Chapter Text
His Spider-Sense went off suddenly.
It wasn't the abrupt raising of hair on his arm, like when Thanos' Q-Ship had descended onto New York City. It wasn't the sudden flash of deadly understanding that there was a bullet headed his way either, like when he had pushed Jean out of the path of Frank's bullet all those years ago.
No, this was a slow, creeping realisation of horror, like being in the front carriage of an out-of-control train headed on a collision course with another.
Peter glanced over at Scott, slowly, tentatively, as if he were hiding from a killer in a slasher film and doing his best not to make a noise, lest he be noticed. That was probably an enviable fate, if you asked Peter now, compared to whatever Scott was about to say.
Scott met his gaze. Fuck.
"So, uh—" Scott began.
Oh no. Peter cycled through some prayers in his mind. He had spent enough time with Kurt to know a few good ones by now. He wished Kurt were here. Maybe they could pray together and fend off whatever evil was about to come out of Scott's mouth.
"Yes?" Peter prompted. Shit. Maybe he should have just ignored him. Maybe Scott would have just gone away on his own. Maybe he would get sucked into whatever weird plane of existence his eyes supposedly connected to. Not that that had ever made any sense. How could one even be born with eyes that connected to a separate dimension anyway? Sometimes, Peter thought, the X-Men felt like characters that some drunk and high comic book writer had come up with. Sexist too, though that was less to do with Scott and more to do with Jean and whatever her multiversal counterparts had decided to do.
They had been having such a good day too. The school was quieter than usual this week, which wasn't a common occurrence. Peter spent almost half his time at the mansion these days, mostly because DeWolff kept pestering him to "leave the petty thieves and the cats stuck on trees to the professionals", and it was usually rather busy. Oh, well. The police were doing a pretty good job, even though a lot of them were mutant-phobic and probably corrupt. As long as no rogue telepaths decided to drive armoured tanks through central Manhattan using possessed old ladies, Peter was plenty happy to leave the city to fend for itself for a few days at a time. Work-life balance and all that.
Anyway, the school was quiet because some of the mutants were away. Ororo was in Wakanda for diplomatic purposes, which was a very lofty, heavy responsibility, if Peter were being honest, but if anyone could pull it off it would be Ororo. Warren was away… somewhere, doing whatever people with limitless money did. Anna Marie was in the city on a date with one of the newer mutants. Remy, Jean had said his name was. Peter hadn't met him yet, but apparently his mutation made him fight with playing cards. Now that was a weird power. Maybe Peter was just biased because his girlfriend could control people's minds, lift almost anything with just a thought, shoot psionic projectiles, fly, and was possibly the chosen host of one of the most powerful cosmic forces in existence. Now that was cool. Throwing playing cards was kind of lame in comparison. Whatever. Anna Marie had seemed happier as of late, and that was good enough in Peter's book. He was also currently hiding from Kitty, because she had latched onto him the moment he had walked through the mansion's gates yesterday, babbling about some AI system she had been trying to build to rival his, vibrating so hard she might have phased through the floor at any moment.
Which meant Peter had been hanging out with Scott for the past couple of hours in the Danger Room, since Jean was in telepathy tutoring with Charles again. Not that he minded. Scott was cool. He was kind of uptight with some of the other mutants, and was a little scary when he got into leader mode on a mission, but he was plenty affable around Peter and Jean. Although, Peter definitely wished Scott could be a little more uptight now, because he was dreading whatever was going to tumble out of Scott's mouth.
"Telepaths," Scott said calmly, as if he were just stating that the sky was blue, the Earth was round, and chocolate cake was delicious, and not about to upend the rules of the universe.
"Telepaths?" Peter asked. Nausea was creeping up his throat like a spider.
"Telepaths," Scott reaffirmed, with a sidelong glance at Peter.
Okay. Peter closed his eyes. The train wreck was impending. He really needed to adopt a brace position.
"They're weird, aren't they?" Scott added.
Now that Peter could get behind. Because Jean Grey was actually really fucking weird. Putting aside the whole driving a tank with an old lady thing, because who the fuck even did that, or the whole possessing Peter's ex-girlfriend who had forgotten all about him and kissing him using her lips thing, which was on a whole other dimension of messed up—at least Peter could understand why she had done those things. Throw Peter off her tail, try to find her captured sister. But she didn't have to go all dramatic theatre kid while doing it with corny, second-rate villain dialogue. Jean hated being reminded of that. Too bad. He would never let her forget it. He would probably find a way to sneak them into his wedding vows.
The problem was Scott Summers was definitely not talking about Jean Grey. And that was even more of a headache, because there was only one other telepath at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters who Peter thought was weirder than his Jean.
