Jealousy

[nike_ravus]

Title: Fake Empire Side Story: Emily's Notebooks volume II (pt 9): Jealousy
Author: Alsike
Rating: R
Fandom: X-Men/Criminal Minds
Pairing: Other Emma Frost/Other Emily Prentiss
Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men or Criminal Minds. I owe wizened_cynic for the concept of quantum babies. She does it much better than me. Title stolen from the poem The State of Virginia After Southampton: 1831, by Geoffrey Brock.
Apologies: And now for something a little bit different.

Summary: In a different world, Erik Magnus overthrew the US government when Emily Prentiss was only twelve years old. On that day the course of her life changed irrevocably. This is her story.

Fake Empire Side Stories:
Emily's Notebooks I: The Christmas Revolution
Whore,

Touch,

Pain, Fear, Death
Emily's Notebooks II: Nights Spent Listening to Noises
Want,

Original Fake Empire Stories

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            Kurt bounced up to me when I came into the kitchen to get my tray.

“Emily! You look beautiful.” He bowed sweepingly. “And your friend?” He looked at JJ who caught sight of his eyes and face, shrieked and ducked behind me.

“Jennifer…”

But she wouldn’t shake his hand, just shook her head and stared at the ground.

I looked apologetically at Kurt. “I’m sorry.”

He gave a half smile. “It’s not new.”

It was hard to see that look on his face. It was clear he had more right to hate us than anyone else, more experiences of violence and prejudice, but he didn’t. I didn’t know if I would ever understand him.

“That was rude,” I told JJ when he was gone. She looked frightened and hurt by my tone.

“But he-”

“He’s my friend.” I snapped. “You have no right to judge him. If you treat anyone else here tonight like you did him, I won’t be able to protect you. I won’t want to protect you.”

“I’m sorry. He just looks…” She glanced after him, his tail moving like a fifth limb, his hands so inhuman and distorted. I could see the horror in her stance and in her expression. “He looks wrong.”

I had never wanted to slap her so much, but I couldn’t ruin her make up. I grabbed her shoulders, trying to restrain the force of my grip, but knowing that I was clutching her tightly. I could see the pain in her face. “People think I’m wrong, for what I do. They think you’re wrong because you don’t have the right genes. That’s why we’re here. That’s why your family is dead. So don’t you dare hate him unless you hate me too. Find a better reason than the way he looks.”

JJ looked like she was about to cry. I turned away from her, picking up my tray, and headed out to the lounge. “And don’t wreck your make up.”

I was on edge, had been on edge all day. Scolding Jennifer was easier than scolding myself, but I was the one who deserved it. I was out of control. I couldn’t bear that. And I had to get over it. If I didn’t get over it, I would not survive the night.

Serving at the party as the guests arrived was a little like watching a play. Our black uniforms with high ruffled collars made us easy to pick out as servants, even with the wild face paint that actually didn’t look out of place in the company. We were like magpies among peacocks. But like the audience of a revue, we were ignored.

Jennifer stayed away from me at first. I watched her staring up at the strange people in their wild fashions and strange disfigurements with wide eyes. She never looked disgusted, but I knew from the quick fearful glances she would give me that she was working hard at it. When a man with a reptilian face and a prehensile tongue came in, I could see her take control of herself, stand straight, look professional, and walk up to offer him a drink.

He took it with his tongue.

Her jaw clenched tight, and her eyes flickered over to me, but she didn’t react. I gave her a slight nod and half the tension slipped away from her.

I had meant to make her fear the guests, fear what they could do to punish her. Instead I had only made her fear me, but it seemed to be effective enough.

“Oh give me a fucking drink!” The first woman to arrive was tall, with wavy red hair and an indecently short skirt. She caught up a drink from Aaron’s tray, not even giving him a glance and curled her nose as the footmen wrestled a pile of bags in, through the hall and towards the staircase. “Where’s my baby sister? I want to slap her for moving to the ends of the earth and making me suffer the flight from hell.”

