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WHO: Emma Frost & Scott Summers
WHEN: 2019, soon after Days of Future Past
WHERE: The kitchen at the Institute
WHAT: Emma and Scott are both dealing with some revelations they're not fond of following the Days of Future Past plot. This devolves into going shopping and getting dinner.
WARNINGS: None!
Saving Robert Kelly feels like less of an achievement than it actually is - Emma had seen that Kitty and Jean were right about the damage his death would do, but it still leaves a bitter taste in her mouth knowing that it's unlikely this will change his view on mutants. Couple this with the fact that during that fight she'd somehow used telekinesis that has remained entirely out of her grasp since then, and she's in something of a mood when she goes to make herself some tea. It won't do much to make her feel better, but it's something to do while she ponders if she should try to bully Scott out of his slots in the Danger Room so she can practice more.
But Scott is there in the kitchen, a not entirely unpleasant thing but a surprise given how much he's been keeping to himself lately. Emma hums, going to put the kettle on and resisting the urge to read his mind for the moment.
"Mr. Summers," she says, tone teasing, hoping to draw him out a bit. "You don't take your meals in the Danger Room?"
"There's no sink for cleaning up in the Danger Room." He's in his uniform, with the cowl pulled down and his ruby-quartz glasses on instead of the visor—what passes for a casual look these days for Scott. Since the Senator Kelly debacle, he hasn't even left the mansion except for more X-Men business.
"Ah, blessing me with your humor." Her tone is dry. It is funny, though partially because Emma feels like he's being serious. Poor Scott Summers. He probably would just live in the Danger Room if they let him. Producing her favorite mug from the cabinet she hides it in, Emma tosses in a tea bag and leaves it to sit next to the kettle before going to join Scott at the table.
His phone sits on the table next to him, but he's not looking at it, instead eating his soup with the same methodical focus he applies to everything else. For a moment, it seems like he isn't paying Emma any attention at all. Then: "Have you ever thought about going away to college?"
Sitting across from him, arms folded neatly in front of her, she studies him. She eyes his food. Not the best sign. His question, too, suggests what's on his mind besides their most recent mission. Sometimes she thinks she doesn't need to probe his thoughts at all to know what's going on in his head.
"I had considered it, but there's no reason for me to. Worried I'll leave you? Or thinking of leaving yourself?"
Scott's eyes flick up at the first question—not obvious behind his glasses, but he always assumes Emma knows what he's thinking whenever they're in the same room. Telepathy doesn't bother him most of the time. Like with the professor, there's ease in not having to translate certain things into words.
People leave. That's just reality, but Scott can't intellectualize away the twisting, powerless fear of once again losing his family. He comforts himself by putting a mental checkmark next to Emma's name. Emma Frost, Kitty Pryde, Kurt Wagner, Professor Xavier. That's half.
"No. I'm not leaving." He would never trust himself as a normal college student, living in a dorm with humans. "I thought you liked school."
"You could follow her," Emma says somewhat idly with a shrug, the 'her' not needing to be named. Jean probably wouldn't mind in the end, she thinks, even if she'd be displeased initially. Unable to help herself, she checks Scott's mind after this comment, curious of his reaction. It's impossible not to catch the tail end of his worries about their shifting dynamics, though, so she smiles, cat-like but reassuring.
"I do like school, but what's the point of a degree? I have nepotism on my side. Plus, someone should make sure you eat solid food occasionally."
Scott sighs and sets his spoon down. The older X-Men will probably always baby him, despite him now being eighteen and battling alongside them hundreds of times. He's worked hard to prove himself strong and capable and an asset to the team. It's weakness on his part to allow recent events to get to him, but he was trying not to be a burden to anyone.
He considers arguing with Emma about either Jean's plans or his diet, but that's what she's baiting him to do, and he suspects he'd lose that fight. Scott changes tactics.
"You're clever enough to do anything you want, nepotism or no." He studies her. "What's bothering you?"
The kettle boils, and Emma decides to be kind. She stands and goes to make her tea, giving him space, before she says, "You're so far from a burden, Scott." And then, maybe a little less kind. "And I wouldn't feel the need to monitor your eating if you didn't go on soup and cereal jags."
