3124Fic: A Touch of Frost: R: 1/1 [L/R]
- Jul 3 8:02 PMTitle: A Touch of Frost
Author: Victoria P. [victoria_p@...]
Summary: "But the girl, as is often the case, was under a curse . . .
Luckily for her, she had a prince."
Rating: R - language
Disclaimer: All X-Men characters belong to Marvel and Fox; this piece of
fan-written fiction intends no infringement on any copyrights.
Archive: Lists, Muse's Fool, if you want it, just ask me.
Feedback: Feed the monkey!
Notes: Thanks to Dot, Meg, Jen, and Pete for being spanking good betas.
More notes at the end, so I don't spoil the story.
A Touch of Frost
It began, as these things always do, once upon a time. A time in the
not-so-distant future, in a place not so far away. A place called Salem
Center, in Westchester, New York.
There was a girl. There always is. And this one was beautiful. She had
large, chocolate eyes, full, coral lips, and skin the color of finest
cream. Her hair was dark and marked with two white stripes that framed
her heart-shaped face.
But the girl, as is often the case, was under a curse. She could never
be touched. Her skin was lethal as the blade of a knife, killing with
much less kindness. And her enemies were not the only ones who'd felt
its sting. She herself was changed, forced to absorb new personalities
and memories into her own, to live with others inside what should have
been the sanctuary of her own head.
And so she lived, beautiful and alone, an outcast among outcasts, at
Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.
Luckily for her, she had a prince.
He wasn't much of a prince, being rough and ill-mannered -- more
inclined to brawl and growl than socialize with her friends -- but he
loved her, and she him. And while he was poor of pocket and had not much
in the way of earthly possessions -- hadn't even the memories of most of
his long life -- he was rich at heart with honor, loyalty and affection
for his friends, though he'd never admit it aloud.
He rescued her from her enemies and saved her life not once, but twice
(three times, she whispered softly, lying awake late at night, clutching
the metal dog tags he'd left her as a talisman, praying for his safety),
and then gone questing for his past.
Upon his return, several months later, they fell into a friendship that
both believed would survive all tests; the bond between them was
stronger than the adamantium lining his bones.
A year passed, and then two. The girl grew into a woman. The love she
felt for him still burned brightly in her breast. The feelings he had
for her transmuted, like lead into gold, from friendly affection to
He continued to travel in search of his lost past, but he always
returned to her. Another year, and they moved beyond mere flirtatious
friendship to the exchange of kisses -- chaste at first, hesitant on her
part, her fear of harming him almost overwhelming her desire. He
marveled at his own patience. He -- who had never waited a moment for
anything, but took what he wanted when he wanted it -- allowed her to
set the pace. He knew she was too precious to rush, and he worked at
overcoming her fears.
Kisses and caresses between them grew heated, until he thought he would
die from wanting her. Words of love were exchanged, and promises of a
life spent together were sworn.
But the past has a way of seizing hold and not releasing its iron grip
until one faces all its demons.
He left again, reluctantly this time, secretly longing to take her with
him as he searched yet another ruined building for a past that was
beginning to lose its meaning for him.
He left again, and she prayed he'd take her with him, prayed he'd take
her and make her his own while they were out on the road. She wanted to
share in this quest as she shared in every other aspect of his life. She
knew that he would find it hard to move into the future while constantly
searching for his past.
He left again, and this time, his return coincided with the chill days
of autumn. It was a less than joyous homecoming.
He was different. He'd always been moody, gruff -- some said callous --
in his treatment of others. Only with her did his softer side surface.
But this time, even she could not temper his tongue or tame his rage.
His first night back, a reunion she'd imagined would be filled with joy
and love, brought not soft words and sweet caresses, but demands and
rough hands on her body.
Only at the moment of his climax did he suddenly open his eyes and look
at her, his eyes filled with anguish and his voice hoarse with something
more than passion. "Marie, save me."
She didn't understand, but she loved him, so she said, "Yes, Logan. I
He used her roughly, and she let him, her love surviving even the
rapidly darkening bruises on her alabaster skin.
He, who prided himself on his skills as a lover, left her unfulfilled,
shaken and crying, her fantasy shattered by his brutal reality. He
didn't hold her afterward and whisper words of comfort. He stood, pulled
his clothes on in the dark, and returned to his own room.
It went on like that for almost a week. Six days of shadowed eyes and
harsh words; six nights of his hands bruising her hips, marking her as
his own, even as he begged her to save him. His behavior tore at her
heart and she was confused by the changes in him.
The seventh night, after coming to the conclusion that she could no
longer live like this, she followed him. She took care to stay downwind,
and used all the tricks he'd taught her over the years of their
friendship, to remain unnoticed in the cold October night.
