suborned
RPM
Eddie Brock
Lord Wraith
Dervish
Hope Lover
Cherrytree
Sep
E M M A F R O S T
E M M A F R O S T
E M M A F R O S T
Hell’s Kitchen was no Krakoa; not that it ever pretended to be. The bar kept its lights dim enough to coat it in a comfortable ambiance, even amidst the scent of old beer and damp coats. Something about it was almost comfortable. Almost. Jessica Jones pushed through the door and felt a certain wrongness about the room; it wasn’t danger or a threat – the feeling of being out of place; the alien sensation that someone had turned the volume down on her instincts. Telepathy.
A white coat and immaculate posture. An elegant hand held a crystal glass that Jessica knew for certain hadn’t come from behind this bar. The very act of bringing her own glassware in like she owned the place. Typical Emma Frost. Jessica groaned and made her way to the empty space beside her. “Wow,” Jessica said. “The White Queen dares to grace Hell’s Kitchen’s grimiest dive bar.”
After a measured sip, Emma cast a glance to her left and met the warm brown eyes of Jessica with faint traces of amusement. “What can I say, Jones? You bring out a side to me.”
“Does this bar even serve red wine?” Jessica asked. “No,” the bartender cut in. “Brought it with her and gave me a hundred.” Jessica rolled her eyes enough that they were momentarily entirely white. “Jesus, Frost.”
Emma smiled. “I mean it is a Tempranillo.”
“I have no idea what that is, but I’m surprised you’re not worried about being mugged. Or hit on.” Jessica said
Wine clung to the glass in the low amber light as Emma tilted her wrist to swirl it. “Jones, darling. This bar is full of weak minds. I could melt a few of them without breaking a sweat.” She smirked. “No. I’m not worried.”
Jessica considered her response before shrugging it off. “Fair enough. I’ll take a beer.” One slid to her hand without comment.
“So,” Emma said, setting her glass down onto a coaster with precision. “How is my favourite detective going with my search? Well, I hope. Cyclops is on the trail we left last month…”
A manila folder was taken out from inside of Jessica’s jacket and placed between them. “This is all the data we pulled. So much was encrypted, and even after that it was already scrubbed and parts clearly destroyed.” Emma didn’t touch the folder, but instead regarded it with a curious glance.
“So what we’re saying is he won’t find anything of substance then?”
Jessica stiffened. “Again. Jesus, Frost.” She sighed. “You didn’t tell anyone we went there?”
“No,” Emma said, her words calm. “Whatever our friend Mr Sinister is up to, I'm going to be right behind him.”
“With me, I hope,” Jessica added before she could stop herself.
There was something unreadable in Emma’s gaze as it swept over Jessica. “Perhaps,” she said with a shrug. “What did you find?”
“References to something called Project Pandora,” Jessica said. “But it’s been so fucking scrubbed, Emma. It could be garbage, could have been planted. You really think that asshole would have left anything meaningful behind?”
“I know exactly what he’s capable of,” Emma whispered. “Which means I know he’s unpredictable. And sloppy.”
Jessica gave a nod. “They went through everything pretty hard anyway, all that’s really in there are notes about a donor.”
“Charming,” Emma interjected at the implication of it and silence settled between them long enough for Jessica to start at her beer.
“You sure you don’t want to call Scott about this one?” she asked and watched as Emma’s grip tightened on the stem of her glass at the suggestion. “That man murdered your daughter, Em.” There was no restraint to the words, or regret of saying them; they’d talked about this enough now for her to not feel apologetic for pressing at the scar that was still raw and open. No, Jessica sat through the silence that followed as the bar noise continued to creep around them and she raised the bottle to her lips again.
“She wasn’t ours–” Emma began. “Technically yes. Technically no.” Her own pale gaze swept the bar as the discomfort kicked in and left. “Technically enough that it was my responsibility to protect her.” She finally picked up the folder and let her thumb slide across it without opening it. “Project Pandora,” she said, clipping the words. “It’s a start. Thank you.”
