Emma waited until she and Scott had finished their dinner before she said anything. She was home late again, and, as always, Scott had waited to eat with her. Nathan was at Sam's house, and due home at half-eight, Rachel and Kitty were chatting in their room, and the twins were in the bath, but would have to get out soon. Just enough time to tell Scott the news before commencing motherly duties, then.
"We found Warren," Emma said, putting down her knife and fork.
Scott looked up. "He's alive?"
"Yes," Emma said, wiping her mouth with her napkin. "I can't say much, but thought you ought to know. We only found out this morning, and are in the process of planning how we'll get him back. Leave sometime next week, most likely. There's a few key pieces of intel we need to confirm, but there's no point waiting too long. I assume I'll have to work all weekend, sorry about that, darling, but if we can get him back, it'll all be worth it."
Scott pushed back his chair and picked up the plates. "You're not using a royal 'we', are you?" he asked, facing away from Emma as he placed the plates in the sink.
"Darling..."
"Emma," Scott said, turning back to her, "You have a family, you have - "
"A team, Scott. They're my team," Emma said, standing up. "My people."
"You don't have to go."
"If he was your team, your person..."
"You're my person, Emma."
Emma pushed her chair in and looked away. Scott was too sincere. Too real. Too close. She craved the closeness, and everything about him, yet, "I better go and get the twins out of the bath."
"Emma..."
"Don't try to talk me out of it."
"I never would. I just - I'm scared."
Emma sighed. "I know. I'm sorry, but this is something I have to do."
"I know," Scott sighed, and went back to the sink. "Ask Rachel and Kitty to come down and help with the dishes, would you?"
"I'm going to come back, darling. That is part of the plan."
Scott didn't reply. Emma half wished he'd shout and yell and put his foot down as her husband and force her to stay. But he didn't. He never did. And that almost made this worse.
Emma sighed. "If we go, we all go together." She looked up the stairs and the photos decorating the wall, then stepped back into the kitchen and closed the door. "That's what we promised each other when the War broke out. Together, or not at all."
"I know," Scott sighed, "But that was different. That was to keep our family together."
"You could come," Emma suggested, "You'd be - "
"Useful?" Scott smirked.
"Good," Emma said, "You'd be good on the team. Less of a hot head than most others. God knows we could use someone stable."
"No," Scott said, wiping his hands on a hand-towel. "You've already got plans for me, and I don't need to be a telepath to know that. I'm right where you need me, and you need me here. That's the price; you get to save the world, while I do the washing up and the running around. That doesn't bother me, Emma. It just - I guess I always had an inkling something like this would happen. And it scares me more than I can say."
Emma walked across the kitchen and wrapped her arm around Scott. "If this was the other way around, and you were running off to France, I'd be making a right fuss. I'd tie you up. I - I can't lose you."
"I know," Scott said, stroking her hair, "So lucky we're this way round, then."
"Is it because it's Warren?" Emma asked.
Scott shrugged. "I guess. I've known Warren since I was about Nathan's age, so you'd better bring him back. 'Scholarship Scott' with the funny-coloured glasses and Warren Worthington III, heir to the Bank of America or the very concept of stocks and bonds or whatever it is, boarding school room mates. For years, I saw more of him than Alex. More than just about anyone. You're certain he's alive?"
"As certain as we can be."
Scott nodded, feeling oddly relieved. "I know where I'm needed, and I'm equally afraid of what I'd become if pushed down your line of work. I like being daggy dad with the knitted jumpers and literal rose-coloured glasses, who can fix tennis rackets and sew up skirt hems and de-grease the oven and help with the homework. I know how unromantic that sounds. I know it's safe and boring, working 9-to-5 at Whitehall, even if it is the Ministry for Defence. Maybe I could be some hero who saves the world, but I don't need to. I don't need that. It's enough to save ration coupons, to save what we have right here."
Emma pressed her face against Scott's chest and breathed in smell. "I know," Emma sighed, gripping the back of his jumper. He changed out of a suit the moment he came home. She was still in her heels. He spoke with such pure honesty. It was only fair if she was too. "But I need this."
"I know, and I don't begrudge you this," Scott said, "Tell me what you need me to do, and it's done. We're still in this together, Emma, only I think now we've different parts to play."
...
"Betsy?" Brian knocked on the door and waited. "Bets?"
Elizabeth inhaled sharply, remembering to breath. She hadn't noticed she was holding her breath. She checked her watch. It had only been a few minutes. Or an hour and a few minutes? This needed to stop. It all needed to stop. "Come in."
Brian opened the door and poked his head in. "Everything all right? Just checking you hadn't started to change. Not that I've never seen you get dressed, but not for, you know, about twenty years or more. Betsy? Are you all right?"
Minutes, then. He was waiting for her to change for dinner. He'd said that when she'd walked in, that dinner would be soon. She'd come back home after the meeting, grateful to make the last train to her family home in Essex. Emma had been - well, Emma had been herself. She hadn't given anything away, spending a lot of the meeting in diamond form. Elizabeth half wished they could just talk frankly, but another part of her was grateful for Emma's professionalism. She didn't cut corners, or try to take the edge off. Warren was alive. Why was this so hard to accept?
"Elizabeth. Are you sure you're all right? If you don't want to come down to dinner - "
"Shut the door," Elizabeth said.
Brian stepped into her room and closed the door behind him. Elizabeth continued to force herself to breath.
"What's your security clearance?"
"What?"
"Security clearance."
"I'm a propaganda model, Betsy love. Captain Britain and Captain America, here to save the day. I haven't even held a real gun since we got back from Dunkirk. Well, military issue, anyhow."
"Brian..."
"Not as high as yours," Brian sighed, and guided Elizabeth to the bed. They sat down. "What's happened?"
Elizabeth lent against her brother. "I can't say. I can stay tonight, but...then I have to go again. Back to London. Later in the week, we - I'm..."
"Understood," said Brian, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "And you're afraid?"
"Only that we'll be too late..."
"Is there anything useful I can say or do?"
"It was all just a bit of fun until the other week," Elizabeth confessed, looking at the carpet. It was funny how you could sleep in a room for years and years, and never really look at the carpet. "Like some Boys And Girls Own Adventure, playing at pilots and spies and special agents. It got too real too quickly, and I - I'm..."
Brian hugged Elizabeth and kissed the top of her head. "Whatever happens, love, you've got a home here. You've got family who love you. It's all right to be afraid. It's even all right to cry about it every once in a while. But there is hope, Betsy."
Elizabeth closed her eyes, and felt tears wet her eyelashes. "I thought I was supposed to be the telepath, and you're the one who punches things," she said, her words muffled as she buried her face in his jacket.
Brian rubbed her back. "Once you get back over there, make sure you stab some Nazis for me with that glowing sword of yours. The brass won't let me see a snip of action unless the deem it 'safe', whatever the heck that's supposed to mean when you're at war."
"Can't lose Captain Britain."
"Exactly. And now that I'm a father, well, it does make things hard. I'd go up against an army alone if it meant protecting my wife and child."
"You'd probably win."
Brian chuckled. The dinner gong rang. "Ah, Bets," Brian said, holding her close "When push comes to shove, we both know that you're the really brave one."