X-Men: A Diamond in the Rough - Chapter 6
Title: A Diamond in the Rough
Author: Silk
Fandom/Pairing: AU X-Men (Comic-verse), Emma Frost/OC Femslash
Disclaimers: Marvel & its characters aren't mine. The Original Character is mine however. I don't usually approve of disclaimers. Since books don't have them why should I? Anyone who is familiar with the Marvel-verse knows there are many alternate Earths and this is my version. Beta'd by Whedonist (1shinyboat ) Thank you for the kick in the ass. Ratings will go up to NC17/M. Any special disclaimers will be posted with that chapter.
Please don't forget to review. Thank you!
Chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
The world around me is strange. Different. Full of people I've never seen even though a part of me, an alien part of me, seems to recognize them.
Some stride down halls covered with pretty paper and lit by candles on the walls. Some walk with their heads bowed and delicate chains hanging from their necks to their wrists, and between their ankles, all while carrying trays. Older men lounge in big comfortable chairs, drinking and smoking cigars and fondling men and women who stand quietly near them as they talk about money and power.
I walk down the halls with my head held high, my cape flowing behind me like wings. I'm beautiful. I'm powerful. I'm feared. I’m a force of nature in a world of influence and sexual decadence. I can almost hear them whispering, telling each other what they want to do with me.
As if they have the will or the nerve. No one makes me fall to my knees. No one makes me beg.
I'm also not wearing much.
The thought is momentarily jarring as I see a glimpse of myself in a tall, ornate mirror on the wall.
“…she’s exhibiting the ability to duplicate certain mutant energies…”
Then the world continues to violently swirl and change in color. Suddenly, I’m standing in front of a pretty young brunette chained to a wall, my white gloved hand caressing her intimately as I press my mind down on hers. When I laugh at the tears running down her face a part of me feels ashamed and a part of me is excited by it. She’s so young and innocent, yet she still knowingly walked into my trap.
Then it’s a hard rush of fury running through me as I watch her escape by walking through the wall.
Katherine Pryde. Kitty.
“…musculature and skeletal density is abnormal… somewhat avian in nature…”
For a moment the thought is disturbing, as if I know I shouldn’t recognize the name, but I do, just as I recognize who is pressing me up against the stone wall with their forearm against my throat. The winds around us are fierce, bending the trees, making them worship the woman whose eyes are white and filled with anger. It’s a storm… no, she is Storm. I don't recognize the name but I know it somehow and it doesn’t matter because I’m laughing in her face, into the very real possibility of my death and she throws me through the air and into a tree.
The world changes around me. Again strange and different.
“…hold her down…”
“Hank! Be caref…”
“Oh my stars and garters!”
“…cute tail, Hank.”
“…her furry blue wings…”
I'm younger and shorter, looking up at a man who instills both fear and hatred in me as he yells down at me; berates me for not being the daughter I should be, even as the joy of him picking me to be his heir still tingles along my skin. I hear the crack of his hand on my cheek before I feel the pain of it and the tears of frustration and pain run down my cheek. Running to my room, chased by his cruel taunts and the laughter of my sisters, and I swear to myself I’ll make him pay.
Confusion washes over me then. I don't even know what a daughter is. What does it mean? I know brother and sister. I know creche. Home. Home.
“…DNA analysis shows Warren…”
“…explains her unusual body struct…”
“…Calvin R… Mimic”
“…no correlation for mitochondrial DNA. Mother unknown…”
Again the world changes.
I'm older, if not wiser. Tall and commanding like before, but standing at the head of a group of children. Teaching them with pride.
Then I’m screaming with impotence as they burn. Their flesh crisping and charring slowly until finally they blow away as ash before my eyes.
Flames and the touch of sound as the earth trembles, knocking me down to my knees, making the world collapse into darkness. The cries of children around me, scared and whimpering for their parents as the dark swallows us whole. Hours and days of pleading with them, consoling them and holding them as they die one by one. Then silence.
My heart calms… or maybe it stops. I don’t feel anything. Just darkness around me. Long days of darkness. Until there’s another rumble, this one small and unlike the fearful sound of the pile of settling building on top of you. I walk towards the light, a part of me irritated by the very thought because everyone knows you’re not supposed to walk towards the light if you want to live. I try not to laugh at the humor of the situation, teetering on the edge of sanity, because I’m carrying someone. Someone special.
I look down at her as she sleeps soundlessly in my arms. Short, ragged black hair and a too pale complexion flickers and then she’s different, with bright, shimmering blonde hair and a beautiful face that I know, that I’ve seen a million times in the mirror. It’s me, I realize, but not. I’m not her. The first was me. This is her. I’m dreaming.
“…twenty-eight minute initial transformat…”
“…shorter time than mine…”
“…not as dramatic as yours either, Emma.”
“Jealous?”
“Ladies, please… mild sensation…”
I wake up slowly, the sound of low voices near me. My back aches and I feel the need to cough phantom ash out of my lungs. Blinking carefully I open my eyes into the room and know instantly I’m somewhere new. Even with my back protesting slightly I sit up and…
And see a giant, dark-blue furry man looking at me from the foot of the bed.