"Yeah?" Peter's voice sounded strangled.
"I was wondering—" Scott said, voice trailing off, and Peter really, really fervently wished Scott Summers would stop wondering, because Peter really, really did not want to hear whatever Scott was thinking about.
"How do I—" Scott tried again, and Peter closed his eyes. He really wished the Danger Room still had live weapons and projectiles. He would have happily impaled himself, run into a fire, or been vaporised by live electricity.
"Scott," Peter warned.
Scott turned to look at him again. His hands fidgeted with his rose-quartz glasses, and he breathed a sigh.
"Emma," he finally said. The bandage was fully off now. "She's a telepath."
Peter gave Scott a withering look, because of course Scott had to bring up those four letters. "I know that," he said. "She invaded my brain when I was comatose, fighting my worst nightmares, with a reality-shifting demon lying a couple of feet away."
Scott winced. At least he had the decency to look slightly abashed. "That was not her finest moment."
"No, it really wasn't," Peter said. Then, because he knew that Scott was thinking it but would not bring it up, not in front of him at least, "But it's not like Jean was perfect either, before."
"I guess not," Scott said with a shaky, relieved laugh.
"We know each other well enough by now," Peter said after a beat of silence. He turned to face Scott fully. "I think we can handle talking about your very weird, probably inadvisable feelings for Emma Frost."
Peter wasn't stupid, even if he wouldn't say he was particularly well-versed in romance. He had been painfully awkward with MJ as a teenager, although that was probably excusable by his age. He had done a pretty good job with Jean, though. He had even had a very awkward, very stuttery conversation with MJ the other week for advice on how to propose and about ring sizes and all sorts of other things the Peter Parker of just three years ago would have never dreamt of thinking about. That had been a real out-of-body experience, talking to MJ about that topic. She had been nice enough to him about it, non-judgemental, excited even. In true MJ fashion, she had ended up in a long rant about slavery, monopolies, and capitalism, which wasn't particularly helpful. Frank would disagree, though. He still thought Peter was insane for falling in love with the girl who had tried to kill him numerous times—not to mention everything else she had done.
That meant Peter had had an idea of whatever had been budding between Scott and Emma Frost. Well, it was just Emma now, in his head at least. Baring your soul to someone in a realm composed of your worst nightmares tended to make one drop certain formalities. Jean would get mad, though, when he referred to Emma by just her first name, so he tried not to refer to her that way when Jean was around.
Scott and Emma tended to gravitate to one another—on missions and even just on the regular in the mansion. Peter had noticed the long-held glances, the subtle touches, and the way Emma would always defer to Scott without protest. She was cold, haughty, and arrogant, but she had always outwardly respected Scott, even earlier on when he had been unsure of his role as the X-Men's leader.
He didn't think Jean had noticed yet, which was pretty unusual. Even with his Spider-Sense—not that it was a help at all romantically—Jean was still more observant than him about these things. She would have definitely said something if she had. She would have probably threatened Emma and asked what kind of unholy, Satanic sacrifices she had made to win Scott's attention and affection. Jean had still taken to dragging Peter out of Emma's line of sight whenever they were in the same vicinity, which was why she had probably missed whatever was going on between Scott and Emma.
Scott turned a vibrant shade of red, the exact colour of his glasses. Oh, this was priceless. Bobby would definitely want a photo of this and encase it within permafrost.
"It's not like that," Scott said, somewhat defensively. "She's not—she's been trying."
Peter held his gaze for a moment. He wasn't a hypocrite. He wouldn't sit here and criticise Scott for his feelings for Emma, when he had done the same thing with Jean, just a few years ago. Jean had hurt him, too, far more than Emma had. And as far as Peter knew, Emma had never done anything to Scott. There had been no taunting, no rooftops, and no phantom kisses for him.
"I know." Peter settled on that. "Jean's done far worse. To me."
Scott stayed quiet for a moment, drumming his fingers on his thigh.
"I'm sorry if I was being unfair," Peter added, filling the silence. "I won't judge, I swear. Tell me what you want to talk about."
"Thanks, man," Scott said gratefully, blowing out a breath. He was rearranging his thoughts like a puzzle. Peter had known Scott for long enough to know when he was doing that. Peter let him, absent-mindedly turning a web shooter over in his hands. "I just want to know how to reconcile with it," Scott said eventually. "That version of her, I mean. Well, I was there that day when she went inside your head. And all of the things I know she's done before—before joining the X-Men and before joining the school. She's killed a lot of people. Not all of it was out of selfless protection, either."
