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The worst thing about being trapped in close quarters with the psychic form of the woman trying to steal her husband is the lack of control, particularly in a place where her control is normally absolute. Or maybe it's the loneliness, knowing it's just her and someone who doesn't care about her. No, scratch that, the worst thing is just being trapped in close quarters with the psychic form of the bitch trying to steal her husband.
"You know I can hear you, right, Jean darling?" Emma asks.
"You don't hear anything I don't want you to," Jean responds.
That isn't really the case, though. Since the Shadow King exiled them to this shared prison on the astral plane, they can't hide anything from the other, really. They have been sitting, shoulders grazing, in what their minds seem to have negotiated as neutral ground - a bench on the grounds of a school that is some combination of the Massachusetts Academy and the Xavier Institute. It is their curse to be trapped together - their astral forms tied while the surroundings they are able to create are limitless.
The school grounds are beautiful - a large brick mansion with ivy crawling up its sides, an Olympic-size swimming pool, an arboretum that Emma thinks of as the Danger Grotto, and manicured lawns as far as she can see. Mutant children who they both know to be grown or dead in the waking world are happily existing here. Jubilee and Angelo seem to be preparing a practical joke for Paige in the arboretum, while young Hank and Warren argue with Bobby, who has iced over the swimming pool again.
Jean has been this close to Emma's psyche before, when she transferred her mind into Emma's body during Fitzroy's attack ages ago. That had a different feeling, though, because Emma had retreated to a safe, isolated spot deep in the recesses of her mind then. Emma had remained quiet and unobtrusive - Emma's mind had been a peaceful place.
"Are you really having nostalgic thoughts about the time you commandeered my body? I thought the story was that you played puppeteer out of necessity, but it certainly sounds like you enjoyed it."
Jean scowls. "That's not at all what I was thinking, Emma. Even when you have complete unfettered access to my thoughts you manage to misinterpret everything. Always twisting things to your own ends."
"Even I can't twist what's already twisted," Emma replies.
They fall silent and watch the children. Catseye and Roulette seem to have had a disagreement with Boom Boom and Rictor. Catseye is moving forward in her feline form, the ground is beginning to shake, and both Jennifer and Tabitha have their hands forward in poses that suggest energy discs and explosions are imminent. Jean is still steaming about Emma, and has to admit she's curious about who is going to win here. She wonders what the ethics are regarding preventing the children from fighting when the children are just constructs of her and Emma's minds.
Before she has to make a final decision on if she needs to step in, Leech comes forward to power everyone down and defuse the situation.
Emma speaks up. "Why are we here? Watching our consciousnesses battle it out in the form of our students indicates something about our psyches that I don't really feel like analyzing. You have all the fiery powers of the cosmos at your disposal; couldn't you get us free?"
"Not without burning a Phoenix-shaped hole through your mind."
They are silent again, and Jean can feel the nervous energy, the fear, escaping from the other woman despite her best efforts at containing it. "I'm not going to do it, Emma."
Emma's avatar is every bit as obdurate as the woman herself, but Jean can feel the release and the accompanying suspicion behind the exterior.
"The Phoenix wants me to, I won't...can't lie to you. It's telling me that Scott is in danger. The Shadow King was attacking all of us -- we were just targeted first."
That statement hangs in the space between them for a few seconds, until Jean continues.
"I'm holding it back, but you have to understand, the Phoenix cares about Scott, as much as the Phoenix cares about anything. The Phoenix does not care for anyone who tries to get between it and Scott - it puts up with me, as an avatar, but it really does not like you. Tread lightly, Emma."
Emma narrows her eyes and speaks. "You and your all-powerful cosmic force don't frighten me, Jean."
"I wish I could always say the same," Jean murmurs.
They are quiet for a long time, to the extent that time exists in this space. Here there is no weather, no light-dark cycle, no need to eat or sleep or breathe, and the only activity is that created by their own minds. It is equally possible they sit there for five minutes or five days. If it were anyone else on the bench beside her, Jean would find this comfortable. Emma's shoulder touches hers, emitting warmth and moving up and down with the breathing Emma persists with because it makes her feel physical and human.
The kids are having a picnic. Paige and Warren lie on the grass, while Monet and Jetstream play a super-powered game of frisbee nearby. Scott and Sally are preparing sandwiches on a blanket, while Taki and Artie wait nearby with hungry expressions.
Emma has to intrude upon the peace. "I'm bored. This is all very transcendental, but I am a woman of action."