Jessica scoffed into her beer and smirked. “You’re paying me for this Frosty, no need to thank me.” After another sip, she edged closer to Emma, “Mind, I’d do it anyway,” her voice was lowered. “How are you really though? God New York must feel like a bore with all of us mere humans, no?”
Emma huffed a quiet laugh, amused despite herself. “Ah yes. Jessica Jones. The mere human.” The wineglass was cradled loosely in her hand, drifting lazy as the sarcasm. “Honestly?” she said. “It’s… nice. It’s home adjacent.” Her gaze moved back to Jessica. “It’s quiet here. No expectations and no Council. The weight of mutantkind is less. And... It never feels like enough.”
“Hmm?” Jessica prompted. “Enough how?”
Emma exhaled, letting her walls down just enough. “Like I’m not enough.”
That brought a short bark of a laugh out of Jessica who could only stare at the woman’s face to find the joke. “Emma, you’re a politician, teacher, mentor, celebrity, billionaire. What’s left?”
A brittle smile formed upon Emma’s lips and she shrugged. “The parts of me outside of those things.” Once more she watched the wine move around in her glass. “I can never just be me. People see the outside. They see my reputation and that’s all they think I will be, and then all they want me to be. All they require. So, there I exist. Never quite Ororo, or Anna Marie, or Jean Grey. Just–”
“Wow,” Jessica cut in. “Are you jealous of them, White Queen?”
It was as if Emma instantly bristled at such a crude accusation; at the loaded truth in it. “No, I’m not.” The pause after was an indication that she had considered the weight. “It’s more that I’m painfully aware of how people see me and will always see me.”
“I mean, having telepathy gives you a little help with that, right?” Jessica laughed. “People see me as an asshole drunk with anger issues and a detective license that I probably shouldn’t still have.”
“Is that all you are?” Emma asked.
Jessica shrugged. “Depends who you ask.” She lifted the bottle to her lips again and took another long sip. “For what it’s worth Emma, anyone who thinks you’re just those things is full of shit, and that includes you.”
Emma’s lip twitched into a half smile. “At least we get to be beautiful women with superpowers,” Emma said as her lip twitched into a half smile and her glass lifted to toast.
“It does take the edge off,” Jessica smirked and clinked her beer against the crystal.
A white coat and immaculate posture. An elegant hand held a crystal glass that Jessica knew for certain hadn’t come from behind this bar. The very act of bringing her own glassware in like she owned the place. Typical Emma Frost. Jessica groaned and made her way to the empty space beside her. “Wow,” Jessica said. “The White Queen dares to grace Hell’s Kitchen’s grimiest dive bar.”
After a measured sip, Emma cast a glance to her left and met the warm brown eyes of Jessica with faint traces of amusement. “What can I say, Jones? You bring out a side to me.”
“Does this bar even serve red wine?” Jessica asked. “No,” the bartender cut in. “Brought it with her and gave me a hundred.” Jessica rolled her eyes enough that they were momentarily entirely white. “Jesus, Frost.”
Emma smiled. “I mean it is a Tempranillo.”
“I have no idea what that is, but I’m surprised you’re not worried about being mugged. Or hit on.” Jessica said
Wine clung to the glass in the low amber light as Emma tilted her wrist to swirl it. “Jones, darling. This bar is full of weak minds. I could melt a few of them without breaking a sweat.” She smirked. “No. I’m not worried.”
Jessica considered her response before shrugging it off. “Fair enough. I’ll take a beer.” One slid to her hand without comment.
“So,” Emma said, setting her glass down onto a coaster with precision. “How is my favourite detective going with my search? Well, I hope. Cyclops is on the trail we left last month…”
A manila folder was taken out from inside of Jessica’s jacket and placed between them. “This is all the data we pulled. So much was encrypted, and even after that it was already scrubbed and parts clearly destroyed.” Emma didn’t touch the folder, but instead regarded it with a curious glance.
