A Normal Friday Night
A Normal Friday Night
X Men fanfiction
Originally written 09/06/06 as a requested companion piece to 'The Babysitter', which doesn't need to be read first, but does explain the black leather. Both are AU, set some time after the events of X2, but with Jean alive.
Rating: PG
Summary: Jubilee plots mayhem and what really happened during Logan’s second attempt at babysitting. The Professor is still amused.
Disclaimer: The X Man franchise belongs to Marvel and Fox, Shrek belongs to Dreamworks, Scooby Doo to Warner Brothers and the plot belongs to Jubilee, because plotting is what that girl does best. The “some classical music” that the Professor is listening to is Shostakovich’s Symphony 5 and “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned” is the proverb, adapted from a play by William Congreve, which Bobby mangles.
Thanks to Daydream1 who wanted to see the actual events of Friday Night, which got Jubilee talking. Loudly. ;o)
A Normal Friday Night
“The best way to keep children home is to make the home atmosphere pleasant - and let the air out of the tires.”
- Dorothy Parker
“Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves.”
- Confucius
It was all Logan’s fault.
That might sound a little (okay, a lot) like something that Mr Summers would say, but it’s the absolute truth.
It’s not everyday that a person turns eighteen and I - Jubilee, plotter extraordinaire - had decided that nothing would do but that we celebrated in style. Everyone had been miserable since Alkali and Rogue’s birthday was the perfect excuse for some fun.
I hadn’t planned anything completely off the wall, just a night out. Bobby had sweet-talked Mr Summers into lending us one of the nicer cars, outfits had been purchased, complete with accessories, and we’d even cleared it with the Professor. Saturday night we went down to the garage - me, Rogue, Bobby, Poitr and Kitty, who’d been allowed on the condition she didn’t drink any alcohol - only to find a flat tire on the car of our choice.
Four flat tires actually.
Well, five if you counted the spare.
Bobby went to check with Mr Summers if we could borrow another car, but there wasn’t much point really. There wasn’t a tire in that garage that hadn’t been let down. Oh, and in case you’re thinking that this was a rather intelligent prank the three holes in each tire, claw marks one might say, left no doubt as to the culprit.
Mr Summers went spare, which was funny. On the other hand, our night out was ruined, which totally wasn’t.
I guess Wolvie really didn’t want us to take Rogue clubbing.
It was somewhere during the mass tire changing the following weekend, after Mr Summers had purchased a ship load of the bloody things, that we decided some form of revenge was in order. (And no, I have no idea how we ended up being the ones to change all the damn tires. Somehow the blame had circulated back to us, though when clubbing became outlawed I have no idea.)
Bobby was reluctant at first. I always have to persuade the shy Kitty and reserved Piotr (though once they’re in on a prank boy are they in), but Bobby’s usually my partner in crime. Well, John’s partner in crime really, but everyone knows me and Bobby are the brains of the outfit. (I mean, John left. How dumb is he?)
I was here before John anyhow. Me and Bobby-boy, we used to plan all kinds of havoc against each other. Once I even bribed Poitr to help me stick his bed up on the roof (which Mr Summers wasn’t impressed with, but I swear I heard the Professor laughing about it later on). After John came things changed, but not all that much. It’d be the two of them against me and Kitty, and with the prank partners sharing rooms dorm wars became the order of the day. Again, after Rogue came change. Then we just pushed Piotr into joining Bobby and John for a kinda gender war, which was good really - Rogue’s more into pranks than Kitty, and now each ‘team’ has a quiet ‘we should really be acting more mature than this’ member now.
Yeah. Now.
Now, things have changed all over again. Now I had to persuade Bobby as well as Kitty and Piotr, and since Bobby was normally my fellow persuader and John, who’d always be up for anything, was AWOL things weren’t looking too good.
I ran a finger along the small ridge of pink skin on my arm whilst I was thinking. It’s not the worst scar I’ve ever had, but it’s the newest. I can’t remember if it happened whilst I was unconscious, after being hit with one of those tranquilizer darts, and I didn’t notice until later or if I caught it on something in our cell, or maybe in the mad dash out of the dam afterwards… I’d been used to collecting random scrapes and scars before coming to the mansion. Old habits die hard - I’d been too busy paying attention to my surroundings to pay attention to scratches.
Not that I mentioned it. We all have our scars after The Alkali Incident and not all of them are visible.
