One Bad Day

It was going to be a good day. Logan knew that from the moment his brain swam back from the murky depths of his feverish nightmares and allowed him to slowly open to eyes to witness the morning sunlight. It was strange to feel positively about this new day, since the previous week had been one of the shoddiest Logan had ever seen during his time at the mansion. Everyone seemed to be uptight and snappish, teamwork and training was going horrendously and arguments were starting out of nowhere. It had only been a few days ago that Logan had walked in to see Scott blasting the milk bottle into smithereens with his optic laser after being unable to uncap the lid, leaving the kitchen worktop covered in the cold liquid and sparkling glass shards. Thus, an argument brewed, beginning with petty insults and name-calling, occasionally referring to male strength and endowment size. A tussle had broken out on the kitchen counter, only broken up when Jean arrived and literally slammed them apart with her telekinesis.

Logan sighed contentedly as he lay in his bed, soft covers strewn dishevelled across his lower abdomen. Yep, despite everything, he had a good feeling about today. It wasn't often the Wolverine was in a good mood, and one could only hope it became infectious and lifted the mansion out of it's conjoined temper. He blinked slowly as he watched the ceiling, enjoying the comfortable warmth one felt when cocooned in the secure wraps of their bed. Despite that, he slowly pushed up, standing to his feet and trudging, if a little sleepily, past his window, and it's dusty stream of dawn sunlight, and on towards his en-suite where he could shower and dress for the day ahead.

He could have probably caught another couple of hours in bed, and stopped himself from feeling quite as sleepy as he did, but Logan wasn't one to lie in. Yawning as he stepped over the threshold, one arm stretching whilst his head tilted back to let out a yawn. Free hand extended to open the mirror bathroom cabinet above his sink; eyes squinting open to retrieve his razor blade. Yes, he had to trim his muttonchops every once in a while.

Flipping the door back shut, his eyes happened upon his reflection and he let out an uncharacteristic scream and practically threw himself backwards from the sink. He hit the back of his knees against the edge of the bath and crashed into it - landing in a spectacular heap. With his body twisted uncomfortably, Logan lay there, still clutching onto his plastic razor whilst he stared at the plughole, which sat a few inches away from his face. He made a faint whimper as his bare feet waved over the edge of the bath, and he slowly prised himself out of the cramped positioning.

Very carefully, he crept back towards his mirror, extending out of his crouch to peer at his reflection again. He didn't react quite so badly this time, but he looked absolutely horrified, for staring back at him was Ororo Munroe. "No, no, no, no, no," he muttered gruffly as he stared at the reflection. Storm's head moved and turned as his did, showing the expression he currently held. He glanced down at himself, the reflection having only being a tiny part of the deal. "How did I miss that?" he yelled to no one in particular, his voice echoed around the tiled wall of the bathroom. His eyes stared down at was unmistakably Storm's body, noticeably clad in her nightwear, also. Throwing the razor into the sink, his (sickeningly) feminine hands grasped and grabbed at the body, feeling everything he saw. "How did I miss these?" he added in shock, making a crude grope at his breasts. No, Storm's breast. He did not have breasts. He did not have breasts.

"This has gotta be some sick dream," he muttered to himself, speaking in his own rough voice that was so bizarre coming through the African's plump brown lips. "Wake up, wake up," he told himself, a nervous flutter in his voice making his tone higher. He looked around the bathroom fearfully, as though expecting some magnificent answer would crop up. "I gotta.. gotta.." he muttered feverishly, before he saw the sink again. Knowing the consequences, but not fully considering them, he crashed his head down against the white porcelain. His vision was blinded by white light as he plummeted down to the floor, the finalising crack of the back of his new ivory haired head against the floor tile hurtling his world into blackness.


"Oh, my God.." he groaned, lifting his hand as he felt at his head tenderly. "What happened?" He slowly opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling of his bathroom. His fingers tenderly felt at the bruise on his forehead. Standing up with an undignified sway, he saw in the mirror that not only did Storm's face linger, but now so did a massive purple blemish was mapping out across his forehead. "I was supposed to wake up," he told the mirror pitifully. "Why are you doin' this to me? It's wrong. It's sick."

It had to be a dream. A horribly convincing one at that, noted by the thunderous throbbing at his temple and at the back of his head. He was aware of the fact his healing powers seemed to abscond with this body change, something he was regretting more by the minute. He tried to think, even though it only added to the pain. If this was a dream, he had to go against with what he would normally do in a bizarre situation to shock himself into waking up, right? And with that he strode towards the bedroom door, purple bruise and all. He opened it, stepping out into the corridor with a walk that did not suit Storm's lithe frame.

The corridor was empty. Not a good start. He just needed to find someone..

He kept walking; balance occasionally off by the changed weight and lean of his form. Turning the corner, he soon spotted Scott walking ahead of him. Better him than no one. "Hey, Scott!" he called, running towards the man. He saw Scott hesitate and turn around, glancing towards Logan with the surprising lack of his red glasses, leaving unexpected crystalline blue eyes sparkling at him.

"Now, that's interesting," he said as he turned, studying Logan's appearance with a slow scan of his eyes and nodding.

"What?" said Logan angrily, put off by the noticeable change to Scott's accent.

Scott's eyes returned to Logan. "As I said, interesting," he said promptly with another nod of his head.

"Beast?" said Logan as he watched Scott, now beginning to recognise the posture held.

"Good morning," he replied politely.

Staring at him, Logan continued, "What the hell's goin' on?"

"There seems to have been a malfunction," said Beast, with the air of one commenting on the weather.