He looks faintly like a cat that I saw once. Wearing glasses and a white coat. Big teeth. Lots of really big, white, sharp teeth.
I blink again since I figure I'm still dreaming and try to shake my head; trying to wake up. But no, when I open them again it's… he’s still there, looking at me instead of eating me. I reach out and sense him, confirming he's a mutant, but I've never seen a mutant that dresses like him. Only Masters... No, that's not the right word now. He's a doctor and there are no Masters.
Only even thinking that thought confuses me more. It’s as if new information is in my head. It’s happened before; it’s how I learned to read when my siblings couldn’t. I always learned faster when the collar was turned off.
"Well good morning," he says. "Hello. My name is..."
"Doctor Hank. Hank McCoy," I finish for him, and then blink again in surprise.
"How curious. And might I ask how you knew that?"
I point at the name sewn into his white coat. I’d always been punished when I spoke about understanding letters and numbers before so I keep my silence, my eyes immediately going down to my lap, where I set my hands. The Masters didn’t like that I learned from them when the collar was turned off, just by being near them. It’s how I learned to read and learned a few other things. They didn’t turn off my collar often; only to hunt.
"Hmm. Well, you're correct, my name is Doctor Hank McCoy, but you may call me Hank if you wish," he offers as he reaches out to help me sit up a little and places more pillows behind me. I look up again, hesitant but there’s no punishment. No trick. Reaching up to my neck, I find only my skin, the collar gone. Nobody to stop me from reaching out and sensing him. No sense of hatred or cruelty, just sadness and curiosity only.
I've never had a pillow before. Masters had pillows.
I have a pillow but no collar and there’s no punishment, no hate. Whatever this place is its… odd.
"Hello again."
I turn slightly and look at the woman standing near my head. It's the red head from before. The nice one. Jean. Phoenix. Marvel Girl.
"I'm Jean," she says smiling down at me. I remember the smile and smile back a little, then I frown, my pulse speeding up and fear shivering its way up my spine. I remember. Hiding in the dark, two women talking to me, but sensing others close. Trapping me. Then only pain and darkness for a time. Then pleasure and dreams. Pain and then a great weight trying to pull me down even as I hover in the air.
But I'm not so sure about any of it. I’m not sure about anything right now. She doesn’t have a white coat, but I know her name. I didn’t learn it… I know it. Strange.
"I'm sorry about Logan hitting you. He thought you were going to run." Her kind green eyes seem to be asking me to believe her and forgive.
I feel no deception from her. No lying. I feel weak and don’t understand why I’m here or where here is. I don't understand what is happening but I know how to wait. Orders usually come eventually. Punishment if I don't wait, so I wait.
I've been alone for a long time now, but I’ve been trained to know what is expected of me. It's still confusing; these don't seem like slaves, even though I sense they're mutants. And they aren't treating me as if they're Masters. And then there’s that part of me that knows things I shouldn’t. I know they aren’t Masters. I know they aren’t slaves. They’re… friends?
The sense of someone coming closer makes me whip my head around towards the open door. I know who it is before she strides through; even as I know it wasn’t because of how I usually sense things; like how I hunt mutants for the Master. Then she walks into the room, in all white. Blonde. Beautiful.
It’s the other woman from before. The naughty one. How did I know? It’s confusing. Lots of things confusing today.
"We aren't treating you like we're Masters because you are not a slave." The snowy white one says it, and it echoes the new information inside of me, so I believe it.
Emma. Emma Grace Frost.
That's her name. I know it. I don't know how I know it, but I do.
I hadn’t said it out loud, but her head jerks as if startled and I know she’s heard me say her name, just as I heard her talking to me in my head before.
She stands stand next to Jean and looks at me oddly as if I’ve done a particularly good trick.
*Can you hear me?*
"Yes," I reply, again confused. I heard her before, so why wouldn't I hear her now. Maybe she hit her head and forgot?
"Tsk. No, I didn't hit my head," she rolls those pretty blue eyes, "but how did you know my name? You aren't telepathic."
She sounds sure about that and since I don't know what telepathic is, I believe her. Then it comes to me, the information, as if it’s been hiding inside waiting for me to think about it.
"It means you can't talk in our heads. However, Emma and I can hear your thoughts and talk in your head because we are telepaths," the one named Jean explains and I nod slightly, hesitant to make much movement.
"I don’t know how I know," I reply and look down at my lap, knowing it’s not a good enough answer but not knowing what to say.
Annoyance. Malevolence.
Someone’s coming, their emotions searing my head with how strong they are; and then it’s shut away like a door’s been closed, but not completely. In reflex I hop off the table and leap past Jean, Doctor Hank and Emma taking a step forward as if to catch me, their worry and apprehension sharp. A needle and other wires rip from my body as I move, and it only takes a second and I’m at the far side of the room away from the door as he walks through it.
He’s tall, light with brown hair and his face is half covered by a shiny piece of metal, covering his eyes. He’s frowning as he looks at the other three, his gaze following theirs to me.
My sense of him is dulled now as if he’s far away, but the emotions are still there, hiding behind a buzzing sound that tickles my head. He’s suspicious. Doesn’t like me. He feels like some of the crueler Masters that have handled me. I can feel it. I don’t like it or him.