Tea steeping, she returns with her mug to the table, still smiling, amused by his tactics. "I'm wonderfully clever, yes." And here she pauses, thinking, her smile shifting just the slightest amount. "I'll make a deal with you. Eat a proper dinner tonight and I'll tell you what's on my mind."
Scott's shoulders stiffen. Emma isn't the only person in the mansion who feels the need to reassure him, and every time he can't help but feel that he's doing something wrong. Alright, fine, it’s mildly concerning to only eat meals that come from a box or a can. He doesn't know what Emma is getting out of this, but criticism of his personality has been issued, and for once, it's something fixable.
"Deal." He finishes the last of his soup, and looks up again at Emma's inscrutable little smile. "Are you waiting until this evening to see if I keep my word?"
"No, but you'll owe me your entire week's worth of Danger Room reservations if you don't stick to your end of it." Emma continues to skirt along the edges of his thoughts, happy that despite his mood Scott still seems fine with her intrusion. It feels safer to be honest when she knows what someone is thinking. (I promise, Scott says silently.) "Of course, it's mostly the fact that we had to save that pathetic excuse for a man. But…"
After a moment she leans back, her hands, currently cupped around her mug, coming out to rest a few inches away from it. The mug rattles the tiniest amount, enough to make a sound and disrupt the contents, but not enough to even lift off the table. Pathetic, she thinks. "Disappointing," is what she says. "Miniscule, in the grand scheme of things, but still disappointing."
"You've been practicing?" Scott watches her telekinetic attempt with interest. They might all share the same X-Gene, but there's no manual on what powers you get and how to control them. Or when, apparently. Emma might have always had latent telekinesis, or this might be brand new. (The thought that he might one day spontaneously manifest an unforeseen power he can't control keeps him up at night.)
He pushes his bowl aside, giving Emma his full attention. "Have you tried doing it when you're really, really angry with someone?"
Emma laughs a little, her eyes going to the mug as she tries one more time with similar results. Her hands go to curl back around it. "I did it for the first time while we were saving the senator." When she was very pissed. "It was definitely helped along by my anger, but… I've been trying. And certainly been angry while practicing, but it's just this. Barely a shudder."
She sighs, a little more dramatic than necessary to let out her frustrations, though her tone remains almost flippant. "I'll master it with time, but I'm impatient. Especially with what the future could still hold… I can't fight a robot with just telepathy." It's honestly terrifying to her, but she's not about to tell him that.
Scott shuts his eyes (mutant-hunting machines, internment camps, a daughter orphaned) and shakes his head slightly. They changed the course of history. There's no guarantee that all this will come to pass. And if it does, well—they've been granted time to plan for it.
A daughter orphaned. Emma's eyes snap to Scott, curious, already making guesses without peeking further. She doesn't address it immediately, though.
"You'll get it before then," he says firmly. Confidence in his friends has always been easier to muster than confidence in himself. "And you're more than some common soldier, Emma. It won't just be us in danger if the Sentinels are built. When push comes to shove, your telepathy will save more lives than the ability to punch holes through metal."
"I will," Emma agrees, confident in herself and warmed by Scott's true confidence as well. "And I know, we all have our strengths and purposes," An Xavier-ism, or an approximation of one at least. "But I prefer to do the saving. Being saved is such a bore."
She's pulled towards thoughts of being unable to protect herself, unable to protect Manny, separated from the others, a target deemed dangerous but a fish in a barrel when it comes to these things. For a moment she frowns. But she can redirect just as well as Scott. Better, even.
"What's this about a daughter? Is that what's got you all…?" Emma waves a hand dismissively at his empty bowl.
"It's nothing," Scott says, too curt, and the lie is a bright jagged knife in his mind. He and Kitty are the same age, and it was natural for her—the future Kate Pryde—to open up to him in a moment alone. How he'd died long ago, from her perspective. How she'd cared for his daughter, Rachel, a mutant with the power to see into other timelines, like her mother—
Emma can't feel too guilty reading all this when Scott has put it so blatantly on display. What she finds isn't surprising, but it is unexpected that it had been shared with him by their teammate's future self. Personally, she has far more information than she'd ever want about some of Jean and Scott's alternate selves courtesy of the other young woman's mind, but she's never told him a thing. It seemed pointlessly unkind.
