Title: A Diamond in the Rough

Author: Silk

Email:

Fandom/Pairing: AU X-Men (Comic-verse), Emma Frost/OC

Disclaimers: Marvel & it's characters aren't mine. The Original Character is mine however. Femslash. I don't usually approve of disclaimers. Books don't have them, why should I? Anyone who is familiar with the Marvel-verse knows there are many alternate Earths and this is my version. Earth 815. Beta'd by Whedonist - Thank you for the kick in the ass. Ratings will go up to NC17. Any special disclaimers will be posted with that chapter.

Chapter 1

It is not until I am being escorted to my creche that I realize something is wrong.

Very wrong.

I stumble over my feet in distraction as my Master opens the outer door of the creche building, my home; a word I was taught by an Older once but do not understand. I know creche. I barely remember the time when I have not slept in this room; a time of bright lights, muffled sounds and vision. From what I have been told, that is the birthing time, but I do not understand that too much. None of us do. I remember learning to walk almost as soon as I learned to breath, and learning to work not too long after.

Like the others, I already know how to talk and understand the orders of the Masters. In the birthing time, as I swam in the warm liquid that was my womb, I remember the sounds and meaning of everything that was taught to me. Dreams of what words were and images of what they meant, all for training.

I know the meaning of mutant and slave. It is what I am. I know the meaning of Human and Master because that is what all who are un-collared are. They walk tall, talk firmly and handle us.

I knew these things as I was being born and learned what they truly meant as I began to work not too long after.

I am a slave. My name is 9031n73. I was taught my name in the tank before birth. Its mark is on my arm, thigh and back. There are other markings that say who I am. I do not understand them. I just know that it is.

Just as the collar is.

I have heard a Master or two talking about the collars, if one listens there is much to learn, if not always understand and always more than I should know. I think all my brothers and sisters know more than we should, but none of us really knows what it always means. I am of the creche and of work. I know that the tank is the birthing place, but I do not know what mon-ey or din-ner-and-a-mov-e is.

I am a mutant and the collar is what keeps my power from coming out. That is what I know, but it is not something I understand. I do not know what powers are; I only know that Masters have power over me. That is.

"Move, n73. I don't have all day," the Master guarding me says, prodding me with the painstick, making me stumble again and earn another poke as we pass another Master. I keep my head down, as I learned in the tank, not looking at either Master even though I can tell each apart. How a Master stands, the shape of a leg, a stride. These are all things that I use to tell which Master I am with.

Today I am with one of the kinder of all the Masters I know. She rarely uses the stick unless there is another Master to see. Even when she has taken me to one of the pleasure rooms, I never left with marks. Still, here where others see, I need to pay more attention to where I step.

The feeling of wrongness grows as we walk down the long hallway, past doors to other creche. Usually there is some sound coming from behind all the doors, but not now. It's silent, but not empty. I see shadows underneath as if those behind the doors are looking through the crack under the door as we walk by. I know because I and my brothers and sisters in my own creche do the same.

The hallway smells like fear, more than usual and the closer we get to my creche's door the more it sharpens.

The door to home has part of my name on it. N7. I have always been somewhat proud that I have never had to have my name changed since the birthing. When others have been taken from our creche, there is usually always another brought in. Skin newly reddened from the renaming, their marks changed. I know of only one other in our creche that has never been renamed and as my thoughts drift over her, my pulse races in sudden fear for her.

"It'll be a cold night for you, n73," my Master says almost softly, comfortingly. I've always liked this one more than most of the other Masters. Her voice isn't as harsh to us when we're not where other Masters can see.

I almost purr as her hand comes up and pets my short hair as she opens the door. The gesture is comforting and so rare to get outside the creche.

My Master opens the door and I step in automatically, lifting my sight up from the ground to see...

Nothing.

The walls are newly washed and the sleeping pads all stacked up along the wall.

Where are my brothers and sisters?

I spin around, my heart beating so loud and fast in my chest that it thunders in my ears.

I barely hear the slight sound of the door becoming opaque, a sound we are conditioned to since the birthing, a sound that signifies the presence of a Master on the other side.

"Shhh. Calm down, n73," my Master says softly, calmly, but I cannot.

I'm whimpering, I know it, but spinning around in the center of the room, looking for something... anyone... my creche...

"You must be calm. You do not want another Master to come. Kneel, n73," she orders with only a small bit of bite in her voice. Automatically, I kneel down, my knees hitting so hard that they throb.

