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WHO: Scott Summers & Emma Frost
WHEN: July 9th, witching hour
WHERE: Scott's bedroom, Xavier Institute
WHAT: Scott has a nightmare. Emma wants to talk.
WARNINGS: Brief allusion to Scott's secret traumatic laser beam eyeball orphanage surgery backstory. Too many feelings.
Sleep is the closest Scott ever comes to relaxing. A weighted mask covers half of his face, but his jaw is no longer clenched, and his usual rigid control eases to near-carelessness. Scott trained himself not to toss and turn, with his eyes always directed towards the window, away from everyone else in the mansion. But there are tells: curling in on himself instead of lying supine, his hands closed into fists, his brow tense. He's having a nightmare.
He left few friends behind at Essex House. The other children thought he was weird and prone to fits and a bit of a know-it-all, and he could go whole weeks without any of them acknowledging his presence. No one looks up as Scott moves through the hallways of his old group home. No one says anything even when the bare walls begin featuring paintings and framed photographs, and the cold floors transition into hardwood. The faces of orphans become those of students and colleagues, and still no one looks his way.
The school's layout is the same, but the costumed heroes in the pictures are different. Kitty passes by without a glance, a teenager with her own friends and concerns. Kurt chats with an unfamiliar young man, tall and serious-looking, as dear to him as a brother. Neither of them acknowledge Scott. He walks faster, in search of someone who isn't here. He reaches for his image of her, of her teasing smile or how she wrinkles her nose when she's displeased, but only darkness lies where the memory once was. Lost time.
"No," Scott groans in his sleep.
There's a gentle brush against Scott's mind as his door is unlocked, opened, and gently shut, an attempt to reassure his subconscious that the person entering is not a threat. Emma had been asleep herself, and as is sometimes the case when she's stressed, her mind had reached out, looking for comfort. She had instead found Scott's dream, and while it's not one of the more potent nightmares she's stumbled upon, the distress it's steeped in was enough to wake her.
So she'd dug out a key she'd buried in a drawer, made her way to his room, and let herself in. As Scott talks in his sleep she slips into the bed behind him, pressing into his back slowly as an arm loops around his waist, mentally still soothing him to avoid jolting him awake. Emma doesn't really have a plan — she just knows that she's sick of their current situation, sick of the both of them awkwardly trying to skirt around the fact that they don't want to be broken up. The longer it's gone on the more stupid it seems. Something needs to be done.
For the moment, though, she will selfishly let his nightmare play out. Maybe it will help him come to his senses a little more.
Left undisturbed, Scott's dream loops, and from the deep grooves it's worn into his psyche, this isn't the first night he's had this nightmare. The mansion is the orphanage is the mansion again, and it's someone else he's desperate to hold onto as he wanders the halls unseen. A man, this time. What was his name? Scott is horribly aware of the lacunas in his memory, even if he doesn't know what they were or why they're gone. It was like this too, when he was—
—a child in a dark room. His limbs are strapped down. Something holds his head in place. His eyes are bare. A hand, as white as bleached bone, grips his chin. Don't cry, Scott, says the doctor. You won't remem—
Scott wakes with a start. His first instinct is to fight, to escape what's restrained him, but his body knows this feeling even if his mind is slow to catch up. Comfort. Safety. Emma. He lost count of how many nights they spent like this, with her arm around him and her warmth fitted against his back. His head turns towards her, even though he's blind with the mask on.
"What's wrong?" His heart is still racing, but his only thought in this moment is of Emma. "Are you okay?"
Emma's own heart is racing now thanks to her dream voyeurism, and she takes a moment to steady herself, holding to his concern for her and pressing her face into the back of Scott's shoulder for one, two, three before she pulls back just enough to look at his turned face. Her recovery is as quick as that. While not fully settled into his mind, she's much more present than she has been this past month, and she tries to calm him not by force, but with reassurances. Everyone is safe, him included. She's right here with him.
"I'm fine," she starts, which obviously isn't entirely true, but she doesn't want to abandon the thread of his dream just yet. They have time to talk about the actual reason she's here afterwards.
"Has it ended like that before?"
