Samsarā

Lexi's Note: Starting next chapter, I'm going to be starting the 'non-linear' part of the story, where we get to see the growth of Jean and Emma's relationship. There will still be a bit of organization because, well, I don't need it to be overly complicated.

May 17, 2009
The Xavier School for the Gifted - Salem Center, New York
7:18pm

     Walking down the empty corridor towards her room, Emma reflects on the unnatural silence in the normally lively girls' dormitory. Her fellow students were sent home after the attack on the school, leaving her the sole occupant. As if hitting a wall, the young blonde freezes in place, her heart pounding in her chest as she sees the familiar little figure on the door beside her. Taking a deep breath, she turns to the door, her eyes falling the bright yellow cartoon sun. The friendly face of the paper cutout greets her, the word 'Grey' written in a playful and billowy cursive under the cherubic, smiling face. Reaching up and tracing the glittery letters, Emma only lets out a shuddering sigh, her tears long since dried up. She rests her forehead against the door, with nothing but her own breathing as company.

     Hesitantly, she finds herself reaching for the door handle, hoping that it's locked so she doesn't have to try and handle what she knows is behind the door. Her fingers brush against the cool, brushed nickel. Drawing in a deep breath, she wraps her fingers around it and applies the faintest bit of pressure…

     'Emma. Your father is here. We would like to meet with you in my office.' Professor Charles Xavier's measured baritone rings in her head.

     '…I'm on my way.' Resisting the instinct to shift to her diamond form and ignore the Professor, she notices her hand has already left the door handle. Emma glances down at her hand with a frown before letting it fall to her side. Attention returning to the dark wooden door, she stares at it for a few more seconds before turning away to head for Xavier's office. "I'll… I'll be back."

     Her shoes make sharp clicks against the hard marble tiles as she walks, the sound echoing off the warm, wood paneled walls. The rhythmic noise comes to an abrupt stop as she pauses in a familiar spot at the top of the staircase connecting the third floor to the lower levels of the school. Glancing to her left, Emma spots a photo hanging on the wall and slowly makes her way over to it, staring at the five familiar faces that smile back at her. It seems like almost a lifetime ago, she muses as her fingers trace over the face of her dead girlfriend, Jean's smile proving infectious even in reproduction as it creeps onto Emma's face. The smile falters as she takes in the rest of the image of her former squad before disappearing altogether. With Warren, Allison, and Teresa graduating and Jean's death, she's all that's left of the New Mutants now. Another wave of loneliness washes over her, and she turns away.

     Two flights down the massive staircase later, Emma reaches the ground floor and walks through the main hall, watching the last few students as they sit in a circle, chattering quietly as they wait for the bus that will take them to the airport. Eventually she reaches a large, familiar mahogany door. After a gentle knock, the door opens to reveal the headmaster's attendant. "Nice of you to join us, Miss Frost. The Professor has been waiting for you."

     "A pleasure as always, Mister Summers. Tell me, have you been taking lessons in emotional depth from Kristen Stewart?" Before Scott can think up a suitable rejoinder, Emma is pushing her way past and into the office proper. Seated behind his desk, Xavier smiles soothingly at Emma, her father likewise doing his best to look reassuring as he lowers himself into the chair on the opposite side of the headmaster's desk before patting the arm in invitation.

     As she moves to join him, Emma's eyes sweep over the others in the room: Doctor McCoy, clad in a lab coat as usual, and… a small frown forms as Emma's bloodshot eyes lock onto an unknown. While Emma doesn't waste her time paying attention to every last person to cross her path, she's fairly certain she would remember seeing this particular person around campus at some point: a tall, elegant Indian woman, clad in a black turtleneck sweater and matching knee-length pencil skirt. Deep brown eyes peer at her over the top of the woman's small reading glasses as the light of Xavier's office creates subtle highlights in the long, ebony hair the woman has pulled back tightly in a bun.

