AN: Okay, another tiny chapter, but it's four in the damned morning, I'm personally impressed that I can spell "X-Men" let alone type anything coherent. This is less angsty and more lovey as the effects of Mystique and Xavier's deal hit the Brotherhood house. Oh, I can't type accents, not about to start tryin' now. You've seen the show, you know what they sound like. Go forth! Or third… or second… sleep time is now.
At 9:30, alarms went off in rooms all over the Brotherhood house, and each was immediately silenced.
In Pietro's room, his hand flicked out and retracted so quickly that it seemed the alarm clock had turned off itself.
In Lance's room, the clock was wrenched out of the wall and hurled at the wall, cracking open and clattering to the pile of parts on the floor that had once been its predecessors.
In Freddy's room, the large boy simply rolled over, the alarm clock muffled by his bulk.
In Todd's room, the alarm clock short circuited as a strange, viscous slimed oozed slowly into its components.
In Rogue and Kurt's room, a blue fuzzy tail lashed the alarm clock off the bedside table from the bottom bunk while a pale hand reached out for her gloves from the top. Had they still been at Xavier's, they would have been awake for over four hours already, getting their asses kicked in the danger room by Logan. Thus, they had the peculiar feeling of having slept in, even though they both thought of nine thirty as early as hell. Rogue yawned and stretched, then hung down from the top of the bed to look at Kurt.
"Rock paper scissors?" she asked.
"Loser wakes her?" Kurt replied.
"Winner starts breakfast," Rogue nodded, raising her fist. "One, two, three, shoot."
"Gah, not again," Kurt moaned, as Rogue made scissors while his three fingers had formed paper."
"Look at it this way," Rogue said, hopping down from the top bunk. "Maybe someday the rest of the boys'll get up early enough to wake her."
"Yeah right," Kurt replied before porting out of the room and directly onto Mystique. Gold met gold as Mystique's eyes snapped open. Kurt expected her to growl, shot, or swat at him, but instead she just lay there, eyes wide. Kurt cocked his head to one side.
"Are you all right?" he asked. She said nothing, afraid to move, lest her son vanish from in front of her like a mirage. "Did you have a bad dream, Mama?"
Mystique finally reached up and touched his face, incredulous.
"I did, Kurt," she whispered. He beamed and leaned forward, hugging her.
"Don't worry, it's over now. Rogue's making breakfast if you want to come down."
"Bah. Don't be stupid. We'll start training when I feel like waking up and not a moment before," Mystique replied, trying hard to sound gruff. "Make sure Freddy leaves me some pancakes or I'll have all your heads."
Kurt saluted her with a silly smile on his face and disappeared in a puff of smoke.
"Is she coming down?" Rogue asked, not looking up from her pancakes.
"Of course not. We'll start training when-"
"-I feel like waking up and not a moment before," Rogue finished with him, flipping the first set of pancakes onto a plate and handing them to Kurt. The elf started to pour syrup on them, only to find it flew into his face with a strong gust of wind.
Pietro didn't know why, but he for some reason was kind of surprised to see Rogue. He shook it off as he snaked his arms around her waist, nibbling on her neck like only he could. She reached back and ruffled his hair with her non-spatula hand.
"Mornin' babe," she said.
"You're so sexy first thing in the morning, stripes," he purred into her neck.
"Um, hello, some people are trying to eat here!" Kurt snapped, wetting a paper towel in the sink to dab at his fur.
"Who says I'm not?" Pietro replied, looking over his shoulder at Kurt before nipping at Rogue's earlobe and growling.
"If you don't knock it off, Speedy, you're getting the burnt ones," Rogue replied, unable to keep a smile of her face. Pietro obediently sat down at the table, resting his chin on his hand and sighing as he watched Rogue cook.
"Kurt, how do you survive having a sister that hot?" Pietro asked dreamily.
"Dramamine," Kurt replied dryly, finally getting the last of the syrup out of his fur and digging into his pancakes. "Pass the orange juice."