Receive an odd phone call.

As Peter swung toward the city in an effort to relax, his phone unexpectedly went off.

Almost startled into the side of a building, he completed his web swing and touched down on a rooftop near the financial district. Extracting the phone with caution from his utility belt, he couldn't help but wonder who the hell was calling him. So far as he knew, not a whole lot of people had this number outside of the heroes he kept in semi-regular contact with. And if they really needed his help for something, well, it was more than likely that the problem had already ballooned enough that he'd heard about it through the spandex grapevine.

None the less his curiousity was piqued. As he looked at the phone number on the touch screen he couldn't say that it looked familiar, especially since it only listed the name as 'Private.'

Sliding the green icon to accept, he brought the phone to his ear. while keeping the mask on.

"Psychic Hotline, you have the wrong number." He quipped.

"Peter darling, much as I enjoy your intellect, sometimes your mind leaves something to be desired ." Came a playful voice that was practically the personification of phone sex but somehow classy in a way that he could never pinpoint no matter how much he heard her speak before.

Though of course he couldn't for the life of him think of when he would've given his number to Emma Frost.

Sure, he was on the roster as an occasional substitute teacher at Xavier's but that was more in the general staff sense and Peter had never gotten the feeling that he'd made all that great an impact on the blonde bombshell. Especially since he didn't think she'd ever bothered to read his mind in order to find out that he was actually also Spider-man even when he'd come as a special lecturer in costume in order to talk to some of the new X-Men recruits about what such a thing might entail.

"Emma? What's up? Does the school need me to sub in again?" He asked, leaning against a roof access door as his mind tried to figure who he would be subbing in for this time. So far as he knew, the only X-Men who were currently out of the country were Wolverine, Rouge and Nightcrawler: none of whom actually taught anything.

"No Peter, I'm actually calling from my office in the financial district." She said.

Peter started a bit at that. Yes, it was hard to remember behind the generous breasts, ass that was capable of having most any loose change bounce off it, body that made women both human and mutant envious and with the classic blonde hair and blue eyes to top it all off, Emma was actually the head of her own company. Somewhat egotistically called Frost International. But hey, he'd been a photographer of his alter ego and had only recently gotten a job working in a laboratory that paid enough for him to actually keep the lights on and eat something most every day so who was he to judge?

"I just got a call from my girls. Seems they want to see me but I've got some serious business to attend to this afternoon. So if you could be a dear and entertain them for a bit, I'd owe you." She explained.

Peter's brain shorted out a bit. Needing to make sure he was remembering correctly, he asked for clarification.

"When you say your girls, I'm assuming you mean..."

"Yes Peter, I mean all five of them. Sophie, Mindee, Phoebe, Esme and Celeste. Hence my need for a short term chaperone solution."

Peter was now pacing back and forth, confusion starting to build. The Stepford Cuckoos, as he'd known Phoebe, Mindee and Celeste as, were blonde haired and blue eyed telepaths like Emma. She was their mentor at Xavier's, though considering how similar they looked to each other Peter could never help the nagging feeling that they were her daughters even though it was common knowledge Emma had never been pregnant in her life. However, the Cuckoos's powers apparently were amplified by and connected to each other. He'd always known that the now Three-in-One, as they'd been referred to more than once, had at some point been Five-in-One. He'd remembered thinking that while it would be an interesting thing to observe if one of them was experiencing pleasure how the others might react, it must also be so hard to be psychically connected to two people who died and then having to share that grief over that acute absence with two other people who literally amplified and shared your pain.

Why was Emma talking about all of them as if none of them had died then?

"Sure thing." He said, mind racing as he discarded plan after plan to get to the bottom of this newfound mystery. If some of the most powerful psychics in the world didn't think anything of it, how was he supposed to find a clue they couldn't with access to an imposter's mind at their metaphorical fingertips? "You know where they are now?"

"Yes, they said that they'd be at my office in fifteen minutes. I was hoping you could meet them before they get inside. I love them like daughters, but I can't have them interrupting my workday simply because it's the weekend and they're bored." She said with fond exasperation.

"Ok. I'll see what I can do." Peter promised as he moved toward the edge of the rooftop.

"Glad to hear it." She said. Just as he was about to hang up she said one more thing.

"Do a good enough job...and who knows what kind of reward you might get?" Came the tantalizing whisper before the line disconnected. Peter slowly brought the phone down to look at it as though it had just grown a mouth and started yodeling which frankly would've been less bizarre than what appeared to be the Emma Frost coming onto him.

Putting his phone back in his utility belt, Peter quickly swung toward the nearby Financial District, forcefully putting Emma's parting comment in the back of his mind as he pondered how he was supposed to entertain a quintuplet of blonde haired, blue eyed eighteen year old girls.