"Ah." A small acknowledgement that she's read his thoughts and is digesting them.
Scott picks up his bowl and walks to the sink. Ever diligent, he can be relied upon to clean everyone else's leftover dishes too, so he isn't quitting the kitchen just yet.
As he stands Emma sips at her tea, watching his back and, honestly, feeling a bit bad for him. It's hard to be smitten, have the cosmos tell you it's maybe in the cards, and then still be rejected. It's equally hard for an orphan to know that, in another universe, he'd made an orphan of his own child.
"I'm a good listener, verbally or otherwise, if you'd like to vent. It's not good to bottle it up, you know."
"Get out of my head, Emma." Immediately she retreats, albeit reluctantly, from his mind. Scott scrubs a spoon with too much force, focused on purging every bit of grime from these dishes. This usually works to turn down the volume inside his brain. Even Professor Xavier noted his ability to tune out everything except the immediate goal at hand... so why can't he now?
Because he feels like he's going insane. How does Jean deal with seeing into so many universes without losing her mind, and he can't even handle being told about one? Not like that apocalyptic future will be theirs, anyway. Jean is heading off to Bard College, destined for greater things than fist-fighting criminals, and Scott has a live bomb behind his eyelids and zero purpose outside of the X-Men, and there's nothing to be gained by telling her—
No. He can't keep spiraling like this. "I'm fine," he says shortly. "Your concern is noted. I'll do better from now on."
Even without using her powers, Emma has an idea of what's going on in his head. Abandoning her mug on the table she moves over to the sink to stand alongside him, close but not touching. She's tempted to grab his arm and force him to look at her, frustrated with how he's presumably treating himself, but she keeps her hands to herself. She keeps her mind to herself as well, an equally difficult impulse to resist.
"Do better? Don't be an idiot, Scott. You're allowed to have feelings. Allowed to be rattled by things, be upset about things. Play a perfect, shut-off soldier with Charles if you want, even though I think it's pointless, but don't do it with me."
Scott listens without looking at her, still cleaning. It's not that he isn't tempted. Everyone on the team is a friend and someone he cares deeply about, but there's no one he can really open up to about his petty teenage troubles. The professor, sometimes, but that can be thorny—Scott has to acknowledge that, even as he dislikes how Emma characterizes his relationship with the man who saved him and granted him control over his own life. Would it really make him feel better to vent? Maybe, but Scott is afraid if he unleashes all he keeps inside, he'll never stop.
"You're a caring person. Thank you." He sets dishes on the drying rack, perfectly lined up. "Where do you want to go for dinner tonight? My treat."
Emma can't help but let out an exasperated sigh, hoping that Scott can at least feel her eyes boring into him. Her earlier frustration has sunk back in, settling its focus on the young man beside her. There's no way he's not going to burn himself out if he keeps down this path, and she doesn't want that for a million different reasons. Unfortunately, she figures the best move is probably just to wear him down. She is caring, and it's infuriating.
"Stupid. You'll open up to me of your own accord one day." This comes off more like a threat than anything else.
"And we're going somewhere with a dress code."
There's the faintest smile on his lips as Scott finally turns to face her. He's a difficult one to deal with, but he appreciates that people still try, even if he's poor at showing it. Especially Emma—glamorous, imperious Emma—who almost certainly could be having more fun with anyone else in the mansion. Maybe she finds amusement in taking on hopeless cases.
"I doubt you'll approve of anything in my closet."
Scott's smile is annoying but endearing. Emma attempts to flick some of the droplets of water in the sink at him with her sorry excuse for telekinesis, but they don't get far and she huffs. Whatever. She has control over this situation, at least. Her own smile returns, sharp and mischievously satisfied, pushing aside her worries and annoyance.
"So what you're saying is we need to go shopping. Perfect. I think we could both use a more extended outing beyond just dinner."
