REPOST: X-MEN: Long Day, Chapter 1

[Lord of deXness]

All Marvel characters are copyrighted by Marvel, blah blah blah. All
other characters are mine. No, you can't use them without asking.
Shame on you. I'm not making any money off of this, so don't even think
about suing me.

NOTE: As I feel that Marvel dropped the ball by having Wolverine regain
his humanity so quickly, in this story he's still in feral mode.

This story is being archived at Darqstar's "Shifting Sands" X-Men site:
http://www.ici.net/cust_pages/darqstar/direct.html

Long Day by Dan Perry
---------------------

Chapter 1: Wake-up Call

[5:00 AM]

*BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BE-*

<SHZAKT!>

Scott Summers rolled onto his back, alternately cursing morning, alarm
clocks, and his own foul mood. "Jean's going to kill me for blowing up
another alarm clock," he thought morosely as he rolled out of bed, "but
it's so damned EARLY! Maybe I shouldn't have scheduled a training session
for 7:30... Oh well. It's too late to do anything about it now." After
putting on his ruby quartz glasses, Scott walked sleepily towards the
bathroom of the small cottage he shared with his lovely wife. He yawned
as he flicked on the light, then grimaced at that taste in his mouth.
"Eugh. Morning breath from Hell," he mumbled, pulling out his shaving
cream and razor.

Jean Grey-Summers stirred slowly from her sleep and yawned. Blearily she
rolled over to check the time. Her eyes narrowed when she saw the
smoking remains of the clock. [Scott?] she spoke telepathically.

[Yeah, hon?] Scott answered.

[STOP BLOWING UP THE DAMN ALARM CLOCK!] Jean heard a can of shaving
cream bounce off of the bathroom floor, followed by muffled cursing from
her husband. Smiling, she closed her eyes and drifted back to sleep.

Several yards away, the residents of the Xavier Institute for Higher
Learning were greeting the day in their own unique ways.

5:00 AM:

Ororo Munroe stretched as sunlight spilled across her bed. She opened her
eyes slowly as awareness of the dawn slowly crept across her
consciousness. Smiling, she threw back her covers and rose to greet her
plants. "I love mornings," she thought.

"I _hate_ mornings." Remy Lebeau squinted at the light intruding through
his window. He glanced at his alarm clock and began cursing quietly under
his breath. "If Cyclops tink dat three hours of sleep is enough, he gon'
be sorely disappointed. Tink I'll sleep t'ru breakfast," he thought as he
rolled over.

5:05 AM:

Logan ran swiftly, revelling in the sounds and smells that beckoned from
every corner of the mansion grounds. His grin was predatory, and the
smaller inhabitants of the woods wisely moved out of his way as he crashed
through the undergrowth. Pausing under an old oak, Logan took notice of
several fresh, intriguing trails that beckoned to his heightened senses.
He picked the freshest one, let out a joyful howl and continued his
morning hunt.

5:15 AM:

Warren Worthington III struggled against his bonds. The booming laughter
of Apocalypse filled the cave, making the walls tremble. "You will always
belong to me, fool!" Apocalypse's voice rose above the sound of falling
rocks. Warren tried to speak, but the heat flames parched his throat,
stealing the words as they came. Warren squirmed as Apocalypse strode
across the cavern and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him to and fro. "Do
you hear me, Warren? Warren? Warren, get up. Warren!"

Warren's eyes flew open. Elizabeth Braddock stood over him, shaking him
into wakefulness. "You're not going to make breakfast if you don't get up
right now," the purple-haired telepath informed him.

Warren sat up, trembling. Betsy was already wearing her uniform and
heading out the door. "Betts, wait! I had-"

"Another dream about Apocalypse," Betsy interrupted. "I know." She
paused in the doorway. "I'll try to save you some eggs."

Warren shook his head, confused. "What time is it?" he asked his lover.

"Five-fifteen," Betsy answered. "Hurry up or the food will get cold."
Turning on her heel, she left.

"Five-fifteen? Who has breakfast ready at five-fifteen?" Warren
shook his head. "Betts?" He received no answer.

Warren shivered again. This time, though, his unease had nothing to do
with his dream.

A cloud of steam wafted past Betsy as Bishop opened the bathroom door.
"Good morning, Betsy," Bishop said as he stepped out of the doorway.

Betsy turned her emotionless eyes upon him. "Breakfast is getting
cold," she said.

Bishop stepped back from her gaze, tightly clutching his towel. "I'll see
you downstairs," he muttered as he brushed past her. Betsy watched him as
he hurried towards his room, shrugged, and headed for the stairs.
"Perhaps someday I'll explain to them what's happened to me," she thought.
She paused at the head of the stairs to turn off the hallway light. "If I
feel like it." She smiled to herself. "Right now, the food is getting
cold." She walked into the shadows and disappeared.

5:25 AM:

Robert Drake stretched as he left his bedroom, trying to shake the
remnants of sleep from his mind. A jaw-creaking yawn escaped him as he
turned to shut the door. A soft noise from the other end of the hall told
him that one of his teammates was also preparing to greet the ungodly
hour. "Someone needs to tell Scott about the pleasures of sleep," he
grumbled, scratching his head and walking towards the bathroom. Idly, he
looked up to see which X-Man was in the hall with him.