“So what we’re saying is he won’t find anything of substance then?”
Jessica stiffened. “Again. Jesus, Frost.” She sighed. “You didn’t tell anyone we went there?”
“No,” Emma said, her words calm. “Whatever our friend Mr Sinister is up to, I'm going to be right behind him.”
“With me, I hope,” Jessica added before she could stop herself.
There was something unreadable in Emma’s gaze as it swept over Jessica. “Perhaps,” she said with a shrug. “What did you find?”
“References to something called Project Pandora,” Jessica said. “But it’s been so fucking scrubbed, Emma. It could be garbage, could have been planted. You really think that asshole would have left anything meaningful behind?”
“I know exactly what he’s capable of,” Emma whispered. “Which means I know he’s unpredictable. And sloppy.”
Jessica gave a nod. “They went through everything pretty hard anyway, all that’s really in there are notes about a donor.”
“Charming,” Emma interjected at the implication of it and silence settled between them long enough for Jessica to start at her beer.
“You sure you don’t want to call Scott about this one?” she asked and watched as Emma’s grip tightened on the stem of her glass at the suggestion. “That man murdered your daughter, Em.” There was no restraint to the words, or regret of saying them; they’d talked about this enough now for her to not feel apologetic for pressing at the scar that was still raw and open. No, Jessica sat through the silence that followed as the bar noise continued to creep around them and she raised the bottle to her lips again.
“She wasn’t ours–” Emma began. “Technically yes. Technically no.” Her own pale gaze swept the bar as the discomfort kicked in and left. “Technically enough that it was my responsibility to protect her.” She finally picked up the folder and let her thumb slide across it without opening it. “Project Pandora,” she said, clipping the words. “It’s a start. Thank you.”
Jessica scoffed into her beer and smirked. “You’re paying me for this Frosty, no need to thank me.” After another sip, she edged closer to Emma, “Mind, I’d do it anyway,” her voice was lowered. “How are you really though? God New York must feel like a bore with all of us mere humans, no?”
Emma huffed a quiet laugh, amused despite herself. “Ah yes. Jessica Jones. The mere human.” The wineglass was cradled loosely in her hand, drifting lazy as the sarcasm. “Honestly?” she said. “It’s… nice. It’s home adjacent.” Her gaze moved back to Jessica. “It’s quiet here. No expectations and no Council. The weight of mutantkind is less. And... It never feels like enough.”
“Hmm?” Jessica prompted. “Enough how?”
Emma exhaled, letting her walls down just enough. “Like I’m not enough.”
That brought a short bark of a laugh out of Jessica who could only stare at the woman’s face to find the joke. “Emma, you’re a politician, teacher, mentor, celebrity, billionaire. What’s left?”
A brittle smile formed upon Emma’s lips and she shrugged. “The parts of me outside of those things.” Once more she watched the wine move around in her glass. “I can never just be me. People see the outside. They see my reputation and that’s all they think I will be, and then all they want me to be. All they require. So, there I exist. Never quite Ororo, or Anna Marie, or Jean Grey. Just–”
“Wow,” Jessica cut in. “Are you jealous of them, White Queen?”
It was as if Emma instantly bristled at such a crude accusation; at the loaded truth in it. “No, I’m not.” The pause after was an indication that she had considered the weight. “It’s more that I’m painfully aware of how people see me and will always see me.”
“I mean, having telepathy gives you a little help with that, right?” Jessica laughed. “People see me as an asshole drunk with anger issues and a detective license that I probably shouldn’t still have.”
“Is that all you are?” Emma asked.
Jessica shrugged. “Depends who you ask.” She lifted the bottle to her lips again and took another long sip. “For what it’s worth Emma, anyone who thinks you’re just those things is full of shit, and that includes you.”
Emma’s lip twitched into a half smile. “At least we get to be beautiful women with superpowers,” Emma said as her lip twitched into a half smile and her glass lifted to toast.
“It does take the edge off,” Jessica smirked and clinked her beer against the crystal.