He looks past her to the door. "I booked the Danger Room for this afternoon." For three hours, to be exact, which he's learned is the maximum amount of time he can spend in the Danger Room unsupervised before Professor Xavier will raise concerns. (Three hours in the morning and three hours in the afternoon falls within acceptable parameters, though.)
"But I'm very sad about my telekinesis," Emma complains, a clearly feigned pout in her voice and on her lips as she looks imploringly at Scott. "And this would make me feel better."
She tells herself this is more for him than it is for her, but she could honestly use the distraction.
Scott shakes his head, but the fight was lost the moment he offered to take her out. He willingly indulges his friends a maximum of once per month, and this can be Emma's. (A distant part of him knows that most men don't need their arm twisted to have dinner with Emma Frost, but Scott has never been normal.)
"Let me cancel my sessions and change." He's too responsible to blow off his Danger Room slots without notice. "How long do you need to get ready? Fifteen minutes?"
Emma knows this game of his - the portioned indulgences - but it doesn't make his agreement any less pleasing. They'll both have fun, she'll get out some frustrations by spending her father's money, and Scott will look nice when she drags him to their dinner that there's no way she's letting him pay for.
Her pout quickly shifts back into a grin.
"Such a gentleman. But yes, fifteen minutes is fine. I'll meet you out front, and you'd better not make me wait."
"I'm always on time," Scott answers, so seriously that it's not clear if he's joking or not. He heads out, but pauses with one hand on the door frame, looking back at her. "Is this restaurant going to wipe out my savings?"
He'll still do it. He promised. But he likes to be forewarned of the dangers when embarking on a new mission.
"Of course you are," Emma replies, tone a little patronizing on purpose, pushing down her urge to laugh. She hopes he can lighten up someday, but getting there will surely be a process. In fact, they're working on it right now. As he pauses at the doorway she watches him fondly, already imagining what clothes she's going to force him to try on.
"I'd never ruin you financially. Don't you trust me?"
"Only in every other way." Still deadpan, and Scott disappears out the door before Emma can see him smile.
WHEN: 2019, soon after Days of Future Past
WHERE: The kitchen at the Institute
WHAT: Emma and Scott are both dealing with some revelations they're not fond of following the Days of Future Past plot. This devolves into going shopping and getting dinner.
WARNINGS: None!
Saving Robert Kelly feels like less of an achievement than it actually is - Emma had seen that Kitty and Jean were right about the damage his death would do, but it still leaves a bitter taste in her mouth knowing that it's unlikely this will change his view on mutants. Couple this with the fact that during that fight she'd somehow used telekinesis that has remained entirely out of her grasp since then, and she's in something of a mood when she goes to make herself some tea. It won't do much to make her feel better, but it's something to do while she ponders if she should try to bully Scott out of his slots in the Danger Room so she can practice more.
But Scott is there in the kitchen, a not entirely unpleasant thing but a surprise given how much he's been keeping to himself lately. Emma hums, going to put the kettle on and resisting the urge to read his mind for the moment.
"Mr. Summers," she says, tone teasing, hoping to draw him out a bit. "You don't take your meals in the Danger Room?"
"There's no sink for cleaning up in the Danger Room." He's in his uniform, with the cowl pulled down and his ruby-quartz glasses on instead of the visor—what passes for a casual look these days for Scott. Since the Senator Kelly debacle, he hasn't even left the mansion except for more X-Men business.
"Ah, blessing me with your humor." Her tone is dry. It is funny, though partially because Emma feels like he's being serious. Poor Scott Summers. He probably would just live in the Danger Room if they let him. Producing her favorite mug from the cabinet she hides it in, Emma tosses in a tea bag and leaves it to sit next to the kettle before going to join Scott at the table.
His phone sits on the table next to him, but he's not looking at it, instead eating his soup with the same methodical focus he applies to everything else. For a moment, it seems like he isn't paying Emma any attention at all. Then: "Have you ever thought about going away to college?"
