Thanks to kristelalugo, ellie, booster2051, guest, and mexicana for reviewing! I can't answer your questions without giving spoilers, so let's just say I hope you like the answers when you read them!

'Scott. Scott, wake up.'

He didn't want to. In his too-fast-fading dream he was a little boy with a mother. He was four years old. The baby was asleep—finally—and Scott curled on his mother's lap while she read to him.

'Scott Matthew Summers, wake up NOW!'

He touched his face, ensuring that his eyes were covered before opening them.

The encroaching reality he cared for less. His body was a mass of pains, the throb in his fingers telling him they were only almost numb, his chest cracked like ice, the overall bruising. His blast slowed the fall some and he landed, mercifully, in the snow. By some miracle nothing else seemed broken. He was bruised all over, though.

Bruised. Wet. Shivering.

The only part of him that felt okay was on his right arm. Something warned him against investigating why he felt warm anywhere.

It was all just so… familiar.

'Move!'

He didn't question the order, just rolled to his knees. His bad hand brushed the ground and he could not keep from whimpering. It triggered a memory—the pain and the sounds it wrung from him. A sharp slap. A hand at his throat. Another voice, a long-time-ago reminder, Your voice is a privilege. I don't need you to speak, I allow you to speak. Consider this when you whine—

Something singed the air beside Scott's ear.

He scrambled out of his memories and ran. Angel continued after him. He heard her wings buzzing and wondered, vaguely, how she wasn't freezing. He was so cold his teeth chattered and his bare feet stung with every step in the snow.

Even for Scott, this was a lot.

Yesterday someone tried to kidnap him.

Today he had taken a beating from a diamond woman, been thrown from a second-story window, and now was zigzagging to avoid a fireball from a flying assailant. He had twisted his ankle and it felt like it was on fire.

Summaries, he decided, were a little overrated sometimes.

He needed to do more than just avoid Angel, though. Until he took her down, Laurie, Doug, and Professor Xavier were not safe. And until he saw Ororo, Scott wasn't satisfied that she was safe, either.

He had barely finished thinking this but there she was: Ororo darting around the side of the house, not far behind Emma. And suddenly things became much, much worse.

Scott thought things over quickly. He saw the approaching threat, knew another fluttered in the air. So he spun around and blasted Angel. He didn't know if she survived or if it hurt when she hit the ground. He didn't care. The closest he could claim was a genuine desire to care.

And then she had him, Emma did, wrapping a diamond arm around Scott. The strange thing was how calm this made him. Yes, he was freezing cold and feeling light in the head and pain-throbbed everywhere else. Yes, he was afraid for his friends. But how stupid was this telepath to think she could frighten Scott by threatening his body? He didn't care if she broke it. He had learned long ago that it did not belong to him.

She could only frighten Scott by threatening Ororo, who was clearly the greater threat—and she did look afraid.

Scott snapped from 'calm' to 'angry calm'.

This woman thought she could come into their home and scare Ororo like that? Apparently not getting the response she wanted, Emma tightened her grip on Scott. He didn't care. Really, how dare she? Ororo was only thirteen years old!

Hank would say that he needed to find a way to solve the problem using the tools at your disposal. Which were: Ororo's power (ineffective), Scott's power (borderline effective as a very temporary defense), possibly Professor Xavier's telepathy (maybe—and ineffective against diamond form).

But there was something else, something Emma-stupid-Frost hadn't counted on.

"Ororo," Scott said. His voice shook from cold, but was nerves-steady. "Ororo, it's okay. But we need—we need him."

She shook her head, a silent query.

"Your opinion is not needed here," Emma said.

"Listen. I know you're afraid," Scott emphasized the last word, "but get Nico."

Ororo's eyes widened and her lips parted just slightly, the picture of fear. It was another of her useful tricks, to appear helpless or scared. The gleam in her eye of something like mischief said she understood.

After all, it had only been a week ago.

"What's his name? Nico?"

"Niccolo."

"Niccolo. Fancy pants."

"I'm not being a fancy pants, that's his name. Anyway, he says both are best, but it's safer to be feared. Like, if people fear you, of course they'll do what you want."

Ororo played along, shaking her head: "No. We can't—it's not that bad."

"Who is Nico?" Emma asked.

"Ororo, don't tell her! Just go get him!"

Ororo hesitated. "I can't leave you…"

"You know what he can do to her, he'll end this!"

Scott felt the change as soon as it began, the softening of the arm restraining him and the warmth of her body. Emma Frost had dropped her diamond coating to read his mind.

"Professor, now!" Scott called.

Behind him, Emma's face contorted into a sneer, but it only lasted a fraction of a second. Then Professor Xavier shut down her mind and her body fell backwards into the snow.

Ororo and Scott looked at one another. Besides sweat stains and cold shakes, she looked fine. He seemed much the worse for wear. Neither of them knew, though—was it over? They ran through the intruders in their heads, how each had been knocked to the ground.

Could they go inside now? They were so cold, but leaving Emma unguarded seemed foolish.

And—the strangest thing—was it over?

He walked over to her, each step burning cold, and wrapped his good arm around her shoulders. He meant to comfort her, but ended up leaning on her. She wrapped an arm around him and they stood, huddled together and shifting from foot to foot, until the Professor called them inside. It was only a minute or two.

It felt like a lot longer.