Chapter Text
The lights in the lab were too bright.
Emma lay flat on the examination table, blouse pushed up and folded neatly beneath her ribs, the cool air of Hank’s lab brushing against her bare skin. She stared up at the ceiling panels, at the familiar grid of fluorescent lights she had seen hundreds of times over the years. Strategy sessions. Emergency surgeries. Psychic trauma assessments. Any number of crises that required her presence here.
She squinted, irritation tightening her brow.
They stung now. The light felt sharper, more invasive, like it was pressing directly behind her eyes. She resisted the urge to lift a hand and shield her face. She refused to let something as mundane as sensitivity make her look fragile.
Her stomach rose beneath her breath, the curve no longer theoretical. No longer something only she could sense. Just over three months in, the swell was subtle but unmistakable, a gentle protrusion that disrupted the clean lines she had always favored. It felt strange to see it exposed like this, vulnerable beneath the clinical hum of equipment and Hank’s careful movements.
Hank adjusted a sensor near her hip, his large blue fingers surprisingly delicate. He glanced up at her face giving her a reassuring smile, then back down at the readings scrolling across a nearby monitor.
“How are you feeling at the moment, Emma?” he asked, voice warm but professional.
She kept her gaze on Hank. “Fatigued….a bit more tired than usual.”
Hank hummed thoughtfully, making a note. “Anything else?”
“No,” she said smoothly. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
That part was true. She had handled far worse than disrupted sleep and the occasional wave of exhaustion. She simply handled it differently now, with more calculation, more caution. If Scott or anyone noticed the slower mornings, the moments where she paused before standing, she blamed it on the season.
Christmas chaos. New Year’s events. Too many new residents seeking sanctuary, too many crises.
Hank glanced at her over the rim of his glasses. “And if Scott notices?”
Emma’s lips curved faintly. “He assumes administrative burnout. The holidays wreak havoc on the school’s schedule.”
“Ah,” Hank said, amused. “A convenient explanation.”
“Seasonally appropriate I think,” she corrected.
He moved to another console, checking vitals. “Any nausea?”
“Occasional,” Emma admitted. “Manageable, it seems to be going away now.” It was true her last bout of morning sickness had been over two weeks ago.
‘’Any changes in cravings?” Hank continued
“Does wine still count?”
Hank paused, then sighed. “Emma, please this is serious.”
“I’m joking,” she said lightly. “Mostly.”
“You should be serious.”
“I am being serious,” she replied. “I am simply also being honest.”
Hank folded his arms, waiting.
She considered it, then sighed. “Same as last time, Pickles. Potatoes. Olives.” A brief pause. “Not together. Usually.”
Hank blinked. Then smiled despite himself. “Textbook,” he said, tapping at the screen. “Quite ordinary, actually.”
“How… awful.” Emma muttered, ‘’An ordinary pregnancy.’’
“You may get off the table,” he said, gesturing. ‘'Those cravings align with usual pregnancy symptoms, I’ve taken the liberty of restocking for you as well.’’
Emma propped herself up on her elbows, then swung her legs over the side of the table with careful grace. She smoothed her blouse down buttoning it back up before, moving toward a tall metal cabinet along the far wall.
A red warning label was plastered across its doors in bold block letters.
DANGER.
Emma keyed in the override code only she and Hank knew and without hesitation pulled it open.
Inside was not weaponry or hazardous compounds, but shelves neatly stocked with contraband of a different kind. Glass jars of pickles in various brines. Bags of potato chips. Crackers. Olives. Dark chocolate. A small collection of snacks that would have horrified a nutritionist and herself three months ago.
She reached in, selecting a bag of chips and some pickles with deliberate care.
Hank watched, arms folded. “Moderation,” he reminded her.
“I am the embodiment of restraint,” Emma said dryly.
“That remains to be seen.”
She closed the cabinet and returned to the workstation where Hank was reviewing her scans. She leaned against the counter, popping open the chips with practiced ease.