"Yes, I'm aware of what happens when you get bored," Jean replied. "You cause trouble." An image of Emma in a black nightie, carrying a bottle of champagne, glimmered across the landscape. Emma did not have the decency to project shame.
"What do you propose we do to stave off your ennui?" Jean knew that Emma would not have made this declaration if she didn't already have something in mind. She had let her attention slip for a while, though, and had no idea what it might be.
"I propose a game," Emma says, mischief in her voice.
"We will not be playing Truth or Dare."
"Of course not, Jean; we're not schoolgirls. We're two of the most powerful minds on the planet. I want us to play a game of memories. For example..."
The school grounds faded away, replaced by an infinite nothingness. Their bench had transformed into a plush, red velvet couch that would not have been out of place in the Hellfire Club.
"Let's say that you propose the category, 'a perfect meal.' I would then show you this." Their couch now looks over the patio of a beach-side restaurant. Jean osmoses from Emma that this is Antibes. Emma is seated, cleavage spilling from white silk, across the table from Tony Stark. Jean raises an eyebrow and Emma smirks. The Emma at the table takes a dainty bite of tuna carpaccio, and Jean is suffused with the taste of it, the fish and its sauce resting on her tongue for an instant before it's fully consumed. This is why the Astral Plane is dangerous - a telepath can have anything she wants here, have experiences fuller and more varied than any that could be found in a person's lifetime otherwise.
"Your turn, Jean. A perfect meal."
Jean knows this game is probably a bad idea. But the part of her mind that can't back down from a challenge, particularly a challenge from Emma, convinces her this is all harmless fun.
The French Riviera fades and is replaced by a dimly lit diner, complete with their crimson sofa. New York at night can be seen through the window over a younger Jean's shoulder. She is sitting in a booth with Scott, Hank, Bobby and Warren. Hank is pink-skinned, and Warren has his wings restrained under a shirt - he leans forward so they aren't pressed against the seat behind him. Bobby and Hank are playing a very complicated-looking game with some coasters, while the others look on in amusement. All of that is swept aside, though, when the food arrives. They all have identical white plates with identical cheeseburgers and fries set in front of them.
Everyone else begins reaching for condiments, but Jean only has eyes for her burger. She picks it up, and the Jean sitting on the couch watching can smell the beef approaching her face. They both close their eyes as the younger Jean takes a bite, pickles crunching between her teeth.
"A cheeseburger? Really?"
Jean turns to Emma. "Those were the best burgers I've ever had. We used to go into the city every chance we got, just to get those."
Emma rolls her eyes. The word mundane resounds from her, but all she says out loud is, "Okay, my turn to choose."
"You chose the last one."
"No, I didn't. Remember, we hypothetically made it your choice. Except, it wasn't hypothetical, since I knew it was what you would choose." That word is still echoing in their minds, and Jean is getting angry, but she calms herself. She is trying to learn to choose her battles.
"Fine, Emma. Your choice."
She replies, "A hot day."
The diner (where Scott is mediating a ketchup-related argument between Warren and Bobby) fades, and is replaced by the sands and water of St. Barts. Jean and Scott lie on chairs, their fingers intertwined, baking in the sun. They are both in their swimsuits, sweat glistening on their skin. Emma is clearly more interested in this memory, leaning forward slightly and biting her lip, immersing herself in the memory's warmth.
This, their brief moment of honeymoon before she and Scott were swept off on yet another errand to save the world, is not something Jean would have chosen to share with Emma. The proximity of their minds makes it difficult to maintain her privacy fences, though, and this is the first thought that jumped into her head at Emma's words. This game is more dangerous than she had initially thought.
"Your turn," Jean says, eager to get Emma away from this place, this image of her and Scott looking so vulnerable.
A small, wicked smile passes across Emma's face as the scenery becomes that of a cramped college dorm room. The air is filled with a late summer humidity so thick Jean is almost surprised it isn't visible. If it were, it could obscure the picture in front of her, of a young Emma, still blonde, but noticeably without surgical enhancements, straddled across the lap of a girl Jean doesn't recognize. They are both stripped to their underwear, sharing a desk chair.
Jean is determined not to let Emma think she is embarrassed, or at all interested in this image. She can feel Emma waiting for her reaction, so she attempts to exude a stony indifference. It's difficult, though, in the face of Emma kissing and biting her way down the girl's neck and chest, in this room filled with the girl's low moans as Emma's hand works its way into her panties. As with the other memories, she could feel everything the subjects feel here, but she stubbornly refuses to; it would feel like letting Emma win.