I found Storm sat slumped outside the dormitory where the littlest kids sleep one night last week, after one of them woke up screaming from yet another nightmare. I enlisted Kurt to help me get her back up to her attic room and I’d wondered then if Storm had felt as helpless in the face of those nightmares as she did when she learned of the attack, miles away in the Blackbird.
Rogue sleeps in sweats and gloves now, fully covered. When Kitty asked her why she just shrugged.
Poitr spent four hours one sunny afternoon meticulously oiling the sliding door mechanism that had stuck that night. I heard one of the younger girls muttering that if he hadn’t been there with his super strength they never would have managed to get out.
Sometimes Kitty sits on the floor in one of the second floor corridors, just staring into space. Only if you looked closely you can see she’s actually staring at three small holes in the woodwork, so small that they’d been missed in the Grand Clear-up and Redecorating Spree.
We all have our problems. The older kids have taken to carrying the essentials around with them, loath to be caught unaware and helpless again, whilst the adults have stepped up the security (like going to the mall was such a dangerous activity).
Bobby’s the worst. His home here was invaded, he fled to his first home only to be practically disowned and then his best friend, the fire to his ice, up and left. I might have a few new scars and nightmares, but Bobby is the worst.
Goodbye prankster, hello miniature Cyclops - cold, calculating, stiff, boring…
It makes you wonder what might have happened to our Fearless Leader once upon a time to make him like he is. He might be an adult, but I don’t hero worship him like some of the others do. I know he’s only human - ha, mutant - like the rest of us. Anyway, he’s not my problem.
Don’t get me wrong - it’s not that I don’t care, but Mr Summer’s isn’t part of our close-knit group, even if he is a part of this family we’ve got growing here. Bobby’s my problem. Mr Summers belongs to Jean and the Professor. Let them worry about the frozen man and I’ll worry about the frozen boy.
So I was relying on Rogue to help me out with her powers of persuasion then, and since she’s his girlfriend and everything she can be pretty damn persuasive.
I wasn’t too sure at first why she was helping me with the persuasion thing. I know people think I’m stupid, hyperactive Jubilee with her bright clothes and loud mouth, but I do think y’know, and right then I was thinking about why. I mean, I didn’t know her all that well, even if she is one of my room mates. It might have been because she likes pranks, or maybe because she wanted to get her own back on Wolvie for ruining her birthday night out, but I know now what I figured out just then - she understood; about Bobby, about his head being full of crap and him not being able to unwind.
Rogue knows all about the power of memories. After all, she has a head full of them.
She helped me to persuade him and then we dragged Piotr and Kitty along for the ride, explaining that since it was Logan we were going to prank it was more of a training exercise than anything, and he isn’t technically a teacher, and no, it wasn’t going to be suicidal since we had his favourite Rogue with us. Then someone asked the question, because someone always does.
“So what’s the plan?”
This time it was Kitty. I just looked at her, one eyebrow raised like I practiced in the mirror one of my first weeks here, then grinned.
“I’m not sure yet Chica. Opportunity first, then plotting.”
Bobby rolled his eyes, which made me grin wider.
Things were getting back to normal.
-#-
It was a few days later that I heard Dr Grey and Mr Summers arguing. (My ears caught the words ‘black leather’, so sue me). The gist of it seemed to be that Wolvie would be babysitting this Friday night whilst they went out, and with Miss Monroe drugged up to her eyeballs with aspirin in the attic and the Professor having a quiet night in his rooms it sounded like our opportunity for revenge had come knocking.
Rogue confirmed it for me later, having seen Wolvie looking a bit put out at Dr Grey telling him the good news. (That girl knows all about Logan, which was going to be great for us: minimum button-pressing, maximum mayhem.)
It was a prime piece of gossip that spread round Mutant High and I was a bit shocked when I heard that a lot of people were actually a bit worried about it, Logan being the babysitter the last time our home was attacked. Maybe it’s because I was knocked out before I saw his ‘berserker fit’ or maybe because I blame Stryker for locking me up, not Logan for failing to protect us all, but it didn’t bother me as much as the rest. I mean, Logan - one man - protecting an entire mansion of kids? Hell, and even then only six of us got taken. If one more adult had been around we probably would have driven them off, never mind all of us escaping, and this time the Professor would still be around, and Miss Monroe too, however ill she may be.
Still, Friday night would be a perfect time to strike. Not only would it be revenge and a good prank for cheering everyone up but it might take their minds off the ‘disaster’ that was Wolvie’s first attempt at babysitting.
And so the plotting began.