Peter stared at him for a moment. He didn't think Emma Frost was a monster. He never had, even before they had their moment in that demon's nightmare realm, augmented by Danielle Moonstar's mutation, and certainly not afterwards. He had understood her, then, and perhaps even before. She had had no one. Not an aunt to sit beside her on a bed, telling her that power was a choice, a sacrifice, a responsibility—that she was not alone, even on the dark nights when she was being hunted by those who coveted her gifts. Not a boy to push her out of the way of a bullet, despite what she had done to him and those he loved before. Long before she had gained her diamond armour, ruthless power had been her shield.
With Jean, it had taken Peter a lot of time—time to reconcile the angry, vengeful girl who had torn through Manhattan and ripped open all of his old wounds, with the one who had called him from every shitty motel across America, because he had been her lifeline, and he gradually realised that somehow she had become his as well. Weirdly enough, MJ had been his voice of reason through this time. Frank had scoffed at him and called him crazy. Ned had understood, but he had also just thought Jean's powers were the coolest thing ever, so he was biased from the start. Meanwhile, MJ was the person who Jean had violated, but had still understood Peter's growing feelings for Jean, and had helped him come to terms with what she had done, and how to move forward.
Peter didn't really know Emma, though. Not in the same way Scott probably did. They hadn't interacted much after the whole demon incident, aside from working together on missions, which wasn't a common occurrence to begin with. There were a few stilted greetings here, a Christmas gift there, but nothing to really write home about. Peter hadn't held what she had done against her, but at the same time he still wasn't particularly eager to have a conversation with Emma Frost.
"I don't know," Peter answered, because that was the truth. He hadn't really known how he had reconciled the juxtaposing images of Jean Grey in his head. It had felt like betrayal at the start—a betrayal of MJ, a betrayal of Peter's sacrifice of erasing their memories, a betrayal of his principles, because he had fallen for a person who had done such horrible things. But eventually he had. He had realised the Jean Grey of his present was still the same person, capable of those horrible things, but was actively trying to atone for all she had done. She had never once tried to erase her past. Because it had mattered—it had made up who she was, but it didn't have to define who she would be.
"Oh," Scott said. Disappointed.
"I mean that I don't have a single answer that fits everyone," Peter said, because Scott deserved better than just a blank I don't know. "I can tell you that I started falling in love with Jean when I realised she wasn't letting her past define her future. When she was trying her hardest to make up for what she had done. When she had become someone I trusted. I realised that people made up of broken pieces were still worth loving. You take the good with the bad, because love wouldn't be love without both the thorns and the roses."
Scott's expression as he gazed at Peter was inscrutable, before it dropped to his hands. He sighed. "I mean—I know about some of her past, and some of the things she's done. Not everything, but enough to have a good idea. I know she's complicated. Probably not a good person, if I were being reductive."
"But you still like her," Peter prompted. "In spite of those things."
Scott grimaced. Peter felt it too, because like was such a juvenile word for whatever the feeling was. Like could have never been an adequate summation for what Peter had felt for Jean, even when she had been on the run, and their only interactions were staticky phone calls, and it probably wasn't adequate for what Scott felt for Emma, either. It was simply a placeholder term for people who were too scared to use the word love and the responsibility those four letters brought.
"We've been having sessions together. Telepathic ones. She offered at first, because of my memory problems," Scott said, twisting his hands together. He paused, looking at Peter to gauge his reaction, but he didn't react. "Eventually, I realised I could open up to her a little, probably because she's several years older and knows what it's like to be responsible for a lot of people."
Peter nodded. That he could understand. He hadn't known about the telepathy sessions, but it made sense—a lot of Scott's old memories were still fragmented, and they just might give clues to what had happened to his missing brother. He understood the burden of leadership too—or rather, that it was something Scott struggled with. Scott had confided in Peter in their very first meeting here in this very room, after all. Out of everyone at the mansion, Charles aside, Emma was definitely the person who would understand the best.
"I'm glad, then," Peter replied, "that you have someone to talk to."
"I know. It's been good. Talking to her has been really helpful." Scott's face lit up in a shy smile. "And I guess I realised I enjoy spending time with her a lot. And that she—"
Peter could surmise where he was going. Not evil and not a monster sprang into Peter's mind, but Scott probably wouldn't appreciate that.
"She's not as horrible as Jean thinks she is?" Peter prompted, after Scott had trailed off.
"Something like that."
"Deserves love, just like any other person, because people are complicated and contain multitudes?"
Scott huffed a laugh. "Yeah. You're good at this."
Peter groaned. "I've had a whole year of talking about my feelings for Jean and other mushy things. With the ex-girlfriend who Jean threw off the roof, by the way. I think I can handle yours."
"That is still so weird, by the way," Scott said with a snort.
"Tell me about it," Peter groaned. "It was way more awkward than this, and this is plenty awkward."