Sitting across from him, arms folded neatly in front of her, she studies him. She eyes his food. Not the best sign. His question, too, suggests what's on his mind besides their most recent mission. Sometimes she thinks she doesn't need to probe his thoughts at all to know what's going on in his head.
"I had considered it, but there's no reason for me to. Worried I'll leave you? Or thinking of leaving yourself?"
Scott's eyes flick up at the first question—not obvious behind his glasses, but he always assumes Emma knows what he's thinking whenever they're in the same room. Telepathy doesn't bother him most of the time. Like with the professor, there's ease in not having to translate certain things into words.
People leave. That's just reality, but Scott can't intellectualize away the twisting, powerless fear of once again losing his family. He comforts himself by putting a mental checkmark next to Emma's name. Emma Frost, Kitty Pryde, Kurt Wagner, Professor Xavier. That's half.
"No. I'm not leaving." He would never trust himself as a normal college student, living in a dorm with humans. "I thought you liked school."
"You could follow her," Emma says somewhat idly with a shrug, the 'her' not needing to be named. Jean probably wouldn't mind in the end, she thinks, even if she'd be displeased initially. Unable to help herself, she checks Scott's mind after this comment, curious of his reaction. It's impossible not to catch the tail end of his worries about their shifting dynamics, though, so she smiles, cat-like but reassuring.
"I do like school, but what's the point of a degree? I have nepotism on my side. Plus, someone should make sure you eat solid food occasionally."
Scott sighs and sets his spoon down. The older X-Men will probably always baby him, despite him now being eighteen and battling alongside them hundreds of times. He's worked hard to prove himself strong and capable and an asset to the team. It's weakness on his part to allow recent events to get to him, but he was trying not to be a burden to anyone.
He considers arguing with Emma about either Jean's plans or his diet, but that's what she's baiting him to do, and he suspects he'd lose that fight. Scott changes tactics.
"You're clever enough to do anything you want, nepotism or no." He studies her. "What's bothering you?"
The kettle boils, and Emma decides to be kind. She stands and goes to make her tea, giving him space, before she says, "You're so far from a burden, Scott." And then, maybe a little less kind. "And I wouldn't feel the need to monitor your eating if you didn't go on soup and cereal jags."
Tea steeping, she returns with her mug to the table, still smiling, amused by his tactics. "I'm wonderfully clever, yes." And here she pauses, thinking, her smile shifting just the slightest amount. "I'll make a deal with you. Eat a proper dinner tonight and I'll tell you what's on my mind."
Scott's shoulders stiffen. Emma isn't the only person in the mansion who feels the need to reassure him, and every time he can't help but feel that he's doing something wrong. Alright, fine, it’s mildly concerning to only eat meals that come from a box or a can. He doesn't know what Emma is getting out of this, but criticism of his personality has been issued, and for once, it's something fixable.
"Deal." He finishes the last of his soup, and looks up again at Emma's inscrutable little smile. "Are you waiting until this evening to see if I keep my word?"
"No, but you'll owe me your entire week's worth of Danger Room reservations if you don't stick to your end of it." Emma continues to skirt along the edges of his thoughts, happy that despite his mood Scott still seems fine with her intrusion. It feels safer to be honest when she knows what someone is thinking. (I promise, Scott says silently.) "Of course, it's mostly the fact that we had to save that pathetic excuse for a man. But…"
After a moment she leans back, her hands, currently cupped around her mug, coming out to rest a few inches away from it. The mug rattles the tiniest amount, enough to make a sound and disrupt the contents, but not enough to even lift off the table. Pathetic, she thinks. "Disappointing," is what she says. "Miniscule, in the grand scheme of things, but still disappointing."
"You've been practicing?" Scott watches her telekinetic attempt with interest. They might all share the same X-Gene, but there's no manual on what powers you get and how to control them. Or when, apparently. Emma might have always had latent telekinesis, or this might be brand new. (The thought that he might one day spontaneously manifest an unforeseen power he can't control keeps him up at night.)
He pushes his bowl aside, giving Emma his full attention. "Have you tried doing it when you're really, really angry with someone?"
