Under normal circumstances, Emma would have cycled through greetings, small talk, and pleasantries with Charles, but such blather would have seemed misplaced. The air in the train car was already heavy. Perhaps getting out what she needed to say would change the atmosphere, or it wouldn’t, but putting off the inevitable wouldn’t help matters any. And so, Frost moved some of her props off of a stool and carried it over to sit next to Xavier. She placed a hand on the arm of his wheelchair and took a moment to lean back and search his face. Emma wasn’t particularly looking for anything, and she certainly wasn’t attempting to read his thoughts, but it was difficult to see Charles again and not feel the history between them. Years of animosity, cautious truces, allegiances, and friendship had brought them to this strange place. A boxcar in a pocket dimension and a conversation that turned her stomach.
“I want to tell you the truth.” She started, her hand moving from the wheelchair to rest on Xavier’s arm. “But I also have to tell you that I didn’t -- I didn’t want to tell anyone what happened to Scott. I lied, and I have to tell you that too. I lied because Scott deserved better than what fate handed him.” It was difficult, of course, to tell the man whose life Summers had ended that she thought Scott deserved anything, but Emma wasn’t interested in self-preservation, here. She wasn’t about to try to protect herself from any of Xavier’s anger or frustration. Not because she saw this conversation as a confession or was seeking some kind of penance through self-flagellation, but because she wholeheartedly stood by the choices that she’d made, and she was ready to take the consequences for them if that’s what it came to.
“Scott died because the Terrigen mists that power the Inhumans became toxic towards mutants. He died of the illness that it brought.” She exhaled sharply. “In a laboratory on Muir Island, in my arms. He suffocated. It only took minutes. That is the truth.”