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She wakes up, rage and grace,
pulling me closer and pushing away.
And me the sharpest thorn on your vine,
twisting and turning we're all intertwined.
Broken wing, empty glass,
words that scream and bounce right back.
She says, "you know, we'd all like to rearrange."
I wish I could fix you
and mend where you are broken.
I wish I could fix you,
and I wish you could fix me.
-- The Offpsring, "Fix You"
"Stop it."
Emma no longer knew how many times a version of this fight had played out between them, but she had no reason to expect this time would be the last.
Scott stood by the window, his back turned to where she lay sprawled across their bed, trying his hardest to keep his attention focused following the flight of birds in the early morning light. Even so, he could not shut out the images: Emma transforming in his mind's eye, the thin platinum-blonde woman gaining natural curves and long red hair.
"Why? Don't you like me better this way?"
"Cut it out, Emma. I just said I'm not in the mood." His fists clenched as he resolutely stared straight ahead, nails biting into his palms. Scott was tired, tired of the endless repetition of the same argument, tired of the bitter teasing over what he secretly feared to be true-- that he would never be over Jean, could never truly love anyone else. Why did Emma have to keep picking at the same old sore, when she knew it would only hurt them both?
"You do have a point, darling," Emma continued in a playful tone, feigning ignorance of his state of mind while knowing exactly how far he was from the breaking point, and just what leverage would send him past it. "This is far too wholesome."
She slid off the bed and crept up behind him, cloaking herself in the image of Dark Phoenix as she whispered in his ear. "A real man likes to live dangerously."
Scott spun about sharply, taking a rough grip on her shoulder. "Dammit Emma, I said STOP IT!"
His eyes were wild behind the ruby lenses, Emma noticed, as the full force of his anger washed over her. She had done it, had gotten him to lash out at her, proved she could command his full attention. And yes, it scared her-- knowing what could happen if he lost control of himself, the kind of damage he could do. But Emma was long acquainted with that kind of fear. Its absense was what she couldn't bear.
And so in the same instant Scott was most agitated Emma could almost relax, anxieties and insecurities ebbing away, if only for the moment. Unconsciously she let the projected illusions fall away.
Shock and guilt quickly replaced the anger on Scott's face as the sight of Emma's true form, naked and pale in the morning light, startled him back to composure. Her hair was still disheveled from sleep. Dark circles under her eyes, not yet carefully covered over, bore witness to the same deep weariness Scott felt in himself. He quickly dropped his hold on her shoulder and turned away, shamed and horrified at becoming nearly violent with the woman he loved.
Because he did love Emma. She would never replace Jean, of course, but Scott's life with his first love was long over. He and Emma were building a new life together. Scott was fighting for the future, and there was no one he would rather have by his side. She was in his mind so often, how could she not be sure it was the truth? And didn't he tell her every day how much he loved her, how intelligent and beautiful she was and how happy he was to be with her? Why wasn't that enough?
Almost as soon as she had found something that made sense, a feeling she was used to that she could latch on to, Emma was lost again. She frowned quietly as Scott released her and started to walk away. "Scott?"
"Just leave me alone, Emma." He busied himself getting dressed. "I don't want to do something I'd regret."
Emma cursed herself for being a fool. What had she expected to happen, that if she provoked him enough he would scream at her, or strike her, or drag her off by her hair to assert his dominance and control? Of course he would never do such a thing. Scott Summers was a good man, everyone knew that-- just as surely as the same "everyone" knew that Emma Frost was not a good woman, that she was a backstabbing telepathic homewrecker who certainly didn't deserve the affections of a true mutant hero like Scott. If he was such a good man, why would he ever love her?
A fragment of an old memory drifted forward in her mind.
"Why is he always so mean to me?" a very young Emma asked.
"Oh, Emma," her mother replied, "it's because he loves you the most."
Emma went back to bed and hid her face under the covers, unable to stop an uncharacteristic rush of tears. God, we were always so fucked up. Always pretending to be so genteel, so civilized, when all along we're no less barbaric than those idiots who appear on daytime talk shows.
Maybe she had been projecting her thoughts without realizing it. Or maybe the man was simply more intuitive than he let on. But whatever the reason, Emma suddenly noticed the warmth of Scott sitting beside her.
He stroked her hair gently. "I love you, Emma. And I won't insult you by thinking I can fix you. But I refuse to be your razor blade."
Emma wiped away her tears and sat up slowly. "I think the more fitting role would be 'laser blade' anyway."
Scott frowned. "Emma, that was terrible."
"Gallows humor, darling." She gave him a weak half-smile. "It lightens the mood."
"I know that," Scott protested, brow raised, as he pulled her into his arms. "But puns, really?"
"My legendary wit may have been temporarily compromised," she conceded, sighing as she leaned against his chest.
They would repeat this fight again, sooner or later. Of that Emma had no doubt. But for the moment she was content, enfolded in Scott's arms, listening to his steady heartbeat. She felt safe with him, she realized. Before knowing Scott, there had never been a time in her life she felt safe.
Picking up on her thoughts, Scott spoke softly. "I never want you to be hurt, Emma."
She nodded, but can't stop the thought escaping, but you didn't promise never to hurt me.
Scott sighed heavily. "I'm not perfect. I know I can't make a promise like that. I'm just as flawed as you are. Probably even more." He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "But I want this. I want to spend my life with you. And if it was easy it wouldn't be worth fighting for."
It wouldn't be easy, of that Emma was sure. There was never an easy way to heal old wounds. But she thought, just maybe, they had fought and won a tiny step away from the past and into the future.
"Scott?" she whispered, "Thank you."