nike_ravus (nike_ravus) wrote,
nike_ravus
nike_ravus

Loveaholic

OT blows. FML.

Soooo, I haven't posted anything in a couple of days, because I've been working on papers and suchlike, and... going through multiple stages of self doubt. But that doesn't mean I haven't written anything. I'm pretty sure no one's interested in my paper on loanword clipping in Japanese (*I'm* not interested in my paper on loanword clipping in Japanese), so instead I'm going to post a very... weird fic.

Consider it my Thanksgiving fic, and now that we know who Michael is, perhaps it will be comprehensible.
I didn't like it very much when I wrote it, but then I wrote more, so I'll be interested in seeing what people think.

Title: Loveaholic

Author: Alsike

Fandom: X-Men/Criminal Minds x-over

Pairing: Emma Frost/Emily Prentiss

Rating: R

AN/Disclaimer: Not my girls.

Apologies: I wrote most of this while coming down with the flu. It may make about that much sense.

Summary: Sometimes the plans you make have a chance to become real. What if what you thought you wanted isn't enough?

1: Upon the sand, upon the bay:

One of the distressing things about having brilliant students was that you really couldn’t take credit for them. They were brilliant when you met them and save traumatic brain injury, they would still be brilliant when you lost touch. But nonetheless, having intelligent, attentive students who were actually interested in what you were teaching, often felt like a gift from a higher power.

Susan Delphine Fleetwood-Prentiss was one such student. Her twin brother Sam (his middle name was apparently Havelock, but he denied it vehemently) was in the same year, and he was clearly intelligent enough to not have to work very hard, but not particularly motivated in anything besides football.

Emma liked teaching first years. It was where the truly excellent began to be separated from the merely competent. It was also the year that required the most discipline and social training. She had found that if a child had the correct instruction in first form, he or she would be successful in later life. If the child did not, secondary school would destroy them. And they needed to be pushed.

Susan was an excellent writer, glib and logical with a vocabulary that left most of her peers in the dust. It had to be environment and upbringing. Emma had seen the patterns. Intelligent parents could have stupid children if they didn’t bother to interact with them, and foolish parents could have brilliant children if they exposed them to words and ideas at every level. Susan had the intellectual confidence provided by attentive intelligent parents. She was also socially awkward enough to be interesting, but it was merely her manner, a little reserved and detached, while her brother was charming and popular. It was an interesting mix.

And then she caught Susan crying in the toilets with scraped knuckles. Emma brought her to her office and did her best, but she would not talk. Afraid she would become angry and close down completely if she pressed, Emma changed the subject, and soon she was smiling and interested again. Emma assigned her an extra project and she hurried off to the library to get going on it while Emma tried route two.

Sam shrugged. “She’s just too sensitive. We’ve always been teased about Mom and Dad after Matt moved in. But nothing’s wrong.” He scuffed his shoe against the rug. “Gran came to visit and was mean again. Maybe that set her off.”

Emma inquired about what she had been mean about, and who on earth Matt was, but he clammed up, and that seemed to be that. It was all rather mysterious. She usually knew what the children were being teased about. She had always thought that Susan’s main issue was being too intelligent for the rest of her classmates, not her family situation.

But it wasn’t fine to have her students crying in the bathroom, and she was rather uncomfortable with not being able to remedy the situation. Then Susan came to her, looking scared and miserable.

“I wanted to ask you, because you’re the smartest person I know. What’s sin?”

An odd shudder ran down Emma’s spine. She did not allow words like that to be used in her classroom.

“It’s a superstition,” she said flatly. “The idea that certain acts are morally reprehensible within themselves, irregardless of their consequences.”

“I don’t really understand.”

“In general,” Emma elaborated. “Killing a person is wrong. But if a man is about to blow up the school, then a policeman would be right to stop him from pressing the button, even if he had to kill him. Is that correct?”

Susan nodded.

“Calling something a sin means that even if the policeman saved a thousand lives, he should still be punished, forever, for killing that one man.”

“That doesn’t sound fair.”

“It isn’t. That’s the problem with sin. The punishment is often far greater than the crime.”

Susan looked down. “But it still means there’s something wrong, doesn’t it? Even if it’s not really wrong, someone thinks it is.”

And that was the problem with too smart students.

“People think many things are wrong, and sinful. You can’t let them decide for you.”

Susan smiled weakly and left, and Emma knew she had to get to the bottom of this.

