostly with his next novella. “I’m not feeling well.” As she answers him, the housekeeper brings Neal his newspaper.

He immediately drops his fork onto the plate and spreads out the paper before him. The excitement buzzing in his eyes and the attention he gives to that paper is more than he has given her since he left for the war.

“I haven’t been feeling well since our conversation.”

He doesn’t even look up at her as he quickly leafs through the pages until he finds what he’s searching for.

“Neal.” Her voice is laden with irritation, but he simply chuckles.

“Ah, here we are, look!” He folds back the newspaper and turns it toward her, pointing at his photograph. “I got my picture in the paper.” He clears his throat and reads the article out loud. “Cassidy’s novella has garnered attention for its humorous analysis of people and their motives—” his smile transforms into a frown, the excitement fading from his voice as he continues— “though his views on modern society are not young and playful, but curiously old and obscenely conceited.”

“Neal, stop reading,” Emma suggests, his mood rapidly deflating.

“A wonderful display of nothingness.”

“It’s just one review,” she reminds him.

He finally peels his eyes from the page to look up at her. “But they’re right.” He gestures to the article. “They…they’ve seen right through me. It’s all nothing. Home, love, sex, marriage, friendship.” He sighs. “All of it.”

Emma narrows her eyes at him, anger spiraling through her. Did he just say their marriage means nothing to him? “You don’t mean that.”

“I think I do. The whole point of living is learning to accept the great nothingness of life.”

She rises from her chair and marches away from him, unable to listen to his rant any further. “I’m going to get dressed.”

Over the next few days, some of Neal’s family visit—his aunt and cousins—and Emma pretends to be interested as they chat her ears off the entire time. She is too exhausted from it all. From taking care of Neal, from being neglected by him, from feeling desperately lonely. And the company of Neal's family only makes her realize how much she misses her sister and father.

When everyone leaves, things are no better. The days seem to drag by painfully, and even the housekeeper notices how unhappy and bitter she is and that she is getting thinner since she is not feeling well enough to eat.

Fear for her life and of ending up underground with her ancestors, she calls Mary Margaret.

#cs ff #captain swan #lady cassidy's lover

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