“Adrienne.” I hadn’t known Emma had a sister. The woman reminded me of their father in the brutality of her expression. She kissed Emma fakely and looked her over with an appraising glance that was clearly ready to be unimpressed.

Her sullen expression didn’t do much for the effect, but I couldn’t have found words to criticize my mistress. I couldn’t look at her though, not without remembering fastening her dress, and hating her for never looking in my direction, for ripping up a hundred people’s minds because they hurt me, and then forgetting about me as if I were a toy she had lost interest in.

Adrienne smirked and put her arm around Emma’s shoulders in false fraternity. “You do know plastic surgery is always an option, honey,” she whispered, loud enough for me, ten feet away, to hear it.

I saw a man with a black ponytail laugh, and bristled.

I looked over to Kurt who was hoisting an oversized suitcase onto his back. “Why doesn’t she do something?” I wanted to ask. He read my face, but just shook his head and started staggering up the stairs.

The crowd was astonishing, and once her sister had wandered off our mistress became someone I didn’t recognize. She moved easily through the room, no trace of insecurity, speaking to everyone intimately in low voices or laughing at their attempts to be jovial.

A woman, with an exuberant grin, dressed in hot pink feathers and tartan, took a glass from my tray and leaned toward Emma. “Did I hear something about Elizabeth coming?” she said, laughing.

My mistress stiffened, and although it was probably invisible to everyone, I could see her discomfort. “I don’t see why this is a matter of interest.”

The woman smiled. “Do you think she might be… persuaded?”

“Not the time,” Emma cut her off. “Radical politics should wait until everyone is drunk.”

The woman raised her glass. “Are you sure you’re not asking for trouble?”

“Trouble comes and goes. Legislation lasts.”

I hadn’t really realized that this was a court party with a political agenda, but of course it was. I knew none of the issues though, and most went over my head. When the man with the black ponytail started talking about bloodlines, and rankings being based on the purity of the genome, a woman, tall and slender, with sharp eyes and a sibilant tongue cut him off and called his ideas of nobility “human,” which clearly meant old-fashioned and unenlightened. “Power tells,” she said. “Blood is silent.”

My mistress looked as if she was about to speak, but she paused and glanced toward the door. The sudden twist on her face, the eagerness and hesitance, cut more than I thought anything could. Her insecurities were supposed to belong to me.

The door opened with a footman on each side, and then the woman came in.

“Marchioness Elizabeth Braddock, Queen of Britain.”

And she…

I looked away.

“Are you all right?” Kurt, carrying a tray of hors d'oeuvres, hovered at my elbow. I didn’t have time for his sensitivity; I didn’t have enough emotional control to deal with it.

Emma greeted her too easily, the slight brush of fingers along her wrist, the sly smile, and I needed to throw up.

“When are they calling them in for dinner? God, tell me it’s soon.”

Kurt smiled awkwardly. Why did everyone look at me like that before they told me something I didn’t want to hear?

* * *

I stood behind the Marchioness as dinner was served, clenching the pitcher of wine I held, and trying to feel numb. I wanted to hate her. I wanted to give into my fury and jealousy. But if I did… I couldn’t even guess how many of the guests would be able to tell. Emma would know. I almost wanted her to know, wanted to get her attention so she would stop looking at the purple-haired mutant and look at me. Even if it was just a glance, confusion, or irritation, anything was fine, anything that would prove she was aware of me, that I existed.

She didn’t.

But I couldn’t even find a reason for why I was so jealous. I wished I could say that it was because I took pride in my work and I didn’t like seeing anyone else take my place, even if I had already been fired. But that was clearly absurd. The obvious answer seemed to be that I wanted Emma, that I was jealous of this woman for having her. But it wasn’t that simple. I was jealous of her for what she was, not who she had, for being a mutant, for having power and status and being worthy of my mistress’ attention.