Sharp pain rips through me, a sudden weight on my back pulling me off balance and I feel the need to stretch out, not with my arms but…
Something catches my attention out of the corner of my eye and I spin trying to see it. But then I spin the other way, not wanting to take my eyes off him and the movement sends me off balance. Panting and trying to keep upright I reach out with my right hand and press it against the wall as if it will hold me up.
Then I see and feel shimmering wings spread out on either side of my body. It’s as if one is trying to help me balance, while the other beats helplessly against the close wall and pulling me off balance.
“What’s going on here?” The stranger’s voice is harsh, loud and commanding and I find myself trembling with fear.
Not a stranger. Scott. Cyclops. Summers.
This is wrong. Not right. I want to curl up and cradle my head. Where is all this coming from?!
“Scott…”
Jean says his name as he pushes past Emma, shoving her out of his way.
Annoyance.
Dismay.
Anger.
Their emotions beat on me and I pull my sense inwards in reflex. Then there’s only anger, my anger. He touched her. He pushed her.
“Scott back off!” Emma yells as I swipe at him with a shiny wing. The outermost feather catches him on his chest just as Doctor Hank grabs him by the collar and yanks him away from me. A sense of satisfaction and glee ripple through me as I notice the slice through his clothes and the thin, red line along his skin.
Then I’m frozen, held in place and no amount of struggling is helping.
*Stop. Stop panicking,* Emma orders me and I automatically submit and relax, the pressure around me gradually failing and I fall to my knees, panting.
Hunched over my knees, these wings covering me, hiding me from them, I feel shame and wait for punishment.
But none comes. Only two pairs of soft gentle hands, one gloved pair running through my hair, the other along my gowned back between my wings.
My breath catches.
I have wings?
I do. I feel them tremble as I think about them and I can feel the shift and subtle flow of the air around them moving from breaths and moving bodies.
Wonder.
Even the sounds and raised voices as he is asked to leave don’t faze me as I slowly stand up, gently moving back from both women and ignoring him even as he walks out the door.
It’s like having two more arms. I carefully flex, slowly stretching out and out until there’s no more room.
I blink and struggle not to turn around like a cat chasing its tail.
“They’re beautiful.”
I look at Emma and smile shyly back at her. I’ve never had heard that word used before… not about me.
“She’s right,” Jean assures me from somewhere close behind me. I can hear a smile her voice even though I can’t see her.
“Jean, perhaps you shouldn’t…” Doctor Hank starts to say but she ignores him and I can feel her fingertips carefully touching one of my feathers.
I shiver, as if my hair is being petted and the remaining tension in my body disappears.
“Anything?” Emma asks, looking past me and I carefully turn only my head, not wanting to disturb Jean’s touching me.
“Nothing and they aren’t changing like they did when Hank accidently touched her,” Jean replies but looks me in the eye with a look that I’ve never seen, as if she’s apologizing to me. The question must be obvious in my eyes since her voice tickles in my head. *We don’t mean to talk about you as if you aren’t here.*
That’s a bad thing? Masters always did that.
*That’s all gone now. Things are different,* she replies, having heard my thoughts.
Starting to feel the strain from holding my wings out, I slowly bring them closer in, then instantly freeze as she snatches her hand back, sticking a finger in her mouth and sucking on it.
I reach out just a bit to sense her and feel a sense of comfort aimed towards me as Jean removes her finger from her mouth. “It’s ok. I should have been more careful. It’s not your fault.”
Seeing red start to seep out from the small wound I silently disagree and turn to look at Doctor Hank who immediately leans close to her to examine the cut.
“They’re diamond,” Emma whispers, looking closer at my wings.
“Not glass?” Doctor Hank asks as he finishes wrapping a small Band-Aid around Jean’s finger.
“I know diamond, Hank. Intimately. Definitely organic diamond like mine. The feathers and wing structure are flexible as if they were made of flesh. Hmmm…” She turns those blue eyes on me, looking into mine for a long moment. I sense only curiosity from her. “Would you try to do something for me?”
It’s not a command, but a request.
“Okay.”
“Think of your wings. Think of them changing.”
I blink in confusion but do as she asks, turning my attention solely to my wings. The weight of them. The tension in the joints. The feathers, skin and bone. All diamond. I’m not sure what she means by changing them. These are all I know. Diamond wings.
And then it comes to me. They’re not all I know. I was sleeping but I remember faint words from outside filtering in.
I picture my wings changed and different and… the discomfort is manageable and I’m not too startled as my wings shrink to nothing. The weight gone and then suddenly it’s back as my wings burst out from my back again. Different and yet I know them. My wings.
Blue and furry wings. I can’t help a small giggle from escaping as I see Doctor Hank’s eyes widen in surprise.
Three sets of eyes look at me, but I don’t need to sense them to tell that there’s no fear or hate. Their admiration and curiosity is there for me to feel though and I bask in it for a moment, awed and confused by these feelings others are having towards me.
I wonder again if it’s all a dream.
“Intriguing,” Doctor Hank murmurs as he hesitantly reaches out to touch the outlying edge of one of my wings. It trembles under his hand as if it knows him. An odd thought.