"Really, Emma? This is the first thing you think of for 'a hot day'?"
"We didn't have air conditioning, and it was one of those blasted New York heat waves. We stripped to our underwear to cool off, but we didn't end up doing ourselves any favors with our choice of activity. Or rather, there were many favors involved, but none helped us cool down."
Jean rolls her eyes. "Droll as usual." She does her best to think of something innocent. "New category - a day with a good book."
Jean is satisfied when the stifling heat of the dorm is replaced by the institutional cool of a library. She revises her opinion, though, when she registers the distinct sound of Emma mewling and moaning, and fully takes in the scene in front of her. Selene is kneeling in front of Emma as she leans back against a bookshelf. Jean was already in a precarious position after the previous memory, making it doubly difficult not to notice the way Emma's chest moves above her corset, the look of intense satisfaction on Emma's face, the electricity extending throughout Emma's body, to the tips of her fingers and toes, as she orgasms.
She is angry now, but struggles not to show it. "Don't you have any memories that don't revolve around sex? This seems a little shallow, really."
Emma smirks, and it's obvious she knows she's getting to Jean. "These are just the most memorable, darling. What immediately comes to mind."
Jean quickly takes her turn to erase this scene, but the damage has been done and continues. No matter what she proposes, Emma parades her sexual greatest hits, and Jean becomes increasingly drawn in.
The game can finally be called to an end, Jean thinks, when Emma shows her a scene of the two of them, limbs entwined and lips joined. "I think you lose, Emma. This is a game of memories, and this never happened. I would certainly remember."
Emma's hand reaches to the back of Jean's neck, and she says, "It's just not a memory yet."
The small distance left between their astral forms is closed and Jean knows she should resist, that she loathes Emma, and she will definitely regret this as soon as it's over, but she gives in. She welcomes Emma's thighs straddling hers and Emma's lips crushing against hers, and Emma's hands pushing her shoulders back against the velvet of the sofa.
Emma's breasts brush against her nipples, and it feels so right, and she can envision what it would feel like without the fabric in the way. Thought here is deed, dissipating their clothing in an instant - she was right, it is better without them.
"Eager are we, dear?"
"Don't talk, Emma, or I'll start to think about this too much."
That smile passes over Emma's face again as she says, "You and I both know you've been thinking about this plenty as it is."
Before Jean can respond, Emma covers her mouth with her own once again, and her hand moves to cup Jean's breast, thumb moving back and forth over her nipple, lightly back and forth until Jean is raising her hips, eager for something more.
Emma is enjoying this denial, Jean can tell. She's enjoying having something Jean wants for a change, and holding back. That isn't a game Jean wants to play, so she flips Emma onto her back, pins her wrists down with one hand, and closes her mouth over Emma's nipple. Her other hand employs itself inside Emma, and now it's Emma who is moaning and writhing under Jean. She can feel that Emma is close, and the plan had been to pull back at precisely this moment, but the thought of Emma spent and shuddering under her is overwhelming, so she continues, arching her fingers, thumb brushing against Emma's clit.
They've played by the rules up to this point, confined their actions to the bodies they've created, but Emma has never been one for regulations. Jean can feel mouth and fingers moving over her, though Emma's wrists are still held above her head, and her head is resting against the cushion, not against Jean's skin. The warm breath and invisible tongue between Jean's legs work her quickly to climax, but not before she has Emma arching into her hand and shaking against her. They collapse into a hot, limp heap.
Their rescue is a quiet affair from their end. One second they are peacefully sitting on their bench, watching the children play tug-of-war, the next they are in the mansion, which looks like it has suffered more than one explosion.
Everyone is eager to share their war stories, though Hank doesn't want to let Jean and Emma leave the medical bay, where their bodies have been resting since the Shadow King's initial attack, before he finishes his tests. Jean insists she is feeling well enough to embrace her husband, who doesn't look like he has slept in days. As she sits upright, she hears Emma's voice inside her mind. "And so, I live through another day without being consumed by the fires of the cosmos. My little game proved to be sufficient diversion, it seems."
Jean struggles to keep her anger from showing to the others gathered in the lab. "You were toying with me? You realize we will never speak of this again."
"Of course not," Emma replies, and the fact that she can make her thoughts sound so amused is a testament to her power as a telepath. "We will never talk about it out loud."