Title: White Queen fallen

Standard disclaimer: Emma Frost and Scott and other mentioned X-People don't belong to me. Property of the good folks at Marvel who replaced the L/J/S triangle with the more favorable (my opinion) E/S/J one.

Feedback: better than chocolate.

Author's Note: I noticed that a couple of people I know see Emma as the nasty home wrecker. Liking her character myself, here's hoping she doesn't come off as one here.

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Bitch. That's what some people call her. A cold, calculating bitch that only loves money and power. A white queen in a game of chess she was determined to win, glee spreading over her features at every pawn she knocked down and cast aside. Even her name, Frost, gave way to the general idea that she was a cold woman.

Yet is that what she really is? Does she love nothing besides herself, her ruthless ambition to be at the top of the food chain?

Emma softly bit back a cynical bark of laughter. Just that afternoon her most recent pupils deserted her. She had only been trying her best, trying to educate and shape their young powers so that the world would not trample on such precious flowers. Yet now they were gone, just like her other students. Maybe she wasn't destined to teach, her Hellions had been killed, GenX disbanded, now... She lifted a hand and touched the roses in the arbor, wincing when her fingers disturbed a bloom and the petals fell to the gravel below. Maybe it would be best for her to retreat, for her to hide her hurt behind a veil of diamonds and move on.

Yet there was something wrong with that plan. It would once again leave her alone. Above everything else, Emma feared being left alone. Yet she could do it. She'd done it in the vast mansion under the Black King's reign, she'd done it as the Headmistress in Massachusetts, then as a teacher in doomed Genosha.

But she craved the company of people, craved it like other people needed air to live. She wasn't the definition of warm and fuzzy, the years spent watching every word said and action she made had driven that away from her. She was jealous of these young mutants. They were growing up in a place that let them live normal lives. She had honed her skills with the Hellfire Club, where loyalty was a must. Over the years spent being told how to act and how to think, any semblance of a warm personality had been driven from her, leaving only the cold White Queen behind. She mourned for the woman she could have been, given the chance.

It was probably why she had set her sights on Scott in the first place. Sure, it was an added bonus that she would be cheating with the man married to the proverbial thorn in her side, the Phoenix. She had never forgiven Jean for besting her that very first time their powers had been pitted against the other. Jean was everything Emma could have been; warm, compassionate, loving. Jean had the type of man that Emma could have had. Jean had a family.

Yet it wasn't entirely for Jean's humiliation that she circled around Scott. The men in her life had been wealthy accessories. There was the dates with Bruce Wayne at some expensive soiree or another, the rounds of other men that had money they were more than willing to spend on her, showering her with lavish gifts. They all had the same thing in common: power. Cyclops also had power, but a different kind. He was not hell bent on making a mark in the social and political world, he didn't spend hours rambling on and on about the stock market and who had more money than the other socialite. Cyclops wanted a place where he could be peaceful and at ease. And when he dropped that guise of leader, he became Scott, a man that saw Emma as an equal and treated her with respect, speaking with her without thinking his words through before saying them. It had been a refreshing breath of air through an otherwise stale environment she had been living in.

In his presence, Emma came alive, more so than she had ever felt for any other man. She was not a cold woman, she craved the touch of a man just like any other woman did. There was a niggling thought in the back of her mind that somehow the infallible White Queen had let the ice around her heart melt and had fallen in love with Scott. It frightened her.

She had seen how his marriage to Jean had started crumbling around the edges. Even without trying, she could easily pick up telepathic signals of their unease towards the other. She knew they weren't speaking as freely as they used to, weren't looking at the other lovestruck like the old days. Morbidly, she wondered that if Jean's life had been in peril at the hand of whatever villain the X-Men had faced over the years, would Scott throw caution to the wind and try to save her now? It was humorous to her that Logan of all people would be trying to save their marriage. It wasn't a huge secret that the man had held a torch for Jean all the years before and during her and Scott's marriage. If anyone would be pleased that they weren't working out, Emma thought it would be him. That way he would be free to pursue Jean and claim her as his own.

Emma swallowed thickly as she wandered the rose garden. She thought once more about her students and how they had quickly turned their backs on her. Her mind drifted to the children she had taught in the past, to the years before where a young girl was being trained to be a Queen, behind closed doors being beaten by a man that demanded her fierce loyalty. She looked down at the scattered rose petals in the gravel at her feet, then thought about Scott. Perhaps it was best for everyone, including her, if she left now. She didn't think she could take another mental tryst with Scott, being forced to shape her form into that of his wife so he wouldn't feel guilty at cheating on her. Then again, she craved those meetings. She knew that it was the only way she would be able to touch him, to kiss him and to make love to him. She had assured him that he was still being faithful to Jean, even changing her voice to that of his wife's so when she screamed out his name as she climaxed, it would be as if he were in Jean's arms. She contented herself with the thought that at least he was happy.

But she was tired. Tired of being the cold, unfeeling thing, a failed mentor leading her pupils to death and disillusionment. Tired of seeing the looks of distrust from the senior members of the team at her every move. Tired of watching Scott yearn for his wife and yet allow the rift between them to grow wider and wider. Above all, she was tired of pretending. Under the cold exterior beat a warm heart of a woman. Her newfound diamond exoskeleton made the metaphorical shell she had cast over herself for protection a reality. When comprised of it, she could not feel, could not care, could not hurt. Could not be hurt.

She turned, moving to exit the garden and head towards the mansion. That night she would pack her belongings and move on. Where? She had not a clue. She just knew she had to get far away before her brilliant and shining shell cracked, leaving a vulnerable and fallen queen in its wake. It was too late for her to stop caring for the man that called himself Cyclops, yet perhaps in her absence he would mend the gap between him and Jean and have some semblance of happiness. One of them deserved that much.

There was movement on the path before her. A shadow fell over the gravel. Him. She longed to pull that shell over herself now, to stop the flow of emotions that had beat over her during the course of the day. She was tired, beaten up emotionally, and throwing in the towel. Somehow he sensed that and let her fall into his arms for comfort, which she gladly took. It was like stepping into a ray of sunlight when she was in his arms, like coming inside after a long trek in the snow. She could feel the mental connection they had established opening on his end, knowing that he was silently offering her a respite from the stresses of their lives, knowing that it was the last time she would allow herself to bask in the ecstasy he gave her.

Bitch. That's what some people call her. A white queen in a game of chess she was determined to win, glee spreading over her features at every pawn she knocked down and cast aside. Yet the people that called her that didn't know she herself had been thrown against the board, defeated and broken into little glittering shards of diamond.