-#-
To be honest, Friday night started off like any normal Friday night would. We raided the kitchen and I donated half of my secret sugar stash to getting everyone nice and hyper, although I swear Bobby could eat nothing but junk food and never get properly bouncing-off-the-walls hyperactive. He told me ages ago that he used to go on midnight Twinkie runs with Hank, who was the resident doctor back when Dr Grey was finishing her medical degree, so maybe it’s just that he’s built up a higher tolerance.
Needless to say, Wolvie was not amused by the hoard of hyperactive kids in the Recreation Room. Needless to say, I certainly was.
One of the smaller kids had got him to put Shrek on the television and I conducted everyone in reciting the “do you know the muffin man?” bit - which happens to be Bobby’s favourite - before us Junior X Men (which sounds so much better than ‘older kids’ or ‘teenagers’) drifted to the back of the room, preparing to get the show on the road.
Like it was ever going to be that easy.
“Hey, where are you lot going?”
“Just going t’get a drink, sugar.” Rogue gazed up at Wolvie with those doe eyes of hers, all cute and innocent.
“Oh no.” He folded his arms and glared at us. “If I have to watch this crap then so do you.”
On to plan B then.
I nudged Jamie, who’d been bribed with copious amounts of sugar earlier in the evening, and he hit his head against the wall. Suddenly there were two Jamies, then three, five… Logan watched them with narrowed eyes. A nod to Theresa and she moved close enough for a few of the Jamies to start harassing her. The other Jamies amused themselves with throwing popcorn at people’s heads. They had quite a good aim actually.
“Hey, stop it kid. Drop the popcorn and - “
Theresa screamed.
There’s a damn good reason that girl’s codename is Siryn.
Kitty and Piotr were already halfway to the third floor by that point, heading for the locked cupboard where the staff keep their alcohol, so they were spared the full blast. The rest of us did a pretty good impression of a duck-and-cover-in-the-event-of-an-earthquake maneuver, covering our ears and curling up on the floor. Sonic screams hurt. What it must be like for someone like Logan with extra sensitive hearing I have no idea.
One of the windows in the entrance hall shattered and Theresa abruptly shut up, a rather guilty expression on her face.
By the time Logan had recovered, which didn’t take too long, the younger kids were having a full fledged popcorn and cushion fight with Jamies everywhere and me, Rogue and Bobby had fled to the kitchen. We needed to buy Kitty and Piotr a bit more time to liberate some alcohol, not to mention the fact that we were going to make this the Babysitter’s Night In Hell.
A few bags of popcorn were shoved in a pan on the stove that should start popping all over the place in a few minutes, the taps were turned on full blast until the sink was overflowing and I showed Zak (six years old and very cute) how to draw pictures on the floor with peanut butter before Logan caught up with us.
“Stop spreading that on the floor,” he ordered Zak as he turned off the taps.
We stood there for a moment, not quite knowing what to do before Bobby bent down, reaching for the water that had soaked the kitchen floor and spread to the carpet in the corridor.
“I told you kid, stop spreading that stuff on the floor! Hey! And YOU!”
Bobby paused, frost beading on one finger.
“Don’t even think about freezing it Iceboy!”
I held my breath.
“Did he just call me Iceboy?”
Rogue giggled at her boyfriend’s comment and I grinned as the water on the floor froze. Logan took a step towards Bobby, probably to stop him, and there was a loud thump-crash as he slipped and hit the worktop where the canned food is stacked. One of the younger girls, coming to see what all the noise was, squealed as a flying can narrowly missed her head and the popcorn chose that moment to start adding to the mess, going all over the place.
Me, Rogue and Bobby chose that moment to make our getaway.
-#-
“Okay, lick the salt off the back of your hand, knock back the shot and then bite the lemon.” Kitty had done tequila shots with us last time we’d ‘borrowed’ some of the staff alcohol, but Rogue needed a bit of coaching.
Piotr and Kitty had done well this time actually, nabbing two bottles of vodka and a bottle of cheap tequila between them, and you can’t say we hadn’t had a plan. We’d left some lemons, salt, shot glasses and sugary treats up on the roof in a plastic bag ahead of time and checked the weather reports to make sure we weren’t going to get rained on. We’d even positioned ourselves as far away from the bit of the attic where Storm sleeps as possible.
Thanks you Cyclops for teaching us your anal, Boy Scout ways.
Rogue knocked back the shot and we proceeded to educate her in the ancient art of getting drunk, leading by example.