Scott is silent for a moment. His dream is fading already, overtaken by the soft reassurances in his mind, and he wishes he could claim that he doesn't remember. But he knows this cold panicked feeling, even if he doesn't know exactly what Emma saw. "Yeah." He shuts his eyes behind his mask. He's experienced versions of this dream before, ever since Professor Xavier tried to heal his memory when he was eighteen. It's only in the last month that he's seen or heard the doctor. "Since Margali took Kurt. It might not be mine."
He's not sure how much that would matter. The line between him and his alternate self has always felt uncomfortably blurry, and it makes him a bit ill to think that he grew up the same way in another reality. That he ended up making the mistakes he did. The other Scott Summers is all of his secret fears made manifest—that he had to suffer, that he's too broken, that he'll never be a good brother or partner or parent.
He shifts so he's sitting up, facing Emma. "Get my glasses?" He left them on the nightstand.
There is, as always, a kneejerk reaction in her to become angry on Scott's behalf — at Margali, at his alternate self, at the universe in general (even at him, a little, for how he treats himself). But that feeling isn't useful at the moment, so instead as he sits up she follows, touching his arm while her other hand goes to retrieve his glasses, a quick lean away before pressing them into his hands. Her gentle touch in his thoughts remains.
"It could be, I suppose. Even with Ambrose back at full strength things have gotten all mixed up in our heads."
Emma frowns, her eyes locked on him even in the darkness. "Regardless, maybe a clue for later and just something to let slip away for now." A pause, before she adds, "I accidentally spectated tonight. I'm sorry your sleep has been so troubled, darling."
Scott switches to his glasses, only opening his eyes again when they're securely in place. Emma is the closest she ever comes to looking plain, in an oversized T-shirt with shorts barely peeking out from under the hem—a sight that hits him with longing no matter how many times he sees her like this. It's been more than a month since she was last in his bed. He keeps his hands braced on his knees, even though they're already sitting close enough to touch.
"It's fine." Unclear if he means his disturbed sleep, the nature of his dreams, Emma reading them, or Emma being here in the first place. All of the above, maybe. His voice is flat, but underneath the surface Scott is doing what he always does when he's upset: folding up his scattered thoughts and feelings, and putting it away as impersonally as laundry. "What are you doing here?"
She supposes it is time to switch subjects. "I wanted to talk." A quiet sigh. "Something about you makes me so… stupid." While normally this statement would come out sharply, Emma sounds more tired right now. The longing in Scott's mind makes it incredibly difficult to not just press into him and avoid actually saying anything, free herself from the need to once again be vulnerable. But that's not the right way to go about this, and she's not going to give them both the easy way out.
"Being broken up isn't working for me." A silly, haughty way to say something that has been chewing her up inside. Her brows draw in. "...aren't you tired of being apart? What's the point?"
When it had initially happened she had been so frustrated and hurt that she hadn't pushed back. She's never seen the sense in it, but the proud part of her had wanted to let Scott make his own stupid decisions, like it wasn't her problem. Like she would just be fine and he would be the only one who suffered.
Scott can't help his little smile at her saying stupid, just as he can't help how his walls go up at this question. Admittedly, yes, breaking up with Emma was impulsive and emotional, but Scott hadn't chosen it lightly. He knows why he did it. The speed and intensity of their relationship just further cemented why he needed to. It was selfish of him to try to hold onto her when he was committed to leaving.
He hadn't thought this would be so hard, though. For either of them, but Emma especially. "I..." He sighs, looking away before he does something reckless. "I'm sorry."
What's the point? In the light of day, both of them with their armor on, he might've had a cool, logical answer at the ready. His head feels so chaotic that it takes every shred of control he possesses to rein it in. Is he being noble? Is he stupid? Is he a coward? Is he punishing himself? Being with Emma again won't change his decision. But he misses her so badly that sometimes he can't think about anything else. "You're going to think I'm an idiot," he mutters.
Quietly, Emma waits for Scott to finish speaking, waits for whatever she can catch of the tumble of thoughts in his head to even out a little bit (they never will entirely, she knows). Reaching out, she takes his chin between her thumb and index finger to turn his gaze back to her and to steal some physical contact. Her brows remain tightly knit but there is a hint of softness in her expression too, because she can't help it. She is hurt and sad and a little angry, but infuriatingly, she still wants him.
On something less critical she might switch to telepathy to ease the burden of communication, but Emma wants this to feel more concrete. Needs it to, honestly. This has been torturous for too long.