Emma laughs a little, her eyes going to the mug as she tries one more time with similar results. Her hands go to curl back around it. "I did it for the first time while we were saving the senator." When she was very pissed. "It was definitely helped along by my anger, but… I've been trying. And certainly been angry while practicing, but it's just this. Barely a shudder."
She sighs, a little more dramatic than necessary to let out her frustrations, though her tone remains almost flippant. "I'll master it with time, but I'm impatient. Especially with what the future could still hold… I can't fight a robot with just telepathy." It's honestly terrifying to her, but she's not about to tell him that.
Scott shuts his eyes (mutant-hunting machines, internment camps, a daughter orphaned) and shakes his head slightly. They changed the course of history. There's no guarantee that all this will come to pass. And if it does, well—they've been granted time to plan for it.
A daughter orphaned. Emma's eyes snap to Scott, curious, already making guesses without peeking further. She doesn't address it immediately, though.
"You'll get it before then," he says firmly. Confidence in his friends has always been easier to muster than confidence in himself. "And you're more than some common soldier, Emma. It won't just be us in danger if the Sentinels are built. When push comes to shove, your telepathy will save more lives than the ability to punch holes through metal."
"I will," Emma agrees, confident in herself and warmed by Scott's true confidence as well. "And I know, we all have our strengths and purposes," An Xavier-ism, or an approximation of one at least. "But I prefer to do the saving. Being saved is such a bore."
She's pulled towards thoughts of being unable to protect herself, unable to protect Manny, separated from the others, a target deemed dangerous but a fish in a barrel when it comes to these things. For a moment she frowns. But she can redirect just as well as Scott. Better, even.
"What's this about a daughter? Is that what's got you all…?" Emma waves a hand dismissively at his empty bowl.
"It's nothing," Scott says, too curt, and the lie is a bright jagged knife in his mind. He and Kitty are the same age, and it was natural for her—the future Kate Pryde—to open up to him in a moment alone. How he'd died long ago, from her perspective. How she'd cared for his daughter, Rachel, a mutant with the power to see into other timelines, like her mother—
Emma can't feel too guilty reading all this when Scott has put it so blatantly on display. What she finds isn't surprising, but it is unexpected that it had been shared with him by their teammate's future self. Personally, she has far more information than she'd ever want about some of Jean and Scott's alternate selves courtesy of the other young woman's mind, but she's never told him a thing. It seemed pointlessly unkind.
"Ah." A small acknowledgement that she's read his thoughts and is digesting them.
Scott picks up his bowl and walks to the sink. Ever diligent, he can be relied upon to clean everyone else's leftover dishes too, so he isn't quitting the kitchen just yet.
As he stands Emma sips at her tea, watching his back and, honestly, feeling a bit bad for him. It's hard to be smitten, have the cosmos tell you it's maybe in the cards, and then still be rejected. It's equally hard for an orphan to know that, in another universe, he'd made an orphan of his own child.
"I'm a good listener, verbally or otherwise, if you'd like to vent. It's not good to bottle it up, you know."
"Get out of my head, Emma." Immediately she retreats, albeit reluctantly, from his mind. Scott scrubs a spoon with too much force, focused on purging every bit of grime from these dishes. This usually works to turn down the volume inside his brain. Even Professor Xavier noted his ability to tune out everything except the immediate goal at hand... so why can't he now?
Because he feels like he's going insane. How does Jean deal with seeing into so many universes without losing her mind, and he can't even handle being told about one? Not like that apocalyptic future will be theirs, anyway. Jean is heading off to Bard College, destined for greater things than fist-fighting criminals, and Scott has a live bomb behind his eyelids and zero purpose outside of the X-Men, and there's nothing to be gained by telling her—
No. He can't keep spiraling like this. "I'm fine," he says shortly. "Your concern is noted. I'll do better from now on."
Even without using her powers, Emma has an idea of what's going on in his head. Abandoning her mug on the table she moves over to the sink to stand alongside him, close but not touching. She's tempted to grab his arm and force him to look at her, frustrated with how he's presumably treating himself, but she keeps her hands to herself. She keeps her mind to herself as well, an equally difficult impulse to resist.