He went to a bar. Not his usual dive, but an upscale, trendy bar in
Manhattan. Dressed in black, with her haunted eyes and unusual hair,
Marie had no problem getting past the bouncer.
She scanned the room and found him almost immediately. She felt her
heart break within her chest. He was with another woman. And *such* a
She was tall, with long, blonde hair. She wore a white leather halter
dress that clung to every curve and left little to the imagination. Her
eyes were blue and cold; they missed nothing. Worst of all, though, was
that she could be touched. And Logan was touching her, his hands
caressing her body with the same controlled violence that had marked
Marie's nights this past week.
She turned away. Fighting her way to the bar, she was startled when the
bartender put a glass of bourbon down in front of her.
"From the lady in white," he said, jerking his chin.
Marie looked up, startled, and the woman grinned at her and raised a
glass in a silent toast. Then she turned and pressed an open-mouthed
kiss on Logan's lips that he returned enthusiastically.
Rogue knocked back the shot of bourbon, slammed the glass on the bar,
and walked out. She felt something tickling in the back of her mind, as
though fingers were trying to get hold of her, but couldn't quite manage
to do so.
She shook her head and sped back to Westchester. She needed to talk to
someone about what she had seen.
Jean was in the kitchen when Rogue arrived home. She had long since
gotten over whatever jealousy she'd felt toward the redheaded woman, and
now she needed a friend, someone to confide in.
"Logan's seeing another woman," she said without preamble, before
bursting into tears. Jean wordlessly held her arms open, and Marie
poured out her tale of woe amidst her sobs.
Jean didn't need her telepathy to know who the woman was.
"Logan's in trouble," Jean said softly. "He's in the power of the White
Queen. He's not himself."
Rogue shook her head. "I don't, I don't understand," she said,
sniffling. Her eyes were red and swollen, but the tears had finally
Jean gently took the younger woman's face in her hands, using the
younger woman's hair to shield herself from the Rogue's deadly touch.
"The White Queen, Emma Frost, is a very powerful telepath. Only Charles
is stronger. She's controlling Logan for some reason, making him hurt
"But now that we know," the Professor himself said, entering the
kitchen, "we can combat her powers."
Logan didn't come home that night, nor the next, and Marie began to
worry. How could they put their plan into effect if Logan wasn't around?
The Professor reassured her -- he had no doubt that the White Queen
would appear at the annual Halloween Ball at the mansion, which was
three nights hence.
As usual, the Professor was right.
The Ball was the beginning of the social season in Westchester society
and everyone who was anyone would be in attendance.
The ballroom was decorated in all the colors of autumn, and the guests
wore brightly colored costumes. There were superheroes and sailors,
knights in shining armor and their ladies fair, clowns and cats and
creatures so fantastical that they had to be seen to be believed.
Rogue stood in a corner of the ballroom, the green of her costume
allowing her to blend into the green of the potted palm behind which she
Xavier assured her that there was no need to dress for action -- now
that they knew the Hellfire Club was planning an assault during the
festivities, they could feed the correct misinformation to Logan, who
would pass it onto the White Queen. The X-Men would be ready to take
their enemies into custody.
But still Rogue worried. She had thrown together what everyone called
her Robin Hood costume, though it reality it made her look like a
woodland nymph come to life. Her legs were encased in green tights
tucked into little black boots and she wore a green silk sheath that
fell to mid-thigh, leaving her the ability to move quickly and fight if
she needed to. Her arms were covered in matching silk opera gloves, and
on her head she wore a funny little hat. A bow and quiver were slung
over one shoulder.
She had sworn to stay alert, but her nerves jangled. She was on her
third gin and tonic when she noticed them. She hadn't seen them arrive,
and cursed her inattentiveness. Though how anyone could have missed the
entrance of that strange and beautiful couple was a mystery.
The White Queen was dressed as Diana, Huntress and goddess of the moon.
She wore a short white leather skirt and a bustier of the same material,
as well as thigh-high white leather boots with stiletto heels. A white
and silver mask glittering with diamante beads covered her eyes and
Logan stood at her side, silent and solemn as death, in black. Only the
gleam of his teeth when he leaned down to whisper in the woman's ear
relieved the stark splendor of his dress. Even his hands were gloved in
They laughed and danced together, and Marie watched, her heart aching to
see him with another woman after all the pain he had caused. Finally,
when Emma wrapped her arms around her escort and kissed him deeply,
Rogue had seen enough.
She went to the bar and ordered another drink. Walking across the dance
floor, she made her way to the couple.
"Hello, Logan," she said, loud enough to be heard over the music, to
break into their seemingly romantic moment.