Jean carefully steps around me, catching my attention.
“Do you have a name?”
“9031n73,” Emma answers before I can my startled look echoed by her own. “Now how did I…”
Jean looks at her, slightly pensive. “How did you…”
“Well, her forehead would be the obvious answer, wouldn’t it?” she answers but I can sense she doesn’t quite believe that and it bothers her. “Either way, I refuse to call you a number; it's just demeaning." Emma taps her chin with one of her nails, her eyes almost glassy as she considers the situation for a moment and then they almost sparkle with mischief. "I have the perfect name for you, my dear."
Jean’s eyes narrow at her, as if she can hear her thoughts. "Emma..."
The blonde just laughs highly amused and I smile at her. I like her laugh. It’s not like Jean’s which is soft and reminds me of a bright flower I saw once. Emma’s laugh sends a shiver down my spine and wraps around my torso to sink into my belly with a tingle. "Come on Jean, you have to admit Angelica, or maybe just Angela, fits her."
"Personally, I would have chosen something more circumspect, but you're right; it does indeed suit her." Doctor Hank smiles at me, showing his amusement. "It is your choice of course, but I think it's a lovely name. Angelica or Angela? Do you like either of them?"
A name. I would have a name. Not 9031n73 or n73? Not mutant? Slave? A name like the Masters had names… no, like Emma and Jean and Hank have names.
Still looking into Emma’s eyes, I cock my head slightly, silently asking her opinion.
"Well, I prefer Angela myself, but he's right, it is your choice," Emma frowns slightly and I can feel the slight sense of disapproval coming from her. I don’t know why but somehow my silent gesture, begging for her opinion and approval disturbs her. "Call yourself Bob for all I care."
"Emma!" Jean admonishes, smacking her on the arm.
"Angela." I whisper it, tasting it on my lips. I like it.
My eyes are still glued on Emma, searching for some hint… of what, I don’t know. “Angela,” I say it again and nothing comes up. It sounds pretty but doesn’t mean anything to me. “What does it mean?"
Jean clears her throat before replying, “It means angel in another language.”
I barely even acknowledge the amusement coming from her as what that word means comes to me. The knowledge isn’t like how I learned a skill, like reading, from the collar being turned off and learning from the Masters. It’s familiar… it tastes like her I realize, glancing at Emma.
His image surges up in me, a blonde man with enormous white wings and skin that changes back and forth from blue to normal, just as his costume changes, shifting from one to another to yet another. All have a golden halo on the chest.
Warren. Angel. Warren Worthington the third.
"It would be best if you called Warren now, Hank." Emma’s lips just barely twist down into a frown as she pauses and looks at me for a moment, then turns to walk over to one of the computers on the far side of the room. I watch her walk, confident and in control, the muscles of her calves flexing under the white material of her pants catching my eyes. I bring my wings closer to my body trying to make myself smaller, imagining myself walking like that.
"Emma, if I didn't like you so much, your predilection for picking up stray thoughts and using the information without consent would be aggravating. I know for a fact that I only shared that with Jean," Doctor Hank says as he gently motions me back towards the bed and then crosses the room to pick up the phone. My wings are tired and my stomach rumbles, as I carefully try to sit and get them to lie down on my back. They don’t obey well. Then I remember I didn’t have wings before and I think about them going away.
Again the discomfort and then they disappear into my back. I feel like I’ve done something right and I let myself feel good for a moment before Emma’s voice catches my attention again. No one seems to be looking at me or have noticed that my wings have disappeared. I’m tempted to see if I can get them back, but the ache in my back and my hunger convinces me to put it off for now.
"What Hank should be telling you, is that we know who one of your fathers is and if you're lucky, you shall meet him tonight," Emma answers my question, her fingers flying over a keyboard, still not looking at me. Her emotion has changed to amusement now which eases my own thoughts of her and settles the discomfort inside of me. A part of me wonders why I’m so disturbed at her reaction of how I reacted to her.
I look back and forth between the two women. "What is a father?" I say it before the knowledge of it seeps up into me and I can’t help gasping and looking at Emma in fear and pain. Along with that information comes the reason why she doesn’t like me acting… subservient. Yes, that’s the word. It reminds her of a painful time and a pleasurable time and how she hates where I came from.
Conflicting. Confusing. How do I know these things? How do I know they come from her? She said I’m not telepathic.
At my question, only Emma turns to look at me and I know she’s seeing my thoughts again and I can sense it’s disturbing her. We both ignore Doctor Hank’s soft telephone conversation in the background, Jean’s laugh and just stare at each other, her blue eyes sharp and piercing.
Doctor Hank hangs up the telephone and walks over to me, a small hitch in his step as he sees my wings are gone.
“Hank, may I speak to you a moment?” Emma turns and abruptly walks out of the room. I realize I can’t sense her anymore and it’s not because of distance. She’s shut herself off. She feels like… my shiny wings, the diamond ones.
I blink a few times then turn towards Jean.
“I don’t understand anything,” I whisper to her, taking comfort in her smile and her kind green eyes.
“I know,” she pulls up a stool and sits next to me and pats me on the thigh, where my gown is covering me up. “How about you tell me about yourself, Angela?”