“And?” she asked. “Tell me I am still intolerably healthy.”
Hank smiled at the data. “Everything appears stable. Development is right on schedule. You’re doing remarkably well.”
“Of course I am.”
He glanced at her, eyes thoughtful. “You’ve been diligent Emma. Careful. And you have managed to keep this from Scott longer than I would have predicted.”
Emma crunched a chip, expression cool. “It’s winter. Layers are forgiving. Coats outside. Structured clothing inside. And when necessary, telepathic suggestions.”
Hank raised a brow. “You influence his perception?”
“I soften it,” she said. “If he notices anything, he assumes it’s a bad skin day and I’m hiding it. He has learned not to press.”
Hank nodded slowly. “Clever.”
She took a bite of a pickle soaked in brine, then grimaced. “Effective.”
“And what about when you’re alone together?” Hank asked gently. “It has been three months.”
Emma scoffed, nearly choking on a chip. “Hank, despite the rumors perpetuated by the student body, Scott and I do not tear each other’s clothes off at every available opportunity.”
Hank’s gaze flicked, entirely unintentionally, to the gentle curve beneath her blouse, the faint protrusion that betrayed her condition far more than she liked.
Silence stretched.
Emma followed his glance and huffed.
She held back the fact that she and Scott had sex a few weeks ago, after the holidays had finally quieted.
Even then, she had curated herself. Chosen angles. Controlled the light. Kept his hands from lingering too long, redirected kisses before they wandered. He trusted her body. She had edited it.
Hank smiled, unapologetic. “Nevertheless, your current condition confirms the student rumour.’’
“Maybe so.’’ she said sharply.
Hank lifted his hands. “I merely meant that eventually, secrecy becomes complicated.”
Emma’s jaw tightened. “I am aware.”
She leaned back against the counter, one hand resting briefly at her side, close to her stomach but not touching. She had grown used to the instinct, the constant awareness. She hated that it was becoming natural.
He gestured to the monitor again. “For now, continue as you have been. Rest when you can. Eat what you need. I will continue to monitor discreetly.”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
Emma finished the chips, cleaned her hands meticulously, and smoothed her blouse again. The fabric stretched slightly over the curve now, enough that she adjusted it twice before she was satisfied.
She caught her reflection in a nearby steel panel. Composed. Immaculate. Nothing out of place.
Except everything.
The lights still glared down at her as she turned toward the door. She squinted again, irritation flaring, then smoothed it away.
Control, she reminded herself.
Always control.
And beneath it, growing quietly, steadily, was something that would change all of it.
Hank finished logging the last of the data, the soft hum of the monitors settling into standby as Emma reached for her coat. She paused, fingers curling briefly in the sleeve before she slipped it on.
“I’ve decided to tell Scott,” she said, almost casually as she put on her coat.
Hank looked up at once. “Yes When?’’
Emma continued. “When he gets back from the Avengers. I’m just over three months now and it is a reasonable threshold, even by medical standards.” Her mouth tightened slightly. “And it will soon become… impractical to maintain total secrecy from him and he deserves to know.”
Hank studied her face, then nodded. “That seems wise.”
She let out a quiet breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Kitty knows now as well.”
Hank’s eyebrows rose. “Ah.”
“She walked in on me having an emotional moment a few days ago, after I skipped another class” Emma said dryly. “There was no dignified way to recover from that.”
He chuckled. “I imagine not.”
Emma shook her head. “She’s trying very hard, but she is not subtle. I doubt she will keep it hidden with the same discipline you and I have managed.”
“Indeed,” Hank said. “Miss Pryde has many strengths. Secrecy under emotional duress is not one of them.”
There was a brief pause, then Hank asked carefully, “Would you like me to be present when you tell Scott?”
Emma didn’t hesitate. “No.”
The word was gentle but absolute.
“That’s something I need to do alone,” she added. “This is not a briefing. Or a medical disclosure. It’s… personal.”
Hank inclined his head, understanding. “Of course.”