"I always think you're an idiot," she says, not without affection or a bit of jest. "So don't let that stop you."
"Emma—" It's harder when she's touching him—when they're looking right at each other, and he can see the depth of feeling in her eyes. Scott wonders what it is she sees. Even this close, his eyes aren't visible through his glasses. Only a faint red glow, when it's dark enough.
He takes a deep breath, turning down the volume on his thoughts, and letting the mess of his head untangle a little more. "I don't want to hurt you." It sounds so useless, spoken aloud. He knows he already has. "I was trying not to make it worse when I have to leave. I told myself that it would be difficult in the short term, and then you'd move on. It would be easier to lose you if I'd already lost you. It would be easier to give up my life if I already accepted that I had to."
He's only ever wanted to do the right thing, even at the cost of his own happiness. Maybe some part of him believes these two things are inextricable from each other. He never understood why he was allowed to be so happy with Emma, until Ambrose revealed the truth behind their marks.
"I am terrified," he whispers, "of existing in a world without you."
The depth of Scott's emotions are not a surprise — Emma has seen them for years, and of course had been very aware of his feelings for her since they'd started dating. But he doesn't say things out loud very often, and so hearing the words is a shock, one that leaves her silent for far longer than she was planning. She still holds his chin in her hand, gaze locked on his glasses even though she can't see his eyes as she bites down on her lip momentarily. Trying to bring herself back into focus.
"You deserve to be happy," she says, slowly, feeling like this is the most important thing to say to start. His inability to believe this drives so many of his sacrificial choices, and it hurts to see him continuing to hold onto the idea that he is simply not allowed good things.
"I know you were trying to be kind, but I'm glad we both realize that's not how this is going. We're past the point of just being able to move on." In saying this her voice is deceptively even, given how emotionally overwhelmed she's feeling.
"I just… I need you to stop treating it like it's inevitable. Please. We'll figure something out. Kitty will, surely. And I'll do whatever it takes." Embarrassing, to hear the stress now rising in her voice, to feel the strain in her chest. Terrifying to feel this humbled by her own emotions. "You don't have to go anywhere, darling. I won't let you."
There's no point in trying to fight it. Scott finally lets himself touch her—smoothing down her hair, brushing his thumbs against her cheeks. He is sorry. He never wanted to be a source of pain for Emma. He can tell she's struggling to contain her emotions, and he breathes slow and steady, trying to keep calm for her. He can't cry. With his eyes, it's a mess if he cries.
"Okay. Yes." He knows he should say more than this. He knows he should promise her that he won't go, that he'll do anything to stay with her and make himself worthy of her, but he doesn't trust himself with promises. But he'll try. Emma has been telling him he deserves to be happy since they met, and this time, he can try to believe it.
He presses a kiss to Emma's forehead. "Okay," he repeats. "We'll fix it."
"I'm not expecting promises," Emma says quietly to soothe the worries in Scott's mind, leaning into his touch, his kiss. She can't expect that from him, especially since, if it comes down to it, she will ignore his wishes and try to make him stay. This is held back from him, but she does wind herself more into his thoughts, holding to his attempted calm.
It all feels so stupidly easy with how little Scott says. But this is a far cry from where they were a month ago, and Emma is so relieved that she sinks forward into him, her arms going to loop around his shoulders before she presses her face into his neck. For a few moments she is quiet, her breaths a little deep with pent up frustration and general overwhelm. There's still a lot to figure out, but she reminds herself that at least they can take comfort in one another again. Reminds Scott of this too, with a gentle press of it into his mind before she leans back again. Her expression is impassive but not harsh. Calculated, like it often is. But then, the tiniest smile.
"You're very infuriating. I've missed you."
"Sorry. I don't know how to be tolerable." Scott holds her tightly, his nose against her hair, fully focused on the relief of having her in his arms again. He missed her more than he can possibly express—not just her physical presence, but also the solace of her thoughts. He was afraid he'd never feel this again.
He studies Emma's face carefully, if only to reassure himself that he isn't still dreaming. “You're really fine? Nothing brought you here?”
Emma laughs a little at his initial comment, slowly feeling lighter and lighter. In retrospect it seems ridiculous how long they'd let this go on. How clearly senseless it had been, given how relieved they both are to simply be touching again. But this is just a lesson in her own feelings that she tucks away, maybe to be examined later, maybe not.
