Chapter Text
The first time Scott experienced it, he was fourteen at the time and a new resident in Xavier’s Mansion. His first and instant thought was: Haemorrhoids.
He stared at his blood covered underwear, then at his jeans, that was thankfully sporting just a few drops that could almost pass as unnoticeable; almost. With hesitant fingers, Scott slowly prodded at his rear. He wasn’t surprised with the sticky substance his fingers got into contact, but a part of him was still hopping that it was just some joke, a prank gone wrong.
He racked his brains for anything that he knows about Haemorrhoids and came out with almost nothing. Though he remembered pain, that there should be pain in the rear, but all he got was this cramping feeling in his lower stomach, and the sudden craving for anything sweet.
For the most part, he tried to keep it a secret, using one of the menstruation pads stocked in school. It was a hard endeavour, using something that was designed to catch fluid coming specifically not from the ass.
He had spent the whole day in the library, and every hour that passed kept cementing a permanent frown on his face. He had none of the symptoms, and all the symptoms that he had was pointing to a different medical situation that he shouldn’t even experience.
After spending hours and hours in the library and a couple of chocolate bars later, he heard the Professor’s voice calling for him in his head, he realized he can’t really keep secrets in a school that was being run by a telepath
That was how he ended up standing awkwardly in Hank’s lab as he watched him design a pad specifically for him. Tampons were a no go, it was all too close to the saying he kept hearing about himself ”a stick up his ass”.
He glanced at the professor next to him and remembered his words from their talk moments ago. His second mutation, to put it simply, sucks. Being able to be pregnant and impregnate does not sound attractive to his fourteen-year-old pair of ears.
He managed to keep it a secret until the next morning, but he should have already expected that if the Professor figured it out then what were the chances that Jean wouldn’t? It took a moment for her to get a hang with the information at first, but being a mutant herself, it’s not like the idea of a male having periods could be more mind boggling.
Keeping it as a secret was easy, maintaining it was the hard part, but he managed to hide for the long run.
He wanted it to hurt, they say first times always hurt.
So why does it feel so good?
The way Logan slowly moved his hips, making Scott feel his large length pleasurably as it progressed in and out of him, eliciting a moan from his lips. He hates how his back arched and his toes curl, he hates how he moaned and gasp whenever Logan brushed that spot inside him. He hates it that Logan’s making it feel good, sliding his cock in and out of him, torturing him with steady strokes, angling just right, pressing in deeper.
Scott moaned and writhed beneath him, “Don’t make me like it… Make it hurt, please make it hurt.”
But Logan only leaned closer against him licking that sensitive spot where his neck and shoulder meet, making him shiver and arch his body. Logan shifted his hips and raised one of Scott’s leg over his shoulder as he pushed his cock, if possible, even deeper, making the younger man press his head harder on the bed, biting his lips, refraining himself to cry out.
The bolts of pleasure licking up from his prostate to his balls and along his leaking shaft was too good, and he hates it. “I want it to hurt,” but Logan didn’t make it hurt, he only thrust in deeper, harder, faster, the pleasure was too overwhelming that his knuckles turned white from gripping the mattress too hard, “Please… Ahh,”
He wanted pain, he wanted Logan to hurt him, not this. Jean just died and it made him feel nothing but numbness, for days he walked along the corridors like a ghost, feeling nothing but an empty void inside him. Logan promised him that he’ll make him feel something, but he wasn’t expecting this, he didn’t want this. His wife’s dead and here he was, on the bed feeling nothing but pleasure, it makes him sick.
The older man leaned back before a calloused hand sheathed over Scott’s cock making his breath hitch, when Logan moved his hand with firm and steady strokes, trailing his thumb on his perineum while he slam his hips into him. This time, Scott couldn’t stop himself from crying out and flexing hips, meeting Logan’s thrusts and strokes.
He was close, he was so close.