It hadn’t sunk in until that day that my world, the world of this building, of the downstairs, of my mistress’ bed was so small and meaningless. I could fuck her until she cried, but the moment she stepped out of the building I was as good as forgotten. My life was meaningless, and I would always be worthless because I was a human. I was furniture.

For the first time I realized that I was the one lying to myself when I said that I wasn’t a whore. I was less than a whore. A whore at least was a person. She could choose to sell her services or not. It was a job description, not an identity. I wasn’t even a person. If Emma wanted a relationship she would no more consider me than she would a chair.

I felt like I should have known this already. I felt naïve and childish. It took all I had not to let myself cry. I just stared at Elizabeth Braddock and wanted to be her.

I still wonder what my mother would have thought of my discovery. I finally wanted something that was beyond any conceivable realization, I wanted what she had always wanted for me, to be someone who was not forgettable, not worthless, who meant something to the world. But even the attempt to pursue that was completely barred to me.

Why hadn’t I been born a mutant? The marchioness was clearly unafraid of my mistress. There was some muttering that suggested she was also a telepath. If I had that sort of strength and power I would never have to bend my head, never be afraid of what they could do to me. Instead I walked this precarious line, with no guarantees, no safety net to catch me if I put one foot wrong. And I would do such a better job at being with Emma. She wasn’t even seventeen yet. She needed someone to make it easy for her, someone to hold her back if she were going too far. And it seemed so obvious that this woman didn’t give a damn for her. Every move, every smile, every too intimate touch was blatantly manipulative. And Emma was a telepath! How could she not notice?

I could barely remember to keep the glasses full, and didn’t pay attention at all to the flow of conversation. Half the table seemed to be telling jokes about their superiors. Dishing dirt on Erik Magnus and the Xavier brothers was entertaining, but it was done with that slightly malicious intensity that said that regardless of making them into a laughingstock, they were the embodiment of the level they desperately wanted to reach.

The other half seemed to be discussing the possibility of sponsoring a piece of legislation about the genetic testing of children. The words made my flesh crawl, and I didn’t listen carefully enough to understand what the bill would entail. There was one man there, a pair of red tinted glasses on his nose, who leaned back in his chair, lifting his glass for me to refill it. He seemed against the legislation. “I have all my brats tested,” he said with a sneer. “But I’ve never had a problem. Neither have my brothers. The Summers line breeds true.”

The woman of neon pink and tartan grimaced at this comment. “Still, sometimes there are surprises. And what a fate, for a mutant to grow up as a slave.”

“I don’t like this retroactive citizenship garbage,” said the man with the black ponytail. “A mutant with human parents should be adopted out to a real family. Slaves shouldn’t be allowed uncontrolled breeding either. I sterilize all my males.” He smiled. “My female guests appreciate it.”

* * *

Everyone seemed drunk and useless when the coffee was finally brought in. It was nearly 2 am. I was about to pass out from exhaustion but I still couldn’t help twitching every time the marchioness leaned too close to my mistress or touched her.

“What do you think?” I heard her whisper. “Is this testing thing really what it seems, or is it the human rights trash trying to find an excuse to shut down the black market?”

Emma turned her head to look at her, her eyes glassy with too much alcohol. “Does it really matter?” she murmured, and kissed her.

Kurt had to grab my elbow before I realized I was pouring coffee on my shoes.

“Well, if that’s not a cue to leave,” said Adrienne, with a sneer.

“To leave? Really?” asked the ponytailed man through his cigar. His eyes ran over Adrienne suggestively.

She leaned over him, her hand disappearing in his lap. “Do you follow the example you set with your slaves?”

He stiffened. “Of course not.”

Adrienne sighed. “Then I suppose I’ll just have to see what my little sister has to offer.”

The man in red glasses laughed at him and then stood, stretching. “Well, thank you Emma. Not bad. Maybe next time you can have a real party for the rest of us, and not just yourself.”

