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WHO: Scott Summers & Emma Frost
WHEN: 3/28, after the dream meeting
WHERE: Kitchen, Xavier Institute
WHAT: Emma tells Scott about her awkward encounter with Manny. They also finally use their words to discuss their relationship.
WARNINGS: Dumb romo bullshit.
Scott lines up the mugs with military precision after he finishes cleaning and drying them. No one expected him to clean up alone after the meeting, and only allowed him to after he'd ordered everyone out. He wonders if it was because they understood he needed this time to himself, or because they'd seen something in his face or heard something in his voice belonging to the man in his dream. Even knowing who's haunting him, Scott has a hard time telling apart the things they'd say.
Teaspoons next. He buffs each one to a shine, letting the repetitive motion clear out the noise in his head. There's probably something wrong with his obsessive perfectionism, but Scott has always found this kind of work soothing. Clearly defined steps, tangible proof of a task well done, the world brought under control.
He doesn't look up when he hears someone enter the kitchen behind him. Even blind, he'd know her from the charge in the air, and the caress inside his mind. "I'll be done soon."
Emma brushes past Scott on her way in, heading to the table and pushing herself up onto it to sit with her legs hanging, ankles crossed. In a pink silken slip and matching robe, she still looks rather drowsy despite the excitement. Her mind, though, is sharp. She feels a little bad that she's made the discussion of Monday more of a big deal than it probably should be, but she's just on edge. Like everyone else. Still, she makes an effort to press soothing feelings into Scott's mind.
"There's no rush. I assume we won't be getting much more sleep tonight." She hums, swinging her legs a little, watching him work. "Shall we discuss, then? Or do you want me to let you finish?"
Scott keeps cleaning, nothing but serious intent on his face, but Emma can read in his mind how he watches her from out of the corner of his glasses, lingering on her bare legs. He's worried—of course he's worried—and a little irritated with her, and a lot irritated with himself. He trusts her. He told her he doesn't expect her to be totally open with him. He can't be annoyed because it feels like Emma doesn't trust him, or she thinks he's too fragile to hear whatever this is without her psychic reassurance.
"No reason to wait." Scott inwardly winces at the flatness of his voice. He's not even mad at her, really. He just feels like he's going crazy. At any moment, this conversation could be interrupted by one or both of them saying something ridiculous. "I'm listening." He sets the dish towel down, and turns to Emma.
She's definitely gone about this the wrong way; Scott's mind continues to reaffirm that. It's too late now to do anything about it, so she simply takes it as a learning experience and lets out a little puff of air, watching as he turns.
"I'm afraid I've turned this into something worse than it is by being cryptic." There's a hint of remorse in her tone. Emma had just wanted to be able to read him with no distractions, to confirm everything went over smoothly, and now it's all muddled up anyways. She should just get on with it.
Wrinkling her nose and looking a little disgusted (because she is), she continues. "Manny - whatever strange version of him that was in his dream - is… involved with the version of me there, I suppose. And so he hit on me" (an approximation) "on Monday. Nothing really happened, but I wanted to warn you, in case he tried anything else. And because it seemed strange to not tell you."
Scott folds his arms, taking in this information in silence. Thinking first of his conversation with Manuel in his office yesterday, and if he'd missed any signs of awkwardness there (no more than the rest of this week). Then quickly reviewing his interactions with Emma since Monday (at least three whole days ago), and a selection of significant moments observed between Emma and Manny (dramatic) in all the years he's known them. Then he just looks at Emma, noting how the face she's making is really cute (which Scott would never say to her, if he could help it).
"Is this going to cause problems?" he finally asks. For team cohesion, and for their friendship.
Emma knows immediately that this is going to be anticlimactic, which is good but also a little embarrassing with how she'd accidentally built it up. Of course this isn't any sort of problem. She knows better. But she's feeling so out of sorts with how things are right now that everything feels worse than it actually is, and, honestly, she's a little off balance with how much she wants things to work with Scott. That nervousness will settle, she knows. But right now, combined with everything else, it can apparently wreak some havoc. She bites back her silly need to defend her way of going about this.
Scott's thought about her expression being cute makes her huff another little sigh, both endeared and the tiniest bit annoyed, before she replies.
"It won't. We've been keeping our distance and while it's just… revolting, none of the discomfort will linger once this is resolved." Her toes curl a little, a release of some small bit of tension. "I meant to say something sooner, but it got away from me."