-#-
It was going on one o’clock in the morning before we heard an angry growl dangerously near to the balcony we’d used to get up there in the first place. Shot glasses were emptied, rubbish picked up and an orderly queue formed to clamber down a short piece of drainpipe onto a balcony at the other side of the building in record time.
It was probably a bit of a race to the second floor, but I didn’t exactly look back to see how far behind us Wolvie actually was.
We hastily crammed gum into our mouths, trying to hide the smell of alcohol, whilst Kitty phased through the wall into one of the Professor’s rooms. We’ve used this trick before: if she phases through just below the painting of a poppy field she comes out right behind a couch. It’s the perfect place to hide things. Even Logan isn’t going to search the Professor’s suite.
“Did he hear you?” I whispered to Kitty as we crept back to our dorm.
“He’s listening to some classical music.”
“So why are you looking so worried Chica? We’re home free!”
“Um…” She blushed. “He’s laughing to himself Jubes and I don’t think classical music makes people laugh that much. You don’t think he knows, do you?”
“He’s a telepath Kitty-kat. It’s not whether he knows or not it’s if he catches us.” I snorted. “He says he doesn’t go messing around in our heads without permission, right? So he can’t admit that he’s been looking. He has to catch us red handed.”
“Well, as long as he doesn’t smell the alcohol behind his couch then.”
And when the Wolverine came hunting all he found was two boys asleep in one dorm room and three girls having a bit of a make-over in another.
-#-
The mansion was quiet in the next day. Let’s just say five of us were nursing hangovers and the rest just weren’t used to staying up so late.
I stumbled downstairs to the Rec Room in my yellow PJs to watch join the others in some Saturday morning cartoon watching, grinning at the new rips in the cushions. Man, when we have a riot we have a riot. Bobby waved lazily at me from the couch and I dropped onto the floor next to Kitty.
A minute later a familiar growl had us all poised for fight or flight, with flight being the realistic option.
I chanced a look over my shoulder only to see Wolvie stalking past the open doorway. His face…
“Is that black leather stuck to his sideburns?” Kitty whispered.
“Wonder what he did to piss Jean off,” was Rogue’s quiet comment.
We all turned to look at her.
“Well, there’s no blood on him, so no murder and she’s the only one he wouldn’t kill for that. Ha, probably the only one who could manage to stick ‘em on there in the first place.” She grinned. “Bet it hurts like hell when he takes it off.”
Beardless as they were the boys winced in sympathy.
We watched Scooby Doo and Shaggy run away from yet another dumb villain in a spooky costume for a bit before the Professor wheeled in.
“I must say, I’m surprised to see you up so early after last night’s excitement.”
Innocent looks were worn by all. (So the guy’s a telepath. It’s worth a try, right?)
He folded his hands neatly in his lap. “Scott was just telling me this morning what a good job you did replacing the tires last weekend. He had hoped that you would be able to help him with a few tasks as a regular Saturday activity, but I have something planned that I think you’ll be more interested in.”
Eyebrows were raised and looks exchanged.(We're not very vocal in the mornings. It's a teenage thing.)
“Am I right in understanding that you’ve been referring to yourselves as ‘Junior X Men’?” He smiled at that so Kitty and Bobby nodded, Piotr blushed and I gave a sheepish grin. “Well, I was thinking that perhaps we should step up your training a little more, moving from the gym into the Danger Room, if that is a role you would like to fill?”
“Hell yeah!”
I still can’t believe that I said that out loud. It got a laugh though.
“In that case, you will are be required to report to the Danger Room every Saturday morning from now on.”
Over the cheering and generally excited chatted a worried voice asked: “who’ll be teaching us sir, if Mr Summers is going to be busy?”
Silence.
No. He wouldn’t.
Would he?
“I believe Logan will be equal to the task, Robert.”
Bobby gulped. “You mean whilst Miss Monroe is ill sir?”
The Professor smiled, evilly in my opinion. “Logan has kindly offered to take the position permanently. He seemed rather pleased with the idea actually.”
He would.
-#-
“Hell hath no fury like a pissed off Logan,” Bobby groaned from somewhere on the floor.
“Kill me now,” was Kitty’s contribution.
Logan had left the Danger Room whistling a few minutes before, but we had yet to muster the energy to move.
God I miss Saturday morning cartoons. You don’t get bruises watching cartoons for a start.
And the reason I’m missing my cartoons?
Logan.