She hesitated, then turned back toward the console. “I would, however, like copies of the latest ultrasound scans and test results.”
Hank blinked. “May I ask why?”
Emma’s lips curved into a knowing smile, equal parts fondness and resignation. “Because I know Scott.”
Hank waited.
“The moment I tell him,” she went on, “He will panic internally, smile externally, and then attempt to escort me straight back down here to, make sure everything is all right.’’ Her eyes gleamed. “I would prefer to spare you the interruption because as soon as Scott finds out it means, Meetings. Safeguards. Contingencies.’’
Hank laughed outright. “Ah, so that was the reason for today's examination.’’
“If I have the scans,” Emma said, “I can reassure him. Temporarily.’’
“Temporarily,” Hank echoed.
He moved to the terminal and began transferring files. “I’ll prepare a secure copy for you.”
“Thank you.”
As the data uploaded, Emma rested a hand lightly against her stomach, the gesture unconscious now. Tomorrow, she thought. Tomorrow.
That scared her more than she thought.
The rain lashed against the tall windows of the mansion, heavy and insistent, the wind driving it sideways so it rattled faintly against the glass. Thunder rolled somewhere in the distance, low and lingering, like something restless turning over in its sleep.
Emma stood barefoot by the window, dressed now in one of her silk nightgowns, one hand resting lightly against the cool pane, the other settled over the gentle curve of her stomach.
The storm painted the grounds in flashes of silver and shadow, trees bending, paths outside slick and empty. She listened to it, felt it vibrate through the bones of the house.
Ominous, she thought.
She disliked superstition, disliked assigning meaning to weather, but she couldn’t shake the sense that tonight mattered. That the storm was a mirror, not a cause.
She had planned to tell him tonight. Had rehearsed the words in her mind for hours, polished them until they were sharp and controlled. But now, standing there with the thunder echoing her pulse, doubt crept in.
Maybe not tonight.
Maybe tomorrow.
Maybe when the world felt less… charged.
Her fingers tightened against the glass.
No. She couldn’t keep hiding. Not from Scott. Not from the man who trusted her with his life, with command, with everything that mattered. Three months was long enough.
She straightened, drawing in a breath, schooling herself back into resolve.
Behind her, she heard movement. Fabric rustling. A drawer opening, then closing with a touch more force than necessary.
She didn’t need her telepathy to know Scott was in a foul mood.
He had returned from Avengers Tower earlier in the day, his behavior had been quiet in that particular way that meant something had gone wrong but he hadn’t decided how to talk about it yet or if he even would.
He had spoken little at dinner, pushed his food around his plate.. Now he stood with his back to her, pulling on a pair of gray sweatpants.
The tension in him was almost visible, coiled between his bare shoulder blades.
Emma turned from the window. “You’re brooding,” she said lightly.
Scott didn’t look back at her. “I’m fine.”
She arched her brow. “That wasn’t an answer.”
He tugged the waistband into place, still facing away. “It’s nothing, Emma.”
She crossed the room, unhurried, stopping just behind him. “Scott,” she said, her voice sharpening by a degree. “I can see the knots in your back from here. If it’s nothing, you’re doing a very theatrical job of it.” She ran her finger between his shoulder blades
He exhaled through his nose, long and slow. She could almost hear the internal debate as he weighed whether to brush her off again.
“Scott,” she repeated, softer now, but relentless.
He turned, finally, and she saw it. The strain behind his eyes. The frustration pulled tight around his mouth. He sighed, he rubbed a hand over his face, then moved to the bed and sat down heavily on her side, elbows braced on his knees.
“I almost punched Reed Richards” he said.
Emma blinked once. Then, despite herself, a corner of her mouth twitched. “That would not have been smart.’’
“I know,” he muttered.
“Why were you tempted?” she asked, moving to sit beside him, careful, controlled, maintaining a small distance, her telepathy pressing gently against him, obscuring what was growing within her.