"Understandable that you'd be distracted. Manny is a handsome guy." Scott looks stony and his voice is bland, but he's teasing—amusement is written all over his thoughts, even as he's doing his best not to laugh. It isn't really funny. Manuel is acting against his will, and if it was Scott and Kitty suffering through this, he can imagine how viscerally disgusted they'd both be. But it's sweet of Emma to worry so much about warning him, when he's not even technically her boyfriend.
(Although it hadn't occurred to Scott until now what he might be saying or doing if Jean was actually around, which is so loaded that he immediately ejects this entire chain of thought from his mind.)
He picks up the towel again, and the next teaspoon in the sink. "I think Shinobi Shaw killed me in Manuel's dream," he says, for a distraction. "I don't have to worry about that, do I?"
Forcing a glower by the time Scott turns back to the sink, Emma takes off her robe and balls it up to throw at the back of his head. Honestly, this is all a relief, and she can feel the tension unwinding from her. But also, he's stupid for making fun of her for something that he acknowledges is uncomfortable, something she tried to be thoughtful about. So, that bit of retribution is in order. And as quickly as he discards his thoughts about Jean she does too, uninterested in getting tied up in that.
Despite the thrown robe, she isn't particularly annoyed or bothered and her tone reflects that when she speaks.
"Yes, I saw, and I'm not fond of it; I killed him in mine, so maybe it evens out. But you don't have to worry about him here. I'm sure he has no interest in you since you're apparently not my boyfriend."
This is the tiniest bit unfair, given that Emma has never attempted to discuss this with him - but as with most things in Scott's mind, she's aware of his conversation with Illyana where he'd accepted her being called his girlfriend. Mentally going back on that seems unfair too, so she's simply pushing the issue. Technically he was the one who brought it up anyways.
Dating a telepath is an endless mine field of conversational blunders you didn't even know you were making. Scott doesn't object to having something thrown at his head—probably deserved—but he can never be totally sure which of his thoughts have gotten him in trouble. Is that "apparently" incorrect, anyway? They've only been dating for a few weeks, and they've never once actually discussed it.
A discussion which could be had now. But when Scott turns back to Emma, this is not at all where his interest lies. "Why did you kill him?"
Emma practically groans, though it's mostly caught up in a heavy sigh. She knows she needs to be direct, but she still occasionally plays coy. A mistake, obviously, but one that's easy to correct.
"He was getting in the way of some Hellfire business, trying to outmaneuver Sebastian. I'm sure he'll try it here at some point too." There's a glimmer of discomfort in her as she recalls the completely casual way she had executed him, but she shakes it off. Her focus, in opposition to Scott's, is on the other part of their conversation. Any of her confidence that had wavered earlier because of nerves has strengthened again, and she decides they don't actually need to discuss anything.
"You're my boyfriend," she simply asserts.
"Okay," Scott answers, after a pause. If Emma couldn't read his mind this verbal response would be somewhat disappointing. But, luckily, she can, so instead it makes her smile the slightest bit. He's not thinking about spoons or Shaws or his own self-doubts. His attention, for once, is focused solely on Emma, and exactly how she looks and sounds while telling him he's her boyfriend. Nothing about this is surprising. They've spent every night together this week, and it's been clear from the start that their feelings aren't casual. But Scott still has to duck his head, hiding the beginnings of an undeniably happy smile.
Her silk robe is at his feet. He picks it up carefully, and holds it out to Emma as he steps closer. "At the risk of sounding old-fashioned," he begins, "if I'm with you, I'm not interested in a second girlfriend."
Reaching towards the offered robe, Emma instead grabs Scott's wrist and pulls him closer still, feeling embarrassingly happy herself. This eases some worries she didn't even know she'd had. It's very clear how stupid not talking about any of this had been, but there's no reason to admit that right now. Instead she focuses on his words, amused agreement winding through his mind - she has no desire to share or split her focus. She only wants him.
Still. "You're sure you don't want to ask Kitty?" A little more retribution for earlier.
On some level Scott knows they've rushed into this too fast, and that reckless speed is part of his pattern in relationships. Cautious always, except when it comes to women. But he doesn't want to worry about that right now, not while Emma is touching him and sharing her thoughts with him. He hadn't really known she wanted him like that. He hadn't thought he could hope for it. (There's a small sense of apology in his mind, that she hadn't made this clearer.) The kitchen is too public for kissing, but he's imagining it as he leans in towards her, even with her awful joke.
