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A Diamond in the Rough	By : DrunkenScotsman Category: X-Men - Animated Series (all) > General Views: 3410 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
Chapter 10: Home Square

Wrought-iron gates, set into a twelve-foot brick wall demarcating the perimeter of the Frost estate, stood closed as Emma pulled up in her car. Beyond the gate, gently-rolling green-clad hills stretched across the length and breadth of the forty-acre property, which had belonged to the Frosts for centuries, ever since Goodman Frost purchased the land from the native Massachusetts for – as the story went – for a pair of copper kettles and a half-dozen glass beads.
Even that far back, the Frosts apparently had been shrewd businessmen. So Father had said, many times.
A lot to live up to, she knew, but I will succeed. Brilliantly.
Failure can never be an option, after all.
Emma rolled down her window to see better into the guardhouse by the gate, which should have opened on approach. Jenkins, the longest-tenured doorman, sat with his cap pulled down over his eyes. The slump of his shoulders indicated he’d fallen asleep.
Barely suppressing her irritation, Emma pushed the intercom button. “If you’re going to start napping on the job,” she stated in a cool tone, “perhaps you should consider retirement.”
The doorman started at the buzz from the speaker. “Hm? Ah, Miss Frost! I’m terribly sorry – I must’ve dozed off while awaiting your return home.” The old fellow smiled sheepishly beneath his thick, walrus-like moustache. “Welcome home, of course.”
“Thank you, Jenkins. It’s good to be home,” she lied. Sensing an opportunity, Emma smiled tightly to herself. “Your little nap will remain between us, since you’ve been so dutiful over the years.”
The old man flushed. “Thank you, Miss Frost. I appreciate your discretion.”
Emma’s smile curled further; having the doorman owe her a favor could certainly prove useful if she needed to make an early exit. “Of course, Jenkins. Now, onto business: I presume Mother is awaiting me inside?”
Jenkins nodded. “Mrs. Frost hasn’t left the premises today.”
Typical, Emma snarked to herself. Aloud, she told the doorman, “I’m ready when you are.”
The gates to the Frost estate hummed open, and Emma drove through. She navigated to the garage, where mechanics tended the estate’s motor pool – a few luxury sedans, a quartet of limousines for various occasions that called for them, a luxury SUV, and the various vehicles used by the landscaping crew. Bays for her and Christian’s cars sat empty, and a pang of sadness flashed through Emma as she parked.
I’ll call or email him this weekend, she resolved. Even if he wants nothing to do with our parents, he and I could still have a relationship.
If he wanted one, replied her cynical side, he could’ve contacted you at any time over the last few years.
The natural question – Why, ultimately, hadn’t he? – had haunted Emma off and on ever since Christian left for college and seemingly vanished. Mother seemed to have all but forgotten him, and even Emma’s mind-reading hadn’t gleaned anything from – Unsurprising, given how empty her head is more generally. Father wouldn’t discuss it either, and Emma respected him – and feared the consequences – too much to try reading him.
Putting those thoughts aside, Emma exited her car and, after a short walk, entered the manor she’d grown up in.
Everything remained as Emma remembered. Dark wood paneled the walls of the corridors and foyer, and much of the furniture also consisted of dark wood. Certain public-facing rooms – the foyer, parlor, and dining room – had wallpaper in pastel colors dating back to the Gilded Age. Objets d’art adorned the walls or stood on small tables – here a vase, there a mirror with gilded frame, and no shortage of paintings or marble busts (mostly of prominent Frosts in either case). Every detail had been carefully cultivated by generations of Frost to display exquisite, yet unostentatious, wealth and taste.
Given the pleasant afternoon sun, Emma reasoned as she navigated her home, Mother’s likely sunbathing by the pool.
I wonder how many margaritas she’s had so far today.
Emma found Mother right where she expected, stretched out on a fabric pool chair beneath a white-and-green striped umbrella, with a wrought-iron and glass table holding an empty margarita glass just within arm’s reach. Mother wore a wide-brimmed straw hat and tortoise-shell sunglasses and a breathtakingly skimpy red bikini with tropical white flowers. Emma had never felt comfortable with Mother’s revealing wardrobe, always showing plenty of leg (which Emma couldn’t deny she’d inherited) and plenty of cleavage (here, Emma favored Grandmother Frost).
At least she’s actually wearing her top right now, she thought gratefully.
Mother’s bottle-blonde hair only just peeked from under the hat – likely in a French twist to keep it off her neck, reasoned Emma. Mother had often harangued Emma for wearing her hair shorter – “Men love running their fingers through a woman’s hair,” she’d say, trying to sound fancier by using the word “tresses.” She seemed incapable of understanding that Emma’s hair simply would not cooperate past chin-length, while simultaneously taking that fact as a personal affront.
A practiced pageant-queen smile spread across Mother’s face. “Emma, darling! Welcome home! Just in time, too – I just finished my drink and hadn’t yet ordered another. You didn’t happen to see Wilkins, did you? I’m considering ordering one for the road.”
Emma’s eyes flicked to the empty glass on the table. “No, Mother, I didn’t see Wilkins,” she replied, seizing the briefest of windows to do so when Mother took the most momentary of pauses for breath.
Mother waved her hand dismissively. “No matter – four will have to do for now.”
Behind her sunglasses, Emma rolled her eyes. Belatedly she caught the phrase “for the road.” What could that—?
Mother’s grating voice intruded into Emma’s thoughts: “You’re looking well, Emma darling. I see the freshman fifteen has passed you over for the moment. Or is it the freshman five?” Not waiting for a reply, she shrugged. “At any rate, you’re just as slender as ever.”
Mother cupped her own chin, and Emma could feel her analyzing her figure. “In your case, though, I think the freshman fifteen would look good on you, especially if it went to your butt or bust.”
Emma tried not to grind her teeth. And there it is. Let the belittling begin.
What’ll it be this time? “You need some curves to snag a boyfriend”? “Without boobs, you might as well be a man”? “Men don’t want a stick unless they’re gay”? Quote that stupid song you love: “The anaconda don’t want none / Unless you got buns, hun”?
To her surprise, though, Mother took a different tack: “The good news is, thin is ‘in’ right now. We just need to show that off in the right ways, and you’ll have your pick of strapping young lads, all eating out of your hands. Assuming you try smiling for a change.”
Before Emma could object, Mother stood and barreled on: “Don’t get too comfortable while I get changed, darling.” She paused, her face lighting up. “In fact, why don’t you help me pick out an outfit once I page Avery to bring the car around? We have errands to run. Together.”
So that’s what she meant by “one for the road” earlier, Emma realized. To appease Mother, she smiled – the least convincing smile in the history of smiles. Aloud, she replied, “Of course, Mother. I can’t wait to see what you’ve got planned.”
Mother kissed the air beside her daughter’s cheek. “I’m so glad you’re home, Emma dear. This’ll be the best weekend of your life, I’m sure of it!”
Never before had Emma dreaded anything so much.

