Chapter Text
Chapter One: Prophecies and Biryani
Emma Frost has experienced many ridiculous situations in her long and tumultuous life. She'd witnessed world-ending threats, interdimensional invasions, and cosmic entities possessing her colleagues. But nothing—absolutely nothing—had prepared her for the absurdity unfolding before her eyes in a modest Toronto apartment.
The White Queen hung back, arms crossed over her pristine white ensemble, perfectly manicured nails tapping against her bicep as she surveyed the chaos with an expression of detached amusement. The night had begun as a simple reconnaissance mission. A vision from that insufferable Inhuman, Ulysses, had sent Carol Danvers into a panic about "a dark man binding the Phoenix." Naturally, the so-called heroes had mobilized with their typical lack of subtlety.
Emma had only joined the expedition out of curiosity—and perhaps a small measure of concern for Jean, though she'd sooner die than admit it.
What they'd found was far from the cosmic threat they'd anticipated. Instead, they'd interrupted a quiet dinner date between Jean Grey and her new human boyfriend—a rather unremarkable man named Dev Menon, who had prepared some aromatic Indian dish that filled the apartment with the scent of spices.
"You know, darling," Emma drawled to no one in particular, picking a piece of drywall from her shoulder as Captain Marvel hovered menacingly in the middle of the living room, "when you said we needed to investigate a 'binding' threat, I rather expected something more... apocalyptic."
The apartment had once been charming in a middle-class sort of way. Now it resembled a war zone. The front door hung from a single hinge. Shattered glass from the windows sparkled on the hardwood floor. A significant portion of the wall adjacent to the balcony had been reduced to rubble, courtesy of Ben Grimm's less-than-subtle entrance. The dining table—set with actual china, candles, and wine glasses—remained miraculously intact, the only serene island in a sea of destruction.
Jean Grey stood at the centre of it all, her body wreathed in the familiar orange-gold flame of the Phoenix. Her eyes blazed with righteous fury, her red hair whipping in an unseen cosmic wind.
But it wasn't Jean who held Emma's attention. It was the man beside her.
Dev Menon was not what Emma had expected. Emma had been sceptical when she'd heard Jean had taken up with a human. In Emma's experience, relationships between mutants and humans rarely ended well. Yet here was Jean—the mighty Phoenix—playing house with this ordinary man.
Except, as Emma was quickly learning, there was nothing particularly ordinary about Dev Menon.
He stood in his destroyed living room wearing a simple button-down shirt and slacks, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong forearms. He was indeed handsome in a conventional way—deep brown skin, expressive dark eyes, clean-shaven. He wasn't particularly tall, perhaps 5'8", with a slight paunch that spoke of too many hours at a desk. But what he lacked in physical impressiveness, he more than made up for in sheer audacity.
Because Dev Menon was currently giving Captain Marvel—Earth's Mightiest Hero, a woman who could punch through stars—the dressing down of a lifetime.
"On what grounds are you operating?" Dev's voice was calm but edged with steel as he faced Carol Danvers. "You've destroyed my home based on what? A vision? A premonition?"
Emma could feel the tension radiating from the assembled heroes. The Avengers stood awkwardly amid the rubble, Spider-Man perched uncomfortably on what remained of a bookshelf. Johnny Storm floated near the ceiling, his usual bravado dampened. The motley assortment of X-Men—Ororo, Logan, Remy, Scott, and several others—had positioned themselves in a loose semicircle near the kitchen. Everyone seemed uncertain of how to proceed now that their dramatic entrance had resulted not in a cosmic battle, but in property damage and an increasingly awkward confrontation.
Emma noticed Scott and Logan exchanging glances. The former leaders of the X-Men might be at odds on most issues, but their concern for Jean always united them in the most inconvenient ways.
