Subject: [OTL]: Repost: Winter Lullabies 4/4 (GenX: Emma/Sean)
Date: Mon, 19 Nov 2001 14:32:07 -0500
From: kaleko kitty <silverag@hotmail.com>

Winter Lullabies
by kaleko

Disclaimer in the first part.

***

4/4

***

"I feel like I've lost me best friend."

She turned, a little surprised he was even there. She'd known he'd come in,
and that he'd gotten undressed and into the shower. She'd known he'd sat on
the bed in his towel after he'd gotten out, just watching her. And she could
feel his fingertips just barely touching her hair at that moment.

She couldn't see him over the pillow between them that she'd purposely set
there. He had noticed it, but now he pulled it away to look into her bright
blue eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness.

No stars were out tonight, no glorious shimmering rays of moonlight coming
in through the skylight. Just darkness and the quiet humming of the woman
lying next to him.

He said softly, "I feel like everything I've done has been in vain."

"Maybe it has," she answered back, even softer. Why was it she always had to
outdo him?

"Has it?"

She turned over, her back to him and cuddled back into the pillows.

"Talk t'me, Em." There was no answer, and he was afraid there never would
be. But he had to know. He had to know that he didn't abandon Moira in vain,
he didn't make his friends question his sanity for nothing. He had to know
that all his thoughts that she had changed, that she was someone so
interesting and beautiful inside wasn't just a lie to himself. He had to
know. "Emma."

No answer. She never moved, never made any indication that she even heard
him. He touched her; a gentle hand on her shoulder, shaking her a bit.
"Emma."

She shrugged his hand off, pulling the blanket over her head.

"Yuir being childish."

"No one tells me I'm being childish in my house. Get out," was the muffled
response.

"I will not."

{You will get out.}

"Don't even think of playin' with me head, woman. I love ye dearly but the
moment ye use me f'r one of yuir mind games I promise ye that'll change. And
I'll make fully sure ye live to regret it."

"Don't threaten me, Sean. Especially in my own home, in *my* bed. Get. Out."

"Nae."

"I will make you."

"Ye will not." His hands wrapped around her waist, a gentle kiss being
planted on her blanket-covered shoulder. "Please talk to me, Em. Tell me
what's going on in that head of yours."

"I'm very serious, Sean. I will make you. This is your last chance."

He sighed, letting her go. His mind twisted and turned like a soul in a
tortured nightmare, even the confusion and lightheadedness that was apparent
when one awakened from such a dream. He took his robe that was thrown over
the endboard and pulled it on silently before moving to the door. "Why?" he
asked, his hand on the knob.

"Because you were fun while you lasted, Sean. Like everyone else."

"Nae." He leaned over the bed, yanking the blanket away from her. "Why? An
honest answer this time."

She sighed, propping herself up on one elbow, rubbing her eyes with the
other hand. She always did that when she didn't want to face him. Instead of
turning away or ignoring him, which she'd done plenty of lately, she'd rub
her eyes and act as if there was something in them.

He could never tell if there truly was or if those were actual tears. His
mind analyzed how truly poetic it was that the White Queen-- the Ice Queen--
would cry. Her tears were the melting ice of her facade, a shield she
couldn't always keep up.

Maybe he wouldn't be burnt. Maybe he was the fire, and she melted with him.
Maybe it was an equal balance, a good level of sharing between the two of
them for each role of fire and ice.

"We need to talk." She paused, removing her hand from her teary eye. "But
not now." She looked up at him with red, watery eyes, the droplets that
could be tears of sorrow never leaving the edge of the icy mirrors.

He let his head thunk down onto the bed, the soft "pat" sound of the action
being only 1/10,000,000 of the noise he wanted to make in his frustrations.
He could probably send the entire house crumbling down around them if he let
out what he felt, he mused, but he would not. He would control himself.

He was sure Emma still loved him. He was so sure of it, he would send this
house tumbling down onto them if he thought it would prove it. But to who?
To himself?

Maybe it wasn't about proving, maybe it was about verifying, about
reassurance. Maybe it was about finding out if she had ever loved him in the
first place.

Sean finally climbed back into bed when Emma lifted the blanket away to
invite him back. She had curled herself against him and was sleeping soundly
now. He wasn't, though.

It had been nearly three hours and he still couldn't sleep. He could easily
fathom the idea that Emma was just screwing with him, playing games with his
head and heart even without the use of her telepathy. But what hurt more
than that was the betrayal he felt against his heart that had deceived him.

It had made him believe that he could come out emotionally unharmed from
such a dangerous relationship. Sean Cassidy wasn't prone to playing the
fool, but it looked like he would be this time.

He felt oddly like a marionette, dancing at the end of his strings for a
puppetmaster that was just as lost on the purpose of the show as he was. And
he had the scissors in his hands to cut himself loose, but he would also be
cutting all connections between them that he'd worked so hard to establish.

He almost felt a sickness at the idea that the relationship might now be
based on his pity for her. It never ended, first beginning on his quite
obvious lust for her, and now continuing because of his pity for her.