XXXXX

Mother had never had any qualms about undressing completely in front of Emma, and today had proven no different as she dragged Emma to her walk-in closet to select an outfit, spending far too long for Emma’s liking without a stitch on her body – five-foot-seven, long-legged (which she’d passed down to Emma), but naturally much curvier than her daughter (who, in her weakest moments, envied them). Now and then, she asked Emma’s thoughts on this piece or that, to which Emma responded with honest feedback. As much as she and Mother clashed on the specifics, they at least shared an enthusiasm for fashion.
Emma couldn’t imagine being so comfortable with her body that she could prance around in front of someone else completely naked like Mother did. She has some right to be proud of her appearance, she begrudgingly admitted. If she has one virtue, it’s that she takes good care of herself. Between her regular Pilates and yoga, few could tell just by looking at her that she’s in her forties with two children. With any luck, I’ll age just as well.
The tummy tuck she had last year probably helps there too, chimed in the crueler part of her mind. She could be admirable, if she cared about anything other than appearances.
The outfit Mother finally settled on for this excursion consisted of a flowy sleeveless dress in tropical colors, accented with gold bracelets on each arm and white strappy heels. A bit more conservative than usual, Emma noted. Maybe she’s starting to understand how I like to dress, trying to meet me halfway now that I’ve left home?
Part of her truly hoped so, that she and Mother could reconfigure their relationship now, and that today might provide the first step towards that goal.

XXXXX

Emma spent the ride to the mystery destination staring out the window, wishing she were literally anywhere else on the planet than in this car, not-listening to Mother’s endless chatter about Paris Hilton and Jennifer Lopez and whatever other celebrities whose every move Mother followed in excruciating detail for some unfathomable reason.
In calculus class, listening to Professor Etheridge drone on and on about derivatives? With pleasure.
Dancing Professor Oglethorpe’s unusual and opaque choreography? Sign me up.
Facing down a starving polar bear in nothing but my bra and panties? I choose the bear.
Battling those mutant-hunting Sentinels, which, as robots, are completely immune to my powers, leaving me utterly at their nonexistent mercy? Don’t mind if I do.
Stroll onto the quad hand-in-hand with Ms. Grey, where she picks me up in her arms, flies us into the sky, and kisses me passionately for the world to see, announcing to everyone that we are both mutants and lovers? Name the time and date.
Mind returning to the present, Emma blinked at that last one. Where did that come from?
Before she could begin to figure that out, Mother’s voice cut in: “Oh, look, we’re here, Emma darling! Pity you wore such a cute dress today – I like the way that peppermint-and-white gingham looks on you, though it could stand to be shorter to show off your legs. Speaking of which, I hope for your sake that’s not all you shaved for today.”
The hairs on the back of Emma’s neck stood on end. Already dreading the answer, she turned to face her mother and asked the obvious question, “Why?”
“Why,” Mother answered, her face contorted into a bizarre smile, “for your first appointment with Dr. Goldberg. We’ve put it off far too long, honestly.”
It took mere moments for Emma’s excellent memory to place the name, and cold discomfort lodged in the pit of her stomach. “Isn’t she your gynecologist?”
Mother nodded. “It’s past time to face facts: My little girl’s all grown up now,” she admitted in an overly-sentimental tone, accompanied with a similarly melodramatic sigh. “Lying on a bed with your feet up in stirrups while a stranger examines your lady-bits is a rite of passage for every woman.”
If you’re trying to set my mind at ease, you’re doing a terrible job.
“Don’t fret, though – Dr. Goldberg’s taken wonderful care of me for years, and I couldn’t think anyone better for you, darling.”
As they exited the car’s plush, safe embrace, Emma spared a glance skyward.
Unfortunately, that maniac Magneto hadn’t decided to drop an asteroid on Earth today.
No Sentinels filled the sky.
Emma stared at the entrance of the doctor’s office, knowing that her fate awaited inside.

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A/N: I'd initially intended this chapter to be the gyno visit, but that scene is going to be so long that I decided to split it into 2 chapters. I think this one did some fun work further establishing Emma's relationship with her mother - who I want to write as just the worst. Please leave feedback in the reviews; I'm always happy to read them and consider!
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A Diamond in the Rough