"Jean," Scott said in that insufferably earnest tone of his, stepping forward slightly. "Are you sure you're alright? We were worried that—"
"That what, Summers?" Logan growled, though his eyes remained fixed on Jean, scanning her as if searching for signs of distress or manipulation. "That she can't handle herself? The woman's got the Phoenix. It's the rest of us that should be worried."
Despite his gruff words, Emma could practically taste the concern radiating off Logan. His nostrils flared slightly—assessing scents, checking for threats—as his gaze shifted to Dev with unmistakable suspicion.
"We have reason to believe you pose a significant threat to Jean Grey and potentially to reality itself," Carol replied, her voice clipped and professional despite the circumstances. "Ulysses' visions have proven accurate in the past."
Emma suppressed a snort. She'd seen Ulysses' "accurate" visions firsthand. The boy was a magnet for catastrophe, seeing the worst possible futures without context or nuance. That the heroes still rushed to action based on his prophecies was a testament to their collective lack of critical thinking.
"You're being idiotic," Dev snapped, his calm façade cracking. "You're operating on a self-fulfilling prophecy. What was the vision exactly? That I would 'bind' the Phoenix?"
Carol's eyes narrowed. "The specifics aren't your concern. We're here to ensure—"
"To ensure what?" Dev cut her off. "That I don't commit a crime I haven't even thought of? Are we in 'Minority Report' now? 'Psycho-Pass'? Are you arresting me for future crimes?"
Emma's lips curved into a smile. She'd expected Jean's new beau to be cowering in a corner by now, overwhelmed by the superhero invasion. Instead, he was confronting them with references to science fiction dystopias about precrime. Interesting.
"If you're going to go full 'thought police' on me, then at least let me defend myself," Dev continued, his voice rising. "The punishment should come after the crime, not before."
"We're not here to punish you," Ororo interjected, always the voice of reason. "We're here to prevent a catastrophe."
"By creating one?" Dev gestured to his ruined apartment. "Look around you! Do you think my renter's insurance covers 'superhero break-in'?"
Emma watched as Jean's Phoenix aura flickered, her expression shifting from rage to something softer as she looked at Dev defending himself. Interesting. The Phoenix had always been attracted to passion, to intensity. Perhaps Jean's human paramour possessed more fire than was immediately apparent.
"Jean," Scott stepped forward again, his ruby quartz visor catching the light. "Maybe we should talk privately. This situation is... complicated."
Logan snorted. "That's one word for it." His claws slid out with a soft snikt as he eyed Dev. "No offence, bub, but Jean's been through this before. People getting close to her, trying to use the Phoenix—"
"Oh my god, stop it! Both of you!" Jean snapped, the Phoenix flame flaring around her. "This is exactly why I left the Council! This hovering, this... smothering concern that just stresses me out more!"
Emma watched with undisguised amusement as Jean rounded on her former lovers.
"I am not a child. I am not broken. And I do not need my ex-boyfriends storming into my current boyfriend's apartment because of some half-baked vision!" She gestured between Logan and Scott. "Your stress is stressing me out, which is exactly what I wanted to avoid!"
Logan at least had the decency to look somewhat abashed, his claws retracting. Scott, predictably, remained steadfast.
"We care about you, Jean," he said quietly.
"Then care about my choices," she replied, her voice softening slightly as she moved to stand beside Dev. "Including this one."
"If you're so concerned about me binding the Phoenix," Dev said, his eyes flashing, "then let's settle this right now. Dr. Strange—I assume he's part of your superhero phone tree? Bring him here."
Emma raised an eyebrow. That was... unexpected. Most civilians wouldn't even know to ask for Strange in a situation like this. Her estimation of Dev Menon ticked up a notch.
Jean's expression shifted to one of determination. The Phoenix flame around her intensified, and with a gesture that tore at the fabric of reality itself, she ripped open a swirling portal in the middle of the living room.
"Jean!" Storm called out in alarm. "What are you—"
Before she could finish, Jean reached through the dimensional tear and unceremoniously yanked Doctor Stephen Strange through it. The Sorcerer Supreme stumbled into the apartment, looking disoriented and distinctly annoyed, his Cloak of Levitation flaring behind him.
