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🕑 Added 2017-06-25 19:59:01 +0000 UTCThe argument had been going on for nearly an hour when Emma decided to end it.
Scott the younger—Emma had taken to referring to him simply as Scott, for he bore far more of a resemblance to the man she’d fallen in love with than the black-swathed man she now saw only as ‘Cyclops’—was arguing passionately. “How come when there are Sentinels flying around everywhere because Senator Kelly was assassinated, it’s fine to go back in time to change that, but now, when things are nearly as bad, it’s suddenly so damn important to preserve the timeline?”
“This isn’t about fixing the timeline,” Cyclops insisted calmly. He did almost everything calmly these days. “This is about you having a juvenile crush and you’re better than that.”
“I’m better than that? So better that I have to stay with Jean, who doesn’t even like me anymore—you’re going to have to brainwash her into liking me when you send her back!—all so I can end up in a loveless marriage with her and cheat on her with some villainess!” He glanced at Emma. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Emma said. “Come with me, please.”
Cyclops had known her long enough to do as she said, and Scott respected his elders enough to follow along. They continued their discussion on the space-time continuum, all but citing chapter and verse of Star Trek, as Emma led them to the appropriate room.
“What is this place?” Scott asked, seeing multiple security monitors displaying views all throughout the mansion.
“Take it from me, you X-kids have lost the right to privacy many times over,” Emma said. She sat down at one of the few consoles, cuing up a feed on the main display. “Laura Kinney, right? You couldn’t at least have the good taste to fall for one of my Cuckoos—it had to be Wolverine’s bastard daughter.”
“She’s a very nice lady!” Scott protested. Arms crossed, he glanced at Cyclops. “Would you prefer I ask out Psylocke?”
“Watch it.”
“No, watch this,” Emma quipped, bringing up Laura’s room on the monitor.
Scott glanced at the display and his arms immediately dropped from their fold. “Is that…?”
d be .ԡ\4