"A malfunction?" Logan snapped. "For Christ's sake, look at me!"

And Beast did look at him. "I can see that, Logan. It appears something strange has happened, a bizarre shift of some sort. But, I really have no idea why we are finding ourselves in our colleagues bodies."

"Oh. Oh, really?" said Logan bitterly, the sarcasm not lost on Beast. "Well that's real comfortin', furball."

"Oh, my goodness!" Jean's voice floated up from the hallway down on the floor below, summoning Beast and Logan to share knowing looks before they turned as one and ran to descend the staircase. They saw the rest of the X-Men stood grouped, each one looking hugely uncomfortable and glancing at each other awkwardly.

Logan stared as his body stood opposite him, staring around with his hands on his hips. "Hey, who has my body?" he asked almost accusingly.

"Logan?" Jean's voice came out of his body as she stared at Logan.

"Woah, woah, all right, we need some order here," came Scott's voice, all eyes turning to find him in Rogue's body. "Who's who?" he asked, his new pale face looking strained by the occurrence. "Scott," he said, pointing at himself anxiously with his gloved hands.

"Beast," said Scott's body, promptly.

"Jean," said Logan's.

"Storm," said Beast's.

"Rogue," said Jean's

And finally, Logan glanced at the floor. "Logan," he muttered from Storm's body.

"Does anybody know what on earth is going on?" said Jean, feeling at the muttonchops on her face with a fearful expression.

Logan stared at her as she touched the face. His face! "I sure as hell don't," he said as he glanced down at his Storm body once more, feeling at it.

"Get your hands off of my breasts!" snapped Storm's voice from a furious looking Beast.

Logan's hands promptly flew from his chest in surprise. "I'm not touching anyone's breasts!" cried Logan, who decided it would be safer to keep his hands by his sides from now on.

Beast cleared his throat quietly, summoning the group's attention. "Is it possible a new student has some strange power we may have missed?"

"There hasn't been a new student in over a month," replied Storm, anxiously feeling her blue, furry chin.

"Let's think logically," said Scott as he gestured to the team. Logan didn't think that term suited this situation. There was nothing logical about today. Nothing! "Something.. must have happened."

"Perhaps a student's powers developed?" suggested Rogue, seeming the least fazed of them all as she checked out her Jean body under the cautious eyes of the real owner.

But Storm shook her furry head, "Charles would have picked up on it."

"Well, can he pick up on this?" growled Logan in annoyance.

"We can't stay like this," said Scott weakly, flicking the new white streaks out of his face in annoyance.

"Great input there," Logan muttered at him, "Sure, we were all really considering makin' this permanent."

Beast sighed quietly, "Logan, be aware that that isn't an unlikely conclusion."

Uproar cried out at once from several. "I can't share a bed with that!" cried Scott, indicating his fiancé's new Wolverine body.

"Hey, watch it," grunted Logan, unsure if this was an insult or not.

"Shut up," Scott snapped.

Filling with a wanton urge to punch Scott, he faltered when his gaze met the doe eyes of Rogue's. Damn you, warped dream!

"Well, this is admittedly comfortable," Beast said unhelpfully, feeling his smooth features of the team leader's finely chiselled face.

"Too right, sugar," said Rogue happily as she leaned round to inspect the Jean body some more.

"What have you done to my head?" Storm suddenly cried, pointing at Logan.

Logan felt at his tender forehead. "Oh, I, uh.. slipped and hit the sink," he said quickly, clearing his throat. "Kinda spooked me, y'know," he shrugged awkwardly, preferring not to mention his recent desire to knock himself out.

"Maybe we should talk to the Professor," said Jean, casting Rogue a dark look as the younger mutant continued to enjoy the new body too much for Jean's liking. "Come on," she turned, pursuing a walk that was too feminine for Logan's liking.

"Must you gyrate my hips when you walk?" said Logan, finding his eyes entranced on his jean-clad backside that Jean currently adopted. "I find it disturbin' how good it looks."

The looks of disgust that were sharply sent his way were cut short when Professor Xavier smoothly rolled towards them, glancing over the gathering with a small smile. "Good morning," he said pleasantly.

"Professor, you must help us!" exclaimed Jean as she turned towards him. Charles studied the rough featured face she now had, before he looked over the others.

"I don't see a problem," he said, summoning cries of despair.

"Look at me!" Scott cried, gesturing his face and heavily covered torso. "Look at us!"

The Professor sat back in his chair, studying them all carefully before he smiled a little more. "Ah, I see," he said, sighs of relief echoing his words. "This may help you," he reached forward, passing a folded newspaper out of his lap and passing it to Scott.

Scott took it in his gloved hands, exchanging a glanced of confusion with Storm before he unfolded the newspaper and studied the front page. The others gathered round, wondering what the answer could possibly be that they would find it on the front page of the day's paper. Rogue then gave a little gasp, summoning her anxious looks as she spotted something the others didn't. She pointed a manicured nail at the top of the page.

Charles rotated his chair on the spot, exiting the scene with, "Learn each other more, and work together as a stronger team."

The X-Men, as one, lifted their heads, and they reversed back into the original bodies in the blink of an eye. "Professor!" they cried in unison, the newspaper flying to the floor as they all burst into a high speed run after the man who had disappeared around the corner.

"I got an idea," growled Logan as he ran, running a hand through his dark brown hair. "It involves a wheelchair, stairs and no brakes."

The newspaper read the date. The first of April. It hadn't been destined to be a good day after all.


A one-shot, with the potential to see how the X-Men get their own back on their sneaky mind-meddling Professor! Let me know what you think!