He stared at the floor for a moment, gathering himself. “The meetings were fine.”
“The safeguards discussion?” Emma asked.
“Yeah. Joint Avengers and X-Men protocols. Global threats, coordinated response, natural disasters, all that.” He snorted quietly. “I said we’d help with anything that affects the whole planet. Invasions, cosmic nonsense, more rogue AIs Stark builds. But protecting what’s left of the mutant population? That’s… that’s our responsibility.”
Emma nodded. “Reasonable.”
“That’s what I thought.” He shook his head. “The meeting was all but done when Reed said we need to talk about the ‘mutant situation.’’
‘’As though he hadn’t listened to a word I had said earlier.’’
Emma’s expression cooled instantly.
Scott continued, bitterness creeping into his voice. “He starts talking about us like we’re a statistic. Says we are technically an endangered species. Says we need protection now. Preservation.”
Emma felt her jaw tighten. “Preservation how?”
Scott let out a humorless laugh. “That’s the thing. He was talking like I wasn’t even there. Like I..we haven’t been living this reality every day. Like I needed it explained to me.”
She watched his hands curl into fists.
“He said it was humanity’s responsibility to protect us,” Scott went on. “That they had to make sure we didn’t… disappear.”
“Magnanimous of them,” Emma said coolly.
“Right?” Scott scoffed. “The way he was talking, Emma, it sounded like he was five minutes away from suggesting we be kept in controlled environments. For our own good.”
“Reservations, Sanctuaries,” Emma supplied flatly.
Scott looked up at her, eyes sharp. “Exactly. I swear, if Sue hadn’t seen my face and cut him off, he’d have gone there. Breeding programs, oversight committees. The whole nightmare.”
“I assume you restrained yourself,” she said.
“Barely,” Scott admitted. “But it stuck with me.”
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling now. “We’re down to so few, Emma. After M-Day… after everything… we’re barely holding on. And instead of seeing us as people, allies, they see us as still as a problem to be managed, not a people.’’
Silence stretched between them, filled by the sound of rain.
“The weight of it,” Scott continued quietly, “It’s getting worse… heavier. Every decision feels like it carries the future of our entire species on it. One wrong move, one bad alliance, and that’s it. We don’t get a second chance.”
Emma studied him, really looked. The man beside her wasn’t just a leader or a soldier. He was tired. Bone-deep tired. Carrying the impossible burden of being a symbol when all he’d ever wanted was to protect people.
“You’re allowed to be angry,” she said softly.
He huffed a breath. “Doesn’t feel like it, mutants aren’t allowed to get angry, we do that we lose allies, sympathy, what little public support we have.’’
She reached out, placing a hand on his forearm. “You don’t have to shoulder it alone.”
He glanced at her, a flicker of gratitude there, but also something else. Fear. “Sometimes it feels like there’s no room for anything but survival. Not anymore.”
Thunder cracked overhead, close enough to make the windows shudder.
Emma’s heart pounded. The storm outside. The storm in him. The storm in her.
This was the moment. Or it never would be.
She drew a steadying breath. “Scott,” she said.
He looked at her fully now. “Yeah?”
Her hand slid unconsciously to her stomach, fingers splayed protectively. She caught herself, stilled the motion, but the resolve stayed.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” she said.
He frowned slightly. “Is everything okay?”
The question nearly undid her.
She stood, stepping back toward the window, giving herself a moment to anchor. The rain traced rivulets down the glass, relentless and alive.
It has to be now, she told herself silently. Before fear finds another excuse
Her courage ebbed.
The words she had so carefully prepared slipped away, replaced by a tightness in her chest. Tonight felt wrong again. Heavy. Charged. She told herself she was being foolish, that she had faced far worse than a difficult conversation, but fear was rarely rational, Scott would be happy and joyful, not tonight she said to herself, maybe tomorrow when he was in a better mood.
Behind her, she felt him before she heard him.