Or perhaps pity for himself, because he'd given up one of the most important
things in his life for this... a woman that would not speak to him unless
she thought necessary and still called him "Irish" when she was upset with
him.

And yet the world still turned, the sun still rose every morning, and, above
all... above all...

He paused in his train of thought, looking down at Emma, curled tightly
against him, shivering. She was humming something directly into his mind and
he flinched, resisting the urge to hum it himself as the tune resurfaced.

It made him dizzy. It was soft and warm and familiar, like being at home
with family on the holidays and he began to drift to sleep. He couldn't help
but notice the white specks falling on the skylight before his eyes closed
in a restless slumber.

***

She had been standing at the edge of the dock, looking out at the river like
she was just a child. She looked out at those icy waters like she was
looking for a dream to become reality, a wish to take form and become one
with her entire being.

It was a wish that would never come true for Emma Frost.

She had pretended so long that this would work, that this would be it. She
had finally found peace with herself and did not have to fear herself or
anyone else.

{That's what it was all about, after all, Emma. Wasn't it? It was about
being afraid of not being not only the best you could and can be, but the
best there is? Not letting anything-- anyone-- hinder that.}

{Of course.}

{How tragic that it will not turn out that way.}

***

It was a world of internal sensors, surgical diagnostic computers, Shi'ar
genetic decoding computers, PCRs and bio-scanner ports. It was a faceless,
smile-less world. It was a world that contained endless humming from large
machines, steel walls and cold meals left to sit for so long while their
eater-to-be slid to and fro around the room in a comfy blue swivel chair.

It was a cold, lonely world for Moira MacTaggert.

She had turned the picture frame on its face not to spite him, but because
she couldn't bear to look at it anymore. He had seen it when he entered the
room. Her scent rushed to him in greeting, and for a moment, things were
back to the way they had been; to the way they still should have been.

"I'm sorry, if it means anything."

"Aye, well--" She turned to him, her words suddenly frozen in her throat.
She wanted to say it; wanted to say the one thing that would hurt him the
most, but she couldn't. He was still the man she loved.

Even if that bitch Emma had proved her right, even if she had laid Sean like
a rug and walked all over him, she wouldn't say so. He had thrown it away
and maybe better he suffer in silence than to rub verbal salt in the
emotional wound.

"T'is a part of life," she replied instead.

They were not the words he wanted to hear. He wanted to be crucified for
this mistake, for this misjudgement of character, for feebly believeing that
even if Emma wasn't the woman he wanted her to be, that eventually she'd
grow into that role. That she would grow into it, grow comfortable with it
and throw away that person he wanted so much to believe she wasn't.

But it wasn't true. And he'd played the fool, danced the dance that every
man before him had, and the cruel, cold puppetmaster was still the same. She
would look for a new toy now, and just like before it wouldn't be enough.

He was a broken man before her eyes. And Emma Frost, the eater of his soul,
stood aside grinning like a Cheshire Cat, emotional sledgehammer in hand.

"Ye were right."

Moira nodded silently before turning back to her work.

He was waiting for acceptance of what had just passed for his apology. But
she wasn't going to give it to him. Maybe because she knew he hadn't
actually done anything wrong. Maybe because she knew he had but felt it
better not to say anything, to let it go.

She'd come to regret so many things in her life. She'd made one stupid
mistake that had altered her life course completely... and now it had been
his turn.

"I was never reminded of it," she said softly, back still to him as her
hands worked the keyboard in front of her. It would have to be replaced
soon, she noticed. It had only been a few weeks, too; not that any of the
ones before it had lasted any longer.

She knew he understood. She knew he was nodding slowly, she could even
visualize his body heaving slightly as he sighed with guilt weighing down
his heart. "I never meant--"

"He never told me how daft I'd been, even though he and I both knew it."

"I feel I should--"

"I made a stupid mistake."

"Aye."

"We all do, don't we?"

"Aye."

"Well it was just yuir turn."

He stood quietly behind her. What was there to do now? What was there to
say? She didn't want an apology, but he felt a burning desire to give her
one. He fought back the urge to run to her, to throw his arms around her and
pull her tight and remember when every moment was so precious but yet it
wasn't important.

He wanted to nuzzle his face into her hair and remember its scent and
remember feeling invincible and timeless. He couldn't, though. Her time was
almost up and he'd wasted it, wasted nearly four months of it.

So he just stared at her until he felt the anger rushing upon him, until he
could no longer tolerate himself, and he left the room to do something,
anything, that wouldn't remind him of how stupid he'd been.

***

They had all left the school grounds at least a day before. She had been
waiting since then. She'd gone about her business as usual, pretending she
didn't miss Sean, pretending she wasn't worried for what would come.

She'd known it had been there all along. It had been seaping into her
dreams, her thoughts, tainting her, making her wonder. She had to wonder.

That's why she sent them away. She sent them and him away. She had realized
this was not how she wanted it to be. This wasn't who she was, but she
couldn't turn back now. Maybe if she'd never come here, if things had
happened differently.

{A second chance? Tempting, isn't it?}

She shrugged at the woman standing across from her, going over to the couch
and sitting down. Everything had been done. Now all she had to do was wait.

