Adult-FanFiction.org : Marvel 'Verse

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
- 6
- 7
- 8
Chapter 7: Queen’s Gambit

At the Nor’easter Coffee Shop later that afternoon, Emma sat nursing her mocha frappuccino. She’d arrived quite a few minutes early, as was her wont, and the server had finished making her drink surprisingly promptly. Perhaps not so surprising, she amended to herself as she scanned the otherwise-empty store.
Ms. Grey hasn’t arrived, but she’s not late yet, Emma observed from the clock on her cell phone.
As she waited, Emma felt a creeping tension in her abdomen. The sensation wasn’t wholly unfamiliar – it had appeared in the hours leading up to ballet recitals and chess tournaments. Today, however, it seized her more intensely than those other instances.
She sipped her drink. What’s there to worry about? she reassured herself. Meetings like this surely happen all the time. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Yet the feeling persisted. Emma mulled over the possible reasons. I know what’s expected of me in a recital or a tournament, having prepared for weeks, months, or even years in advance. By contrast, I have zero idea what to expect from… whatever this is.
Not knowing what to expect, I can’t ensure how I’ll perform. Excellently, of course. Brilliantly, without a doubt. But I can’t guarantee my true standard: flawlessly.
Devising that explanation calmed Emma somewhat.
At that point, a tall redhead entered the coffee shop, drawing Emma’s attention. Due to the lack of other patrons, Ms. Grey immediately placed her order. From her vantage point, Emma noticed something she’d missed earlier in the day: Ms. Grey’s dress hung only to mid-thigh, showing off her long, athletic legs and strappy white sandals.
While waiting for her drink, Ms. Grey waved at Emma and flashed her smile. Emma replied with a polite nod. The sense of anticipation within her intensified.
Once she received her order, Ms. Grey joined her counterpart, sitting opposite Emma. “Sorry about this morning,” she apologized. “I thought you might not want other people to see us talking and get the wrong idea.”
“No need to apologize,” replied Emma. “I quite understood the reasons, and I agree completely.”
“Good, good,” she murmured. Ms. Grey sipped her iced latte, avoiding Emma’s eyes in an inversion of the usual status quo. She looked like she had more to say, but couldn’t figure out how to say it.
For her part, Emma let the silence linger as well, well past the point of comfort. She decided to needle the other telepath by asking, “What’s on your mind?”
A smirk tugged at the corner of Ms. Grey’s mouth. “If I wanted lame jokes, I’d call home and talk to Dad.”
Pursing her lips, Emma sat back and folded her arms. “Still, you appeared to have more to say.”
Ms. Grey glanced back at her counterpart. “Just before that, when we made eye contact, you had a strange look on your face. At first, I thought it was because I’d intruded into your personal space.” Her tongue peeked momentarily between her lips. “When you kept thinking about my eyes all through class, though… I just wonder why.”
Heat rose to Emma’s cheeks. She’d spent much of the day wondering about that herself, ultimately settling on an explanation, one she now chose to share: “You’re the first person I’ve been able to look in the eye since my curse first manifested. Five years,” she emphasized, “where I’ve had to avoid eye contact, or suffer a jumbled, incoherent torrent of other people’s thoughts.”
She took a steadying breath. “When our eyes met… I wasn’t prepared for the blissful silence.”
“Oh,” replied Ms. Grey softly. She sipped her drink. “That makes sense.”
Emma took her turn with her drink, letting the conversation lie. As she studied her counterpart, it occurred to Emma that Ms. Grey seemed somehow… disappointed… with the explanation. Try as she might, though, she couldn’t fathom why.
Inhaling sharply, breaking the silence that had settled between them like a heavy cloak, Ms. Grey turned towards Emma with a (practiced, or perhaps forced?) smile. “That gave me an idea for what to work on first,” she explained. “I can tell it annoys you that I can read you so easily—”
Emma arched a single eyebrow. “That’s putting it mildly.”
“—so let’s start with mental shielding,” the redhead continued without missing a beat. “Not just to keep me out, but also other, less scrupulous telepaths.”