"That's inappropriate. She's my daughter-in-law." An equally awful joke in return, and it's there in his mind, the whole story of their confusion over Rachel, and fraught circumstances of him finding out. (They'd all known her for years. He was confused, Jean was upset, and Rachel—) The smile drops from Scott's face. "I shouldn't have said that. You can't make fun of Kitty."
About to hazard a quick, chaste kiss (Scott is leaning in and thinking about it, after all), Emma stops abruptly at his joke and the thoughts in his mind. She leans back, only so that she doesn't laugh right in his face.
"Oh my god. Scott, that's so bizarre." As though everything going on with all of them right now isn't. It's finally starting to come out the other side as funny.
"I should absolutely be able to make fun of her. Everyone knows nothing is a secret from me for long." She does try to steal that kiss.
Scott sighs, but he lets her steal it, just as he's probably going to let her read all of his secrets and embarrass Kitty later. "Do it for me," he asks as he straightens up, pulling himself just out of kissing range. "I have to try sometimes to stop you from being terrible." Despite how much he enjoys hearing Emma laugh, and how he's still horribly in love with her.
"Do you, though?" Emma leans in somewhat as Scott straightens, but for the moment doesn't try anything else not fit for the public eye. She's feeling almost giddy, and while her expression remains calmly mischievous, her eyes are a little brighter and the touch of her mind is warm and deeply affectionate. Smitten, even. She loves that he is in love with her. It's too much to think past that for now.
"I suppose I can consider behaving. For you. I do think I should get something in return, though."
"Are you saying I'm not doing enough?" He's all seriousness, no humor in his voice or ramrod-straight back or the set of his mouth, even as he basks in Emma's transmitted feelings. "If I've been remiss in my duties, you should file a report."
There are still two unpolished spoons in the sink, but suddenly Scott doesn't care. He's devising a plan of attack to scoop her up and carry her back to her room.
The only sign that Emma is aware of Scott's intentions is the removal of her hand from his wrist, after which she quickly ignores that train of thought in his mind, enjoying a bit of surprise. The robe is taken from him and set aside as she feigns thoughtfulness, even as she's incapable of suppressing her smile. There's something overly satisfying about being able to distract Scott from dishes, the absurdity of which doesn't dampen the feeling in the least. This is shared readily in his mind as well.
"I'm very particular so I have been taking notes. Quite a few." She had actually attempted to write something, but it had been so peppered with opinions about Marshal Summers she'd abandoned the exercise. There's plenty of time to flirt with paperwork when their minds have been righted. "I'll try to be succinct, though. Two pages max."
Scott is used to Emma's presence in his head—quiet and unobtrusive most of the time, but sometimes contributing her opinion or trying to ease his anxieties. It feels different now, somehow. Less measured, less deliberate. Just Emma's unfiltered joy at being in this silly moment with him, and he wonders if anyone else has been allowed to see this much of her. Knowing her mind feels like a rare privilege.
Even so, his hand pauses on the curve of her knee, as Scott is pulled back towards solemnity instead of more teasing. He can't help it. "You can tell me anything. I can handle it."
Emma's mind remains relatively open, and it's uncomfortable but freeing in its own way. Most of the thoughts are more a sense of things than words. She is appreciative, trusts him, trusts that he is being honest when he says she can tell him anything. But still, there is a sense of apprehension, not because of him in particular but because of upbringing and habit. She rarely if ever shows her soft underbelly, even to Manuel. She needs more time, but this is a start. This is, indeed, rare.
This all passes in an instant and still, outwardly, she is even-keeled, her eyes trained on him. Her hand shifts to lightly rest on his. "No reason to be serious right now, darling. I think we've had enough of that recently."
It's a rebuff of sorts, but Scott understands. He doesn't have an easy time letting people in either; Emma only knows as much as she does because she can literally read his mind. He only wanted to say it. His feelings for her are steadier than his history—or alternate realities—might suggest. So long as he has a choice, he chooses her.
Too serious, again. Scott pulls his hand from Emma's, only so he can slip it under her thighs and pick her up in his arms. "Okay," he agrees, backing out of the kitchen. "No more thinking."
Scott's seriousness is met with a touch of Emma's own, a gentle there's plenty of time in reference to her learning to open up. There's time because she's committed, and her own feelings run deep and equally steady. The slightest tinge of embarrassment accompanies this, but she doesn't shy away from it. Afterwards, she presses more of her trust into his mind as he lifts her up.
"I would love to not think anymore. There are better things to get up to."