Onto Chapter 7
Author: Silk
Fandom/Pairing: AU X-Men (Comic-verse), Emma Frost/OC Femslash
Disclaimers: Marvel & its characters aren't mine. The Original Character is mine however. I don't usually approve of disclaimers. Since books don't have them why should I? Anyone who is familiar with the Marvel-verse knows there are many alternate Earths and this is my version. Beta'd by Whedonist (1shinyboat ) Thank you for the kick in the ass. Ratings will go up to NC17/M. Any special disclaimers will be posted with that chapter.
Please don't forget to review. Thank you!
Chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
The world around me is strange. Different. Full of people I've never seen even though a part of me, an alien part of me, seems to recognize them.
Some stride down halls covered with pretty paper and lit by candles on the walls. Some walk with their heads bowed and delicate chains hanging from their necks to their wrists, and between their ankles, all while carrying trays. Older men lounge in big comfortable chairs, drinking and smoking cigars and fondling men and women who stand quietly near them as they talk about money and power.
I walk down the halls with my head held high, my cape flowing behind me like wings. I'm beautiful. I'm powerful. I'm feared. I’m a force of nature in a world of influence and sexual decadence. I can almost hear them whispering, telling each other what they want to do with me.
As if they have the will or the nerve. No one makes me fall to my knees. No one makes me beg.
I'm also not wearing much.
The thought is momentarily jarring as I see a glimpse of myself in a tall, ornate mirror on the wall.
“…she’s exhibiting the ability to duplicate certain mutant energies…”
Then the world continues to violently swirl and change in color. Suddenly, I’m standing in front of a pretty young brunette chained to a wall, my white gloved hand caressing her intimately as I press my mind down on hers. When I laugh at the tears running down her face a part of me feels ashamed and a part of me is excited by it. She’s so young and innocent, yet she still knowingly walked into my trap.
Then it’s a hard rush of fury running through me as I watch her escape by walking through the wall.
Katherine Pryde. Kitty.
“…musculature and skeletal density is abnormal… somewhat avian in nature…”
For a moment the thought is disturbing, as if I know I shouldn’t recognize the name, but I do, just as I recognize who is pressing me up against the stone wall with their forearm against my throat. The winds around us are fierce, bending the trees, making them worship the woman whose eyes are white and filled with anger. It’s a storm… no, she is Storm. I don't recognize the name but I know it somehow and it doesn’t matter because I’m laughing in her face, into the very real possibility of my death and she throws me through the air and into a tree.
The world changes around me. Again strange and different.
“…hold her down…”
“Hank! Be caref…”
“Oh my stars and garters!”
“…cute tail, Hank.”
“…her furry blue wings…”
I'm younger and shorter, looking up at a man who instills both fear and hatred in me as he yells down at me; berates me for not being the daughter I should be, even as the joy of him picking me to be his heir still tingles along my skin. I hear the crack of his hand on my cheek before I feel the pain of it and the tears of frustration and pain run down my cheek. Running to my room, chased by his cruel taunts and the laughter of my sisters, and I swear to myself I’ll make him pay.
Confusion washes over me then. I don't even know what a daughter is. What does it mean? I know brother and sister. I know creche. Home. Home.
“…DNA analysis shows Warren…”
“…explains her unusual body struct…”
“…Calvin R… Mimic”
“…no correlation for mitochondrial DNA. Mother unknown…”
Again the world changes.
I'm older, if not wiser. Tall and commanding like before, but standing at the head of a group of children. Teaching them with pride.
Then I’m screaming with impotence as they burn. Their flesh crisping and charring slowly until finally they blow away as ash before my eyes.
Flames and the touch of sound as the earth trembles, knocking me down to my knees, making the world collapse into darkness. The cries of children around me, scared and whimpering for their parents as the dark swallows us whole. Hours and days of pleading with them, consoling them and holding them as they die one by one. Then silence.
My heart calms… or maybe it stops. I don’t feel anything. Just darkness around me. Long days of darkness. Until there’s another rumble, this one small and unlike the fearful sound of the pile of settling building on top of you. I walk towards the light, a part of me irritated by the very thought because everyone knows you’re not supposed to walk towards the light if you want to live. I try not to laugh at the humor of the situation, teetering on the edge of sanity, because I’m carrying someone. Someone special.
I look down at her as she sleeps soundlessly in my arms. Short, ragged black hair and a too pale complexion flickers and then she’s different, with bright, shimmering blonde hair and a beautiful face that I know, that I’ve seen a million times in the mirror. It’s me, I realize, but not. I’m not her. The first was me. This is her. I’m dreaming.
“…twenty-eight minute initial transformat…”
“…shorter time than mine…”
“…not as dramatic as yours either, Emma.”
“Jealous?”
“Ladies, please… mild sensation…”
I wake up slowly, the sound of low voices near me. My back aches and I feel the need to cough phantom ash out of my lungs. Blinking carefully I open my eyes into the room and know instantly I’m somewhere new. Even with my back protesting slightly I sit up and…
And see a giant, dark-blue furry man looking at me from the foot of the bed.
He looks faintly like a cat that I saw once. Wearing glasses and a white coat. Big teeth. Lots of really big, white, sharp teeth.