I’m telling you, it was all Logan’s fault.
X Men fanfiction
Originally written 09/06/06 as a requested companion piece to 'The Babysitter', which doesn't need to be read first, but does explain the black leather. Both are AU, set some time after the events of X2, but with Jean alive.
Rating: PG
Summary: Jubilee plots mayhem and what really happened during Logan’s second attempt at babysitting. The Professor is still amused.
Disclaimer: The X Man franchise belongs to Marvel and Fox, Shrek belongs to Dreamworks, Scooby Doo to Warner Brothers and the plot belongs to Jubilee, because plotting is what that girl does best. The “some classical music” that the Professor is listening to is Shostakovich’s Symphony 5 and “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned” is the proverb, adapted from a play by William Congreve, which Bobby mangles.
Thanks to Daydream1 who wanted to see the actual events of Friday Night, which got Jubilee talking. Loudly. ;o)
A Normal Friday Night
“The best way to keep children home is to make the home atmosphere pleasant - and let the air out of the tires.”
- Dorothy Parker
“Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves.”
- Confucius
It was all Logan’s fault.
That might sound a little (okay, a lot) like something that Mr Summers would say, but it’s the absolute truth.
It’s not everyday that a person turns eighteen and I - Jubilee, plotter extraordinaire - had decided that nothing would do but that we celebrated in style. Everyone had been miserable since Alkali and Rogue’s birthday was the perfect excuse for some fun.
I hadn’t planned anything completely off the wall, just a night out. Bobby had sweet-talked Mr Summers into lending us one of the nicer cars, outfits had been purchased, complete with accessories, and we’d even cleared it with the Professor. Saturday night we went down to the garage - me, Rogue, Bobby, Poitr and Kitty, who’d been allowed on the condition she didn’t drink any alcohol - only to find a flat tire on the car of our choice.
Four flat tires actually.
Well, five if you counted the spare.
Bobby went to check with Mr Summers if we could borrow another car, but there wasn’t much point really. There wasn’t a tire in that garage that hadn’t been let down. Oh, and in case you’re thinking that this was a rather intelligent prank the three holes in each tire, claw marks one might say, left no doubt as to the culprit.
Mr Summers went spare, which was funny. On the other hand, our night out was ruined, which totally wasn’t.
I guess Wolvie really didn’t want us to take Rogue clubbing.
It was somewhere during the mass tire changing the following weekend, after Mr Summers had purchased a ship load of the bloody things, that we decided some form of revenge was in order. (And no, I have no idea how we ended up being the ones to change all the damn tires. Somehow the blame had circulated back to us, though when clubbing became outlawed I have no idea.)
Bobby was reluctant at first. I always have to persuade the shy Kitty and reserved Piotr (though once they’re in on a prank boy are they in), but Bobby’s usually my partner in crime. Well, John’s partner in crime really, but everyone knows me and Bobby are the brains of the outfit. (I mean, John left. How dumb is he?)
I was here before John anyhow. Me and Bobby-boy, we used to plan all kinds of havoc against each other. Once I even bribed Poitr to help me stick his bed up on the roof (which Mr Summers wasn’t impressed with, but I swear I heard the Professor laughing about it later on). After John came things changed, but not all that much. It’d be the two of them against me and Kitty, and with the prank partners sharing rooms dorm wars became the order of the day. Again, after Rogue came change. Then we just pushed Piotr into joining Bobby and John for a kinda gender war, which was good really - Rogue’s more into pranks than Kitty, and now each ‘team’ has a quiet ‘we should really be acting more mature than this’ member now.
Yeah. Now.
Now, things have changed all over again. Now I had to persuade Bobby as well as Kitty and Piotr, and since Bobby was normally my fellow persuader and John, who’d always be up for anything, was AWOL things weren’t looking too good.
I ran a finger along the small ridge of pink skin on my arm whilst I was thinking. It’s not the worst scar I’ve ever had, but it’s the newest. I can’t remember if it happened whilst I was unconscious, after being hit with one of those tranquilizer darts, and I didn’t notice until later or if I caught it on something in our cell, or maybe in the mad dash out of the dam afterwards… I’d been used to collecting random scrapes and scars before coming to the mansion. Old habits die hard - I’d been too busy paying attention to my surroundings to pay attention to scratches.
Not that I mentioned it. We all have our scars after The Alkali Incident and not all of them are visible.