Releasing his hold on the sheets, he pushed himself up and wrapped his arms around Logan as if telling him to stop, his legs shaking from the build-up tension and the coming climax. But Logan only placed a hand on his hips while the other hand supports them both as he lay them down on the bed, grinding his hips against Scott’s ass, knowing that his cock would massage that tiny muscle making bolts and bolts of pleasure.
“No— A-ahhh,” Scott choked out, digging his nails deeper on Logan’s shoulder blades. He moaned and writhed, wanting it to hurt, but he’s close, he’s so painfully close, and if Logan keeps on doing that—
“No, don’t, Logan make it— Ahh!”
Scott’s life was nothing but shades of red, except for that short moment where everything turned white as he reach his release. Body stiffening while his back arched and his toes curl, his ass clenching and unclenching while his dick release fluids. Blood pounding, heart beating fast, Logan licked the hollow of his jaw while he slowly stroke Scott’s dick, milking him dry.
Dazed from the afterglow, Scott was laid down lazily on the bed, arms thrown over his head, taking in deep breathes as sweat roll down his forehead. Logan waited for him to relax before slowly moving his hips, trying to reach his own climax.
It wasn’t long before Logan quickened up his pace and started to thrust in a less graceful manner, following Scott’s release with a grunt, pressing his forehead against the younger man’s shoulder. Scott gasped when he felt warm liquid gush inside his ass, twitching and spurting. Logan took a couple of deep breathes before finally laying down on top of him, completely spent.
“I won’t,” Logan finally answered turning his head, his nose brushing Scott’s cheek, in sought of his mouth. Scott knew what he wants, but he only turned his head away, and Logan gets it, he completely gets it. Slowly pulling out, Scott was expecting for him to leave, but the older man only laid down beside him.
“I won’t,” Scott said, I won’t kiss you, not now, not ever.
When Scott woke the following morning, he was alone in his bed, but the sound of water flowing from his bathroom told him that he wasn’t. The covers were drawn up around him, although he hardly remembered using them.
He wasn’t drunk last night, he was just grieving, the memory of what he had done with Logan hit him like one of Ororo’s lightning, he bolted right up and the instant soreness on his lower body made him grimace and wince. Out of all of the stupid things he’d done in his life, this probably won over the part where he got mind controlled by Willim Stryker.
Jean just died, and not a week went by he already opened his legs to who? His rival? The person who openly flirted with his wife even in front of his face. Scott felt disgusted for letting himself enjoy the moment, and hated Logan for making it feel good.
Sitting there, staring at the discarded clothes that belonged to Jean. He remembered how he keep on packing and unpacking her clothes, staring at it as memories flood through before Logan uninvitingly barged his way inside and demand for him to at least eat.
The sound of the bathroom door creaking open pulled Scott out of his trance, looking up, he saw a bare-chested Logan with a white towel wrapped around his waist, his towel. Scott swallowed, “This was a mistake,” he said and the blank expression on Logan’s face didn’t help the situation, “This never happened,” he continued.
Walking towards his discarded clothes, Logan removed the towel and Scott found himself looking down on the bed sheet, the bed sheet that smelled too much of sex. Scott gripped at it tightly.
“Yer clearly better,” Logan grunted while he pull up his pants and zipped it shut.
“Just get out,” Scott rasped out.
He didn’t bother uttering a reply. Putting on his white beater, Logan scooped up his plaid shirt and slung it over his shoulder before exiting the room, closing the door behind him.
Scott didn’t know how long he sat there, a minute? An hour? It’s not like he was counting. Taking a deep breath, he stood up and went towards the bathroom, washing away the smell of the feral mutant on his skin.
It’s late.
After checking himself in the bathroom and finding out that his pads were clean, Scott got out and took a look at his calendar, wondering if he marked the date correctly. Flipping the chart, he checked his last period and counted down the days that led to today, he even opened his phone just to reassure himself.
It never gets late.
Before he could ponder more, Scott decided to put it off and just head to work. Maybe it was a side effect of Jean’s death, there’s some cases that extreme depression can change menstruation cycles, or maybe it’s just a myth. Maybe he should check it later.