It was probably against the rules, but Emma hadn’t ever cared too much for rules, so she took the Fleetwood-Prentiss’ address from the headmaster’s files.

They lived in Far Headingly, near the allotments, on a nice plot of land with a garden and a large tree with a rope swing. It was early afternoon and she knew both Sam and Susan had athletics. It was unlikely that the parents would be home, but not impossible, so she went up and knocked on the door. No one was in.

That was pointless. She sighed and turned to walk back into town. She didn’t look where she was going and ran into a woman carrying her shopping up the street.

Cans and boxes scattered everywhere, and a particularly heavy cabbage fell on Emma’s foot.

“Shit!”

“I’m so sorry!”

Emma froze, blinking in surprise. She had a clearly American accent, which was shocking to her after nearly five years in Yorkshire.

“No. It was my fault.” She helped the woman gather up her shopping, taking sidelong glances at her as she did. Dark hair, dark eyes… if she hadn’t looked about twenty-five, Emma would have assumed she was Susan’s mother. But perhaps her elder sister instead? She took the second bag away from her.

“Let me carry this for you.”

The woman smiled shyly, her wide mouth twisting into honest pleasure and slight embarrassment. “It’s right there.” She gestured with her head towards the gate Emma had just exited from.

“Then it’s no trouble at all.” She hoisted the second bag (with the villainous cabbage) and followed her. The woman nodded, smiling again, and unlatched the gate. Her left hand was on the bag. A wedding band glinted on her ring finger. Emma blinked at it in surprise. “Are you, by any chance, Mrs. Fleetwood-Prentiss?” Emma asked.

The woman started and nearly dropped her bag again. “What? W-why-”

“I’m Susan’s homeroom teacher. I was looking for one of her parents.”

The woman kicked open the door to the kitchen and dropped her bag on the table. She turned back to Emma with an embarrassed expression.

“I’m really not used to being called Mrs. Fleetwood-Prentiss, at all . But I guess you do mean me.” She rubbed her forehead, and then stuck her hand out. “I’m Emily, just Prentiss though, I didn’t hyphenate myself.”

Emma took her hand and shook it easily. “I assume you also use Ms, in that case. I apologize for the mistake. I’m Emma Frost.”

Emily smiled. “Susan talks about you a lot. She seems to admire you very much.”

Emma shrugged. “She’s a brilliant child. I did nothing to cause it.”

“Well, I don’t think I did either.” Emily said with a laugh. “She just turned out that way.”

“I doubt that very much.”

Emily flushed and turned away. “Would you like something to drink?”

Emma accepted.

“What… did you come here to talk about?” Emily asked finally. “Is everything all right?”

Emma gave her a long considering look. “No, I don’t think so.”

“What is it?”

“Do you have any ideas?”

Emily looked away, and Emma thought she detected a faint hint of guilt in her expression. “I… really can’t say.”

That said quite enough to Emma. She tightened her jaw. “I really cannot tell you enough how much a credit Susan is to you and your husband. But if you are aware of how much she is hurting right now, and choosing to do nothing, I cannot respect you for that.”

Emily looked away. “I really don’t know how to help her. It’s a private family matter, and I think it may be something she just has to get used to. I would appreciate it if you left it alone.”

“I can’t do that. Not after she came to me to ask what ‘sin’ is. I hope I gave her a satisfactory answer, and that she truly does not have something wrong in this house that she ought to be ashamed of.”

Emily glared at her with flashing eyes. “Don’t you dare come here and judge us!”

“There’s nothing for me to judge.” Emma said flatly. “I know nothing about you. How old are you, Ms. Prentiss.”

“Why is that your business?”

“It isn’t. But It's something I don't know about you.”

“I’m thirty-two.”

“Really?” Emma considered this. “And you are Susan and Sam’s biological parent?”

“Of course.” She frowned. “I graduated college early, didn’t see any reason to wait.” Emily shook her head. “This really is none of your business.”

“Why does your mother think you’re living in sin?”

Emily’s eyes narrowed and she stood up. “Get out of my house. This is not your concern.”

Emma nodded and stood. “You’re the one who needs to speak with her. But if you are doing something that she should be ashamed of, perhaps that’s what you need to change.”

Emily held the door open for her. Emma nodded and walked out.

* * *

2: "There is a quick and easy way" you say

Tags: criminal minds, emma/emily, x-men
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