I found Storm sat slumped outside the dormitory where the littlest kids sleep one night last week, after one of them woke up screaming from yet another nightmare. I enlisted Kurt to help me get her back up to her attic room and I’d wondered then if Storm had felt as helpless in the face of those nightmares as she did when she learned of the attack, miles away in the Blackbird.
Rogue sleeps in sweats and gloves now, fully covered. When Kitty asked her why she just shrugged.
Poitr spent four hours one sunny afternoon meticulously oiling the sliding door mechanism that had stuck that night. I heard one of the younger girls muttering that if he hadn’t been there with his super strength they never would have managed to get out.
Sometimes Kitty sits on the floor in one of the second floor corridors, just staring into space. Only if you looked closely you can see she’s actually staring at three small holes in the woodwork, so small that they’d been missed in the Grand Clear-up and Redecorating Spree.
We all have our problems. The older kids have taken to carrying the essentials around with them, loath to be caught unaware and helpless again, whilst the adults have stepped up the security (like going to the mall was such a dangerous activity).
Bobby’s the worst. His home here was invaded, he fled to his first home only to be practically disowned and then his best friend, the fire to his ice, up and left. I might have a few new scars and nightmares, but Bobby is the worst.
Goodbye prankster, hello miniature Cyclops - cold, calculating, stiff, boring…
It makes you wonder what might have happened to our Fearless Leader once upon a time to make him like he is. He might be an adult, but I don’t hero worship him like some of the others do. I know he’s only human - ha, mutant - like the rest of us. Anyway, he’s not my problem.
Don’t get me wrong - it’s not that I don’t care, but Mr Summer’s isn’t part of our close-knit group, even if he is a part of this family we’ve got growing here. Bobby’s my problem. Mr Summers belongs to Jean and the Professor. Let them worry about the frozen man and I’ll worry about the frozen boy.
So I was relying on Rogue to help me out with her powers of persuasion then, and since she’s his girlfriend and everything she can be pretty damn persuasive.
I wasn’t too sure at first why she was helping me with the persuasion thing. I know people think I’m stupid, hyperactive Jubilee with her bright clothes and loud mouth, but I do think y’know, and right then I was thinking about why. I mean, I didn’t know her all that well, even if she is one of my room mates. It might have been because she likes pranks, or maybe because she wanted to get her own back on Wolvie for ruining her birthday night out, but I know now what I figured out just then - she understood; about Bobby, about his head being full of crap and him not being able to unwind.
Rogue knows all about the power of memories. After all, she has a head full of them.
She helped me to persuade him and then we dragged Piotr and Kitty along for the ride, explaining that since it was Logan we were going to prank it was more of a training exercise than anything, and he isn’t technically a teacher, and no, it wasn’t going to be suicidal since we had his favourite Rogue with us. Then someone asked the question, because someone always does.
“So what’s the plan?”
This time it was Kitty. I just looked at her, one eyebrow raised like I practiced in the mirror one of my first weeks here, then grinned.
“I’m not sure yet Chica. Opportunity first, then plotting.”
Bobby rolled his eyes, which made me grin wider.
Things were getting back to normal.
-#-
It was a few days later that I heard Dr Grey and Mr Summers arguing. (My ears caught the words ‘black leather’, so sue me). The gist of it seemed to be that Wolvie would be babysitting this Friday night whilst they went out, and with Miss Monroe drugged up to her eyeballs with aspirin in the attic and the Professor having a quiet night in his rooms it sounded like our opportunity for revenge had come knocking.
Rogue confirmed it for me later, having seen Wolvie looking a bit put out at Dr Grey telling him the good news. (That girl knows all about Logan, which was going to be great for us: minimum button-pressing, maximum mayhem.)
It was a prime piece of gossip that spread round Mutant High and I was a bit shocked when I heard that a lot of people were actually a bit worried about it, Logan being the babysitter the last time our home was attacked. Maybe it’s because I was knocked out before I saw his ‘berserker fit’ or maybe because I blame Stryker for locking me up, not Logan for failing to protect us all, but it didn’t bother me as much as the rest. I mean, Logan - one man - protecting an entire mansion of kids? Hell, and even then only six of us got taken. If one more adult had been around we probably would have driven them off, never mind all of us escaping, and this time the Professor would still be around, and Miss Monroe too, however ill she may be.
Still, Friday night would be a perfect time to strike. Not only would it be revenge and a good prank for cheering everyone up but it might take their minds off the ‘disaster’ that was Wolvie’s first attempt at babysitting.
And so the plotting began.