She allows Scott to look her over, though she does take a moment to press a kiss to his lips, deliberate and grounding, before settling back again. He gives her one of his rare undeniable smiles in return. Her hands rest on the nape of his neck, fingers pushed up into his hair as if to assert her presence and hold as much as she can.
"I like you just as you are. And I am fine, I promise. Your nightmare woke me and…" Well, this is maybe a little pathetic and thus is a little embarrassing, even though she's functionally already said it. Her nose wrinkles.
"It really was just that I didn't want to be broken up anymore. So I came to remedy that."
And if it was up to Scott, they'd still be waiting until the heat death of the universe for him to get over his guilt. He closes his eyes with a sigh. He does not deserve her. It takes everything in him to suppress another apology, and he tries to channel that energy into gratitude instead. "Thank you," he says, very seriously. "I'll make it up to you. Flowers. Diamonds. Groveling."
He has so much to discuss with her. Plans and evolving ideas and problems to solve (so many problems), but in the name of groveling, he keeps his mouth shut and kisses along Emma's neck and shoulder.
These offers of apology actually make Emma laugh, bright and relieved, even though tucked away in her chest there is a tight and uncomfortable wariness, a distrust not so much in Scott but in the situation. She pushes it down, saves it for untangling later when she's not in this moment that is good and makes her happy. It is a kneejerk reaction from her upbringing, and all that matters right now is that she trusts that he means everything he says because she can see it in his mind. He's sorry and he still loves her just the same as he had before. She tilts into his kisses, something feeling righted in her with this return to intimacy. She'd been maybe a little more lonely than she'd realized.
"I'm never averse to any of those things, particularly groveling. But like I said before, I'm easy to please. All I really need is utter devotion and the occasional hand-holding in public."
Scott hums, his lips still against her skin, at the sound of Emma's laughter. His nightmares are already forgotten. He pulls her back down into bed, but holds off on more kissing for a moment, just so he can look at her. He isn't insensible to the fact that Emma lets him get away with quite a bit—likely more than she ever allows from other men, which she'd hate him knowing. She may not expect promises, but he knows he can be better.
"Devotion and hand-holding," Scott repeats, as solemn as an oath in court. "In public, as much as you want."
Emma allows herself to be maneuvered, hands shifting to gently hold his face. She does let him get away with too much — the acknowledgement of this earns Scott the tiniest mental shock, akin to a light pinch. (He winces.) Despite this, she always has a hard time caring about her over-indulgence. Her lips tick up into a satisfied smile.
"Ah, as much as I want? You'll regret agreeing to that."
After a moment she curls a little closer to him, her expression shifting into something more serious, maybe a little more open. There's silence as she tries to find her words, small discomfort prickling at the back of her neck. She rarely has a difficult time expressing herself, but she also rarely has something so emotionally fraught to deal with.
"I love you. So just… if you do something like this again without good reason, I might have to kill you. Let's be a little more reasonable in the future, hm?"
Scott stares at her, silently inscribing these words—and her expression—to his memory before responding. "I love you too." He knows that Emma knows already, but he's never said it aloud before now. Saying it felt like not just a declaration of his feelings, but also an ask for something she wasn't ready to give. Once again, she's caught him completely off-guard.
He tilts his head to kiss her palm. "No regrets." For either of them.
While she does know that he loves her, whenever Scott verbally expresses something Emma takes it more to heart. It's terribly nice to hear. It makes her smile again, just the faintest bit. It seems worth giving up the upper hand she'd been holding onto by not sharing her own feelings. There is still a bit of fluttering in her chest, but it's mostly for good reasons.
"I mean, I'm not pleased that I need to clean my room again, but I think this is worth it."
"Put me to work. I feel guilty enough that you could make me clean anything." Scott doesn't smile, but amusement is written all over his thoughts.
"Isn't that more of a reward than a punishment?" Emma counters, inching closer again, everything in her finally settling into happiness. Whatever problems lie ahead for them can be dealt with later. She opens her mind up enough to Scott that he can see and feel her contentment, even though her smile makes it outwardly obvious.
"Still, maybe I'll make you do it anyway."
Scott's mind responds to her contentment with a sense of peace. It won't last—their lives weren't made for it—but for once, all of his conflicted voices are quiet.
"I'll try not to enjoy being punished by you," he says, before leaning in again.