I blink again since I figure I'm still dreaming and try to shake my head; trying to wake up. But no, when I open them again it's… he’s still there, looking at me instead of eating me. I reach out and sense him, confirming he's a mutant, but I've never seen a mutant that dresses like him. Only Masters... No, that's not the right word now. He's a doctor and there are no Masters.
Only even thinking that thought confuses me more. It’s as if new information is in my head. It’s happened before; it’s how I learned to read when my siblings couldn’t. I always learned faster when the collar was turned off.
"Well good morning," he says. "Hello. My name is..."
"Doctor Hank. Hank McCoy," I finish for him, and then blink again in surprise.
"How curious. And might I ask how you knew that?"
I point at the name sewn into his white coat. I’d always been punished when I spoke about understanding letters and numbers before so I keep my silence, my eyes immediately going down to my lap, where I set my hands. The Masters didn’t like that I learned from them when the collar was turned off, just by being near them. It’s how I learned to read and learned a few other things. They didn’t turn off my collar often; only to hunt.
"Hmm. Well, you're correct, my name is Doctor Hank McCoy, but you may call me Hank if you wish," he offers as he reaches out to help me sit up a little and places more pillows behind me. I look up again, hesitant but there’s no punishment. No trick. Reaching up to my neck, I find only my skin, the collar gone. Nobody to stop me from reaching out and sensing him. No sense of hatred or cruelty, just sadness and curiosity only.
I've never had a pillow before. Masters had pillows.
I have a pillow but no collar and there’s no punishment, no hate. Whatever this place is its… odd.
"Hello again."
I turn slightly and look at the woman standing near my head. It's the red head from before. The nice one. Jean. Phoenix. Marvel Girl.
"I'm Jean," she says smiling down at me. I remember the smile and smile back a little, then I frown, my pulse speeding up and fear shivering its way up my spine. I remember. Hiding in the dark, two women talking to me, but sensing others close. Trapping me. Then only pain and darkness for a time. Then pleasure and dreams. Pain and then a great weight trying to pull me down even as I hover in the air.
But I'm not so sure about any of it. I’m not sure about anything right now. She doesn’t have a white coat, but I know her name. I didn’t learn it… I know it. Strange.
"I'm sorry about Logan hitting you. He thought you were going to run." Her kind green eyes seem to be asking me to believe her and forgive.
I feel no deception from her. No lying. I feel weak and don’t understand why I’m here or where here is. I don't understand what is happening but I know how to wait. Orders usually come eventually. Punishment if I don't wait, so I wait.
I've been alone for a long time now, but I’ve been trained to know what is expected of me. It's still confusing; these don't seem like slaves, even though I sense they're mutants. And they aren't treating me as if they're Masters. And then there’s that part of me that knows things I shouldn’t. I know they aren’t Masters. I know they aren’t slaves. They’re… friends?
The sense of someone coming closer makes me whip my head around towards the open door. I know who it is before she strides through; even as I know it wasn’t because of how I usually sense things; like how I hunt mutants for the Master. Then she walks into the room, in all white. Blonde. Beautiful.
It’s the other woman from before. The naughty one. How did I know? It’s confusing. Lots of things confusing today.
"We aren't treating you like we're Masters because you are not a slave." The snowy white one says it, and it echoes the new information inside of me, so I believe it.
Emma. Emma Grace Frost.
That's her name. I know it. I don't know how I know it, but I do.
I hadn’t said it out loud, but her head jerks as if startled and I know she’s heard me say her name, just as I heard her talking to me in my head before.
She stands stand next to Jean and looks at me oddly as if I’ve done a particularly good trick.
*Can you hear me?*
"Yes," I reply, again confused. I heard her before, so why wouldn't I hear her now. Maybe she hit her head and forgot?
"Tsk. No, I didn't hit my head," she rolls those pretty blue eyes, "but how did you know my name? You aren't telepathic."
She sounds sure about that and since I don't know what telepathic is, I believe her. Then it comes to me, the information, as if it’s been hiding inside waiting for me to think about it.
"It means you can't talk in our heads. However, Emma and I can hear your thoughts and talk in your head because we are telepaths," the one named Jean explains and I nod slightly, hesitant to make much movement.
"I don’t know how I know," I reply and look down at my lap, knowing it’s not a good enough answer but not knowing what to say.
Annoyance. Malevolence.
Someone’s coming, their emotions searing my head with how strong they are; and then it’s shut away like a door’s been closed, but not completely. In reflex I hop off the table and leap past Jean, Doctor Hank and Emma taking a step forward as if to catch me, their worry and apprehension sharp. A needle and other wires rip from my body as I move, and it only takes a second and I’m at the far side of the room away from the door as he walks through it.
He’s tall, light with brown hair and his face is half covered by a shiny piece of metal, covering his eyes. He’s frowning as he looks at the other three, his gaze following theirs to me.
My sense of him is dulled now as if he’s far away, but the emotions are still there, hiding behind a buzzing sound that tickles my head. He’s suspicious. Doesn’t like me. He feels like some of the crueler Masters that have handled me. I can feel it. I don’t like it or him.