     Eventually, Emma dismisses the newcomer. If she's present for a reason, someone will inform her. "You wanted to see me, Professor?" Turning her attention back to the headmaster, she perches carefully on the arm of the very expensive chair her father is seated in. A wave of irritation floats her way, originating from the man hovering behind her, and Emma can't help herself, "Yes, Mister Summers, I know exactly how much this chair cost. Seeing as how I'm not a heifer, unlike those trollops you've been seen around the grounds with-"

     "Scott. Emma. Please." The irritated grunt of a supposed adult being scolded like a child by his mentor is reward enough for Emma, enough to quash her irritation at being interrupted, even. Steepling his fingers at his chin, the elderly gentleman takes a moment to collect his thoughts before moving forward. "Emma, we asked you to come because we're worried you might have sustained a lasting psychic injury from being with Jean when… when she passed."

     Breaking eye contact with the elder mutant for a brief moment, the young blonde fights with her own nature as she forces herself to stay in her flesh and blood state. Her… premature crystallizations… are a sign of her current emotional turmoil and nothing more, Emma tells herself. The last thing she needs is to give them fodder for their ridiculous theory. Feeling her father's warm hand on hers, she pushes her feelings down and looks back to the Professor.

     "While I haven't probed your mind out of respect for your privacy, Doctors McCoy and Banner shared their experiences from that day with me. Between that and your… fainting spell… at Jean's funeral, your father and I feel it would be best if you attended grief therapy," Xavier expresses with compassion and sympathy.

     Clenching her jaw as she pushes the resurgent pain back down, Emma finds herself again fighting to stay in control. Another squeeze of her hand distracts her and she draws reassurance from her father's presence, raising her head proudly. "Do I get a say, or has the committee already voted me to the stake?" Her voice is cold and detached as her pain slowly begins to give way to anger. Rising to her feet and stepping towards Xavier's desk, she pulls her hand free of her father's with a gentle tug. Staring defiantly at the headmaster, her arms cross over her chest as one fine blond brow rises.

     "Of course you do," her father replies gently. Leaning forward, his hand finds hers again and this time she doesn't try to shake free.

     "Yes, Emma, you do get a say." The Professor's voice redirects her attention back to him. The old man's grey-blue eyes meet hers before looking towards the mystery woman seated on the antique sofa along the wall, guiding Emma's attention her way. "Before you make a decision, would you at least permit me to introduce the grief therapist who has been working with the others?"

     "Fine." Emma's eyes follow Xavier's as she turns to face the mystery woman, a partial identity now established.

     "Hello, Miss Frost." The dignified woman rises to her feet gracefully and makes her way over to the comparatively small blonde teen, offering her hand. After a long moment of contemplation, Emma shakes it. "My name is Dr. Asgari Kapatī and it is… perhaps not a pleasure to meet you. Nice, then, given what the alternatives are? If circumstances were at all pleasant, after all, my services would not be needed. Alas, they are, and so your headmaster has invited me to serve as a grief therapist here at the school."

     "So gushingly glad you could join us here at Xavier's, Doctor," Emma responds, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she releases the doctor's hand, arms crossing over her chest again defensively. She doesn't want help. She doesn't need help. But the one thing she wants or needs less is to have the faculty breathing down her neck every moment of every day, waiting for her to crack as if she's made of glass and not diamond. And so she makes a decision she's certain she'll regret, but is equally sure is a necessary evil. Pulling herself up to her full five foot two inch glory, she eyes the much taller doctor with detached arrogance. Then she turns away and walks towards the door, waving dismissively. "Very well, but on three conditions."

     "Oh Emma…" Her father's voice, thick with disappointment, almost makes her hesitate.

     Almost.

     "My first condition is that it's one-on-one only. No group therapy. The second is that I choose the roster for the next New Mutants. Freshmen, poaching from other squads, whoever I want, no questions asked." Staring at the door, Emma takes a deep breath to steady herself before looking back over her shoulder at Xavier, Dr. Kapatī, and - most importantly of all - her father. "Finally, no one is to enter Jean's room. Not now, not this fall… not until I say so. No one will be assigned to it, and I will be the one to keep it straightened and clean. If that will be all? I will see you Monday, Dr. Kapatī. Father, I will gather my bags and meet you at the car."

