Emma lay back on the bed and let her mind wander. It was partly to relax; they were far enough away from Xavier that he couldn't barge into her mind even if she let down her guard, and it was a strain to maintain her full mental shields all the time, and partly because it was such fun to see what her companions were thinking.
Outside her room, in the dining area of their temporary headquarters, Azazel, Angel, Mystique and Riptide were talking. Three of the minds twinkled quietly, steadily flickering like distant stars. It was the quiet that came from minds that were used to living with a telepath; they knew they couldn't stop her so they didn't bother to try to shield their thoughts. Those minds must have been Azazel, Mystique and Riptide. The fourth mind varied in its intensity, but shouted its fear so loudly. It must have been Angel, because every now and again she could almost hear the cry of 'oh shit, Emma might be able to hear this' and Angel would make whatever it was that she was trying to hide so clear and easy to read. Sometimes Emma even followed the trail all the way back to see what it was. It was very rarely worth it.
She swept through their conversation now, Azazel and Mystique flirting as they exchanged stories of persecution.
"Go on," that was Riptide, "tell her about the time you nearly got burnt at the stake."
"I was getting to that." If that didn't tell you everything that was wrong with humans, Emma didn't know what did. Azazel had hours of stories that started with 'this is the time they nearly killed me *this* way' because he'd always had his red skin and his pointed tail but he'd only come into conscious control of his teleportation powers when he hit puberty. Before then, he'd been a scared child, who could only vanish out from under his captors's bond when he'd been in fear of his life. Bring on the age of the Children of the Atom.
As the dance of their conversation began again, Emma moved on, moved further away from her own body.
She didn't know quite what she was hoping for, that maybe Magneto had forgotten to put on the helmet and she would be able to find out what he was thinking. Of course, she didn't get that, he was still wearing the damn thing and her mind slid off its shining shell.
She wondered if he knew how horrifying that slippery silence was to a telepath. A world without the sound of people's thoughts was one of her darkest nightmares, and to have it, even in miniature, almost constantly within arm's reach, was wearing on the nerves. She hid her feelings, and it wasn't too bad when she was fully awake, but sometimes all she wanted to do was recoil in disgust when faced with the helmet.
It was also a symbol, *the* sign of Magneto's lack of trust in her. Yes, it had been Shaw's helmet, and yes, he had worn it on occasion, but Shaw had always included her in his plans, something which Magneto singularly failed to do. She wondered sometimes if the helmet was as much to keep her out as it was to prevent Charles Xavier from finding them.
The only time that Magneto didn't wear it was when he was asleep, and she wasn't going to try to go into his mind while he slept again. Not after that first time. It was one thing to be told that someone's dreams were filled with horrors; it was another thing to know it.
Emma would have raised the matter with him, except she didn't feel like being strangled again, and Magneto's temper was uncertain enough that she wouldn't put it past him.
She hadn't thought she would miss Shaw quite so much, she wasn't a sentimental person, and it wasn't as though he was a friend. When Shaw was their leader things were always done his way, yes, but at least she got left to arrange her own business to her liking, Magneto wasn't anything like as reasonable. She strongly suspected that the only reasons he rescued her from prison was as a fail-safe in case the helmet failed, and that he needed her money. Although, given Mystique's power, if it had only been her money that Magneto was after, Emma had a feeling Magneto would have had her replaced her by now.
It simply wouldn't do.
Of course, she couldn't just go on a straight forward attack, Magneto would be ready for that and he would have no compunction about hurting her. No, this was going to require other talents.
Emma knew she looked good. She'd bought some new lingerie especially, and had her hair done in the Arden salon. If Magneto wouldn't take off his helmet in the everyday course of things, she would just have to get him into a situation where he wanted to remove it.
She let herself into Erik's room while he was out on one of his mysterious trips away, which were another example of the way he never told her anything about what was going on.
Emma arranged herself on the bed; seduction was one of the many things at which she was exceptionally good.
Erik stormed in not long after she'd finished settling herself to her satisfaction. He took a nowhere near long enough look at her, before he strode over to the other side of the room and put his helmet on. Once he'd done that he grabbed the bottle of whiskey and a glass that were standing on the nightstand, and poured himself a glass. He didn't offer her one as he sat down in the brown leather chair at the foot of the bed. Emma caught the end of a thought as he put his helmet on, something about 'why are they always undressed?' which she would have loved to follow up on. There was something there, something that could be used to her advantage.
"So, what do you want?" They were sitting opposite each other, Magneto looking almost straight through her, as though she wasn't there.
"Aren't you pleased to see me?"
Erik leant forward to reply. "You forget, my dear, I was there in Russia." Emma's hand reached for her throat, automatically. No, she hadn't forgotten, not at all. "I saw how you dealt with the General. You'll forgive me if I'd rather maintain a little dignity."
"Very well." She rearranged herself on the bed, sitting every so prim and proper, if that was how he wanted to play it.
"That's better. As I said, what do you want?"
'I want you to listen to me; I want you to take me seriously.' Except she knew she shouldn't have to ask for that. She couldn't expect to be treated like Mystique, who Erik treated like an extra limb, someone who would do exactly what he needed doing before he even thought to ask. All she wanted was to be treated as well as Riptide and Azazel, not held apart, like a necessary evil. She was the white queen of the Hellfire club, and she would be treated as such. "I want you to let me in. I can't do my job efficiently if you insist on only verbal communication." She thought it might work; if there was no appealing to Erik the man then she would appeal to Magneto, the leader.
"We seem to manage quite well without it."
She didn't deign to point out that that was undoubtedly because she could wrangle the others. "It still hands Xavier's men an advantage." She could see him squirm, or what passed for Magneto squirming, it was nothing more than a quick tug on his right sleeve, fighting the knowledge that she was right. Now why would that be? Emma quickly put the pieces together. "So the great mutant freedom fighter has a problem with telepaths."
"I'd have no problem if they'd all keep out of my head." Emma raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Don't give me that nonsense about swearing not to go further than I allow you. I've heard it before. You might not do it deliberately, but at some point, a situation will arise where you'll feel that there's no other way of doing something that by barging around in my mind. The best person I know can barely stop himself from doing it, and I don't expect better from other people." Some people shook with anger, instead Magneto became more still.
"Very well." She nodded her agreement. "Do you have any idea how much easier it would have been if you'd explained that to begin with?" He seemed nonplussed that she would accept his argument so easily. In reality, she understood the value of a tactical retreat. She was still going to work on it, it seemed like a ridiculous restriction to her, but it was good to have a set starting point, and it never hurt to appear to be willing to negotiate.