Scott laughed. "Sorry, man. I'm using up this year's quota for sappy conversations."
Peter shook his head, smiling, but gestured to Scott to go on.
"So it feels like I know her. The parts that she hides away." Scott's face was fully red again, his tone shy, but the words were pouring out now. "But you're right—part of me feels bad about it. Like it's a betrayal. Because I was standing right there when she invaded your mind. And I've been witnessing her rivalry with Jean for the past few years."
Peter hummed in response, gathering his thoughts. "MJ told me when we talked about it—that they're two separate things. You can't control your feelings, and you certainly don't need my blessing, or Jean's, to have those feelings out of some misplaced sense of loyalty, especially when I don't view the things she did as unforgivable. She wouldn't be a teacher at the school and a trusted member of the X-Men if they were."
That had been what MJ had said to him, just a few years ago. Jean had still been on the run from the DoDC and law enforcement then, going from bus to bus, staying in shitty motel after shitty motel. Peter had been her only constant, and awkward, stilted phone calls gradually melted into familiarity and intimacy. Peter had started to realise the depth of his feelings for Jean—she had become someone he could trust, and someone who could understand the depths and contours of his grief and loneliness, because those things were mirrored within her own heart. He had only held back out of guilt and that bitter feeling of betrayal. After all, he had held on to his feelings for MJ for four years, only to then turn around and fall for the person who had violated and tried to kill her. It had certainly helped that Jean had been outwardly remorseful. She had apologised that first night to Peter, and then every night afterwards for a month. She had made a list of the people she had hurt, and the things she had to do to make up for what she had done. Emma Frost was probably too proud to outright apologise to Peter. In any case, he had taken the fact that she had dragged him out of the nightmare and never invaded his mind again as something akin to an apology. She had even been nicer to Jean—well, as nice as Emma Frost could be, anyway.
"It's about whether you yourself can make peace with it," Peter continued. "After all, it's your relationship. I'm not saying what she's done doesn't matter. I'm saying that what she's done isn't all that she is. I don't have a problem with her. Things are awkward, sure, but I don't hold anything against her. Jean will come around too, but it's even less of her business than it is mine, and it wasn't much of my business to begin with."
"Okay, that's—" Scott breathed a shaky sigh. "That's good to hear from you."
"Anytime," Peter said. "Look. You understand each other, right?"
Scott nodded.
"Trust?"
"I think so."
"Then it doesn't have to get more complicated than that," Peter said with a shrug. "As long as you're happy, man."
"I am. I have been." Scott's face lit up in that dopey smile again.
God, that was sickening—had Peter really been like that with Jean? Okay, he definitely had been. MJ and Ned would definitely attest to that. He probably had been worse, honestly. MJ had once told him he was "doing so much pining he could fill a whole forest".
"Good," Peter said simply.
They returned to comfortable silence. Eventually, Peter stood, rolling the stiffness out of his neck. He slid his phone out of his pocket. Two hours. Christ, they had been talking about Scott's feelings for Emma fucking Frost for two hours. Jean was going to be out of her session with Charles soon, and Peter had a class to teach. Scott stood as well, returning weapons that had been scattered on the floor to their rack.
"Thanks, Peter," Scott said, hoisting a punching bag.
"Sure," Peter replied. "Next time I'm charging, though."
"Charging?"
"Yeah," Peter said. "For my unstable telepath wooing services."
Scott snorted. "I can't argue with that, I suppose. You are somehow two for two."
"Did she tell you what happened? When she went inside my head that time?" Peter had always wondered, but he had never asked. Mostly because Emma Frost was still plenty scary, and he hadn't wanted to intrude on whatever delicate dance Scott and Emma had been doing around one another.
A slight grimace flickered across Scott's face again. "A little. She never said what your nightmare was. She just said you two had come to an understanding, and that maybe she should learn to trust others."
"That's about right," Peter said, shrugging. He gazed back at Scott. "Look. We did come to an understanding. She wanted to know how I could forgive Jean and fall in love with her even after all that she's done. That's your responsibility now. You need to look at Emma and know that she has those edges and corners. You need to accept them, but at the same time you can never let yourself or her diminish those things that have happened in the past."
Scott nodded. "I know. It's just not easy."
"No, it's not," Peter said. He glanced back at Scott, who looked just as unsure as he had when they had first met in this same room. This was the same boy who had once confided in Peter his anxiety about being appointed the X-Men's leader, and how he had begged Jean to take his place. He looked just as unsure now, twisting his hands together, perched on the event horizon of another girl made up of broken edges who was healing and trying to move forward. Peter knew all too well how that felt. He strode over to Scott, punching him in the shoulder. "But I have faith you'll figure it out."