     Before anyone can answer, she turns and exits the lavish office. She can hear their hushed voices murmuring the moment the door closed, but she doesn't care. She just stands for a moment, savoring her victory, before walking back to her room.

May 17, 2009
The Frost Summer Home - East Hampton, NY
9:32pm

     After two quiet car rides and an equally silent helicopter flight over Long Island Sound, Emma and Winston pull into the garage of the family's summer home. Gathering her bags, the pair silently make their way to Emma's room. Depositing the bags he's carrying on her bed, the elder Frost turns to his daughter. "Are you going to be okay here by yourself over the summer?"

     "Yes, Dad, we've been over this. You have to go to work, Cordelia's at equestrian camp, Christian has his own life, and Mother… well, Mother's off doing who knows what with Adrienne and I'm perfectly fine with that. I have my phone, a credit card, and I'm sure Christian will come running to my rescue if I give him the slightest excuse. I'll be fine." Offering her first genuine smile since her encounter with Sara on That Day, she wraps her arms around her father's waist. Winston wraps his arms around his little girl, hugging her tightly, and then presses a kiss to the top of the head. Emma lets out a shuddering sigh. "I miss her, Dad, but I'll be okay. I promise."

     Lowering himself to one knee in front of his daughter, Winston takes Emma's hands in his. "I know you loved her, Princess, so it's going to hurt. Just know that I'm here, and so is your brother. And hell, even your mother and sisters are. In their own, awkward way, that is."

     Emma lets out a disgusted snort as she thinks back to the last time her mother and her girlfriend interacted. "Pfft. Let's not forget what Mother dearest called her at my birthday party."

     "Must you remind me? She's just… old-fashioned. It's hard for her to come to grips with the fact that her daughter is gay." A pained look washes across Winston's face as his thumbs rub back and forth gently over the backs of her hands. "She was just as bad when Christian came out. But she grew into it after a while. She'll do the same with you. For now just… stay strong. Don't let her get to you. And remember that you make me proud to be your father."

     "Okay. I think this is probably for the best anyway. I need the time alone to think." Knowing how that might sound, especially after the meeting today at Xavier's, Emma squeezes her father's hands to reassure him.

     "All right, Princess, I'll let you unpack. I need to shower, call your mother, and catch some sleep before heading out in the morning." After giving her one more hug and a kiss on the forehead, Winston rises to his feet and heads for the doorway. "If you're not up before I leave, be safe and I love you."

     "I love you too, Dad." Her smile slowly fades as he leaves her bedroom and then disappears entirely. Sighing, she turns her attention to her bags. Opening her carry-on bag, she digs out a clean pair of panties, a white camisole, and her favorite blue pajama bottoms. Standing alone for a moment, she stares at her clothes as if unable to decipher what to do with them. Eventually, she gathers them up and heads to the shower.

     After spending far longer than normal standing in the shower, staring at the water swirling around the drain, Emma climbs out and dries off with her soft, warm terry towel before dressing. Padding quietly from the cool tile floors of the bathroom to the warm pine floors of the hallway, she comes to a sudden halt as her stomach declares its emptiness. With a small squeak, she changes direction and heads downstairs to the kitchen. Rummaging through the sparsely-stocked refrigerator, she finds a fresh sandwich, wrapped in the familiar Luigi's bag. 'I'm sure Christian won't miss part of this.' With a sly grin, she pulls out the sandwich and cuts it in half, putting one half on a plate and the other - carefully rewrapped - back into the bag.

     Sitting at the bar, Emma munches noisily on her purloined sandwich, realizing for the first time how hungry she truly is. Each large bite is barely chewed before being swallowed, another following quickly after. With a quickness that would shock those used to her daintier, more feminine public eating habits, she wolfs down the sandwich, leaving her sitting there licking her fingers. Eventually, Emma hops off her stool and wanders over to stick the plate in the dishwasher. After puttering around for a few more seconds, she grabs a bottle of Evian from the fridge before heading back upstairs to her room, feeling rather stuffed.