Or, maybe tomorrow.
Maybe next week.
He’s busy.
Yeah, he’s just busy.
Leaning on one of the kitchen counters, Scott stared at nothing in particular with a pinched off look on his face. If Storm hadn’t spoken, he would have had that look on his face permanent for the rest of the day.
“He’s coming back,” she simply said.
Scott blinked, not that anyone’s going to see, but it managed to erase the frown plastered on his face. “What?”
“Logan,” Storm said as if the name explains itself, sipping from the mug of coffee she was holding before turning to look at Scott. “He’s coming back, it might take a while, but he will,” she continued, “He always will.”
Scott stared at her for a few silent seconds before sighing. “I know,” he said. “And I don’t care.”
Ororo stared at him, as if not believing the words from his mouth, but she must’ve saw something beyond the visor that made her blink and put down the mug of coffee that she was holding. “You’re serious,” it was a statement.
Scott didn’t bother replying, instead he squared his shoulders and stared straight ahead, breaking his gaze from Storm.
“Then what’s on your mind?”
There was a beat of silence, with Scott wondering if he should say it or not, but it’s been bothering him for a while. “We should clean the mansion.” And it was the truth. Everywhere he looked, he would spot dust and dirt, a stray object here, a clump of fallen hair there, and it has been bothering him for quite a while.
Storm only stared at him, a calculating one, before shaking her head to stare down on her mug, “Look, Scott,” she started, “I know it’s been hard, it’s been hard on all of us, but I don’t see how this—”
“Don’t,” Scott snapped cutting her off, “I don’t want to hear it.”
“Okay.” And then it was silent again, the distant noise of the children bustling along the corridors was the only indication that time was moving. A moment later, Ororo left, leaving Scott alone, staring at nothing but probably thinking of something.
Bile burns at the back of his throat as it travelled up and out of his mouth, Scott scrambled towards the nearest bathroom, almost tripping along the way while his hands did their best to prevent the food from spilling out. He slipped and fell, barely catching himself on the lip of a toilet bowl before wrenching out bile and what has been his breakfast for the day.
Knuckles turning white as he grip at the sit and spew every last remaining food his stomach could exert. Leaning his head on his shoulder while he sat on his haunches, Scott tried to take steady breathes as another wave of nausea hit him.
“Mr. Summers?” A voice called from the doorway. Turning his head, Scott saw Kitty looking at him with a concerned expression, “Are you okay?”
Swallowing hard, Scott tried his best to push down the food that was threatening to hurl out. He pushed up and refrained himself from swaying by holding on the door frame, “Yes, I’m fine,” he rasped. “No need to worry,” he reassured her before grabbing the door handle to close it between them.
He wasn’t fine.
Scott wanted to believe that it was just probably the leftover food from last night, but after weeks of constant vomiting that he started bringing a small bucket around him, Scott can’t blame it on the food anymore, not when he started to have weird cravings, especially on pickles, fresh newly bought pickles… with peanut butter. His love for fish has been forgotten after puking up his tuna sandwich on the tiled floor a few days ago, even just from the smell of it makes him sick.
Lately, his usage of the toilet bowl wasn’t just for vomiting anymore, Scott found himself peeing a lot, yet his bowel movements decreased and he found himself a lot more constipated. Scott tried to make a decent diet plan to fix it, but he just realized that he’s starting to take a dislike on quite a number of food.
Something was wrong, deep down he probably knew what it was but he pushed the thought aside and continued on with the day, ignoring the calendar that stood silently on his nightstand.
It didn’t took long for the students to take notice of his odd actions lately, Bobby once spotted him cleaning the kitchen counter twice on the same day, Kitty saw him clean all the toilet rooms in the mansion, and a whole bunch of students witnessed him mop the floor from ground to up. Scott doesn’t clean, he might as well jump in front of a sentinel than pick up a broom.
A week later after his cleaning shenanigans, Scott settled himself on his bed with a jar of pickles on his night stand and a half-finished jar of peanut butter laid down on his stomach. He was about to dip a pickle in when he heard somebody knocking on his already opened door. Looking up, he saw Hank standing by the doorway.