"What in the name of the Vishanti—" Strange began, before taking in the assembled heroes and the destruction around them. "Ah. I see I've been conscripted into another crisis."
"Doctor," Dev said immediately, stepping forward and extending his hand as if this were a perfectly normal business meeting, "thank you for coming. I need you to verify something for these... concerned citizens."
Emma couldn't help the laugh that escaped her lips at Strange's bewildered expression as he shook Dev's hand.
"I need you to confirm that there is nothing mystical, psionic, or any other variant of supernatural energy on me, on Jean, in the food we were about to eat, or in..." Dev hesitated for the first time, a flush creeping up his neck. "In the items we planned to use later this evening."
Emma's telepathic senses caught the mental image before Dev could suppress it—silk ropes, blindfolds, and other accoutrements of bedroom play. Oh my. This evening was becoming more entertaining by the minute.
Jean's face was now nearly as red as her hair, but she stood beside Dev, chin lifted in defiance. "Go ahead, Stephen," she said. "Check everything. I want this resolved."
Strange looked between them, understanding dawning in his eyes. "I see," he said slowly. "This is about Ulysses' vision, isn't it?"
"A dark man binding the Phoenix," Spider-Man supplied helpfully from his perch. "Seemed pretty straightforward at the time."
Dev's expression darkened. "Straightforward?" He gestured between himself and Jean. "We were planning to experiment with bondage tonight. That's it. That's your great cosmic threat."
The silence that fell over the room was absolute. Emma bit her lip to keep from laughing outright. Oh, this was delicious. Jean Grey, the prim and proper Phoenix, is caught in flagrante delicto—or at least in pre-flagrant planning—with her human boyfriend.
"Well," Gambit drawled from where he leaned against the kitchen counter, breaking the silence, "dat certainly puts a different spin on t’ings, non ?"
"Strange," Dev said, ignoring the rising murmurs among the heroes, "while you're checking for mystical interference, what's your professional opinion on ancient Greek myths and their use of prophecy?"
Strange's lips twitched as he began weaving complex patterns in the air, golden symbols illuminating the room. "Interesting question. The Greeks understood something fundamental about divination—that prophecies often create the very situations they predict. In attempting to prevent an outcome, one often ensures it."
Dev nodded, his eyes cutting to Carol. "Exactly. Like Oedipus. Or Perseus. By trying to prevent a prophecy, you create the conditions for it to come true."
"That's not what's happening here," Carol insisted, though Emma noted her certainty seemed to be wavering.
"Isn't it?" Dev challenged. "You break into my home, threaten me, create this situation—and what exactly was the prophecy that justified all this property damage?"
Emma watched as the heroes exchanged uncomfortable glances. This was the problem with their reactive approach—rushing in without full information, creating chaos in the name of prevention.
Spider-Man cleared his throat. "Ulysses said he saw 'the dark one binding the Phoenix in his lair, her power constrained as never before.' And then there was something about 'pleasure and pain intertwined.'"
Dev's laughter caught everyone by surprise. It started low in his chest, building until it filled the room—a harsh, humourless sound that sent a chill down Emma's spine despite herself.
"That—" Johnny Storm whispered, "that sounds like Dr. Doom's laugh."
The laughter cut off abruptly. Dev's eyes swept the room, landing on each hero in turn. The intensity in his gaze belied his otherwise unremarkable appearance. At that moment, Emma caught a glimpse of what Jean might see in him—a quiet, banked fire that could flare into an inferno when provoked.
"Get out," Dev said softly, dangerously. "All of you. But before you go, you will repair every bit of damage you've caused. My insurance won't cover this, and I refuse to pay for your paranoia."
"Now see here—" Ben Grimm began.
"No, you see here," Dev cut him off. "You've overreached. This was stupid on mind-bogglingly high levels. I don't care what you've done in the past. Most of the time, you create the problems you then fight."