WHEN: 3/28, after the dream meeting
WHERE: Kitchen, Xavier Institute
WHAT: Emma tells Scott about her awkward encounter with Manny. They also finally use their words to discuss their relationship.
WARNINGS: Dumb romo bullshit.
Scott lines up the mugs with military precision after he finishes cleaning and drying them. No one expected him to clean up alone after the meeting, and only allowed him to after he'd ordered everyone out. He wonders if it was because they understood he needed this time to himself, or because they'd seen something in his face or heard something in his voice belonging to the man in his dream. Even knowing who's haunting him, Scott has a hard time telling apart the things they'd say.
Teaspoons next. He buffs each one to a shine, letting the repetitive motion clear out the noise in his head. There's probably something wrong with his obsessive perfectionism, but Scott has always found this kind of work soothing. Clearly defined steps, tangible proof of a task well done, the world brought under control.
He doesn't look up when he hears someone enter the kitchen behind him. Even blind, he'd know her from the charge in the air, and the caress inside his mind. "I'll be done soon."
Emma brushes past Scott on her way in, heading to the table and pushing herself up onto it to sit with her legs hanging, ankles crossed. In a pink silken slip and matching robe, she still looks rather drowsy despite the excitement. Her mind, though, is sharp. She feels a little bad that she's made the discussion of Monday more of a big deal than it probably should be, but she's just on edge. Like everyone else. Still, she makes an effort to press soothing feelings into Scott's mind.
"There's no rush. I assume we won't be getting much more sleep tonight." She hums, swinging her legs a little, watching him work. "Shall we discuss, then? Or do you want me to let you finish?"
Scott keeps cleaning, nothing but serious intent on his face, but Emma can read in his mind how he watches her from out of the corner of his glasses, lingering on her bare legs. He's worried—of course he's worried—and a little irritated with her, and a lot irritated with himself. He trusts her. He told her he doesn't expect her to be totally open with him. He can't be annoyed because it feels like Emma doesn't trust him, or she thinks he's too fragile to hear whatever this is without her psychic reassurance.
"No reason to wait." Scott inwardly winces at the flatness of his voice. He's not even mad at her, really. He just feels like he's going crazy. At any moment, this conversation could be interrupted by one or both of them saying something ridiculous. "I'm listening." He sets the dish towel down, and turns to Emma.
She's definitely gone about this the wrong way; Scott's mind continues to reaffirm that. It's too late now to do anything about it, so she simply takes it as a learning experience and lets out a little puff of air, watching as he turns.
"I'm afraid I've turned this into something worse than it is by being cryptic." There's a hint of remorse in her tone. Emma had just wanted to be able to read him with no distractions, to confirm everything went over smoothly, and now it's all muddled up anyways. She should just get on with it.
Wrinkling her nose and looking a little disgusted (because she is), she continues. "Manny - whatever strange version of him that was in his dream - is… involved with the version of me there, I suppose. And so he hit on me" (an approximation) "on Monday. Nothing really happened, but I wanted to warn you, in case he tried anything else. And because it seemed strange to not tell you."
Scott folds his arms, taking in this information in silence. Thinking first of his conversation with Manuel in his office yesterday, and if he'd missed any signs of awkwardness there (no more than the rest of this week). Then quickly reviewing his interactions with Emma since Monday (at least three whole days ago), and a selection of significant moments observed between Emma and Manny (dramatic) in all the years he's known them. Then he just looks at Emma, noting how the face she's making is really cute (which Scott would never say to her, if he could help it).
"Is this going to cause problems?" he finally asks. For team cohesion, and for their friendship.
Emma knows immediately that this is going to be anticlimactic, which is good but also a little embarrassing with how she'd accidentally built it up. Of course this isn't any sort of problem. She knows better. But she's feeling so out of sorts with how things are right now that everything feels worse than it actually is, and, honestly, she's a little off balance with how much she wants things to work with Scott. That nervousness will settle, she knows. But right now, combined with everything else, it can apparently wreak some havoc. She bites back her silly need to defend her way of going about this.
Scott's thought about her expression being cute makes her huff another little sigh, both endeared and the tiniest bit annoyed, before she replies.
"It won't. We've been keeping our distance and while it's just… revolting, none of the discomfort will linger once this is resolved." Her toes curl a little, a release of some small bit of tension. "I meant to say something sooner, but it got away from me."