“I heard you’ve been,” Hank started tipping his head slightly to the right, silently judging Scott’s choice of snack, “Cleaning,” he finished.
“It helps me take my mind off of things,” Scott explained. Maybe it was true or maybe it wasn’t, that his sudden urge to clean was out of impulse or it was just his coping mechanism for grieving. Scott wanted to believe that everything was an effect of his recent loss, and he’s doing a good job at it.
“So I’ve been told,” Hank replied, telling Scott that one of the students had probably informed him about his odd activity, his money’s on Kitty.
Scott didn’t bother replying, he didn’t want to talk, not now, not yet. Dipping the pickle in the peanut butter, Hank watched him take a bite on it, probably still bothered by his choice of food. “When was your last cycle?” Or not.
Scott stilled, his eyes glancing shortly at his calendar before swallowing the pickle down his throat, “It’s just late,” he reasoned. “They say it happens.”
“Not usually, no,” Hank informed him, he crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Scott, trying to have his full attention. “For how long?”
“I don’t know,” which was the truth, Scott started to ignore the date as soon his period hadn’t arrived on the third day. He stopped checking and started reasoning that it was just late, that it’ll come by in a day or two. Until days had been weeks and weeks had been months, he’s ignoring the thought too much up to the point he started avoiding taking a shower.
He noticed how he’s been bloating these recent weeks, and he’s been blaming it on the food that he eats. Scott started wearing lose shirts and bigger sweaters since then.
Without saying anything, Hank took a couple of quick long strides towards Scott, sliding a paw inside his pocket before pulling out a small rectangular case and placing it on his night stand. Scott turned to look and stretched his arm to grab it. It was a newly purchased pregnancy test. He looked up and gave Hank a blank expression.
“I didn’t want to assume,” the blue mutant said. “But it wouldn’t hurt to check.”
“I’d say about eleven or twelve weeks,” Hank informed Scott, handing over a small sonogram picture of what looks like a bald curled up doll which was supposedly growing inside him. Seeing the picture, it wasn’t just an assumption anymore, it was a fact.
Scott only stared at it, unable to form even a single word.
After Hank gave him a pregnancy test, Scott, unenthusiastically, obliged and dragged himself out of his comfortable bed and into the bathroom to take a leak. A minute later, Hank barged inside after calling out Scott’s name for numerous times without receiving a reply, only to see the fearless leader standing frozenly still with the pregnancy test in hand.
It was positive.
He knew it, deep down he knew he was pregnant. But there’s a difference with knowing and ignoring, with knowing and seeing the proof. Gone are the days where he could deny the symptoms and blame it on different things, then again he made it this far neglecting the growing thing inside him.
“Scott,” Hank called and Scott was pulled back from his thoughts. “Is it him?”
The younger man just stared at him.
“Is it Logan?”
He shrugged, couldn’t really care less how Hank found out. It could probably had been because of the Professor, nothing gets past from him anyway.
There was another sigh coming from the blue mutant, “Scott, I need your whole participation on this.”
Scott frowned, isn’t letting this thing grow inside him ‘participation’ enough? “I think I’m doing well with my fair share.”
“What? Ignoring it for the past four months?” Hank countered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Pregnancy is a sensitive stage for anyone, Scott.”
“For women, Hank,” Scott corrected him, “Sensitive stage for women.”
That night, he stared at himself in front of the mirror and slowly took the sweater he’s wearing over his head. No matter how much he wants to deny it, loathing was his first thought as he stared down on his growing stomach. Knowing, with full proof, of the thing growing inside him was the result of his rash decision, and the guy he hates so much was making him despise the thing the longer he stared at it.
He found himself throwing the sonogram in the trash bin without as much of a second thought. Moments later, he was frantically dumping out the waste on the floor trying to retrieve it.