-#-
To be honest, Friday night started off like any normal Friday night would. We raided the kitchen and I donated half of my secret sugar stash to getting everyone nice and hyper, although I swear Bobby could eat nothing but junk food and never get properly bouncing-off-the-walls hyperactive. He told me ages ago that he used to go on midnight Twinkie runs with Hank, who was the resident doctor back when Dr Grey was finishing her medical degree, so maybe it’s just that he’s built up a higher tolerance.
Needless to say, Wolvie was not amused by the hoard of hyperactive kids in the Recreation Room. Needless to say, I certainly was.
One of the smaller kids had got him to put Shrek on the television and I conducted everyone in reciting the “do you know the muffin man?” bit - which happens to be Bobby’s favourite - before us Junior X Men (which sounds so much better than ‘older kids’ or ‘teenagers’) drifted to the back of the room, preparing to get the show on the road.
Like it was ever going to be that easy.
“Hey, where are you lot going?”
“Just going t’get a drink, sugar.” Rogue gazed up at Wolvie with those doe eyes of hers, all cute and innocent.
“Oh no.” He folded his arms and glared at us. “If I have to watch this crap then so do you.”
On to plan B then.
I nudged Jamie, who’d been bribed with copious amounts of sugar earlier in the evening, and he hit his head against the wall. Suddenly there were two Jamies, then three, five… Logan watched them with narrowed eyes. A nod to Theresa and she moved close enough for a few of the Jamies to start harassing her. The other Jamies amused themselves with throwing popcorn at people’s heads. They had quite a good aim actually.
“Hey, stop it kid. Drop the popcorn and - “
Theresa screamed.
There’s a damn good reason that girl’s codename is Siryn.
Kitty and Piotr were already halfway to the third floor by that point, heading for the locked cupboard where the staff keep their alcohol, so they were spared the full blast. The rest of us did a pretty good impression of a duck-and-cover-in-the-event-of-an-earthquake maneuver, covering our ears and curling up on the floor. Sonic screams hurt. What it must be like for someone like Logan with extra sensitive hearing I have no idea.
One of the windows in the entrance hall shattered and Theresa abruptly shut up, a rather guilty expression on her face.
By the time Logan had recovered, which didn’t take too long, the younger kids were having a full fledged popcorn and cushion fight with Jamies everywhere and me, Rogue and Bobby had fled to the kitchen. We needed to buy Kitty and Piotr a bit more time to liberate some alcohol, not to mention the fact that we were going to make this the Babysitter’s Night In Hell.
A few bags of popcorn were shoved in a pan on the stove that should start popping all over the place in a few minutes, the taps were turned on full blast until the sink was overflowing and I showed Zak (six years old and very cute) how to draw pictures on the floor with peanut butter before Logan caught up with us.
“Stop spreading that on the floor,” he ordered Zak as he turned off the taps.
We stood there for a moment, not quite knowing what to do before Bobby bent down, reaching for the water that had soaked the kitchen floor and spread to the carpet in the corridor.
“I told you kid, stop spreading that stuff on the floor! Hey! And YOU!”
Bobby paused, frost beading on one finger.
“Don’t even think about freezing it Iceboy!”
I held my breath.
“Did he just call me Iceboy?”
Rogue giggled at her boyfriend’s comment and I grinned as the water on the floor froze. Logan took a step towards Bobby, probably to stop him, and there was a loud thump-crash as he slipped and hit the worktop where the canned food is stacked. One of the younger girls, coming to see what all the noise was, squealed as a flying can narrowly missed her head and the popcorn chose that moment to start adding to the mess, going all over the place.
Me, Rogue and Bobby chose that moment to make our getaway.
-#-
“Okay, lick the salt off the back of your hand, knock back the shot and then bite the lemon.” Kitty had done tequila shots with us last time we’d ‘borrowed’ some of the staff alcohol, but Rogue needed a bit of coaching.
Piotr and Kitty had done well this time actually, nabbing two bottles of vodka and a bottle of cheap tequila between them, and you can’t say we hadn’t had a plan. We’d left some lemons, salt, shot glasses and sugary treats up on the roof in a plastic bag ahead of time and checked the weather reports to make sure we weren’t going to get rained on. We’d even positioned ourselves as far away from the bit of the attic where Storm sleeps as possible.
Thanks you Cyclops for teaching us your anal, Boy Scout ways.
Rogue knocked back the shot and we proceeded to educate her in the ancient art of getting drunk, leading by example.
