Emma had had quite a few surgeries, tried countless beauty routines, and did numerous exercises, suffering greatly for the sake of her spectacular looks. Foolishly, she'd allowed that to convince her that her regiment was anywhere near as arduous as Scott's. And so he'd challenged her to keep up as he did the usual morning exercises that so annoyed her—Scott getting up at the crack of dawn, leaving her alone in a cold bed until he came back, sweaty and disgusting, to shower and start his day in earnest.
Emma had accepted.
Now she was more or less red, sweating all over the white sports bra and leggings she wore, forced to concede that she was not in the same shape Scott was in.
It was early in the morning and cool, which felt like the only reason Emma hadn't burst into flame. The parkland that was most of the Xavier property outside the mansion was deserted. Scott was ahead of her, vexingly slowing down to allow her to keep
something
of a pace with him.
Emma would not admit defeat. She was too smart for that. So the moment a particularly soft looking bit of tussock appeared to her on the grass along the trail, she threw herself on it.
"Oh! Oww! Oh, my ankle, I think I twisted my ankle!"
Scott stopped running and went back to her, concern twisting his lips. "Are you okay?"
Weren't you listening? I said I twisted my bloody ankle.
Emma put on a brave smile. "It's fine. I'll be fine. Keep going, finish your exercise. I'll teep someone to bring out a golfcart."
Scott examined her ankle. "It doesn't look that bad. Are you sure you can't keep going?"
"Oh, no. I'd hate to aggravate my injury. What if I should be hospitalized when the team needs me?" Emma rubbed her ankle. "No, I'll rest it. The sooner I heal, the sooner I can return to duty."
"You're sure you're not just worn out? It's fine to admit that your physique isn't quite what it once was."
"My
physique?"
Emma repeated. "Scott Summers, I could keep going for miles except for this injury! How dare you insinuate otherwise! I have an accident, a horrible accident, and all you can think of is some silly contest. Shame on you."
Scott's expression curdled minutely. "It's not a silly contest. It's seeing how conditioned you are to the demands of the X-Men."
"Be that as it may, I am a telepath. I hardly need to run ten miles to use my power. Though I could if I wanted to."
"Assuming you don't twist your ankle," Scott corrected.
"You're literally adding insult to injury, Summers. It's uncouth."
"I'm just trying to ask a question, Emma. What would you do if your powers were out of commission? Here—"
And in a split-second, Scott had retrieved an inhibitor collar from his jogging suit and slipped it around Emma's throat.
"Scott!? What are you doing?"
"You're injured. Exhausted. Your powers aren't working. What do you do now?"
"I'm sure I don't know. It's six o'clock in the morning, Summers. I'm tired. I want to lie down."