WHEN: July 9th, witching hour
WHERE: Scott's bedroom, Xavier Institute
WHAT: Scott has a nightmare. Emma wants to talk.
WARNINGS: Brief allusion to Scott's secret traumatic laser beam eyeball orphanage surgery backstory. Too many feelings.
Sleep is the closest Scott ever comes to relaxing. A weighted mask covers half of his face, but his jaw is no longer clenched, and his usual rigid control eases to near-carelessness. Scott trained himself not to toss and turn, with his eyes always directed towards the window, away from everyone else in the mansion. But there are tells: curling in on himself instead of lying supine, his hands closed into fists, his brow tense. He's having a nightmare.
He left few friends behind at Essex House. The other children thought he was weird and prone to fits and a bit of a know-it-all, and he could go whole weeks without any of them acknowledging his presence. No one looks up as Scott moves through the hallways of his old group home. No one says anything even when the bare walls begin featuring paintings and framed photographs, and the cold floors transition into hardwood. The faces of orphans become those of students and colleagues, and still no one looks his way.
The school's layout is the same, but the costumed heroes in the pictures are different. Kitty passes by without a glance, a teenager with her own friends and concerns. Kurt chats with an unfamiliar young man, tall and serious-looking, as dear to him as a brother. Neither of them acknowledge Scott. He walks faster, in search of someone who isn't here. He reaches for his image of her, of her teasing smile or how she wrinkles her nose when she's displeased, but only darkness lies where the memory once was. Lost time.
"No," Scott groans in his sleep.
There's a gentle brush against Scott's mind as his door is unlocked, opened, and gently shut, an attempt to reassure his subconscious that the person entering is not a threat. Emma had been asleep herself, and as is sometimes the case when she's stressed, her mind had reached out, looking for comfort. She had instead found Scott's dream, and while it's not one of the more potent nightmares she's stumbled upon, the distress it's steeped in was enough to wake her.
So she'd dug out a key she'd buried in a drawer, made her way to his room, and let herself in. As Scott talks in his sleep she slips into the bed behind him, pressing into his back slowly as an arm loops around his waist, mentally still soothing him to avoid jolting him awake. Emma doesn't really have a plan — she just knows that she's sick of their current situation, sick of the both of them awkwardly trying to skirt around the fact that they don't want to be broken up. The longer it's gone on the more stupid it seems. Something needs to be done.
For the moment, though, she will selfishly let his nightmare play out. Maybe it will help him come to his senses a little more.
Left undisturbed, Scott's dream loops, and from the deep grooves it's worn into his psyche, this isn't the first night he's had this nightmare. The mansion is the orphanage is the mansion again, and it's someone else he's desperate to hold onto as he wanders the halls unseen. A man, this time. What was his name? Scott is horribly aware of the lacunas in his memory, even if he doesn't know what they were or why they're gone. It was like this too, when he was—
—a child in a dark room. His limbs are strapped down. Something holds his head in place. His eyes are bare. A hand, as white as bleached bone, grips his chin. Don't cry, Scott, says the doctor. You won't remem—
Scott wakes with a start. His first instinct is to fight, to escape what's restrained him, but his body knows this feeling even if his mind is slow to catch up. Comfort. Safety. Emma. He lost count of how many nights they spent like this, with her arm around him and her warmth fitted against his back. His head turns towards her, even though he's blind with the mask on.
"What's wrong?" His heart is still racing, but his only thought in this moment is of Emma. "Are you okay?"
Emma's own heart is racing now thanks to her dream voyeurism, and she takes a moment to steady herself, holding to his concern for her and pressing her face into the back of Scott's shoulder for one, two, three before she pulls back just enough to look at his turned face. Her recovery is as quick as that. While not fully settled into his mind, she's much more present than she has been this past month, and she tries to calm him not by force, but with reassurances. Everyone is safe, him included. She's right here with him.
"I'm fine," she starts, which obviously isn't entirely true, but she doesn't want to abandon the thread of his dream just yet. They have time to talk about the actual reason she's here afterwards.
"Has it ended like that before?"