{The wait is always the hardest. Waiting, wondering-- what will happen next?
Weighing your options, checking your moves-- is this the right thing to do?}

"The order of events was not right, and their inevitable outcome is not
right."

"Hah! Always so short, mommy. Must you be?" The woman before her produced an
impish grin, shaking a finger at her. "How could I ever listen to you? With
your white lies and your twisted truths, your versions of the truth, your
versions of everything that happened... Like you can pretend to run away."

"It was never 'running away', as you have so distastefully put it."

"I can't run away. No, but you can. You think you can. We told you, 'we are
coming for you'. Saving you from yourself really, saving you from hurting
another."

A hand lazily moved up to pat down a strand of platinum blond hair, curling
the lock between two delicate fingers and straightening it. "It was never
intentional. I did what I thought was right."

"There were *many*, Emma. Many you lost because you were selfish." She
rocked back on her heels, her head turning to look at the window.

The snow fell silently outside and the ebony-haired woman nodded, watching
it, examining every crystalline flake. Each one was different in her eyes:
with the power to see the truth, to undo things to their simplest
compositions, she saw the truth in the white powder-like shapes. Looking to
the woman before her, she saw the truth in her eyes.

"You know I wondered how he could pay attention to you-- love you. You're
fooling yourself. He loves the person you could be, but aren't. This
imaginary woman who does not pull his strings like the marionette he is."
She sighed dramatically, turning to look at the picture on the mantle. "Poor
Sean; such a puppet. You pulled his strings until they broke-- until he
broke! And he is tired. And I am tired. We are all tired. Now it is time for
you to be tired, to sleep, to lull into that nothingness and be my
marionette."

"And you would promise me that they would go unharmed?"

"Of course."

Emma nodded.

She had wanted to tell Sean, wanted to tell him what was happening, what was
going on, but she couldn't. Her life had been spared, but the life of her
Hellions had not. She had ruined the lives of two other children now, and
couldn't take the thought that she might ruin anymore.

She had been given a choice, then: take a chance, do it over, or let things
continue. She had chosen the former, too afraid of the outcome, too afraid
of herself.

She looked to the girl-- the woman-- that Cordelia Frost had become. She had
this sadness in her eyes, the manifestation of her possession by the mutant
entity named Zoe.

She had tried to wipe both of them from her thoughts, act as if they weren't
real. They were real, though. Cordelia and Zoe, two different people but so
much alike, seeking love and reassurance, seeking that motherly role from
Emma that she refused to accept. And now it was backfiring on her.

Zoe had the power to simplify things... to turn time back, to change the way
things had happened. Her offer to let Emma do everything all over again had
seduced her. She had been coming to Emma in the night, tempting her with
thoughts of changing the past.

So now she sat-- awaiting what was impossible to avoid after agreeing to
this, hoping she was doing the right thing. They told her she was... they
had told her how wrong and misguided she had been.

She had let Sean and the children go, and tomorrow they would wake and
things would be as they should. Perhaps it was better this way.

"Though you will never be happy again, at least you will have your winter
lullabies to warm you, as will he. And that is all I will give you, because
I will leave you cold, like you left us. You knew you could not avoid us,
Emma."

She nodded, turning to the doors. The snow fell silently, a blanket of white
to cover over all of the mistakes. It would be right once again.

***

"Mornin', m'luv."

"Huh?"

"I said g'mornin'."

"Aye. I thought--" Sean Cassidy yawned and stretched, running a hand through
his hair. It had been a long night, and he'd barely gotten to sleep, but he
felt a strange energy pulsing through him.

Moira and Rahne sat at the table behind him, Moira quietly reading a book
and Rahne picking raisins slowly from a bagel. He picked up the mug of
coffee that had been waiting for him on the countertop and took a sip,
feeling a soft pulsing at the back of his skull.

He suddenly felt as if he was meant to say something, think something that
was just out of reach, but couldn't remember what it was. He brushed it off
and looked to the window, seeing the children outside playing football.

He blinked as he noticed there were five more than usual. "Who're they?" he
asked, pointing to the group of children.

"The kids?" Moira asked, getting out of her chair. "Sean, are ye well? Those
are our students."

He nodded slowly, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Right. I just..." He
sighed, fidgeting slightly. He -remembered- something. A hazy memory in his
head. Could it have been a dream?

He shook his head, putting down his coffee. "I'll be right back. I need to
make a phone call."

***

He listened carefully to every word, dissecting the long, annoyed sigh,
listening to tone, hearing the truth in her voice. He had decided he was
paranoid, it had all been a very strange dream, and perhaps she was right.

"Of course I'm right. I assure you, Mr. Cassidy, this establishment is what
it has always been since the first day I became headmistress here. It is not
up to me to reinforce your delusions, nor is it for me to say 'what is going
on'. I think that would be better handled between you and a physician,
namely one dealing with mental health. I bid you good-night."

The soft click came and he dropped the receiver back onto the hook. He sat
into the chair beside him quietly, watching the phone in silence.

He did not hear Paige Guthrie calling his name from the doorway. Only a
simple lullaby rang in his ears.

*end*