"Understandable that you'd be distracted. Manny is a handsome guy." Scott looks stony and his voice is bland, but he's teasing—amusement is written all over his thoughts, even as he's doing his best not to laugh. It isn't really funny. Manuel is acting against his will, and if it was Scott and Kitty suffering through this, he can imagine how viscerally disgusted they'd both be. But it's sweet of Emma to worry so much about warning him, when he's not even technically her boyfriend.
(Although it hadn't occurred to Scott until now what he might be saying or doing if Jean was actually around, which is so loaded that he immediately ejects this entire chain of thought from his mind.)
He picks up the towel again, and the next teaspoon in the sink. "I think Shinobi Shaw killed me in Manuel's dream," he says, for a distraction. "I don't have to worry about that, do I?"
Forcing a glower by the time Scott turns back to the sink, Emma takes off her robe and balls it up to throw at the back of his head. Honestly, this is all a relief, and she can feel the tension unwinding from her. But also, he's stupid for making fun of her for something that he acknowledges is uncomfortable, something she tried to be thoughtful about. So, that bit of retribution is in order. And as quickly as he discards his thoughts about Jean she does too, uninterested in getting tied up in that.
Despite the thrown robe, she isn't particularly annoyed or bothered and her tone reflects that when she speaks.
"Yes, I saw, and I'm not fond of it; I killed him in mine, so maybe it evens out. But you don't have to worry about him here. I'm sure he has no interest in you since you're apparently not my boyfriend."
This is the tiniest bit unfair, given that Emma has never attempted to discuss this with him - but as with most things in Scott's mind, she's aware of his conversation with Illyana where he'd accepted her being called his girlfriend. Mentally going back on that seems unfair too, so she's simply pushing the issue. Technically he was the one who brought it up anyways.
Dating a telepath is an endless mine field of conversational blunders you didn't even know you were making. Scott doesn't object to having something thrown at his head—probably deserved—but he can never be totally sure which of his thoughts have gotten him in trouble. Is that "apparently" incorrect, anyway? They've only been dating for a few weeks, and they've never once actually discussed it.
A discussion which could be had now. But when Scott turns back to Emma, this is not at all where his interest lies. "Why did you kill him?"
Emma practically groans, though it's mostly caught up in a heavy sigh. She knows she needs to be direct, but she still occasionally plays coy. A mistake, obviously, but one that's easy to correct.
"He was getting in the way of some Hellfire business, trying to outmaneuver Sebastian. I'm sure he'll try it here at some point too." There's a glimmer of discomfort in her as she recalls the completely casual way she had executed him, but she shakes it off. Her focus, in opposition to Scott's, is on the other part of their conversation. Any of her confidence that had wavered earlier because of nerves has strengthened again, and she decides they don't actually need to discuss anything.
"You're my boyfriend," she simply asserts.
"Okay," Scott answers, after a pause. If Emma couldn't read his mind this verbal response would be somewhat disappointing. But, luckily, she can, so instead it makes her smile the slightest bit. He's not thinking about spoons or Shaws or his own self-doubts. His attention, for once, is focused solely on Emma, and exactly how she looks and sounds while telling him he's her boyfriend. Nothing about this is surprising. They've spent every night together this week, and it's been clear from the start that their feelings aren't casual. But Scott still has to duck his head, hiding the beginnings of an undeniably happy smile.
Her silk robe is at his feet. He picks it up carefully, and holds it out to Emma as he steps closer. "At the risk of sounding old-fashioned," he begins, "if I'm with you, I'm not interested in a second girlfriend."
Reaching towards the offered robe, Emma instead grabs Scott's wrist and pulls him closer still, feeling embarrassingly happy herself. This eases some worries she didn't even know she'd had. It's very clear how stupid not talking about any of this had been, but there's no reason to admit that right now. Instead she focuses on his words, amused agreement winding through his mind - she has no desire to share or split her focus. She only wants him.
Still. "You're sure you don't want to ask Kitty?" A little more retribution for earlier.
On some level Scott knows they've rushed into this too fast, and that reckless speed is part of his pattern in relationships. Cautious always, except when it comes to women. But he doesn't want to worry about that right now, not while Emma is touching him and sharing her thoughts with him. He hadn't really known she wanted him like that. He hadn't thought he could hope for it. (There's a small sense of apology in his mind, that she hadn't made this clearer.) The kitchen is too public for kissing, but he's imagining it as he leans in towards her, even with her awful joke.
