𝓔𝓶𝓶𝓪 𝓕𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓽

<

A sip of wine to chase the thought. "Beyond just children. We've both seen the explosive results of the Summers genealogy and I can assure you the Frost family line is just as prone to implosion, just quieter about it."

<

Another small mouthful, then brilliant eyes fell upon him.

"That's your vision for our future as mutants. I want to know what you foresee for us. You and me, Scott Summers. Were I to fall into your arms this night and become your perfect, white-picket fence wife, what would that amount to?"

>

"As much as I enjoyed watching Herr Wagner's interesting take on the idea of making more mutants, I've never subscribed to it as a necessity for Krakoa," Emma responded vaguely, cutting through the salad some more.

Even a Michelin chef could only take cheese and tomato so far on their own.

>

<

"You've done much thinking on it. So what does that future, our future, look like in your idealized version?"

<

She sliced her knife through the singular slice of tomato and artfully crafted mound of cheese in one smooth motion, stabbing each with her fork in turn. A small mouthful, when combined, which she chewed without savouring.

>

<

"Scott, it would be petty of me to not forgive at this point. Not simply because of my own part in what happened, but because of what we've been through, what we've done together. Krakoa was about second chances. We never got ours there, but that doesn't mean the idea is gone, too."

>

She pursed her lips, pausing the conversation as the first course was served up. She paid little attention to the people serving it, eyes locked on him the entire time in a somewhat tense moment.

When the servers left, Emma returned to form immediately.

>

Mine.

<

She played councillor, sure, but that didn't make her an expert in her own relationships.

"But a lot has happened between then and now. And here we are, in the same place. Perhaps it's telling that we're starting it off with this conversation, starting where it ended originally."

<

This was a conversation to be had, not to be thought.

"I did what I did because I blamed you. Because I deserved better. I still stand by that train of thought. Less so by the actions that were borne by it."

>

"Most men might try a bouquet of flowers before a school," she responded with a smirk. "Just because I'm a telepath, Scott, doesn't mean I will solve everything by simply taking a peek."

Most things, sure, even just casual curiosity. But she dictated the how and when.

>

<

There was no falter in her words and her gaze was as striking as ever. "Do not forgive me that so easily. Do not condemn yourself as Atlas and take on the entire weight of the world so willingly."

<

"The corruption of the Phoenix may have made me act, to breach your trust in me, but the longing that fuelled that act had been brewing for some time. It wasn't a difficult nudge for a cosmic force to do. You were, as you always are, focused, and claws of jealousy had their hold on me."

>

<

"You always trust me as your advisor. I always saw how great of a leader you were and are. These things are immutable in spite of our own failings." She gingerly straightened a cloth napkin across her lap.

"But I am not without fault and I will not allow you to dismiss that."

>

<

The glass was set down with care. She appreciated the crystal and would treat it as such.

"Scott, darling," she began, "we must first unweave our personal and professional selves, just this once." It was a familiar tone. She did work as a marriage councillor once, after all.

>

Oh, he was being so gracious about it. It was honestly a little ... disgusting. In a hopeless romantic way.

She was sipping her wine when he started, and stared over the top of her wine glass as he continued into his apology. She swallowed a long gulp and decided the label was acceptable.

>

<

It was a loaded question, of course. Emma was not without fault in the entire ordeal and was aware of it.

"Since the topic at hand has been very much not repeating the mistakes of the past, I wish to be very clear in our understanding of what they were."

"Mhm," Emma vocalized, acknowledging what he was saying (and thinking loudly) toward her. She busied herself with the bread, though picked at nibbles even after it was dipped. It was more just busywork to take her focus for the moment.

"And why did we stop being what we were?"

>

<

It was like she did this every day. Which wasn't a far cry from the truth. Not always Michelin star, but Emma Frost had not looked at a menu in years.

"Now, since you're so keen to discuss our future, shall we address the topic at hand?"

"You do not go to a Michelin star restaurant to peruse the menu," Emma puffed, pushing the menu away from her on the table. "The chefs are artists. You let them paint and enjoy what they create. The tasting menu will be fine, with the recommended wine pairings, of course."

>

<

As it were, given tonight's revelations, she opted to take that step and quietly erase the memory of seeing them from the minds of the restaurant goers once they were seated privately.

"That sounds like something I would say, Scott Summers," she teased, taking her seat at the table.

It might surprise people to know that Emma didn't particular enjoy altering the minds of other people. A bit of glamour, sure, psychic illusions here and there, but to permanently alter them was something else entirely. It got too close to a line she reserved for Charles Xavier.

>

<

Perhaps she felt a bit of that, too. She'd never admit it.

The passenger door opened and she held out her hand, waiting for his to aid her exit from the vehicle.

"Here I thought talking business during a personal rendezvous was my bad habit to have."

<

Especially as Scott might just recruit She-Hulk at this point, with the trajectory he was on.

Yet the mental map she had glimpsed, the numbers, the contingencies, the sheer amount of thought put into this. If anyone else were to see it the way she had, it'd be downright inspirational.

>

"You're not still using Ms. Walters," Emma stated flatly. "I still don't understand how that woman hasn't been disbarred for the sheer number of conflict of interest cases she takes. I'll be getting my own lawyers on retainer for the school as soon as possible."

>

<

"It needs to be your first action after the announcement."

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "It needs to be done proactively, not reactively, to save face. My God, Scott, if I ever struggled to define pragmatic optimism, I'd just describe you instead."

<

"You tell me this within hours of planning to announce it," she grumbled. "You realize the conflict of interest with the school will become immediately apparent. If anything, you should have transferred authority to me before this, but it's too late for that ..."

>

Just as he had thought it through, she now ran her own numbers. In spite of having a strong poker face, for someone like him who knew her so well, it was obvious her mind was racing through outcomes while she sat in the passenger seat.

>

<

Then she audibly gasped.

"Scott Summers, you have an incorrigible appetite for punishment if you think that is a good idea," she said immediately. "Einstein's definition of insanity was meant as a warning, not a creed, you're aware of that, correct?"