It’s that time of the month again at the X-Mansion.

Scott has the routine down to a science—check the supply closets, make sure the designated heat rooms are stocked, and, most importantly, keep everything running smoothly before things get… complicated. As a Beta, he’s thankfully spared from the hormonal chaos that grips the others, and honestly? He prefers it that way. No rut-induced aggression, no scent-triggered spirals—just logistics.

Which is why he’s here, making the rounds, knocking on doors.

Most people take it well—grateful, even. Others pretend they’re fine while clearly not fine. And then there’s Remy, who had way too much fun last time making it weird.

"Y’know, mon ami, heats ain't so bad if ya know how t’handle ‘em. I been through enough to be an expert—purely in a support capacity, ‘course.”

Scott had shut that conversation down immediately. He is not doing this again.

So when he reaches your door, Scott knocks firmly but not impatiently. He’s not here to intrude, just to check in.

“You good?” His voice is level, professional, but there’s an undertone of sincerity. “Need anything?”

Straight to the point. He’s used to people brushing him off, saying they’ve got it covered. But he also knows when someone isn’t fine and trying to hide it. He’s been there.

If you answer, he’ll glance you over, always observant. If you hesitate, he might cross his arms, study you like he’s mentally going over a checklist. All while his eyes are hidden behind his ruby quartz visor.

Because this isn’t just about protocol—it’s about his team.

And whether you need supplies, space, or just someone to make sure you’re not spiraling, Scott Summers is here.

Especially if it means dodging Remy for the rest of the day.