Scott came up quietly, close enough that the warmth of him seeped through her back. His arms slid around her shoulders, not trapping, just anchoring. He rested a cheek near her temple, careful, familiar, and pressed a soft kiss there. It wasn’t demanding. It wasn’t questioning. It was comfort, plain and simple.
They stood like that, watching the storm together.
“Hell of a night,” he murmured.
“Ominous,” Emma said lightly, though her voice carried more truth than humor.
He hummed in agreement, his thumbs brushing slow, absent circles against her upper arms. “You know,” he said suddenly, ‘’We should take a vacation.”
She laughed, surprised. “Really. Scott Summers, suggesting a vacation.”
He smiled against her hair. “I’m tired Emma…we haven’t had much time for each other for the last few months with everything that happened with me and Christmas, I’m serious we both need it.’’
She leaned back into him, letting herself be held. “You’re always serious.”
“Just… us. No missions. No meetings. No end-of-the-world scenarios.” He paused. “Even a week. Ororo and Hank can handle things for a week.”
Emma tilted her head, glancing up at him. “And where exactly would we go?”
“Somewhere warm,” Scott said without hesitation. “Sunny. Somewhere far away from all this.” He gave a quiet chuckle. “You probably have a villa hidden away somewhere. You always do.”
Her lips curved. “I might.”
He shifted slightly, and she felt the familiar brush of his mind against hers letting her in. Then the image bloomed.
Sunlight. Brilliant and golden. A white stone villa perched above the sea, an infinity pool stretching toward a horizon of impossible blue.Trees swayed lazily in the breeze. The air was warm, clean, untouched by sirens or alarms. No one else. Just them.
Emma inhaled softly as the fantasy settled around her.
She saw herself stretched out on a sun chair, alabaster skin warmed by the sun, body loose and unguarded in a way she rarely allowed.
Her feet kicked idly in the air, lazy and playful, as if she had nowhere else to be. No role to perform. No armor to wear.
Her bikini top was undone and discarded without ceremony. The bottoms rode low on her hips that would be considered scandalous.
Scott knelt beside her in the vision, closer than before, the heat of him brushing her skin. He poured the lotion into his palm and paused, letting it warm there, as if the moment deserved patience. When his hands finally touched her, she felt it everywhere.
He started at her shoulders, thumbs pressing just enough to make her exhale, then traced the line of her collarbone with deliberate care. His hands moved down her arms slowly, not to get it done, but to feel. To linger. He leaned in as he worked, his presence steady and grounding, his focus entirely on her.
As he smoothed the lotion along her back, his hands dipped lower than necessary, skimming the curve of her waist, thumbs brushing the soft hollow just above her hips. It wasn’t careless. It was intimate in the quiet way that came from knowing someone deeply. From attention. From choice.
Emma let herself melt into it, into him. She didn’t move to help or hurry him. She let him take his time, let herself be seen, touched, remembered. In this place, under this sun, she didn’t need to brace or perform. She only needed to feel.
She felt herself relax into it, into him, a soft sound leaving her before she could stop it.
Scott chuckled quietly, the sound vibrating against her. “You like that idea.”
“It’s obscene,” Emma murmured. “You with time off relaxing.”
He smiled. “I’d be very dedicated to relaxing you.”
For a moment, she forgot the storm, forgot the weight of the secret she held.
“Somewhere with clear skies,” she said softly. “No noise. No expectations.”
“Exactly,” Scott said. “Just us.”
The thunder rolled again outside, but it felt distant now, muted by warmth and imagined sunlight.
For a fleeting moment, she let herself believe in it completely. The villa. The sun. The quiet. A world where nothing hunted or hated them. Where the future didn’t hang above them like a blade waiting to fall.
She breathed him in and held onto that feeling.
Soon, she told herself. Soon, she would tell him everything.
For now, she let him hold her, and let the fantasy carry them both somewhere safe.
Emma tilted her head, a faint smile playing at her lips as the fantasy lingered between them. “I know exactly what I’d be wearing,” she said lightly. “But what about you?”