Scott is silent for a moment. His dream is fading already, overtaken by the soft reassurances in his mind, and he wishes he could claim that he doesn't remember. But he knows this cold panicked feeling, even if he doesn't know exactly what Emma saw. "Yeah." He shuts his eyes behind his mask. He's experienced versions of this dream before, ever since Professor Xavier tried to heal his memory when he was eighteen. It's only in the last month that he's seen or heard the doctor. "Since Margali took Kurt. It might not be mine."
He's not sure how much that would matter. The line between him and his alternate self has always felt uncomfortably blurry, and it makes him a bit ill to think that he grew up the same way in another reality. That he ended up making the mistakes he did. The other Scott Summers is all of his secret fears made manifest—that he had to suffer, that he's too broken, that he'll never be a good brother or partner or parent.
He shifts so he's sitting up, facing Emma. "Get my glasses?" He left them on the nightstand.
There is, as always, a kneejerk reaction in her to become angry on Scott's behalf — at Margali, at his alternate self, at the universe in general (even at him, a little, for how he treats himself). But that feeling isn't useful at the moment, so instead as he sits up she follows, touching his arm while her other hand goes to retrieve his glasses, a quick lean away before pressing them into his hands. Her gentle touch in his thoughts remains.
"It could be, I suppose. Even with Ambrose back at full strength things have gotten all mixed up in our heads."
Emma frowns, her eyes locked on him even in the darkness. "Regardless, maybe a clue for later and just something to let slip away for now." A pause, before she adds, "I accidentally spectated tonight. I'm sorry your sleep has been so troubled, darling."
Scott switches to his glasses, only opening his eyes again when they're securely in place. Emma is the closest she ever comes to looking plain, in an oversized T-shirt with shorts barely peeking out from under the hem—a sight that hits him with longing no matter how many times he sees her like this. It's been more than a month since she was last in his bed. He keeps his hands braced on his knees, even though they're already sitting close enough to touch.
"It's fine." Unclear if he means his disturbed sleep, the nature of his dreams, Emma reading them, or Emma being here in the first place. All of the above, maybe. His voice is flat, but underneath the surface Scott is doing what he always does when he's upset: folding up his scattered thoughts and feelings, and putting it away as impersonally as laundry. "What are you doing here?"
She supposes it is time to switch subjects. "I wanted to talk." A quiet sigh. "Something about you makes me so… stupid." While normally this statement would come out sharply, Emma sounds more tired right now. The longing in Scott's mind makes it incredibly difficult to not just press into him and avoid actually saying anything, free herself from the need to once again be vulnerable. But that's not the right way to go about this, and she's not going to give them both the easy way out.
"Being broken up isn't working for me." A silly, haughty way to say something that has been chewing her up inside. Her brows draw in. "...aren't you tired of being apart? What's the point?"
When it had initially happened she had been so frustrated and hurt that she hadn't pushed back. She's never seen the sense in it, but the proud part of her had wanted to let Scott make his own stupid decisions, like it wasn't her problem. Like she would just be fine and he would be the only one who suffered.
Scott can't help his little smile at her saying stupid, just as he can't help how his walls go up at this question. Admittedly, yes, breaking up with Emma was impulsive and emotional, but Scott hadn't chosen it lightly. He knows why he did it. The speed and intensity of their relationship just further cemented why he needed to. It was selfish of him to try to hold onto her when he was committed to leaving.
He hadn't thought this would be so hard, though. For either of them, but Emma especially. "I..." He sighs, looking away before he does something reckless. "I'm sorry."
What's the point? In the light of day, both of them with their armor on, he might've had a cool, logical answer at the ready. His head feels so chaotic that it takes every shred of control he possesses to rein it in. Is he being noble? Is he stupid? Is he a coward? Is he punishing himself? Being with Emma again won't change his decision. But he misses her so badly that sometimes he can't think about anything else. "You're going to think I'm an idiot," he mutters.
Quietly, Emma waits for Scott to finish speaking, waits for whatever she can catch of the tumble of thoughts in his head to even out a little bit (they never will entirely, she knows). Reaching out, she takes his chin between her thumb and index finger to turn his gaze back to her and to steal some physical contact. Her brows remain tightly knit but there is a hint of softness in her expression too, because she can't help it. She is hurt and sad and a little angry, but infuriatingly, she still wants him.
On something less critical she might switch to telepathy to ease the burden of communication, but Emma wants this to feel more concrete. Needs it to, honestly. This has been torturous for too long.
"I always think you're an idiot," she says, not without affection or a bit of jest. "So don't let that stop you."