People began to trickle out. Adrienne disappeared upstairs. Elizabeth stood next to my mistress in the hallway as the guests thanked her. I couldn’t look. Aaron, JJ and I helped the footmen clear the table and pick up the mess that had been left behind. When the last guest had disappeared into the hall, Aaron touched my and JJ’s shoulders.

“Thank you for this,” he said. “You’re done now.”

A cleaning crew was coming in to finish up.

I let my head fall into my hands in relief. Jennifer was standing stiffly in front of me when I looked up. “Did I do okay?” she asked me.

I felt so guilty for coming down on her hard before. “You did perfectly.”

She gave a weak smile. “I think they’re horrible,” she said. “But not because of the way they look.”

“No?”

“Because of the way they talk to each other. They never say anything that isn’t cruel. I can’t believe its possible that they hate us more than they hate each other.”

I smiled and put my hand on her drooping hairdo. “That’s a good reason.” Her eyes slid over me as if she were still unsure of whether I would blow up at her again. “Let’s go.”

I stepped out in the hall in time to see Elizabeth and my mistress walking toward the stairs. The marchioness had her arm around Emma’s waist, and slowly let it slide down to cup her ass. I couldn’t help the sharp surge of fury that shot through me. Don’t touch her.

                Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder, straight at me, all almond eyes and a wicked smile, and squeezed.

Comments

[xenasgab.livejournal.com]

Damn I never liked that Braddock chick, and I still find myself
surprised at how young this Emma is, I keep forgetting.

And trust Lia to squeeze the knife and let everyone know about it.

[heart1e55m00mba.livejournal.com]

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. That last line was amazing. I loved Emily's thought process throughout this chapter. It's kind of cute that she's jealous. I can't wait to see the fallout next chapter!

[atrumnoxnoctis.livejournal.com]

God, I love this chapter! ^.^ We get to see Emily's jealousy in full. She's definitely got mutant envy when it comes to Elizabeth Braddock. I can't blame her for feeling that way though.

I actually can't help thinking that Emma's a bit older, so I was surprised to see the reminder that she was still only fifteen. o.o I can't remember just how old Emily is though. Is she the same age as Emma or older? Elizabeth seems older than both of them here.

By the way, who was the mutant in the pink feathers and tartan? I'm trying to jog my memory, but nothing comes to mind as of yet.

[nike-ravus.livejournal.com]

"mutant envy" *grins*
It's so true.

Shit, i screwed up while i was writing this chapter. Emma's sixteen. Emily was a present for the 16th birthday, and she's been there for ~ 9, 10 months. Emily is 18. She's 21 months older than Emma. (I haz a timeline now). And it is Dec 1989. (srsly timeline). The USSR fell to the Rasputins in 1987, the US in 1985. And, um, Charles Xavier is 58. Betsy's probably 20 or so. Scott is 22. He was recruited at 16, and turned 18 in 1985, the perfect age to fight in Magneto's army.
Yeah... TMI

Don't forget, not only characters from the X-Men can be mutants! *hint*

[atrumnoxnoctis.livejournal.com]

Ah, okay. That makes sense now. <.< Thanks for clearing that up for me! I'm horrible with keeping up with AU timelines!

Aw, but the only comics that I know to have mutants within them are X-Men, New Excalibur, and New Exiles! I'm racking my brain, but pink feathers and tartan still don't ring any bells. *pokes* You're evil. I'm gonna be stuck thinking about this all night now! XP

[flowerhammer.livejournal.com]

Nothing else to say, great chapter.

I don't know who is this mysterious mutant either... :/

[shaylafitz.livejournal.com]

Poor Emily. Gotta love it!

I, too, am wondering who the mutant with the tartan and pink feathers is! (My familiarity with X-Men is essentially limited to the cartoons).

The only character I could think of that might wear pink feathers is Jubilee... but a tartan, too? I don't know if that fits! ^^;

More please. :D

[scoutnabout.livejournal.com]

Things are getting heated. I look forward to what happens next!