Emma watched, fascinated, as Dev began listing examples, ticking them off on his fingers with the precision of someone who had given this considerable thought.
"World War Hulk? Instead of talking to Bruce Banner and helping him, you shoot him into space. He comes back—rightfully pissed off—and you blame him for the destruction? The Illuminati creating incursions? The Avengers fracturing over the Sokovia Accords? You're the architects of your disasters."
Emma's eyebrows rose in surprise. The man was well-informed. Most civilians didn't know the details behind those conflicts, much less have such strong opinions about them.
"You create the monsters you fight," Dev continued, his voice rising. "Honestly, most superheroes are just a Ponzi scheme. You're more dangerous than the villains you claim to protect us from. And then you parade around like you've done something great."
The heroes shifted uncomfortably. Emma could feel the collective mental discomfort radiating from them. There was nothing quite like having your moral superiority questioned by someone you'd meant to save.
Scott cleared his throat. "Jean, regardless of what's happening here, we have a responsibility to—"
"To what, Cyclops?" Dev cut in. "To micromanage her life? To decide what's best for her? How's that worked out in the past?"
Emma caught Logan's barely suppressed smirk. The Wolverine might be overprotective, but he'd always appreciated seeing Cyclops' authority challenged.
"Listen, bub," Logan said, addressing Dev directly for the first time. "You seem to have some backbone, I'll give you that. But Jean's not just anyone. She's—"
"I know exactly who she is," Dev replied, his voice softening as he glanced at Jean. "That's why I'm with her. Not because of what she can do, but because of who she is."
Jean's expression softened, the Phoenix aura dimming slightly. "Logan, Scott—I love you both, in different ways. But you need to trust me. Your constant worrying just adds to my stress, which is the last thing the Phoenix needs. Please, just... let me have this."
Emma watched the two men absorb Jean's words. Scott looked like he wanted to argue further, but Logan placed a restraining hand on his shoulder.
"Your call, Red," Logan said gruffly. "Always has been."
"So you can get out," Dev finished, pointing to the hole where his front door had been. "I have a girlfriend to look after and to make up for all your fuck-ups. And you'd better repair all the damage you caused."
For a moment, no one moved. Then Strange cleared his throat. "I've completed my examination. There's no mystical, psionic, or otherworldly energy at work here beyond Jean's natural Phoenix force. No bindings, no traps, no nefarious plots."
"Thank you, Doctor," Dev said with exaggerated politeness. "At least someone here is professional."
Strange nodded, then turned to the assembled heroes. "I think perhaps we should take Mr. Menon's advice and depart." With a subtle gesture, he began repairing the shattered windows, golden energy knitting the glass back together.
The spell broke the tableau. The heroes began shuffling toward the exit, murmuring awkward apologies. Spider-Man offered to help with the cleanup. Johnny Storm promised to send a check for any remaining damages. Carol looked like she wanted to say something more but thought better of it.
Through it all, Emma remained where she was, watching Jean. The Phoenix flame had receded, but there was something else in Jean's eyes now as she watched Dev—a heat that had nothing to do with cosmic fire.
Well, well, Emma thought. The good girl likes a man with a backbone.
As the heroes filed out, Emma found herself the last to leave. She paused at the threshold, casting a glance back at the couple. Dev had moved to Jean's side, his hand at the small of her back, his attention entirely focused on her well-being despite the extraordinary events of the evening.
"Jean," Emma called, unable to resist. "A word of advice, darling?"
Jean looked up, wariness in her eyes. Their relationship had always been complicated—rivals, enemies, reluctant allies, and occasionally, in rare moments, something almost like friends.
Emma smirked. "Don't throw your back out tonight."
Jean's cheeks flamed, but Emma noted with interest that she didn't deny or deflect. Instead, a slow smile spread across Jean's face as she leaned into Dev's side.
"I'll manage," Jean replied, a gleam in her eye that Emma hadn't seen in years.