My heart still pounds. My breathing so rapid, so fast that I feel light headed. I have never been alone in the creche before. This is home. This bare place of hard, smooth stone and no windows. This place of harsh lights and no comforts but those of my brothers and sisters.

This is my crèche.

Empty.

"Calm yourself. Breathe slower," she orders and I try to comply.

I shiver even though it is not cold. A small sound escapes my lips even as I know I will be punished for it.

The door opens and the Master steps in, something almost unheard of. Masters do not like coming into the creche. I have heard some say that the stink of many mutants together in such a small place is disgusting to them. I do not smell what they mean, since our creche and us are cleaned twice daily but I am not a Master.

The Master's soft hand comes to my head again petting, calming me. The whimpers cease as my breathing evens out and my heart slows.

I press my head against her hand a bit more firmly and am rewarded by a warm sigh from her. It is not often that one will touch or pet us outside their rooms, but I am glad this one is with me today.

I sigh softly wanting to ask, but I cannot. I cannot speak unless ordered to. That is what I was taught in the tank and I remember the painsticks upon my body when I tested that rule.

"Your creche has been Cleansed, n73. Only you have been deemed worthy to continue serving. When the new batch has been un-tanked, you shall be their eldest," the Master explains and I start shivering again.

Cleansed and Re-creched.

I have seen some Cleansed, usually by a cruel Master when a slave has done something wrong. The worst I have seen is when a slave tried to escape and ran for the High Wall, trying to get to the Outside, where the Masters go, where the Masters all live.

That Master just laughed at the slave, took his pistol out, shot him once in the leg and once in the middle.

The Masters then gathered those of us who were there and made us stand for hours around the doomed slave. We watched as he died slowly, crying in pain, calling out to the Tank to save him.

It had taken hours and hours for him to die. It would have taken more but the Master who shot him said that his shift was past, it was the middle of the night and he wished to go home. So he shot him one last time and pronounced the slave Cleansed.

I know what Cleansed is, we all do and to imagine almost my entire creche Cleansed was hard. Pressing my head against the Master's hand, I sought reassurance and was given it with continued petting, her fingernails gently scratching my scalp.

How was I supposed to sleep having never been alone in the creche? There is always the press of bodies along mine at night to give warmth and comfort.

The Master sighed as I leaned against her leg and played with the strands of my hair.

"This is too cruel, even for us," she whispered as if talking to herself and I knew better than to answer. She was not speaking to me, I knew but I still found myself speaking.

"Cleanse me," I ask softly. Shocked at myself for saying it, but I don't want to stay here alone. I miss them already, n71 and n72, who looked so alike that I couldn't tell them apart. Someone said they had been in the same tank together; something I did not know was possible. I spent many a night sleeping between the two of them. Then there was n78 who had been the oldest. He was broad shouldered and had been taken quite a few times by Masters for their pleasure. He was always so soft-spoken and comforting to the rest of us, ending any arguments and spats with a word.

Then there was n77 who I remember learning to walk with as we went to our creche for the first time, along with two others. She and I were the closest to each other, neither of us having been renamed. To think that she was Cleansed...

I could only hope they made it quick for her and the others. I do not know what had brought the Cleansing but cannot help thinking about the many times I had seen another slave Cleansed and cannot not help seeing n77's face over the others.

The hiss of surprise and the stilling of the Master's hand at my words make me stiffen and freeze. I close my eyes waiting for the searing pain from the stick or the slap from her hand.

None of these came. Instead an almost inaudible sound from the Master drifted to my sensitive ears. A sob.

I thought only us slaves cried.

The pain, when it comes, is swift and makes me fall onto my back. My entire body convulses as the painstick presses into my neck, but I do not utter a sound. Instead, I look up at her as she kneels over me, gazing into her eyes; feeling a sense of relief.

The pain is so much, so much more than I had ever felt. It doesn't stop. The little part of me that can think as the pain surrounds my mind and body, wonders if this is punishment or if she is granting my wish. I see tears trail down her smooth cheeks, her face framed by her long, blonde hair as she leans down on me, pressing the stick harder into my neck. I know then that she is Cleansing me and I feel no more fear.

My body bows under her and the painstick slips and touchs my collar. The combination of pain almost blinds me.

White pain. White light.

A scream not my own. The Master's tear filled eyes change to ones of fear and echoing pain.

Screams meld.

White pain. White light.

An explosion of white.

White.

White.

White.

Pain.

Nothing.

.