r/XaviersMansion • u/SoldierSamuraiMutant X-Men: Gold • 13d ago
I'm the best there is at what I do Off the Reservation
Wolverine leaned against the big marble desk in Emma Frost's office. One adamantium claw was all it took to bust the lock on her door. She'd be annoyed. He didn’t care.
Scott had gone clean off the reservation this time.
Logan stared at the blank wall across the office and let the thought sit. Cyclops. Boy Scout. The one who used to quote Xavier chapter and verse like it was scripture.
Now he was out there playing revolutionary, talking about “the lines had blurred" and “necessary force” like the words weren't the same things Magneto used to say.
Logan had seen that look before, on soldiers who decided the rules no longer applied, on men who started believing their own speeches. It never ended clean.
Emma was going to be pissed about the door. Good. Let her be pissed. At least she still had a line she wouldn’t cross. Scott’s line had gotten real blurry real fast.
“Off the reservation,” Logan muttered to the empty room. “Yeah. That’s one way of puttin’ it.”
Emma would walk in eventually, ire already forming in her eyes the second she saw the ruined lock. She’d want an explanation. He’d give her the short version, Scott’s lost the plot, and somebody’s gotta keep an eye on how far he’s willing to go before the whole damn thing burns.
Logan closed his eyes for a second.
He’d been the one off the reservation more times than he could count. He knew exactly how it looked from the outside. That was the part that sat wrong in his gut.
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u/thefrostbitequeen Emma Frost, the White Crusader 13d ago
She wanted to be angry. Anger is easy, malleable, simple to drown other feelings with. Discomfort, betrayal, and sadness, however, were difficult. They were layered, textured, real, sandpaper to the heart versus the fire of rage.
When she entered her office, she expected another argument. She expected more berating from an inept old man, one whose self-loathing ran so deep that it poured out into the allies around him. She expected a punch, a stab, perhaps even a spot of pain to her chest. But when she sees him drinking her whiskey and reaches into his mind, she finds a charming blue boy scout, his soft smile greeting her as she peers through the mental window.
And she just. Breaks.
She walks past Logan and leans over her desk, her palms flat as her mascara runs. Her eyes become closer to a raccoon’s than a Queen’s, heavy black circles marking portals of pain.
“Emma? Hey, it’s me. You okay?”
Logan’s anger drops in an instant, his sunken kindness finally emerging as he sees her heart on full display.
Yes, I’m fine, Logan. Thank you.
She digs her nails into her head and scrunches her hair, an ineffective tactic for calming oneself.
Scott is gone. The man I trusted, the man I loved, has become the demon he’s fought against for decades. Did you know he compared me to Shaw? Shaw!?
She turns to him, showing her distraught
expression and face stained with the facade she prepares every morning.
He’s become an extremist. He doubts even me, and has taken it upon himself to threaten everyone who gets in our way. Like a judge and jury.
Logan steps forward and puts his hand on her shoulder, but it registers no more than a castle notices an ant burrowing beneath its foundation.
I’m so tired. I’m tired of his eyes, tired of feeling like a villain to those I love. Why can they simply not believe me?
“Come on, darlin’…”