Emma turned to leave, but not before noticing Gambit lingering by the dining table, sampling the abandoned meal.
" Mon ami ," the Cajun said appreciatively, "dis biryani—de flavor is magnifique! Though I'm a bit disappointed in de spice level. I like a bit more heat, me."
Dev's expression softened slightly. "I'm still getting Jean used to proper spice levels. It's a work in progress."
Gambit grinned, offering a small bow. "A noble endeavour. Carry on, mon ami ." He followed Emma out, closing what remained of the door behind them.
Outside the apartment building, the heroes dispersed into the night, subdued and embarrassed. Emma, lighting a cigarette, watched as Strange and the others worked to repair the structural damage they'd caused.
"What a ridiculous waste of an evening," Carol muttered as she passed, still bristling from the confrontation.
"On the contrary," Emma replied, exhaling a stream of smoke. "I found it most illuminating."
"How so?" Storm asked, joining them. "We disrupted Jean's life based on a misinterpreted vision and alienated her new partner."
Emma's lips curved into a knowing smile. "We discovered something far more interesting than a cosmic threat. We discovered that Jean Grey—our sanctimonious, perfect Jean—has found herself a man who isn't afraid to stand up to gods and monsters."
She took another drag of her cigarette, remembering the look in Jean's eyes as Dev had confronted the assembled might of Earth's heroes.
"And she's smitten with him for it."
After the last of the heroes had departed, Emma lingered in the shadows across the street, watching the windows of Dev's apartment. A telepath's curiosity was difficult to suppress, especially when it involved such an unexpected development in Jean Grey's life.
The lights in the apartment dimmed, then shifted to what Emma imagined was candlelight—warm and flickering. Despite the interruption, it seemed the evening wasn't entirely ruined. Good for them.
Emma's phone buzzed with a message from Kitty Pryde: What happened? Storm just got back and wouldn't say anything except that it was a false alarm.
Emma smiled to herself as she typed her reply: Jean Grey has found herself a spicy dish, and I don't mean the biryani.
She pocketed her phone, taking one last look at the apartment windows. Through her telepathic senses, she could feel the edges of Jean's emotions—embarrassment fading into relief, irritation melting into something warmer, deeper. And beneath it all, a current of desire that had nothing to do with the Phoenix and everything to do with the very human connection she'd found.
It was a reminder that even for mutants—even for cosmic entities like the Phoenix—the most transformative power often came in the most ordinary packages. Not in grand gestures or world-saving heroics, but in quiet moments of understanding. In standing together against outside forces. In cooking a meal with less spice than you prefer you're thinking of someone else's comfort.
Emma turned away, her heels clicking on the pavement as she walked into the Toronto night. Jean Grey had always been the X-Men's heart, their moral compass, their sacrificial Phoenix. Perhaps it was time she found something for herself—even if it came in the unexpected form of a slightly overweight human with a spine of steel and a talent for biryani.
Strange as it seemed, Emma found herself hoping it would last.
After all, she mused as she hailed a taxi, if Jean Grey can find happiness with a human who lectures superheroes on their moral failings, perhaps there's hope for all of us complicated women with too much power and too little patience.
The White Queen slipped into the taxi, leaving behind the scene of the evening's absurdity. Tomorrow would bring new crises, new cosmic threats, and new reasons for the heroes to assemble and fight.
But tonight, in a modest Toronto apartment, Jean Grey was simply a woman enjoying an evening with the man who had faced down Avengers for her. And that, in Emma's estimation, was a far more interesting story than any apocalypse they might have prevented.
"Where to?" the taxi driver asked.
Emma smiled, leaning back against the seat. "The airport"
As the taxi pulled away, Emma wondered what Ulysses would make of his vision now. The dark man had indeed bound the Phoenix—not with mystical chains or cosmic power, but with something far more mundane and infinitely more powerful.
It was, perhaps, the most dangerous binding of all.