He pulled away from the White Queen's embrace.
"Hey, kid. Now that I've found a real woman, why don't you go play with
boys your own age? Come back in a few years, after you know what you're
doin', and maybe I'll give you a ride for old times' sake."
She gasped at his callousness and, without thinking, tossed her drink in
his face before rushing out of the ballroom.
The feeling of everyone staring at him, as well as the sting of alcohol
in his eyes, seemed to jolt Logan into a new awareness of his situation.
He growled and bared his teeth, and everyone went back to their own
He looked down at the woman glittering in his arms and shook his head.
"I'm gonna go get cleaned up," he told her, pulling off a glove and
running a hand through his hair. "I'll be back."
"I'll be waiting," she purred, sure as ever of her power over him.
He moved quickly through the throng of people, tracking Marie by scent.
He knew he had to work fast -- his window of opportunity was small,
smaller than even he realized.
By the time he found her out in the garden, the White Queen was in
control again, and he heard vague whisperings in his mind that he had to
end it with Marie once and for all.
Emma followed him, and, at a discreet distance, Xavier and Jean followed
Marie started at his sudden appearance. Her arms were wrapped around her
chest against the chill night air.
"Logan," she said, her voice very near to tears, "please try to remember
what we shared."
He laughed, and it wasn't a pleasant sound. "What we shared, kid? What
kinda bullshit is that? We didn't share anything but sex."
"No," she whispered, "we loved each other."
But he continued, inexorably. "What makes you think I ever loved you?
What makes you think you were ever more than a quick fuck, and not a
very good one, at that?"
He laughed again as the tears she'd held back for so long spilled over.
<This is not happening,> she told herself. <This is not Logan saying
these things. That woman is making him do this.>
Marie looked at him, heart in her eyes, as he paced before her, suddenly
"Goddammit, Rogue," and he'd never called her that when they were alone,
which gave her some hope and some strength, even as it pained her to
hear it, "what the hell do you want from me? It's over. Just leave me
alone. I found a real woman, one I can touch, so I don't need you
"So, I -- I never meant anything to you?" she managed finally. She put
her hands behind her back, slowly easing one glove off. If Jean and the
Professor weren't going to put a stop to this, she was.
He strode closer, and snaked an arm around her waist, cupping her cheek
in his one gloved hand. "No, baby," he said venomously, "but if you're
that eager, I suppose I could give you one last throw for old times'
Rogue's chin snapped up and out his grasp at that, and her bare hand
came into contact with his behind her back.
They gasped as the connection opened, and she felt him pouring into her,
but it wasn't him alone -- there was a foreign mind caught up with his.
She pulled away, weeping, and he fell to the ground.
Jean ran forward to examine him while Xavier wheeled over to where Emma
lay, panicked and drained by the distant touch.
"I think you're finished," he said, his voice full of iron, as the woman
pulled herself together. Scott and Hank appeared behind her, and they
took her down to the lower levels, where they would hold her for
questioning before turning her over to the police.
Jean and Rogue knelt at Logan's side.
"I think he's going to be fine," Jean said softly, trying to reassure
the younger woman, who was now draped across her lover's body, sobbing
against his chest.
His eyes opened, and he stroked her hair gingerly. "Marie? Darlin'? Is
that you?" he asked hoarsely.
She looked up, her eyes shining with tears and love and Halloween
"I'm so sorry, baby. I didn't want to say those things--"
She pressed a finger to his lips. "It's all right. I got you up here
again," she tapped the side of her head, "so I know it was all that evil
The White Queen learned that while she controlled Logan's mind, she
didn't own his soul, and that love is sometimes the most powerful force
Logan recovered quickly, and they went to their room. He whispered words
of love to her as he begged her forgiveness with his body, loving her
the way she'd always dreamed.
One day, a little over a year later, they stood in front of all their
friends and declared their vows. While they didn't quite live happily
ever after, their love was strong and sure.
A/N: Some of you may recognize the basic framework of this fic - it's a
version of the old fairy tale Tamlane, or Tam-Lin. You can find various
versions of the Tamlane story at: http://www.tam-lin.org/index.html
http://www.belinus.co.uk/fairytales/JJMFTamlane.htm is the one I used
for this fic.
To read the Angel/Cordelia version I wrote, visit:
Also, I don't know what would actually happen if Rogue absorbed someone
who was mind-controlled, so just go with it, okay?
"Screw the dead. What have their moldering asses ever done for me?" Mike
Kellerman, _Homicide: Life on the Street_
The Muse's Fool - http://www.unfitforsociety.net/musesfool
Unfit for Society - http://www.unfitforsociety.net