Chapter Text
At the Wilkins’ home, the atmosphere was... tense.
The clink of silverware against plates echoed a little too loudly in the quiet kitchen. Adam sat with arms crossed, brooding over his black coffee as if trying to absorb its bitterness through sheer will. Across the table, Betsy was absentmindedly poking at her eggs, lips pursed in thought, brows furrowed with uncharacteristic concern.
“She’s out with them again,” Adam grumbled, glaring at the untouched piece of toast on his plate. “It’s like she doesn’t even care what people think.”
Betsy gave a noncommittal hum, eyes still distant.
Adam scowled. “You know, back in my day, a girl wouldn’t—”
“I think Samantha might get pregnant.”
Adam choked on his coffee. “What!?”
Betsy blinked at her husband, as if surprised by her own outburst. “I-I mean, she’s seeing two boys . That’s double the chance. What if it happens, Adam? What if she’s—you know—intimate with both? And— oh god —what if they both think they’re the father and it turns into a dramatic situation like that soap opera I watch on Thursdays?”
Adam slammed his mug on the table, face pale. “Betsy! Stop it! Don’t go saying outlandish things like that! She’s not pregnant!”
“But what if she is?” Betsy whispered dramatically, her fork trembling slightly. “What if they all move in together and raise the baby in a treehouse like some weird woodland commune?!”
Adam looked like he was about to faint.
“I swear to god, Betsy—” he groaned, rubbing his face. “First the ‘poly-whatever nonsense,’ now this? Why couldn’t she just be a normal rebellious teen and get a tattoo or something?”
Betsy leaned in, eyes wide with dread. “What if she already has one?”
Adam let out a strangled noise and pushed back from the table, storming off muttering about needing to buy a blood pressure monitor.
Betsy quietly turned back to her breakfast, suddenly losing her appetite. After a long pause, she mumbled to herself:
“…She was eyeing that lower back spot the other day.”
Meanwhile, in the much cozier and far less emotionally constipated Grayson household, the smell of freshly made waffles filled the air.
Mark, still a little sleepy-eyed, sat beside Eve and Rex at the table while Debbie poured syrup like she was hosting brunch at a five-star bed and breakfast. Oliver was perched on a chair across from them, cheerfully spooning cereal into his mouth while trying (and failing) to not spill milk.
The trio was in high spirits—Mark had just finished telling a hilarious dream he had about Rex fighting off evil clone versions of himself with nothing but a rubber chicken. Rex was still trying to deny it meant anything. Eve just sipped her juice with a smirk.
Debbie leaned on the counter for a beat, looking at the three with a soft smile, her eyes especially lingering on her son—still wearing Rex’s oversized hoodie—and the way Eve’s hand was absentmindedly playing with Mark’s hair.
Then, as if struck by divine inspiration, she gasped.
“You know…” she began innocently.
Mark stiffened. “Oh no.”
Debbie's eyes lit up. “What if you and Eve had a baby one day?”
Mark dropped his fork. Rex nearly spat out his juice. Eve smirked towards Debbie like she’d just suggested they rob a bank.
“MOM,” Mark choked.
Debbie waved him off. “What? I’m just saying! I wouldn’t mind being a grandma! You kids are cute, responsible, and you clearly love each other. I mean, think about it, a little baby running around—maybe with Mark’s hair, or Rex’s stubbornness, or Eve’s powers—”
“I’M TOO YOUNG TO BE A DAD,” Mark cried dramatically.
“Too young to be a dad,” Rex muttered, snorting, “but not too young to—”
“ Rex. ” Eve elbowed him.
Oliver perked up like a puppy. “Wait! If Mark has a baby, does that mean I get to be a big brother!?”
Debbie grinned. “Technically, a big uncle. But yes.”
Oliver looked thrilled. “I’d teach them everything! Like how to sneak cookies, how to build pillow forts, and how to make fart noises with your armpit—”
Mark facepalmed. “Okay. We’re cutting this off. Nobody is having a baby.”
Eve leaned into him with a grin. “Yet.”
Mark groaned loudly.
Debbie just laughed and went back to the stove. “I’ll start crocheting little booties, just in case.”