News travelled fast, apparently being pregnant was a big deal. Rogue and the others were excited with the prospect of a baby, and Scott couldn’t bring himself to tell them that he still wasn’t sure how he felt and that their excitement was making him anxious. There was a brief case of confusion of course, where he had to explain his second mutation, but he was a little glad that no one bothered to ask who the other guy was.
Except for Storm.
Scott was sitting on one of the lawn chairs with a peanut butter pickled sandwich (courtesy of Rogue) laid down on his stomach while watching the students play, until Ro took the empty chair next to him. At first there was silence, only the noise from the kids were heard. But Scott knows Storm. He knew something was bugging her, and he knew that whatever hunch she had inside her head, it was probably true.
“So,” she finally said. “Logan, right?” Scott didn’t reply, he just continued to watch the kids play across the yard, but it was enough for Storm. “Any plans?” he knows she wants for Logan to know, and it made him grit his teeth because this wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for him. This annoying thing growing inside him wouldn’t have to be here in the first place if it weren’t for him.
He took a deep breath, “I don’t even know if I’m going to keep it.”
The sharp intake of air was enough for Scott to understand that Storm wasn’t nor will ever approve with his possible decision, “A baby, Scott, not it,” she corrected, her voice almost close to seething, “That’s a baby growing inside you, a living baby.”
“And it shouldn’t be,” he replied monotonously, sounding as if everything was too tiring to discuss, “I’m a guy, Ororo,”
“You’re a mutant,” she amended, “That’s a mutation.”
Scott’s done with the conversation, he didn’t want to hear or discuss another word about whatever this thing growing inside him anymore, not when his mood swings were currently hard to keep in check. He’s just too tired with everything; with Logan, with the students, with this whole pregnancy thing. But he can’t do anything, he just have to wait out for four more months.
On the contrary, he can do something, and he didn’t know if he should be terrified with the idea or not.
Looking down, Scott grabbed his sandwich and took a bite from it.
Scott was laying down on his bed, reading some sort of book that Hank lent him, informing him about how staying relaxed could be healthy for the baby, and reading a book should make his mind wonder off on things, rather than his cleaning method that could instantly tire him out. Gone are the days where running a mile was just a part of his morning routine.
Honestly, he found the book quite entertaining, either that or it's just his mood swings kicking.
He was in the middle part of the story when he felt something strange, like an uncomfortable stretch on his abdomen. Stilling, Scott’s breathe hitched up at the back of his throat, slowly putting the book face down on the bed, he curled up the large sweater he was wearing to have a look at his enlarged stomach.
It was moving.
He didn’t want to touch it. Fisting his hand on his sides, Scott watched as the thing inside him create small bumps on his stomach, disappearing slowly as it appeared. For once, he didn’t know what he was supposed to do, was he supposed to tell Hank? Call somebody? It’s not like he did enough research about pregnancy.
Unconsciously, Scott was slowly raising his hand to have a feel of the living creature that he’s been keeping for the past six months. His hand was already an inch close to it when a knock on the door snapped him up. Immediately pulling his sweater down, Scott told the person from outside to come in.
The door creaked open showing Marie and Kitty standing by the entryway. “Can I help you with something?” he asked.
The two girls gave each other a nervous glance, debating on who should speak first. Ever since Jean died, most of the students started walking on eggshells around him, he couldn’t blame them, he did changed after all, he just didn’t know if it’s in a good or a bad way.
“It’s okay if the subject’s too uncomfortable to you,” Marie informed him.
Scott pushed himself up and leaned on the head of the bed, hating the fact of breaking into a mass of sweat with just a simple movement. “I’m all ears,” he replied before feeling another kick, his expression must’ve shown a lot after noticing both girls giving him concerned looks.
“Mr. Summers, are you okay?” Kitty asked advancing.
“Do you need something?” Marie added.
But Scott only waved his hand, immediately declining the offer. He didn’t want help, he doesn’t need help, “No thanks, it’s just… It’s just moving,” the quiet gasped that came from both girls was enough to tell Scott about their excitement, “Do you want to feel it?” he’s probably going to ask himself later why he offered in the first place.
