AUTHOR’S NOTES: I love the X-Men movies, but I was severely disappointed in the character of Rogue. This originally began as a short story exercise and a speculative fic about what I would have done in Rogue‘s place, but soon spun wildly out of control! All of the X-Men characters are © Stan Lee and Marvel Comics (you’ll noticed that I included the British Pyro, as he was in the original script, as was the Blob). Kara © Kara Senecal, obviously.


Meeting the Wolverine

By Kara Senecal




Slowly, the massive truck lurched to a stop. Though I was dozing against the side of the passenger door, I could hear the brakes grinding to a slow halt through the metal. My eyes opened heavily and I grunted, sitting up as the truck driver, Mac, killed the grumbling engine and hopped out.

I stifled a small yawn. Where was I? For a second, I was too foggy to remember. Stretching a bit, I gazed out the windshield at nothingness. Just an unkempt road and rows of scraggly, dead-looking trees coated with snow.

Snow! I remembered then with a small, panicked jolt; I was somewhere in Canada.

Outside, Mac reached up and grabbed the handle to my door, throwing it open. I gasped a little, catching a hold of the seat belt before I could tumble out. I would have buckled up, but the stupid thing was broken.

“This is it,” Mac said, taking the liberty of grabbing my bag and tossing it to the ground.

Biting back my irritation, I slid off the ratty old seat, dropping about a foot and a half into ankle deep slush. “Thanks.”

Mac shrugged and began to turn away.

My eyes followed where he had turned, and I gasped, my hand shooting out and grabbing his wrist. “Mac, waitaminute! Where are we? I thought you said you’d bring me as far as Laughlin City!”

Mac glanced over his shoulder, his icy-white mustache ruffling a bit. “This is Laughlin City.”

“What?” Hoping senselessly that I was seeing things, I looked past the chunky truck driver. My stomach took a plunge when I realized that I wasn’t dreaming; the so-called ‘city’ was really a seedy looking dive for big-rig drivers and the generally not so nice.

I was going to be sick. Mac said Laughlin City! I hadn’t been naïve enough to think that it was really a city; it wasn’t mentioned anywhere on the map. What I had been expecting was a cheesy little town where I could stay for the night, work a little, earn some money and food, and move on again with some other doughy truck driver.

THIS was far from what I wanted!!

Mac was already in the parking lot, obviously intent on spending what little money he had with him on beers. I watched him go, suddenly very alone, and very cold. I grimaced, knowing that I honestly didn’t have a choice at the moment. Picking up my duffle, I started for the bar.

Well, at least the bar lived up to my expectations. It was dark and smoky, reeking of stale beer and sweat and--ugh, urine. The only heat came from big oil drums, filled with burning paper. Very few lights were scattered throughout the enormous building, and more than once I tripped over somebody’s boot.

I had only stood in there a few moments, and the heat suddenly overcame me. Wincing, I hurried to the bar counter and found a seat. Stuffing my coat and gloves and hat into the bag, I waved the bartender over.

Big and sweaty--just like everybody else here--the bartender wiped his callused hands off on a rag, then stomped over to me. “What can ah do fer ya, honey?”

Honey? Anger rankled through me, but I forced myself to stay calm. “Got any soda?” I shouted over the clamor of voices and clinking glasses and cheering … and strange thunking sounds?

The bartender arched an eyebrow at me. “What?”

“Soda! Do you have any Coke?”

“Why dontchya want a beer?”

Oh, Good Lord … “I don’t drink beer! Gimme a soda, please!”

The man regarded me for a moment, as if in disgust. Finally, he snatched a small glass off of a rack behind him, shoveled ice in, and then sprayed a soda into it.

I handed him a dollar--hoping it was the right amount--and turned to the sound of cheering.

In a far section of the room, dozens of people were perched on a bleacher, roaring at something in a cage made of chicken wire. My curiosity piqued, I took my soda and hopped off the barstool. I wandered across the bar, my eyes slowly widening as I saw a man fly across the cage and slam brutally into the wire.

Several men on the bleacher started swearing in such a way it’d make rap singers cringe. Not really understanding what was going on, I circled around … and saw him.

There was another man in the cage, snarling down in anger at the first one. He turned away as three men scurried in--two to drag the fallen man out, and another one with microphone to make an announcement.

I couldn’t stop staring at the man in the cage. He stood, his chest bare and slicked with perspiration. His knuckles were red from punching, and small flecks of blood were visible against his jeans.

His eyes roamed the furious crowd, and suddenly, came to a rest on me. I gasped, but couldn’t hear it in the noise. I almost dropped my soda as my heart stopped in my chest.

He seemed so feral, but I noticed that his blue eyes seemed to soften as we stared at each other. Somehow, I knew then he was hurt, and took a step towards the cage--

The old geezer with the microphone suddenly stepped in front of the man, whispering something to him. The softness in the man’s eyes disappeared, and he growled faintly, turning away on his booted heel to the opposite side of the cage, where a heavily made-up lady handed him a glass of scotch.