Scott hesitated.
She felt it before she saw it, the brief pause in his thoughts, the almost shy reluctance that still surfaced now and then despite everything they had been through. It made her smile soften.
“Well,” he said carefully, “there’s… one option.”
Her brow arched. “Do go on.”
He cleared his throat. “Those trunks you bought me last year.”
Emma blinked. Then laughed outright.
“The tiny ones,” he added, resigned now. “The ridiculous ones. The ones that made you laugh so hard you nearly spilled champagne on the carpet.”
“The ones that hide absolutely nothing,” Emma said, delighted.
Scott winced. “Those.”
She closed her eyes, the image snapping into place immediately. Scott by the pool, sunlit and self-conscious, those scandalous little trunks clinging to him like a dare.
“Oh, Scott,” she said, amusement threading through her voice. “I suppose it’s fortunate the water will be warm.”
He laughed with her, the sound easing something tight in his shoulders. “Very warm,” he agreed.
They stood there, rain hammering against the windows, thunder muttering in the distance, while somewhere else entirely the sun shone.
He shifted closer, his arms tightening around her again. “I mean it, Emma,” he said more quietly. “We should do it. Just the two of us.”
She leaned back against him, listening.
“No one would be aware of who we are,” he went on. “Walking into town like we’re just… people. No one looking at us with fear and hate. Bottomless cocktails with umbrellas in them.” He smiled faintly. “Long walks along the beach where no one’s trying to save the world.”
Her breath slowed, her thoughts drifting.
“And at night,” Scott continued, his voice dropping, intimate now, meant only for her, “Midnight swims. The pool lit up, everything quiet. Just us. No schedules. No alarms.”
Emma’s imagination obliged eagerly.
The water was dark and warm, lapping softly against the stone. Both of them bathed in moonlight, the two of them bare to each other, unhurried. No walls. No armor. Just skin and breath and closeness. Afterwards, tangled sheets, limbs warm and heavy, laughter fading into something slower, deeper.
Reconnecting.
Remembering.
Emma swallowed, her grip tightening on his arms.
“It sounds dangerous,” she murmured.
Scott smiled against her hair.
She turned slightly, her hand coming up to rest over his forearm, grounding herself. God, she was tempted. More than tempted. The idea of that place, that quiet, felt like a promise. A pause the universe might allow them.
And the thought struck her, sudden and electric.
It would be the perfect place.
Away from the mansion. Away from eyes and expectations. Somewhere safe, warm, unreal. Somewhere the future didn’t feel like it was pressing down on her chest.
Somewhere she could tell him.
Her heart stuttered at the thought, fear and longing tangling together. She imagined his face when she said the words. The shock, the disbelief, the way his mind would race ahead while his hands stayed gentle, steady.
She imagined sunlight instead of storm clouds.
Scott shifted, sensing her change, though he didn’t know why. “What are you thinking about?” he asked softly.
Emma smiled, slow and secretive, turning her face up to him. “That you might be right,” she said. “About the vacation.”
His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “That’s it? I paint you a whole fantasy and that’s all you say?”
“For now,” she replied.
Outside, the storm raged on, rain lashing the windows, thunder cracking like something breaking apart. Inside, wrapped in his arms, Emma let herself hold onto the idea of sun and water and truth waiting just beyond the horizon.
Soon, she promised herself again.
Soon.
Scott smiled softly. “Just the two of us,” he said again, as if saying it might make it real.
Emma closed her eyes.
For a moment, she let herself listen to the storm, to the steady rhythm of his breathing behind her, to the way his arms held her like something precious and familiar.
The fantasy he’d built still glowed warm in her mind, sunlight and water and quiet laughter.
But that was all it was a fantasy.
She drew in a slow breath.
‘’It would be the... three of us.” She said quietly.
The words settled between them.
Scott stilled.
Not sharply. Not with panic. Just… still. Like his world had shifted slightly and he was trying to make sense of what had just been said.