Chapter 1

Scott's POV

I try to be happy for Ororo. She is one of my oldest friends. She deserves the world for what she has done for the X-Men, and for me. She has been there for me countless times. She is like the sister I never had. I really want to be happy for her.

But I see her with her daughter and I feel a swarm of jealousy every time. It is not anything I ever expected to experience, but here I am, seeing Ororo and Logan bring a beautiful baby girl into the world, and wishing more than ever that it was Jean and me in their place. I never thought of myself as a family man. I lost mine at such a young age that the idea of being a dad was just too distant to even grasp. Then the way mutants were being treated, it was reckless and straight-up stupid to bring another mutant into the world.

So what changed my opinion on being a dad? Rachel. First, it was seeing Jean adjust so quickly to her role as a mother. It was not just us anymore, and even though Rachel is far from helpless, we are her parents. We have the responsibility to care for and protect her. And it is the most important responsibility for me. But as time goes on, I start to envy the version of me that got to raise Rachel from birth. Her first smile, Her first steps, her first words. I feel like I missed so much. Things that Ororo and Logan are going to get to see in the months to come.

And it is not logical to be jealous of them. I know that. Yet, as I sit in the dining hall of the mansion, watching Kendall be fed a bottle in her dad's arms, envy increases.

"Earth to Cyclops?"

"What?" I snap out of my jealousy-induced dissociation to find Bobby waving his hand in my face.

"I've been asking you for the salt for like a minute now," he says, reaching over me for the salt shaker. "You good?"

I nod. Obviously, I am not going to admit my feelings to the entire table, to the parents I'm jealous of, and especially not when Jean does not even know, Well, at least I have not told her. Being a telepath, it is hard to know what Jean knows and doesn't know. But she has not brought it up, and I certainly am not going to bring it up. So I come up with the most realistic answer I can. "I'm tired. It was a long day."

This seems to satisfy Bobby to an extent but only brings my brother into the conversation. Alex nudges me to the side, chuckling. "Maybe if you weren't trying to kiss up to the Professor and taking on more and more classes, you wouldn't be so exhausted."

"I'm not kissing up to anyone, we're short-staffed so I need to carry my weight," I argue. A result of the world's view on mutants being turned on its head meant more and more parents were willingly enrolling their children at the school. This means we had more classes to accommodate everyone, thus everyone has been assigned more to teach.

And maybe I have been doing more than the rest of the teachers. But I was Professor Xavier's first student, and in the unfortunate event that he dies, I will be the one responsible for keeping the school running. I have to prove myself responsible.

"Look, Scotty, you might lift, but you're wayyyy over your head with the weight you're carrying," Alex tries to argue with me. "You look more tired than the couple with the newborn baby! Little twerp doesn't let Ororo and Logan sleep for more than an hour at a time, and yet you look more like shit than them."

My glasses shield him from my unimpressed glare. "Wow, thanks, Alex. That's exactly what I wanted to hear."

"Lizzo said it best, Scotty. Truth hurts."

I've learned that once Alex starts making pop culture references, I need to find a way to end the topic before he ends up explaining every plot of an eight-season show. A single man can only take so many fun facts about Game of Thrones.

"Just eat your mac and cheese and leave me alone," I say with a shove to his shoulder.

Alex laughs, clearly pleased by the fact that he managed to annoy me. "Lighten up, buttercup.."

I blink. "Did you just call me buttercup?"

"Would you prefer Blossom or Bubbles?"

A wail comes from the opposite side of the table before I even get a chance to open my mouth to reply. Ororo begins shushing Kendall, whispering something in her native tongue to try to soothe her. It immediately has me losing my appetite. This makes me feel guilty, so after waiting a few minutes so it does not seem obvious I am leaving because of Kendall, I rise from my seat and dump the rest of my food in the garbage.

If I get away, I can try to ignore my jealousy.

I end up at the desk in Jean's and my bedroom, attempting to grade papers promptly. I try telling myself that as busy as I am, I have no time for a baby. But deep down, I know I'm only making myself so busy to distract myself from the lack of a baby.

Growing up, everyone always acted like it was the woman who wanted the baby, and the man just came along for the ride. I always thought it was a woman's maternal instinct that tingles every time a baby did something cute. Now I am realizing that is just sexism and that I'm the one getting all tingly at the thought of a baby.

It is something I never expected to experience, and now that I am, I do not know where to put these emotions. Do I just start to overly nurture Rachel to make up for it?

And speaking of the devil, as I read through a rather awful essay about Thomas Edison, there's a knock on the door, and Rachel sort of waddles in. I frown at her odd walk and immediately assume something is wrong.

"Are you hurt?" I ask, standing up from my desk. And even through my ruby Quartz lenses, I can tell her face is bright red.

"When's mom getting back?" She asks, in a way that seems to dodge my question. Jean has been participating in different outreach programs, donating her time and expertise to give mutants medical care in underprivileged communities.

We may not be hated worldwide anymore, but mutants, especially those with physical mutations, still continue to face challenges. Mutants make up most of the unemployed community, and those who can find work are often discriminated against. This tends to mean mutants cannot afford healthcare or decent living situations. It definitely makes me step back and realize how lucky I am that Xavier found me as a teen.

Especially now, when I'm certain my daughter needs medical attention. "She should be back in a few hours," I tell her. "Rach, are you okay?"

"I um…." She winces and stumbles over words. Then she finally sighs in defeat and blurts out. "I think I got my period... Like for the first time. I need Mom."

I take an embarrassingly long time to comprehend this. Yes, I know what a period is, and that as a girl dad, this is something I needed to prepare for, but I just sort of assumed she already started. Guess we all know what they say about assuming.

"Ohkayyy," I say, really not expecting my night to go like this. "...Um… do you know how to um….. use a tampon?"

"No! I've never used one before, how the hell would I know how to use one!?" Rachel snaps.

I rub the back of my neck. "Okay. Okay. Let's see what your mom has." I make my way into the ensuite and look under the sink. I've done tampon runs before for Jean, so I know she uses the green ones, but I don't know how to even start to teach my daughter how to put one in. I open the box, relieved to find what seems to be instructions. But I'm suddenly in over my head because as I unfold the paper, it gets bigger and bigger, and my eyes scan across the words "Toxic Shock Syndrome can result in death" and I become very concerned for the wellbeing of people putting these in their bodies.

"Doesn't she have pads!?" Rachel asks from the doorway. "Ugh! I should have just asked her!" A few seconds pass and she's squeezing passed me to get to the medicine cabinet, taking out another package. A telepathic conversion must have taken place. "I'm just going to use these, thanks, Dad."

She starts to leave but I notice a dark stain in her jeans. I grab one of my sweatshirts from the hamper and hand it to her.

"Tie this around your waist till you get to your room," I say, hoping to save my daughter some embarrassment. It's bad enough she had to tell her dad about her period, she doesn't need immature boys seeing the blood stain.

The look of mortification on her face almost gives me secondhand embarrassment. "I have blood on my pants, don't I?"

I nod and she groans. "I wish it was from a battle wound, not this shit." I watch her clutch the pack of pads tight to her chest and tie the sweater around her waist. Then, she is sprinting out of my bedroom.

And just like that, I took care of another issue that my training as an X-Man could never prepare me for.