“In allllll mah years,” the old timer taunted into the microphone to the fairly rabid audience, “I’ve neva seen anythin’ like this.” He jabbed an accusing finger at the man’s back, like a knife. “Are ya gonna let this man walk away with yer money?”

The man didn’t seem to notice. He only threw back his scotch, and leaned against the chicken wire in exhaustion.

I winced for him.

“I’ll fight him!” someone bellowed, and the room erupted into shrieking cheers.

“Ladies an’ gentlemen; ouhr savior!” the old man said as some tall guy leapt down from the bleacher, jerking his denim coat off at the same time. My breath caught in my throat, and, for a second, I seriously thought that this guy was Steve Austin … hell, he looked like him.

Worried, I pushed my way closer to the cage. I wanted to get to the other side and see that man--I wanted to see his eyes again, but I was jostled back, pushed close enough to the rival’s side so I could hear the old geezer mutter, “Whateva ya do, don’t hit ‘im in th’ balls.”

I looked up in surprise as the Austin look-alike stared at the old guy in confusion. “I thought you said anything goes!”

“Anything goes, but he’ll take it personal.”

I bit my lip as the rival shrugged and raised his hands in a boxing stance. The old man scurried out, and a gong was rung.

I jerked back in horror as the Austin guy kicked at the man’s back, throwing him straight into the wire. Before the man could get his second wind, Austin punched him again, twice, sending him to the floor. As a final insult, he kicked the man in the stomach--and again, for good measure.

I cried out, panicked, though those around me leapt to their feet in riotous cheering. I swallowed hard, but the lump in my throat only became bigger. ‘Please … get up.’

Shaking his head hard, the man rose to one knee, snarling. Austin came at him again, his fist swinging down--

Wheeling around, the man threw a right, his fist connecting with the rival’s. Austin howled, leaping back as he grabbed at his reddening fist. I stared in disbelief; I didn’t just hear a ‘ca-chink’, did I?

Unfazed, the man stood and threw another punch, striking the rival’s jaw and sending him reeling. Stupidly, Austin bellowed something and charged. With a viscous snarl, the unnamed man swung his arm out, striking the guy’s temple, and sending him falling limply to the floor.

The noise was deafening, but I barely noticed. I only stared, transfixed at the man as he turned to gaze at me once, then retreated back to his corner.

A gong rang, and suddenly, the announcer’s voice filled the air.

“Ladies an’ gentlemen, tonight’s winnah, and still th’ King o’ th’ Ring … The Wolverine.”

****

It must have been about five in the morning when things finally quieted down. I lost the man in the crowd afterwards, but didn’t think he left yet. With all of the people gone and the air cleared, I sat back at my stool and ordered another soda.

Nearby, Mac laid snoring on a couch … not that it mattered. He made it clear that he wouldn’t be bringing me anywhere else. And I wasn’t exactly in a hurry.

The bartender was cleaning glasses while the old guy and the painted woman counted the money made from the boxing match. Tired and bored, I stared at the tip jar, waiting for the news to come on.

“TIPPING is not a city in CHINA,” the words on the jar bellowed out at me. I sighed.

The bartender glanced at me--probably worried that I’d snatch the jar. Well, I’m not that low.

“Ya want somethin’ else, honey?” he asked, placing a protective hand on the jar. “Or are ya stickin’ with soda?”

I didn’t answer him, and he made a point of dragging the jar a safe distance away from me.

Finally, the news came on. I raised my head, watching as the anchorman announced the issues at hand.

Behind me, I heard footsteps, and glanced up. My eyes shot open as the man from the cage settled onto a stool just two away from me.

“I’ll have a beer,” he said to the bartender, dropping a handful of bills with one hand while inserting a cheap cigar between his perfectly white teeth.

I didn’t realize I was staring until he glanced up at me. Sheepishly, I smiled, and he kind of smirked back.

I hesitated twice before standing and walking to a stool next to him. “Hey.”

“Hi, darlin’.”

I hesitated again; damn, I didn’t know what to say!

“You uh …” I looked down at my hands. “You fought well.”

He nodded. “Thanks.”

Nearby, the mounted television spilled out the words “… to the mutant phenomenon, and it’s impact on our world stage.” Both he and I looked up sharply at the announcement.

He glanced at me with those wonderful blue eyes. “I haven’t seen you around here, darlin’.”

I shrugged. “I just kinda wound up here.”

He nodded again. I winced inwardly; I hope he didn’t think I was hitting him--which, in a way, I was. Well, I was flirting with him. I didn’t want him to think I was a slut--My mind whirled, and I silently told myself to shut up.

I think he smelled the men behind us before I did. Whatever the matter, the Steve Austin wannabe pushed between us, nearly knocking me off of my stool.

He glared down at the man. “You owe me some money.”

A younger man stood behind him, and timidly pulled on Austin’s coat. “C’mon man, let’s go.”