"That's inappropriate. She's my daughter-in-law." An equally awful joke in return, and it's there in his mind, the whole story of their confusion over Rachel, and fraught circumstances of him finding out. (They'd all known her for years. He was confused, Jean was upset, and Rachel—) The smile drops from Scott's face. "I shouldn't have said that. You can't make fun of Kitty."
About to hazard a quick, chaste kiss (Scott is leaning in and thinking about it, after all), Emma stops abruptly at his joke and the thoughts in his mind. She leans back, only so that she doesn't laugh right in his face.
"Oh my god. Scott, that's so bizarre." As though everything going on with all of them right now isn't. It's finally starting to come out the other side as funny.
"I should absolutely be able to make fun of her. Everyone knows nothing is a secret from me for long." She does try to steal that kiss.
Scott sighs, but he lets her steal it, just as he's probably going to let her read all of his secrets and embarrass Kitty later. "Do it for me," he asks as he straightens up, pulling himself just out of kissing range. "I have to try sometimes to stop you from being terrible." Despite how much he enjoys hearing Emma laugh, and how he's still horribly in love with her.
"Do you, though?" Emma leans in somewhat as Scott straightens, but for the moment doesn't try anything else not fit for the public eye. She's feeling almost giddy, and while her expression remains calmly mischievous, her eyes are a little brighter and the touch of her mind is warm and deeply affectionate. Smitten, even. She loves that he is in love with her. It's too much to think past that for now.
"I suppose I can consider behaving. For you. I do think I should get something in return, though."
"Are you saying I'm not doing enough?" He's all seriousness, no humor in his voice or ramrod-straight back or the set of his mouth, even as he basks in Emma's transmitted feelings. "If I've been remiss in my duties, you should file a report."
There are still two unpolished spoons in the sink, but suddenly Scott doesn't care. He's devising a plan of attack to scoop her up and carry her back to her room.
The only sign that Emma is aware of Scott's intentions is the removal of her hand from his wrist, after which she quickly ignores that train of thought in his mind, enjoying a bit of surprise. The robe is taken from him and set aside as she feigns thoughtfulness, even as she's incapable of suppressing her smile. There's something overly satisfying about being able to distract Scott from dishes, the absurdity of which doesn't dampen the feeling in the least. This is shared readily in his mind as well.
"I'm very particular so I have been taking notes. Quite a few." She had actually attempted to write something, but it had been so peppered with opinions about Marshal Summers she'd abandoned the exercise. There's plenty of time to flirt with paperwork when their minds have been righted. "I'll try to be succinct, though. Two pages max."
Scott is used to Emma's presence in his head—quiet and unobtrusive most of the time, but sometimes contributing her opinion or trying to ease his anxieties. It feels different now, somehow. Less measured, less deliberate. Just Emma's unfiltered joy at being in this silly moment with him, and he wonders if anyone else has been allowed to see this much of her. Knowing her mind feels like a rare privilege.
Even so, his hand pauses on the curve of her knee, as Scott is pulled back towards solemnity instead of more teasing. He can't help it. "You can tell me anything. I can handle it."
Emma's mind remains relatively open, and it's uncomfortable but freeing in its own way. Most of the thoughts are more a sense of things than words. She is appreciative, trusts him, trusts that he is being honest when he says she can tell him anything. But still, there is a sense of apprehension, not because of him in particular but because of upbringing and habit. She rarely if ever shows her soft underbelly, even to Manuel. She needs more time, but this is a start. This is, indeed, rare.
This all passes in an instant and still, outwardly, she is even-keeled, her eyes trained on him. Her hand shifts to lightly rest on his. "No reason to be serious right now, darling. I think we've had enough of that recently."
It's a rebuff of sorts, but Scott understands. He doesn't have an easy time letting people in either; Emma only knows as much as she does because she can literally read his mind. He only wanted to say it. His feelings for her are steadier than his history—or alternate realities—might suggest. So long as he has a choice, he chooses her.
Too serious, again. Scott pulls his hand from Emma's, only so he can slip it under her thighs and pick her up in his arms. "Okay," he agrees, backing out of the kitchen. "No more thinking."
Scott's seriousness is met with a touch of Emma's own, a gentle there's plenty of time in reference to her learning to open up. There's time because she's committed, and her own feelings run deep and equally steady. The slightest tinge of embarrassment accompanies this, but she doesn't shy away from it. Afterwards, she presses more of her trust into his mind as he lifts her up.
"I would love to not think anymore. There are better things to get up to."