Emma shifted nervously in her seat. “…How much of a concern could that truly be?”
Ms. Grey pursed her lips, her gaze growing distant. “You’re the fourth I’ve encountered since my powers manifested. The Professor thinks it could be one of the more common mutations.”
Emma sipped her drink once more, mulling over that unsettling possibility. Outside the shop, people walked down the sidewalk, going about their days, oblivious to – or, at least, not actively conscious of – whether, at that moment, someone could be extracting valuable information from their minds. That someone could even be me.
Ms. Grey leaned over into Emma’s peripheral vision. “You’re not one of those unscrupulous telepaths, are you?” she teased.
Emma turned back and shook her head. “I’d hoped to begin with how and when I read others,” she admitted, “but your approach has merit.”
The redhead nodded thoughtfully and sipped her drink. “Learning how to keep others out also helped me learn how to keep myself in, as it were,” she offered in a helpful tone.
Emma hummed, realizing that made a lot of sense. “Let’s begin, then, shall we?” She leaned forward, putting on her best “ready to take on the world” face.
Ms. Grey nodded again, her own expression shifting in a similar fashion. “When you tried to read me that first day of class, what did you see?”
Emma barely suppressed a shudder at the memory. “A great fiery bird,” she murmured, staring at the table.
“A phoenix,” the other telepath corrected her. “I’ve always had a fascination with them, both as a story and an image.”
Emma glanced up, eyes lighting on the pattern of her counterpart’s dress. “That seems a bit flashy for you, honestly.”
Ms. Grey snorted. “That’s rich, coming from someone who regularly wears Louboutin,” she retorted.
Emma smirked and sipped her drink. “I am rich, in fact,” she retorted back playfully.
The redhead sighed and shook her head. “My point was, I imagine a phoenix flying around my mind, leaving a wall of flame in its wake to protect me.” She tilted her head. “My question is, what will you imagine?”
Emma’s brows furrowed. “I can’t imagine a phoenix?”
“Not if it doesn’t have any personal significance to you,” answered Ms. Grey with a roll of her eyes. “Once you have something, close your eyes and picture it.”
With a deep breath, Emma complied, casting about for ideas. After a bit, she settled on an image: white pawns, one row over another and another, forming a true wall. “Now what?”
Ms. Grey’s voice sounded soft, distant, when she replied, “I’m going to try to push past it. I’ll be as gentle as possible, but – fair warning – this could hurt.”
Inside Emma’s mind, a great light grew, glowing through the gaps between pawns. She felt a powerful pressure growing against the wall. With the pressure came an intense heat.
Before long, it became unbearable. The wall collapsed, pawns tumbling into a chaotic rubble. The light and heat formed itself into the shape of that great fiery raptor known as a phoenix, which perched atop the fallen pawns, looking a little too pleased with itself.
Emma’s eyes shot open, and she gasped for air. A dull ache emerged in her molars. Her stomach twisted, and she feared she might vomit. Perspiration coated her forehead.
“Fifteen seconds,” the pristine Ms. Grey noted, checking her watch. “Not bad for a first try.”
Emma set her jaw. “You didn’t seem to exert much effort breaking through,” she observed. She hardened her gaze to add, “Don’t coddle me, either, or sugar-coat. I prefer honesty.”
Ms. Grey started to reply, but she finished her drink instead. “On a scale of one to ten… I’d say a two.” She leveled her gaze at Emma, those (striking) emeralds gleaming with inner fire. “For context, I do have a lot of practice with my powers; but I also don’t think the chess pieces are going to work.”
“Pawns,” Emma corrected.
“I’m sorry?”
“Pawns aren’t pieces,” Emma elaborated. “They’re not important enough to be called pieces. Not strong enough.”
“… Right. Anyway. What you imagine has to be something you feel innately connected to,” explained Ms. Grey. “Almost on a spiritual level.”
Emma looked away, frustration rising. “I don’t believe in spirituality.”
