Title: Queen's Regret
Fandom: X-Men/Avengers
Author: Apache Firecat
Characters: Emma Frost/Tony Starke
Rating: PG-13/T
Summary: Emma pretends not to watch, pretends not to miss, pretends not to love.
Word Count: 1,339
Written For: Fan FlashWorks 468: Sorry
Date Written: 29 January 2025
Warnings: Spoilers
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.








Sometimes, she hears a quiet whisper in her mind, and she knows instantly that it's him. Wherever the Anthony to her Cleopatra is, Tony is thinking of her. Wistfulness and perhaps, at times, even a tear or two touches her blue eyes as she thinks of him. It does not always take the gentle nudge at the telepathic bond they once shared -- although, even then, she had kept some things private as only one of her expertise could -- to make her think of him.

She tends to stop whenever she hears of the Avengers these days, at least long enough to hear if Iron Man was amongst their number. There are times, watching his battles on the air, that she feels her breath catch, her heart skip a beat in dread, her hands ball into tight fists at her side. In those times, she wants to run to him, as she does now. There are still times, far more times than she cares to admit even to herself, when she aches to feel his body wrapped around hers. It's nothing necessarily sexual or sensual but rather the warmth of loyal and trusted companionship.

She had grown to trust the man, perhaps not to love him as a wife should love her husband but surely to care for him, to love him even as one of her dearest friends, and to trust him. They had had their fights of course -- although the make-up sex had always been fantastic, even by her standards which was saying a lot considering she'd once been considered one of the best lovers in the Hellfire Club (and, thereby, the world) --, but in the end, they had always been able to find a compromise. Even more, most of their fights had stemmed from their desires to protect others for whom they cared, or even to protect themselves.

Tony would have encased her in actual diamond, if she had allowed him. He would have striven his hardest to make sure nothing could ever hurt her again. He'd wanted to protect her, as deeply as she wanted to protect her people. As deeply as she still did. Emma turns from the television set, wishing someone would mute the thing and refraining from the urge to slip a powerful mental suggestion into one of the many inferior minds around her. The Avengers have the losing hand in their current battle, but they will come out ahead in the end. He will come out. At least she has to believe that. After all, she can't very well carry on dedicating her life to bettering the world for mutantkind if she's constantly worried about a man who, at his very core, is still very, very human.

Very human, very sexy in his own special ways, very caring. Emma closes her eyes briefly against the onslaught of tears she can feel brimming deep within her. He was very caring, full of more love than most people would ever think Tony Starke or even Iron Man was capable. Practically everything the man did was driven by love in one fashion or another, including placing his life on the line every day despite the fact that he was barely being kept alive himself. She knows it won't do to concentrate on how very fragile Tony was at his heart -- it won't do to allow herself to focus or even daydream in such a manner about her ex-husband. That is, after all, the reason he is her ex-husband. She had to choose her mission in life over the man who could possibly have become the love of her life.

She had to choose her, as she always has. She wishes things could have been different. She wishes she could have somehow done both, continued to care for and protect her own species while being with him, but their life goals were just not in tune. They would have always continued fighting about their different desires in life until those fights had torn apart what bond they had shared, a bond that had grown deeper in a few, simple months than she would have ever imagined it could. Their marriage was always supposed to be temporary, after all, and had always been about the betterment of both their peoples.

She had done what she had to. She had done what she could -- while she'd been with him to let him know he was appreciated and valued, but in the end, she had had to come home to her own people and her own desires. Her life had been for the children of her people for the last several, long years of her lonely life. Now she was lonely again, in a club full of people, but it was a price she was willing to pay. She was willing to do anything to make damn certain no child had to endure what she had growing up, including surrendering what may well have been her last, perhaps even only, chance at love.

She'd always known Scott would never truly love her, not like he did Jean. She had allowed herself to be duped into believing Sean could possibly love her, might one day choose her over Moira or at least fall into her arms, grieving after the bitch's death. Her alliances with Shaw, Namor, and any number of other suitors had never been about love -- but then, too, her union with Anthony had not been about love, at least not love for the man himself.

She misses him, she thinks, reopening her sharpened eyes and raising her champagne glass to her blue lips. Perhaps she always w.ill There are days, like today, when she still wears his ring. After all, it is a fabulous rock that looks great on her finger. But not unlike the long-dead Queen Cleopatra, she is a Queen who has to do what was best for her people. She has to put the children first. If she doesn't fight for them, how many others would, and how many will make poor decisions? Katheryne had almost sent the latest wave of children away after all...

Emma looks up suddenly as someone actually does turn the audio down. She blinks, only in partial surprise that it had been Robert Drake who had turned it down but far more so to continue to control her facade. Her beautiful face is an armor of her own making after all, and she can not allow anyone to know how deeply she cares about Tony, about anyone other than herself. Bobby has grown, but he is still a kid in many ways. Besides, he still possesses a huge mouth, and she knows he's still reporting to Rogue. She'll not allow anyone, ally or enemy, to learn her weaknesses.

But when she realizes he is no longer looking at her, she slides her thumb, concealed by her glass, around her wedding ring and glances back at the television set above the bar. Captain America had come to the rescue, as Steve Rogers, the Avengers' own version of the Boy Scout, so often did. Despite herself, she finds herself learning forward in her chair, peering through the smoke on the screen. She releases a breath she's not meant to be holding when she spots Iron Man rise in the rubble. His helmet had been nearly destroyed by the last hit she'd witnessed him take, and his true face is showing. He waves boldly, reassuring his team and admirers, she knows, but she cannot lie to herself about the little jump her heart gives or the immense relief washing over her.

She cannot lie to herself, even if she can hide from the whole rest of the world, including him, how much she'd come to care for him after their months together, after the short life they had shared together. I'm sorry, Tony, she finds herself wistfully thinking, but then she turns from the television, downs the remainder of her champagne, and stands. It is time to meet the children, Katheryne included.



The End