Henry McCoy tightened his robe and smiled. Last night, he had shut down
his lab at a decent hour and gotten some sorely needed sleep. His work
with the Legacy Virus demanded so much of his time that he's almost
forgotten what it felt like to be rested. Furthermore, he had at least an
hour to soak in the tub before breakfast and the training session.
Another smile split his face as he started towards the bathroom.

Bobby, squinting through the dim corridor, recognized the hairy figure of
his best friend. "If Hank beats me to the bathroom," he thought, "I won't
be able to get him out. He'll stay in there until _noon_!" He began to
quicken his pace.

Hank noticed Bobby accelerate towards the bathroom door. "Oh, no you
don't, Drake!" he said, quickening his steps. Hurried walks soon turned
into all-out dashes as the two tried to outdistance each other to the
door. They arrived at the same time, hands outstretched for the knob.
Immediately a friendly tussle began.

"Ow!"
"Hey!"
"That's my fur! Leggo my fur!"
"Not in this lifetime, Hairball! Outta the way!"
"In you dreams, Snowboy! I got here first!"
"Lies! Lies and- OW!"
"Serves you right."
"My arm! My arm!"

Hank sat up immediately. "Bobby, are you all right?" he asked, his voice
full of concern and guilt. " I didn't mean to-"

"SUCKER!" Bobby darted for the bathroom. Only Hank's quick reaction time
prevented him from entering. The wrestling continued.

Sam Guthrie leapt nimbly out of the way of the fracas, a large towel
draped over his left shoulder. "Morning, fellas," he said, stepping
around them and entering the bathroom. Bobby and Hank stared numbly as
the young man closed and locked the bathroom door, whistling to himself.

Bobby turned to Hank. "Have we just been-" he started to ask.

"-Swindled out of our rightful turns in the lavatory?" finished Hank. "I
rather think we have." He let go of Bobby's hair and slumped dejectedly
against the wall.

"That's what I thought," grumbled Bobby as he slid over next to his
friend. The two sat by the door, grumbling softly.

5:45 AM

Rogue almost tripped over Hank's outstretched leg as she walked down the
hall. "Mornin' y'all," she said to the two disgruntled men. "Mind if I
just slip in for a real quick wash?" She turned her Southern charm up to
'kill'.

"Get in line," said Bobby sullenly.

"Ah won't take no more 'n a minute," said Rogue, tossing her hair.

"Get in line," said Hank, all traces of his earlier good humor gone.

Rogue batted her eyelashes furiously at the two men. "Y'all'd hardly even
notice-"

"GET IN LINE." The words came out almost in unison.

Rogue sniffed. "Yankee men," she muttered. She dropped down next to
Bobby. "That always works on Gambit."

Bobby jerked his thumb in Hank's direction. "Wrong end of the line,
Rogue. I'm next."

"Um, I beg to differ, Robert," Hank said, shaking his head. "Obviously, I
am the next one in line."

"Yeah, right," snorted Bobby. He turned back to Rogue. "Don't listen to
him. His brain's still asleep." Hank's response was to cuff his friend
across the back of the head.

"Ow!" Bobby retaliated by punching Hank in the arm. "Knock it off!"

"That does it!" Hank reached for Bobby's head and the scuffling began
anew.

"My arm! My arm!"
"Nice try, sport. I don't even _have_ your arm."
"Well, it worked last time... ow!"
"I said, LET GO OF MY FUR!!!"
"When you get off me! What do you eat all day, Twinkies and Moon Pies?"
"Say I'm next in line and I'll cheerfully release you, Robert."
"Never!"
"Ahouch!"

The bathroom door opened quietly. Once again, Sam skirted the hallway
scuffle, pausing only to wink at Rogue. "Kids today!" he said, a
mock-scornful expression on his face.

Rogue surpressed her giggles as she rose and quickly entered the bathroom.
Once again, Hank and Bobby watched the door close and lock with them
rolling around on the hallway floor. Hank, sighing in frustration, let go
of Bobby's leg and resumed his position against the wall. "Perhaps we
should flip a coin?" he ruefully suggested.

Sam's bedroom door opened, revealing the youngest X-Man's somewhat damp
head. "Y'all _could_ go see if the third floor bathroom's empty," he
suggested. "Assumin' of course, that Joeseph hasn't set up camp in there
yet..." The head withdrew and the door closed.

Hank and Bobby looked at each other. Bobby flashed his friend a quick
grin. "Race ya!" he said, jumping to his feet and dashing down the hall.

Hank attempted to follow but slipped on a large and extremely out-of-place
patch of ice. "DRAKE!" he yelled, regaining his footing and pursuing his
teammate.

Gambit rolled over and groaned. "I guess dey ain't gon let me sleep in
today," he muttered. He looked at his clock and winced. "I hate _all_ o'
dem..." Still muttering, he rose from his bed and began searching for his
cigarettes.

--------------