A/N: Interlude-ish chapter
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"That stupid, meathead, knuckleheaded, pigheaded, monkey-brained, insufferable… that salaud. That connard. That espèce d'abruti, goujat, that pauvre crétin—"
Psylocke had come here to help. That had been the whole reason she stayed back in Hellmoon Club. Emma Frost was her friend, more or less, and her employer, definitively, and Emma had looked utterly devastated tonight. Somebody had to be there for her. Psylocke had volunteered because nobody else was insane enough to, beside Dante, but he was busy with his own stuff.
She had expected tears or a furious monologue on how Emma had helped Dante and got "betrayed" in return, or how nobody walked away from Emma Frost. What she had received instead was the White Queen exhausting the English and French's supply of insults while emptying a decanter of whiskey.
"Emma."
"Dumbass. Jackass, cruel, heartless, self-righteous—"
"EMMA." Psylocke stopped bothering with her voice and pushed the word directly into Emma's skull. Despite Emma's resistance, the word rang around the inside of Emma's head and made her flinch. "Are you even listening to me?"
Emma set the glass down on the table and raised her left hand to hold her head. "I don't want to endure anymore. Psy, kill me."
"I'm not going to do that."
Emma looked up. She wasn't wearing any makeup, which was the single most alarming detail, at least by Emma's usual standards. "Then bring me Dante. Alter his memories… Wipe his mind, I don't care what you do… I want him for myself."
"I can't do that either."
"Then what can you do?"
Psylocke considered lying. It would've been the easier route to give Emma some hope, and Emma wasn't in any condition to see through lies.
"Nothing." Psylocke chose to be honest, certainly influenced by the man she both hated and loved. "There is nothing to be done here. You either accept it or move past it."
"You're so cruel."
"I'm rational, which you're not at the moment."
Emma hunched over and covered her face with both hands. The sob that followed was heartbreaking for Psylocke. She had seen Emma do many things, but crying wasn't one of them.
Psylocke was still figuring out a way to comfort Emma when a slow hum filled the room. The air four feet to the table stirred, forming a black portal. It wasn't like Dante or Illyana's portals.
She got to her feet and drew the wooden blade from its sheath, ready to strike whatever creature emerged from the portal. However, to her astonishment, a familiar lavender-furred cat flew out and skidded on the polished surface of the table. The whiskey went over the edge and rolled on the floor, spilling the leftover alcohol.
Among the wreckage of the White Queen's dignity, Sharon looked up with her whole heart on her face. "Mama Emma?"
Emma lifted her head, showing a tear-smeared face that tugged at Sharon's heartstrings. "Sharon?"
"Mama?!" Sharon yelled, her voice cracking as if the sight of Emma crying had physically hurt her. "What hurt you?!"
Emma moved quickly and snatched a cloth from the table, wiping her face in one pass. By the time she reached out and bundled Sharon up against her chest, the signs of her crying had been mostly disguised. "Nothing, sweetheart. Mama is fine."
"No! You're crying! Sharon can see that!"
Emma's chin lifted as she directed her gaze at the cosmic entity. "Death, why do you hate me so?"
Psylocke didn't blame her for asking that question. Of all the moments in Emma Frost's life to hand her daughter a front-row seat to, Death had selected this one, when she was at her weakest and least prepared to face anyone beside Psylocke.
"I couldn't, Emma," Death said in a strangely helpless voice, a stark contrast to how much power she wielded. "She kept insisting to see her Emma Mama."
Sharon snuggled in Emma's arms. "Mama, who made you cry?"
Emma made a troubled expression as she set a hand on Sharon's back. "Just a bad day, girl. Who do you think can make me cry?"
"Daddy," Sharon answered without hesitation. "Sharon knows Daddy and Mama are fighting."
Psylocke blinked in surprise, so did Emma.
Sharon always spoke about herself in the third person, chased laser pointers, acted clumsy and childish, so it was easy to forget she was a teenager with cat-like instincts, not an actual cat. It wasn't a surprise Sharon had noticed the strange relationship between her adoptive parents.
Emma exchanged a glance with Psylocke and smirked as if she had cooked up an evil scheme. "Yes, it was your daddy."
Psylocke started at Emma. "Emma."
Emma ignored the telepathic message. "He did this... He said he doesn't want to be with me anymore."
Betsy sat there, genuinely speechless. She had watched Emma manipulate politicians and corporate overlords. But she wasn't prepared for Emma to use her own daughter to get back at Dante and possibly guilt-trip him into making some concessions for her. It was messed-up yet the most White Queen-like move she could've made.
Sharon pushed back just far enough to look up at Emma's face. "Why did Daddy…?"
"I don't know." Emma shook her head slowly, perfectly playing the sad, tragic mother. "I can't bring myself to ask either."
"Then Sharon will!" Sharon declared. "Sharon will solve this and get Mama and Daddy back together!"
Emma stroked her back, her face full of affection for her adopted daughter. Sharon's tail began swinging in big arcs, brushing over Emma's thighs. "You can't go to him tonight or tomorrow. Daddy is busy with important work."
Sharon nodded obediently. "Sharon will listen to Mama Emma."
Emma rubbed her face against Sharon's, making her adopted daughter purr contentedly against her chest. "You're the best daughter. I love you so much."
"Hehehe. Sharon also loves Mama Emma!"
Betsy looked down at the whiskey soaking slowly into the carpet, and then back up at her friend and employer, who was cradling her purring daughter. Last year, Psylocke would've laughed if someone told her Emma could be openly affectionate with someone, much less loving the mutant girl she had specifically picked up to consolidate power in the Club.
Sharon also feared Emma more than anyone.
Yet, they had formed a parental bond probably stronger than most real mothers and daughters.
One incident had changed them both immensely.
'What happened was for the best.'
However, the problem still remained. How could she help Emma?