"Emma—" It's harder when she's touching him—when they're looking right at each other, and he can see the depth of feeling in her eyes. Scott wonders what it is she sees. Even this close, his eyes aren't visible through his glasses. Only a faint red glow, when it's dark enough.
He takes a deep breath, turning down the volume on his thoughts, and letting the mess of his head untangle a little more. "I don't want to hurt you." It sounds so useless, spoken aloud. He knows he already has. "I was trying not to make it worse when I have to leave. I told myself that it would be difficult in the short term, and then you'd move on. It would be easier to lose you if I'd already lost you. It would be easier to give up my life if I already accepted that I had to."
He's only ever wanted to do the right thing, even at the cost of his own happiness. Maybe some part of him believes these two things are inextricable from each other. He never understood why he was allowed to be so happy with Emma, until Ambrose revealed the truth behind their marks.
"I am terrified," he whispers, "of existing in a world without you."
The depth of Scott's emotions are not a surprise — Emma has seen them for years, and of course had been very aware of his feelings for her since they'd started dating. But he doesn't say things out loud very often, and so hearing the words is a shock, one that leaves her silent for far longer than she was planning. She still holds his chin in her hand, gaze locked on his glasses even though she can't see his eyes as she bites down on her lip momentarily. Trying to bring herself back into focus.
"You deserve to be happy," she says, slowly, feeling like this is the most important thing to say to start. His inability to believe this drives so many of his sacrificial choices, and it hurts to see him continuing to hold onto the idea that he is simply not allowed good things.
"I know you were trying to be kind, but I'm glad we both realize that's not how this is going. We're past the point of just being able to move on." In saying this her voice is deceptively even, given how emotionally overwhelmed she's feeling.
"I just… I need you to stop treating it like it's inevitable. Please. We'll figure something out. Kitty will, surely. And I'll do whatever it takes." Embarrassing, to hear the stress now rising in her voice, to feel the strain in her chest. Terrifying to feel this humbled by her own emotions. "You don't have to go anywhere, darling. I won't let you."
There's no point in trying to fight it. Scott finally lets himself touch her—smoothing down her hair, brushing his thumbs against her cheeks. He is sorry. He never wanted to be a source of pain for Emma. He can tell she's struggling to contain her emotions, and he breathes slow and steady, trying to keep calm for her. He can't cry. With his eyes, it's a mess if he cries.
"Okay. Yes." He knows he should say more than this. He knows he should promise her that he won't go, that he'll do anything to stay with her and make himself worthy of her, but he doesn't trust himself with promises. But he'll try. Emma has been telling him he deserves to be happy since they met, and this time, he can try to believe it.
He presses a kiss to Emma's forehead. "Okay," he repeats. "We'll fix it."
"I'm not expecting promises," Emma says quietly to soothe the worries in Scott's mind, leaning into his touch, his kiss. She can't expect that from him, especially since, if it comes down to it, she will ignore his wishes and try to make him stay. This is held back from him, but she does wind herself more into his thoughts, holding to his attempted calm.
It all feels so stupidly easy with how little Scott says. But this is a far cry from where they were a month ago, and Emma is so relieved that she sinks forward into him, her arms going to loop around his shoulders before she presses her face into his neck. For a few moments she is quiet, her breaths a little deep with pent up frustration and general overwhelm. There's still a lot to figure out, but she reminds herself that at least they can take comfort in one another again. Reminds Scott of this too, with a gentle press of it into his mind before she leans back again. Her expression is impassive but not harsh. Calculated, like it often is. But then, the tiniest smile.
"You're very infuriating. I've missed you."
"Sorry. I don't know how to be tolerable." Scott holds her tightly, his nose against her hair, fully focused on the relief of having her in his arms again. He missed her more than he can possibly express—not just her physical presence, but also the solace of her thoughts. He was afraid he'd never feel this again.
He studies Emma's face carefully, if only to reassure himself that he isn't still dreaming. “You're really fine? Nothing brought you here?”
Emma laughs a little at his initial comment, slowly feeling lighter and lighter. In retrospect it seems ridiculous how long they'd let this go on. How clearly senseless it had been, given how relieved they both are to simply be touching again. But this is just a lesson in her own feelings that she tucks away, maybe to be examined later, maybe not.