“Even though we read minds?” wondered Ms. Grey with a single raised eyebrow.
Emma shook her head. “I don’t see the connection.”
“Food for thought,” replied Ms. Grey, shifting in her seat. “For now, though, let’s try again. Whenever you’re ready.”
With a sharp exhalation – not quite a sigh – Emma closed her eyes. This time, she imagined a wall of white rooks, thinking of herself as having castled her mind behind them. Again, the light and pressure of Ms. Grey’s mind manifested and quickly overwhelmed rooks, scattering them with a flex of fiery wings. At least the physical effects weren’t quite as intense this time.
“Twenty seconds,” noted Ms. Grey with a glance at her watch.
“Not much of an improvement,” grumbled Emma, still catching her breath. “Again.”
Brow furrowing, the other telepath tilted her head. “Are you sure, Emma?”
Rather than reply in words, Emma shut her eyes again. Inside her mind, an armada of white queens formed, swirling around her like an angry hornet’s nest. She doubted she could imagine a stronger barrier.
Ms. Grey’s burning presence arrived soon enough. Emma could feel the heat of her all around, and the light shone through the gaps as the queens circled. Licks of flame flickered between them, but the queens held.
Ms. Grey pressed harder, but the queens held.
Playing white, Emma recalled, required one to maintain tempo and pressure by pressing the attack, not sitting back and waiting to counter (that was more common when playing black). Emma decided to play white, by gritting her teeth and pushing back against Ms. Grey, attempting to widen the circle of queens. At first, she succeeded: the phoenix retreated in the face of Emma’s gambit.
A moment later, though, the phoenix gathered herself and swooped down. She struck the wall of queens with terrible force, toppling several and perching atop them. She spread her wings, which flared with overwhelming, blinding light.
Emma’s eyes shot open as searing pain permeated every nerve in her body. Her now-too-sensitive skin felt every drop of perspiration and the damp fabric of her shirt and pants. Her eyes watered. A glance at her hands revealed them gripping the edge of the table so hard her knuckles had turned white.
For her part, Ms. Grey looked exhausted as well. The redhead panted as she tried to catch her breath. Her skin glistened with perspiration. A single large droplet gleaming in the golden afternoon sunlight streaming through the window caught Emma’s eye as it trickled down the redhead’s long neck, through the hollow where her collarbones met, and into the valley below.
Gradually recovering, Emma massaged her temples, and the pain began to fade. She shook her head in frustration. “I don’t understand,” she croaked. “Queens are the strongest piece. I literally can’t imagine anything stronger.”
“If it’s any consolation,” replied the other telepath between breaths, “the queens lasted a lot longer than the others.” She checked her watch. “Two minutes, give or take.” At Emma’s sharp look, she added, “I didn’t clock exactly when I broke through.”
Still smarting over her failure, Emma folded her arms and harrumphed.
Out of the corner of her eye, Emma saw Ms. Grey roll her eyes. “In case you couldn’t tell, it took a lot more effort for me that time, especially after you started pushing back.” Her voice softened. “Remember, I’ve had a ton more practice with my abilities. You’re doing well so far. I mean that.”
Only perfection is permitted. Anything less is failure. Failure is weakness. Weakness will be excised.
Blotting her skin with a napkin, Ms. Grey pursed her lips. “Have you never lost a chess game?”
Emma blinked at the seeming non sequitur. “Not in a long, long time.”
“But when you first started playing?” the redhead pressed.
Following her counterpart’s example, Emma blotted her face and neck, resigning herself to endure the dampness of her clothes. “I don’t remember. I was five or six.”
Ms. Grey rolled her eyes. “Alright. What about learning a new dance?”
The hairs on Emma’s neck stood on end. “I don’t recall discussing that with you.”
The redhead at least had the self-awareness to look sheepish as she confessed. “I ‘overheard’ you thinking about it when we first met.”
Glaring daggers, Emma retorted, “What happened to not reading minds without permission?”
“I told you – you project!” Ms. Grey riposted, growing louder and more agitated. “It’s like you shouted it at me!”