-#-
It was going on one o’clock in the morning before we heard an angry growl dangerously near to the balcony we’d used to get up there in the first place. Shot glasses were emptied, rubbish picked up and an orderly queue formed to clamber down a short piece of drainpipe onto a balcony at the other side of the building in record time.
It was probably a bit of a race to the second floor, but I didn’t exactly look back to see how far behind us Wolvie actually was.
We hastily crammed gum into our mouths, trying to hide the smell of alcohol, whilst Kitty phased through the wall into one of the Professor’s rooms. We’ve used this trick before: if she phases through just below the painting of a poppy field she comes out right behind a couch. It’s the perfect place to hide things. Even Logan isn’t going to search the Professor’s suite.
“Did he hear you?” I whispered to Kitty as we crept back to our dorm.
“He’s listening to some classical music.”
“So why are you looking so worried Chica? We’re home free!”
“Um…” She blushed. “He’s laughing to himself Jubes and I don’t think classical music makes people laugh that much. You don’t think he knows, do you?”
“He’s a telepath Kitty-kat. It’s not whether he knows or not it’s if he catches us.” I snorted. “He says he doesn’t go messing around in our heads without permission, right? So he can’t admit that he’s been looking. He has to catch us red handed.”
“Well, as long as he doesn’t smell the alcohol behind his couch then.”
And when the Wolverine came hunting all he found was two boys asleep in one dorm room and three girls having a bit of a make-over in another.
-#-
The mansion was quiet in the next day. Let’s just say five of us were nursing hangovers and the rest just weren’t used to staying up so late.
I stumbled downstairs to the Rec Room in my yellow PJs to watch join the others in some Saturday morning cartoon watching, grinning at the new rips in the cushions. Man, when we have a riot we have a riot. Bobby waved lazily at me from the couch and I dropped onto the floor next to Kitty.
A minute later a familiar growl had us all poised for fight or flight, with flight being the realistic option.
I chanced a look over my shoulder only to see Wolvie stalking past the open doorway. His face…
“Is that black leather stuck to his sideburns?” Kitty whispered.
“Wonder what he did to piss Jean off,” was Rogue’s quiet comment.
We all turned to look at her.
“Well, there’s no blood on him, so no murder and she’s the only one he wouldn’t kill for that. Ha, probably the only one who could manage to stick ‘em on there in the first place.” She grinned. “Bet it hurts like hell when he takes it off.”
Beardless as they were the boys winced in sympathy.
We watched Scooby Doo and Shaggy run away from yet another dumb villain in a spooky costume for a bit before the Professor wheeled in.
“I must say, I’m surprised to see you up so early after last night’s excitement.”
Innocent looks were worn by all. (So the guy’s a telepath. It’s worth a try, right?)
He folded his hands neatly in his lap. “Scott was just telling me this morning what a good job you did replacing the tires last weekend. He had hoped that you would be able to help him with a few tasks as a regular Saturday activity, but I have something planned that I think you’ll be more interested in.”
Eyebrows were raised and looks exchanged.(We're not very vocal in the mornings. It's a teenage thing.)
“Am I right in understanding that you’ve been referring to yourselves as ‘Junior X Men’?” He smiled at that so Kitty and Bobby nodded, Piotr blushed and I gave a sheepish grin. “Well, I was thinking that perhaps we should step up your training a little more, moving from the gym into the Danger Room, if that is a role you would like to fill?”
“Hell yeah!”
I still can’t believe that I said that out loud. It got a laugh though.
“In that case, you will are be required to report to the Danger Room every Saturday morning from now on.”
Over the cheering and generally excited chatted a worried voice asked: “who’ll be teaching us sir, if Mr Summers is going to be busy?”
Silence.
No. He wouldn’t.
Would he?
“I believe Logan will be equal to the task, Robert.”
Bobby gulped. “You mean whilst Miss Monroe is ill sir?”
The Professor smiled, evilly in my opinion. “Logan has kindly offered to take the position permanently. He seemed rather pleased with the idea actually.”
He would.
-#-
“Hell hath no fury like a pissed off Logan,” Bobby groaned from somewhere on the floor.
“Kill me now,” was Kitty’s contribution.
Logan had left the Danger Room whistling a few minutes before, but we had yet to muster the energy to move.
God I miss Saturday morning cartoons. You don’t get bruises watching cartoons for a start.
And the reason I’m missing my cartoons?
Logan.
I’m telling you, it was all Logan’s fault.