She allows Scott to look her over, though she does take a moment to press a kiss to his lips, deliberate and grounding, before settling back again. He gives her one of his rare undeniable smiles in return. Her hands rest on the nape of his neck, fingers pushed up into his hair as if to assert her presence and hold as much as she can.
"I like you just as you are. And I am fine, I promise. Your nightmare woke me and…" Well, this is maybe a little pathetic and thus is a little embarrassing, even though she's functionally already said it. Her nose wrinkles.
"It really was just that I didn't want to be broken up anymore. So I came to remedy that."
And if it was up to Scott, they'd still be waiting until the heat death of the universe for him to get over his guilt. He closes his eyes with a sigh. He does not deserve her. It takes everything in him to suppress another apology, and he tries to channel that energy into gratitude instead. "Thank you," he says, very seriously. "I'll make it up to you. Flowers. Diamonds. Groveling."
He has so much to discuss with her. Plans and evolving ideas and problems to solve (so many problems), but in the name of groveling, he keeps his mouth shut and kisses along Emma's neck and shoulder.
These offers of apology actually make Emma laugh, bright and relieved, even though tucked away in her chest there is a tight and uncomfortable wariness, a distrust not so much in Scott but in the situation. She pushes it down, saves it for untangling later when she's not in this moment that is good and makes her happy. It is a kneejerk reaction from her upbringing, and all that matters right now is that she trusts that he means everything he says because she can see it in his mind. He's sorry and he still loves her just the same as he had before. She tilts into his kisses, something feeling righted in her with this return to intimacy. She'd been maybe a little more lonely than she'd realized.
"I'm never averse to any of those things, particularly groveling. But like I said before, I'm easy to please. All I really need is utter devotion and the occasional hand-holding in public."
Scott hums, his lips still against her skin, at the sound of Emma's laughter. His nightmares are already forgotten. He pulls her back down into bed, but holds off on more kissing for a moment, just so he can look at her. He isn't insensible to the fact that Emma lets him get away with quite a bit—likely more than she ever allows from other men, which she'd hate him knowing. She may not expect promises, but he knows he can be better.
"Devotion and hand-holding," Scott repeats, as solemn as an oath in court. "In public, as much as you want."
Emma allows herself to be maneuvered, hands shifting to gently hold his face. She does let him get away with too much — the acknowledgement of this earns Scott the tiniest mental shock, akin to a light pinch. (He winces.) Despite this, she always has a hard time caring about her over-indulgence. Her lips tick up into a satisfied smile.
"Ah, as much as I want? You'll regret agreeing to that."
After a moment she curls a little closer to him, her expression shifting into something more serious, maybe a little more open. There's silence as she tries to find her words, small discomfort prickling at the back of her neck. She rarely has a difficult time expressing herself, but she also rarely has something so emotionally fraught to deal with.
"I love you. So just… if you do something like this again without good reason, I might have to kill you. Let's be a little more reasonable in the future, hm?"
Scott stares at her, silently inscribing these words—and her expression—to his memory before responding. "I love you too." He knows that Emma knows already, but he's never said it aloud before now. Saying it felt like not just a declaration of his feelings, but also an ask for something she wasn't ready to give. Once again, she's caught him completely off-guard.
He tilts his head to kiss her palm. "No regrets." For either of them.
While she does know that he loves her, whenever Scott verbally expresses something Emma takes it more to heart. It's terribly nice to hear. It makes her smile again, just the faintest bit. It seems worth giving up the upper hand she'd been holding onto by not sharing her own feelings. There is still a bit of fluttering in her chest, but it's mostly for good reasons.
"I mean, I'm not pleased that I need to clean my room again, but I think this is worth it."
"Put me to work. I feel guilty enough that you could make me clean anything." Scott doesn't smile, but amusement is written all over his thoughts.
"Isn't that more of a reward than a punishment?" Emma counters, inching closer again, everything in her finally settling into happiness. Whatever problems lie ahead for them can be dealt with later. She opens her mind up enough to Scott that he can see and feel her contentment, even though her smile makes it outwardly obvious.
"Still, maybe I'll make you do it anyway."
Scott's mind responds to her contentment with a sense of peace. It won't last—their lives weren't made for it—but for once, all of his conflicted voices are quiet.
"I'll try not to enjoy being punished by you," he says, before leaning in again.