The two of them glared at each other for a long, increasingly uncomfortable moment.
The redhead set her jaw. “Look, Emma… sorry for snapping at you.”
For her part, Emma nodded, kicking herself for reacting so strongly. She finished her drink, the cool liquid helping to reduce her body temperature from her earlier exertions. “I reacted that way because you’re correct – I’ve been doing ballet since I was old enough to walk.”
An old memory surfaced, one which Emma decided to verbalize: “My various teachers over the years emphasized the ‘rehearsal process,’ so I suppose this is more like that.”
Ms. Grey’s mouth curled into a soft smile. “I got the impression you’re something of a perfectionist, always expected to be at your best. As one of the older students, I had some of that myself back at the Institute.”
Emma pursed her lips. “It’s… something of a family trait.”
Ms. Grey leaned forward, her smile never wavering. “Try not to put too much pressure on yourself, okay? It’s not good for you. I had to learn that lesson the hard way.”
Emma’s eyes narrowed. “How so?”
The redhead looked over her shoulder at the barista, who seemed to be watching them with concern until she turned, when he suddenly found whatever menial task he’d been performing to require his undivided attention. “I… don’t really wanna talk about it.”
Emma shrugged. “Another time, perhaps.” Nodding towards the counter, she asked, “Given that we’re the only ones in here, how much do you think he overheard?”
The other telepath leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “When I ordered, I implanted an instruction for him to interpret everything we were saying as ‘some New Age spiritual mumbo-jumbo.’” She giggled.
A smile curled Emma’s lips, and she felt an echo of the earlier tension inside her. “Oh, that’s clever. Devious, even. I’ll have to remember that one.”
“Better to have him selectively edit than to erase. Erasures lead to gaps, and gaps lead to uncomfortable questions,” she explained. Ms. Grey’s expression fell. “The Professor taught me that.”
Emma’s eyes narrowed as she detected her counterpart’s shift in mood. She considered inquiring, but she didn’t know enough to ask intelligent questions. Instead, she stood and asked, “Any homework for me?”
A wry smile graced Ms. Grey’s lips. “I’m still not convinced that chess pieces are your core image, even though the white queen had the strongest ties to your identity. I’d like you to consider some alternatives.” She herself stood. “Until then, have a nice weekend. See you in class on Monday.”

XXXXX

That evening, as she prepared for bed, Emma reflected on her lesson with Ms. Grey – specifically, the part about “unscrupulous telepaths.” She hated the idea of being at the mercy of anyone, but especially someone whose power was so untraceable. She hated the idea of someone else being able to read her mind the way she’d been able to read others’. She resolved to find a core image that could withstand even the might of a phoenix.
Growing up, Father had had her read The Art of War – “common practice among our Chinese and Japanese competitors,” as he’d explained. Several precepts sprang to mind.
First: “Knowing yourself and knowing your enemy is the key to a hundred victories.”
Second: “You must be subtle and mysterious, to the point of formlessness.”
Third: “The art of war teaches us not to rely on our enemy not coming, but on our own readiness to repel him – not on the chance he won’t attack, but rather the certainty that we have made our position unassailable.”
Fourth: “What enables the good general to conquer, to achieve things beyond the reach of ordinary mortals, is foreknowledge.”
Consequently, Emma reasoned, if I make myself inscrutable, unknowable, no opponent can consistently best me. I will become unassailable and mysterious, yet able to know others completely.
Emma smirked to herself. Ms. Grey might have been right after all. What I can do is no curse. It truly is a power.
My mind. My power.

________________________________________________________________________________________
A/N: Sorry for the long delay for this chapter. I've had a lot on my plate the last few months, including a production of The Tempest (as Caliban), an ingrown toenail removal, and two laptop breakages.
I hope to squeeze one more chapter in before the end of the year, but no promises. Please don't hesitate to leave a review to let me know how much you love (or hate) this story!
- 6
- 7
- 8
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

A Diamond in the Rough