"Do better? Don't be an idiot, Scott. You're allowed to have feelings. Allowed to be rattled by things, be upset about things. Play a perfect, shut-off soldier with Charles if you want, even though I think it's pointless, but don't do it with me."
Scott listens without looking at her, still cleaning. It's not that he isn't tempted. Everyone on the team is a friend and someone he cares deeply about, but there's no one he can really open up to about his petty teenage troubles. The professor, sometimes, but that can be thorny—Scott has to acknowledge that, even as he dislikes how Emma characterizes his relationship with the man who saved him and granted him control over his own life. Would it really make him feel better to vent? Maybe, but Scott is afraid if he unleashes all he keeps inside, he'll never stop.
"You're a caring person. Thank you." He sets dishes on the drying rack, perfectly lined up. "Where do you want to go for dinner tonight? My treat."
Emma can't help but let out an exasperated sigh, hoping that Scott can at least feel her eyes boring into him. Her earlier frustration has sunk back in, settling its focus on the young man beside her. There's no way he's not going to burn himself out if he keeps down this path, and she doesn't want that for a million different reasons. Unfortunately, she figures the best move is probably just to wear him down. She is caring, and it's infuriating.
"Stupid. You'll open up to me of your own accord one day." This comes off more like a threat than anything else.
"And we're going somewhere with a dress code."
There's the faintest smile on his lips as Scott finally turns to face her. He's a difficult one to deal with, but he appreciates that people still try, even if he's poor at showing it. Especially Emma—glamorous, imperious Emma—who almost certainly could be having more fun with anyone else in the mansion. Maybe she finds amusement in taking on hopeless cases.
"I doubt you'll approve of anything in my closet."
Scott's smile is annoying but endearing. Emma attempts to flick some of the droplets of water in the sink at him with her sorry excuse for telekinesis, but they don't get far and she huffs. Whatever. She has control over this situation, at least. Her own smile returns, sharp and mischievously satisfied, pushing aside her worries and annoyance.
"So what you're saying is we need to go shopping. Perfect. I think we could both use a more extended outing beyond just dinner."
He looks past her to the door. "I booked the Danger Room for this afternoon." For three hours, to be exact, which he's learned is the maximum amount of time he can spend in the Danger Room unsupervised before Professor Xavier will raise concerns. (Three hours in the morning and three hours in the afternoon falls within acceptable parameters, though.)
"But I'm very sad about my telekinesis," Emma complains, a clearly feigned pout in her voice and on her lips as she looks imploringly at Scott. "And this would make me feel better."
She tells herself this is more for him than it is for her, but she could honestly use the distraction.
Scott shakes his head, but the fight was lost the moment he offered to take her out. He willingly indulges his friends a maximum of once per month, and this can be Emma's. (A distant part of him knows that most men don't need their arm twisted to have dinner with Emma Frost, but Scott has never been normal.)
"Let me cancel my sessions and change." He's too responsible to blow off his Danger Room slots without notice. "How long do you need to get ready? Fifteen minutes?"
Emma knows this game of his - the portioned indulgences - but it doesn't make his agreement any less pleasing. They'll both have fun, she'll get out some frustrations by spending her father's money, and Scott will look nice when she drags him to their dinner that there's no way she's letting him pay for.
Her pout quickly shifts back into a grin.
"Such a gentleman. But yes, fifteen minutes is fine. I'll meet you out front, and you'd better not make me wait."
"I'm always on time," Scott answers, so seriously that it's not clear if he's joking or not. He heads out, but pauses with one hand on the door frame, looking back at her. "Is this restaurant going to wipe out my savings?"
He'll still do it. He promised. But he likes to be forewarned of the dangers when embarking on a new mission.
"Of course you are," Emma replies, tone a little patronizing on purpose, pushing down her urge to laugh. She hopes he can lighten up someday, but getting there will surely be a process. In fact, they're working on it right now. As he pauses at the doorway she watches him fondly, already imagining what clothes she's going to force him to try on.
"I'd never ruin you financially. Don't you trust me?"
"Only in every other way." Still deadpan, and Scott disappears out the door before Emma can see him smile.