     Upon returning to her room, Emma heads straight for her messenger bag and retrieves her laptop and its power cord. Settling the laptop on her desk, she crawls under the desk to plug in one end of the charger before wiggling her way backwards to freedom. Throwing herself into her chair, she connects the other end of the cord to her laptop before opening the cool aluminum lid and pressing the power button. She's greeted by the familiar chime of startup, followed by a light grey screen marred by a darker grey apple. After a bit more waiting, the login screen finally appears and Emma finds herself hesitating, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. Letting out a deep sigh, she types in her password, whispering each letter: "J-E-A-N-N-I-E-4-E-V-E-R". Pressing the Return key, there's a brief pause and then her desktop springs into place.

     Her finger glides over the trackpad, clicking on the Mail icon and starting it bouncing as it loads, then she's up and wandering over to her messenger bag, rummaging for her headphones. When her hand brushes against her white iPhone 3G, she grabs it and its charging cable as well, before returning to plop back down in her chair. Plugging everything in and slipping on her headphones, she opens iTunes and taps the Shuffle button before hitting play. Humming along to the music, she switches back to Mail and eyes the forty-two unread emails warily. "Sigh. This… is going to take a while."

     Slowly but surely, Emma begins to chew through the pile, deleting some and answering others. Reassuring friends and family and friends of family that she's okay. Learning Betsy's back in London and how she plans to spend her time there. Reading up on the latest news from her fan club. Not that they know it's her, of course; she's smart enough to have used a pseudonym when registering: 'Esme Cuckoo'. She finds it an amusing distraction, logging in every so often to find out what people are saying about her. Reaching the 'Picture of the Week' portion of the newsletter, she grimaces. Calling it 'wretched' would be a compliment. Opening Stickies, she makes a note to see if she can find a way to get ahold of that 'Forge' fellow she's heard a few of the professors mention in connection to computer needs. That monstrosity should not be on the Internet. Anywhere. Ever.

     One piece of spam email makes Emma giggle softly before sticking her tongue out at it: the obligatory breast enlargement offer. 'I could try one of these,' she thinks to herself, 'or I could just save my money and go with what I know works: a surgeon.' Delete. Then comes an even more baffling piece of spam. 'If they think I need bigger breasts, why would I need a bigger penis? Or vice versa? Oh, Internet, you're so strange sometimes.'

     Next, she skims through an email from her online friend Tessa before eying the attached photo of a gorgeous black corset. Want. In white, of corset, but she still wants it bad. Not paying attention to the upper-right window, she opens the next email… and then a wave of confusion, hurt, and pain washes over her like a tidal wave.

From: Jean Grey <marvel.girl@xavierschool.edu>
To: Emma Frost <emma.frost@xavierschool.edu>
Date: May 7, 2009 9:12:23 AM EDT
Subject: Just… had to get this out.

Okay… I'm sitting here bored out of my mind in Biology. (OMG… sooo dullll, kill me now -.-)

All I can think about is last night. I'm terrified that I pushed you into something you didn't want. I woke up this morning and you were gone, did I do something wrong? It's just, going with you to watch your team play, and the wonderful dinner, everything seemed perfect. If I did something wrong, if I pushed you, please tell me, I'll do whatever I can to make everything better.

I love you so much,
Your Oiseau <3

PS: If everything's wrecked by my being stupid… I folded your jersey and it's on my writing desk.

PPS: Stupid runny makeup.

     A choked sob slips from Emma's lips, the screen blurred by her tears as her fingers clutch at the keys. Her mind dull, trying to find a way to escape the emotions pounding into her. The music in her ears nothing more than harsh noise, the screen a bright blur, as her fingers find the lid. Forcing the lid of her laptop down, it snaps shut, bringing silence and darkness to Emma's room.