“Are you okay with it?” Marie asked as if to reassure both herself and Kitty, and she might as well should.
No,“Why not?”
When he rolled up his sweater, the obvious small moving bump on his enlarged stomach was easy to spot. The two girls immediately cooed, and Scott found it somewhat uncomfortable that they were talking with his stomach, as if it could actually talk back to them.
Scott jolted when he felt Marie press a hand on his abdomen. “Sorry,” she immediately apologized only for Scott to gesture them to continue. It wasn’t their fault he got knocked up, they just wouldn’t understand his lack of enthusiasm.
Or maybe they would, he’s a guy after all. Men don’t get pregnant.
It was weird, he could feel his skin stretch as the thing continued to move. No, actually, it was bordering too uncomfortable. Scott slightly shifted from his sit as if trying to make the situation less awkward.
“Can we name the baby?” Kitty asked.
The question took Scott completely off guard.
Name? He hadn’t thought of that yet, naming it would mean he would keep it, a decision that Scott haven’t finalized yet. Looking at Kitty’s hopeful face, Scott felt a tinge of jealousy, her reaction with this thing growing inside him started to make him envious of their enthusiasm, sometimes he thought why can’t he feel the same way? All he could feel was disgust and loathing.
Where was the ‘connection’ they all keep talking about?
Scott swallowed, he didn’t want to name it, not yet, not now. “Sure,” he replied instead, just to be polite.
He watched the two discuss about names before they left, planning to make a list for both genders and was already making quite a number of it, mostly for girls. Scott sat there, staring at the doorway. He had the result laid down under his bed that indicates the thing’s gender, he just couldn’t bring himself to take a look at it.
Knowing its gender felt like an obligation to call it that way, if it’s a she or a he. It’s like categorizing it as his property, he couldn’t even call it by the ‘B’ word yet.
Just three more months, he just have to wait it out for three more months.
Scott’s pissed.
His sweater’s starting to fit uncomfortably because of his huge stomach, not to mention his belly button starting to stick out, it looked odd. He’s been wearing nothing but sweatpants for his bottoms, and with his growing waistline, it always slides annoying down to his hips.
He looked like a potato with sticks as his arms and legs.
“I believe that’s the hormones kicking,” Hank informed him after a thorough check up.
“They said there was a sexy phase,” Scott intoned, biting on his pickled peanut butter sandwich while balancing the plate on top of his belly.
Hank slid a book towards Scott. It was a book about pregnancy, “According to that, you spent most of that phase hiding the baby while you sulk inside your room.”
Scott stared at it for a moment before picking it up to examine, “Is this the part where you’ll try and make me read this?” he asked raising the book for better emphasis.
“Is it working?”
“No.”
It has already been exactly eight months, and lately, it became a challenge for Scott to even push himself off the bed, not when there’s this huge ball on the way. He started to miss how his toes looked like when standing without straining his neck and back, or how it feels when you bend over or crouch down, taking a sit seemed like an hour of training in the Danger Room.
Scott mostly finds himself just sitting on his bed and staying there for the rest of the day while reading a random book that the Professor recommended to him. Twenty pages later, Scott found himself knowing completely nothing about the story, he was too focused on reading it that he actually ended up not understanding anything.
It didn’t take long for Ororo and Hank to haul him off the bed and demand for him to at least walk around the mansion, something about lying in bed would be bad for the baby. Scott couldn’t really care less, but he did so anyway, it's not like there's anything else for him to do.
Five minutes in, he couldn’t help but wonder if anyone in the mansion was bothering to clean at all. All he could see was dust, dirt, a shoe print here, a peanut butter smear there, and he swore he saw a dust bunny under the stairs. He couldn’t help but note that the vase next to the door shouldn’t be there for safety purposes, or that the TV case should be placed a little to the left for less accidents without bumping into it through the door.
The comforts of his room was better than being bombarded with filthy objects.