Sharp pain rips through me, a sudden weight on my back pulling me off balance and I feel the need to stretch out, not with my arms but…
Something catches my attention out of the corner of my eye and I spin trying to see it. But then I spin the other way, not wanting to take my eyes off him and the movement sends me off balance. Panting and trying to keep upright I reach out with my right hand and press it against the wall as if it will hold me up.
Then I see and feel shimmering wings spread out on either side of my body. It’s as if one is trying to help me balance, while the other beats helplessly against the close wall and pulling me off balance.
“What’s going on here?” The stranger’s voice is harsh, loud and commanding and I find myself trembling with fear.
Not a stranger. Scott. Cyclops. Summers.
This is wrong. Not right. I want to curl up and cradle my head. Where is all this coming from?!
“Scott…”
Jean says his name as he pushes past Emma, shoving her out of his way.
Annoyance.
Dismay.
Anger.
Their emotions beat on me and I pull my sense inwards in reflex. Then there’s only anger, my anger. He touched her. He pushed her.
“Scott back off!” Emma yells as I swipe at him with a shiny wing. The outermost feather catches him on his chest just as Doctor Hank grabs him by the collar and yanks him away from me. A sense of satisfaction and glee ripple through me as I notice the slice through his clothes and the thin, red line along his skin.
Then I’m frozen, held in place and no amount of struggling is helping.
*Stop. Stop panicking,* Emma orders me and I automatically submit and relax, the pressure around me gradually failing and I fall to my knees, panting.
Hunched over my knees, these wings covering me, hiding me from them, I feel shame and wait for punishment.
But none comes. Only two pairs of soft gentle hands, one gloved pair running through my hair, the other along my gowned back between my wings.
My breath catches.
I have wings?
I do. I feel them tremble as I think about them and I can feel the shift and subtle flow of the air around them moving from breaths and moving bodies.
Wonder.
Even the sounds and raised voices as he is asked to leave don’t faze me as I slowly stand up, gently moving back from both women and ignoring him even as he walks out the door.
It’s like having two more arms. I carefully flex, slowly stretching out and out until there’s no more room.
I blink and struggle not to turn around like a cat chasing its tail.
“They’re beautiful.”
I look at Emma and smile shyly back at her. I’ve never had heard that word used before… not about me.
“She’s right,” Jean assures me from somewhere close behind me. I can hear a smile her voice even though I can’t see her.
“Jean, perhaps you shouldn’t…” Doctor Hank starts to say but she ignores him and I can feel her fingertips carefully touching one of my feathers.
I shiver, as if my hair is being petted and the remaining tension in my body disappears.
“Anything?” Emma asks, looking past me and I carefully turn only my head, not wanting to disturb Jean’s touching me.
“Nothing and they aren’t changing like they did when Hank accidently touched her,” Jean replies but looks me in the eye with a look that I’ve never seen, as if she’s apologizing to me. The question must be obvious in my eyes since her voice tickles in my head. *We don’t mean to talk about you as if you aren’t here.*
That’s a bad thing? Masters always did that.
*That’s all gone now. Things are different,* she replies, having heard my thoughts.
Starting to feel the strain from holding my wings out, I slowly bring them closer in, then instantly freeze as she snatches her hand back, sticking a finger in her mouth and sucking on it.
I reach out just a bit to sense her and feel a sense of comfort aimed towards me as Jean removes her finger from her mouth. “It’s ok. I should have been more careful. It’s not your fault.”
Seeing red start to seep out from the small wound I silently disagree and turn to look at Doctor Hank who immediately leans close to her to examine the cut.
“They’re diamond,” Emma whispers, looking closer at my wings.
“Not glass?” Doctor Hank asks as he finishes wrapping a small Band-Aid around Jean’s finger.
“I know diamond, Hank. Intimately. Definitely organic diamond like mine. The feathers and wing structure are flexible as if they were made of flesh. Hmmm…” She turns those blue eyes on me, looking into mine for a long moment. I sense only curiosity from her. “Would you try to do something for me?”
It’s not a command, but a request.
“Okay.”
“Think of your wings. Think of them changing.”
I blink in confusion but do as she asks, turning my attention solely to my wings. The weight of them. The tension in the joints. The feathers, skin and bone. All diamond. I’m not sure what she means by changing them. These are all I know. Diamond wings.
And then it comes to me. They’re not all I know. I was sleeping but I remember faint words from outside filtering in.
I picture my wings changed and different and… the discomfort is manageable and I’m not too startled as my wings shrink to nothing. The weight gone and then suddenly it’s back as my wings burst out from my back again. Different and yet I know them. My wings.
Blue and furry wings. I can’t help a small giggle from escaping as I see Doctor Hank’s eyes widen in surprise.
Three sets of eyes look at me, but I don’t need to sense them to tell that there’s no fear or hate. Their admiration and curiosity is there for me to feel though and I bask in it for a moment, awed and confused by these feelings others are having towards me.
I wonder again if it’s all a dream.
“Intriguing,” Doctor Hank murmurs as he hesitantly reaches out to touch the outlying edge of one of my wings. It trembles under his hand as if it knows him. An odd thought.
Jean carefully steps around me, catching my attention.