Scott finally snapped and went on a hunt for a broom stick, and window cleaners, he was sure he saw poop on one of the windows, not chocolate, but poop.
“Scott.”
Scott stopped from what he’s doing and glanced up to see Storm, only to start taking notice of the cluster of students surrounding him. He didn’t thought he’d managed to gather a crowd, how long had he been cleaning?
“What are you doing?” She asked tipping her head to the right.
“Cleaning,” he stated simply as he went back from scrubbing.
“I thought you were supposed to take a walk,” Ororo said as she took a seat next to Scott and looked at the items around him that was segregated into two piles, one ridiculously clean, and one for every object in the kitchen.
“Everything’s just too filthy,” Scott said. “Let me finish this then I’ll take a walk.”
There was a pause. “Scott,” Storm called, but Scott was too busy rubbing the stubborn mould off. “Scott,” she called again as each student slowly disperse, knowing that Storm being there would probably put a stop to this, but Scott was still furiously scrubbing. “Scott, put down the vase and the toothbrush and look at me.”
Toothbrush?
Scott stopped and realized that the scrub he was using moments ago was now a tiny toothbrush, vaguely remembering that he switched to it when the scrub wasn’t able to reach the nook and cranny parts of the object. Scott practically threw the toothbrush away on the table.
What is happening?
Slowly, he glanced up at Ororo. “You’re nesting,” She said, clearly amused, much to Scott’s chagrin
“No,” he said, “Everything’s just too filthy,” as if the statement itself was explanatory enough to reason his behavior.
She let out a soft laugh, which soured Scott’s mood even more, nothing about the situation was funny. He looks like a potato, every single move makes him feel like he already ran a marathon, he’s fat and he missed sleeping on the bed face down, he hates seeing himself in front of the mirror, and peeing while standing up was now a nightmare.
This thing inside him had done nothing but make him feel like his life was miserable.
“Hank’s looking for you.”
That was how he ended up staring at the newly marked date on his calendar that night.
The Professor decided that they should already plan ahead with Scott’s birthing, he was willing enough to use his mutation to help with getting into a hospital and make people think that doing a cesarean to man was ordinary as doing one to a woman. Hank was in charge with picking a hospital, but Scott couldn’t find it in himself to do it outside of the mansion. Giving birth at a hospital’s just way too real, as if cementing the idea that the thing inside Scott isn’t just an object, or a parasite, and that’s too much already.
It’s nothing but a hindrance.
“I don’t want it in a hospital,” Scott argued, “You can’t make me.” There was a lot of disagreement, but Hank respected his decision
It was a difficult task to find a decent doctor, but Hank managed do it quite well, deciding that he could help if ever there comes in a complication. Hank asked him about any preferences, but Scott couldn’t make himself to care, in the end he just gave Hank all the decision process. Ending the conversation with “I just want it out.”
The blue mutant wasn’t happy with his words, but Scott wasn’t happy for the whole eight months. He sees it as a lose-lose situation.
Scott slowly opened his eyes, the drug still haven’t completely left his body and he was still feeling a bit out of it. Turning his head, he saw the Professor sitting on his wheelchair while cradling a bundle of what seemed to be a white blanket. He was gently rocking it back and forth with a soft and genuine smile plastered on his face.
“She’s a girl,” The Professor informed him, not taking his eyes on the small creature in his arms. “And very much healthy.”
“I didn’t asked,” Scott slurred out. He was tired, his lids were heavy and the anesthesia's making him feel numb from head to toe.
He heard the Professor release a short sigh, defeated? Scott couldn’t put a finger over it. He should know. Out of all of the people in the mansion, he should know what Scott was feeling, and the pained expression on the Professor’s face was enough to assure him that he doesn’t need to explain himself.
Knowing its gender doesn’t make a difference, knowing its health wouldn’t make him feel any better.
“Rest, Scott,” The Professor told him instead, “I believe it has been a very tiring day for you.”
He didn’t need to be told twice, closing his eyes and letting himself drift off to sleep, Scott felt nothing.