“Do you have a name?”
“9031n73,” Emma answers before I can my startled look echoed by her own. “Now how did I…”
Jean looks at her, slightly pensive. “How did you…”
“Well, her forehead would be the obvious answer, wouldn’t it?” she answers but I can sense she doesn’t quite believe that and it bothers her. “Either way, I refuse to call you a number; it's just demeaning." Emma taps her chin with one of her nails, her eyes almost glassy as she considers the situation for a moment and then they almost sparkle with mischief. "I have the perfect name for you, my dear."
Jean’s eyes narrow at her, as if she can hear her thoughts. "Emma..."
The blonde just laughs highly amused and I smile at her. I like her laugh. It’s not like Jean’s which is soft and reminds me of a bright flower I saw once. Emma’s laugh sends a shiver down my spine and wraps around my torso to sink into my belly with a tingle. "Come on Jean, you have to admit Angelica, or maybe just Angela, fits her."
"Personally, I would have chosen something more circumspect, but you're right; it does indeed suit her." Doctor Hank smiles at me, showing his amusement. "It is your choice of course, but I think it's a lovely name. Angelica or Angela? Do you like either of them?"
A name. I would have a name. Not 9031n73 or n73? Not mutant? Slave? A name like the Masters had names… no, like Emma and Jean and Hank have names.
Still looking into Emma’s eyes, I cock my head slightly, silently asking her opinion.
"Well, I prefer Angela myself, but he's right, it is your choice," Emma frowns slightly and I can feel the slight sense of disapproval coming from her. I don’t know why but somehow my silent gesture, begging for her opinion and approval disturbs her. "Call yourself Bob for all I care."
"Emma!" Jean admonishes, smacking her on the arm.
"Angela." I whisper it, tasting it on my lips. I like it.
My eyes are still glued on Emma, searching for some hint… of what, I don’t know. “Angela,” I say it again and nothing comes up. It sounds pretty but doesn’t mean anything to me. “What does it mean?"
Jean clears her throat before replying, “It means angel in another language.”
I barely even acknowledge the amusement coming from her as what that word means comes to me. The knowledge isn’t like how I learned a skill, like reading, from the collar being turned off and learning from the Masters. It’s familiar… it tastes like her I realize, glancing at Emma.
His image surges up in me, a blonde man with enormous white wings and skin that changes back and forth from blue to normal, just as his costume changes, shifting from one to another to yet another. All have a golden halo on the chest.
Warren. Angel. Warren Worthington the third.
"It would be best if you called Warren now, Hank." Emma’s lips just barely twist down into a frown as she pauses and looks at me for a moment, then turns to walk over to one of the computers on the far side of the room. I watch her walk, confident and in control, the muscles of her calves flexing under the white material of her pants catching my eyes. I bring my wings closer to my body trying to make myself smaller, imagining myself walking like that.
"Emma, if I didn't like you so much, your predilection for picking up stray thoughts and using the information without consent would be aggravating. I know for a fact that I only shared that with Jean," Doctor Hank says as he gently motions me back towards the bed and then crosses the room to pick up the phone. My wings are tired and my stomach rumbles, as I carefully try to sit and get them to lie down on my back. They don’t obey well. Then I remember I didn’t have wings before and I think about them going away.
Again the discomfort and then they disappear into my back. I feel like I’ve done something right and I let myself feel good for a moment before Emma’s voice catches my attention again. No one seems to be looking at me or have noticed that my wings have disappeared. I’m tempted to see if I can get them back, but the ache in my back and my hunger convinces me to put it off for now.
"What Hank should be telling you, is that we know who one of your fathers is and if you're lucky, you shall meet him tonight," Emma answers my question, her fingers flying over a keyboard, still not looking at me. Her emotion has changed to amusement now which eases my own thoughts of her and settles the discomfort inside of me. A part of me wonders why I’m so disturbed at her reaction of how I reacted to her.
I look back and forth between the two women. "What is a father?" I say it before the knowledge of it seeps up into me and I can’t help gasping and looking at Emma in fear and pain. Along with that information comes the reason why she doesn’t like me acting… subservient. Yes, that’s the word. It reminds her of a painful time and a pleasurable time and how she hates where I came from.
Conflicting. Confusing. How do I know these things? How do I know they come from her? She said I’m not telepathic.
At my question, only Emma turns to look at me and I know she’s seeing my thoughts again and I can sense it’s disturbing her. We both ignore Doctor Hank’s soft telephone conversation in the background, Jean’s laugh and just stare at each other, her blue eyes sharp and piercing.
Doctor Hank hangs up the telephone and walks over to me, a small hitch in his step as he sees my wings are gone.
“Hank, may I speak to you a moment?” Emma turns and abruptly walks out of the room. I realize I can’t sense her anymore and it’s not because of distance. She’s shut herself off. She feels like… my shiny wings, the diamond ones.
I blink a few times then turn towards Jean.
“I don’t understand anything,” I whisper to her, taking comfort in her smile and her kind green eyes.
“I know,” she pulls up a stool and sits next to me and pats me on the thigh, where my gown is covering me up. “How about you tell me about yourself, Angela?”
Onto Chapter 7