Austin shook him off. “No man could take a beating like that and not show a mark for it.”

The man calmly inhaled on his stogie.

Austin lowered his head to hiss in the man’s ear. “I know what you are.”

I stiffened.

Finally, the man stirred. “You lost your money,” he growled, “You keep this up and you’ll be losin’ somethin’ else.”

I smiled.

Austin saw my taunting grin, and he narrowed his eyes at me. “What’re you laughing at, bitch?”

It threw me for a second, but I caught myself. Bastard! “I think I’m looking at what might become the tallest gelding on this side of Alberta.”

My bar mate laughed.

But Austin didn’t.

With terrifying speed, he grabbed me by my coat collar, his free hand reaching into his pocket, drawing out a switchblade.

I gasped and moved on pure instinct, throwing myself back, off of the barstool, looking up just in time to see my friend’s beautiful eyes widen in terror.

Like dark lightning, he shot out of his seat, grabbing the hand that clutched at my throat and twisting it until the fingers gave.

I slammed to the ground, slapping my hand out to catch myself. I jerked myself away from the scuffling feet, looking up as the man slammed the thug up against a beam and raised his fist.

Two long, sword-like claws screamed out the man’s flesh, just between his knuckles. The metallic claws held the suddenly terrified thug to the beam, while a third slowly emerged from between the two claws, just scratching Austin’s Adam’s apple.

I stared, somewhere between shock and fear. I couldn’t even move.

“Lay a hand on her again and I’ll mount your dick on my wall,” he hissed to Austin, and I didn’t doubt him for a second.

‘Ch-chunk.’

Recognizing that sound, I finally ripped my gaze away from my hero, up to the bartender, who held a single-gauge shotgun to the man’s head.

His voice shook as he snarled, “Get outta my bar, freak.”

Slowly, the man turned to look at the bartender--

--And his left hand swept out in a flash, new claws exploding from the back of his hand and slicing the barrel right off the gun.

The bartender gasped, staggering backwards with the barrel in one hand, and the chamber in the other.

The man snarled at the bartender, then back at Austin. In the corners, the old man, his wife, and Mac--who had finally woken up--looked on in fear.

Slowly, the man straightened, and his claws shot back into his hands. Still keeping the growl on his face, he turned to me, and offered his hand.

I don’t know what made me do it. When I saw that he was helping me up, all of my fear was gone, and I took his hand confidently.

He yanked me up onto my feet. “Get your bag,” he murmured in my ear, and I blinked in surprise. Still, I obeyed, grabbing my duffle, and, letting him take me by the hand--and waiting patiently while he grabbed his cigar--and walked out of the bar with him, out into the cold parking lot, and his truck.

He unlocked the doors and I hopped in without bothering to ask first. He swung into the driver’s seat beside me, slamming the door shut. Fitting the cigar between his teeth, he inserted the key into the ignition and gunned the engine …

Slowly, his eyes fell down to his hands on the steering wheel. He lifted them up, and stared at them, almost sadly.

I swallowed hard as he massaged his knuckles. “Are you okay?”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “No,” he whispered.

He said nothing more, and I was afraid to pry. I remained silent as he backed the truck/RV out of the parking lot, and drove down the lonely road.

****

My stomach growled, and I sat up quickly. “Huh. Guess those pretzels didn’t hold me.”

My friend--I still didn’t know his name--kind of smiled and reached across me, to his glove compartment. “Here, darlin’. All I got for now.”

“Thanks,” I said, gratefully accepting the packed jerky. I ripped open the bag and tore off a piece. “Do you want any?”

He shook his head. “Nah, thanks.”

I nodded, then bit down into the salty meat. I was starving. I hadn’t eaten in three days, and I had all but devoured the pretzels and nuts and popcorn at the bar. None of that filled me up.

My friend glanced at me. “Easy, sweetheart, you’ll make yourself sick.”

“Oh, no,” I said, quickly swallowing. “I haven’t eaten in a while.”

“Why’s that?”

I shrugged. “I’ve used most of my money paying people for rides. Only one couple gave me a dinner, but that was a week ago. Nobody else offered.”

“That’s harsh.”

“I know.”

We fell silent again, me munching on the entire package of beef jerky. I rubbed my hands, trying to stay warm in the cabin.

He glanced at me again, then leaned forward and turned the heater on. “Here,” he said, gently taking my hands. “Put your hands on the heater.”

“Thanks,” I said, smiling at him. I liked the feel of his hands on top of mine. I glanced at him as he drew his hand away. “My name’s Kara.”

He looked at me once, briefly. “Wolverine.”

“I figured that one out,” I said, rubbing my now warm hands together. “But what’s your name? Your real name, I mean.”

He didn’t answer promptly, and I leaned back in my seat, my eyes still fixed on him.

Slowly, he took his cigar out of his mouth, and exhaled. “Logan … My name’s Logan.”

I smiled. “Hi, Logan.”

He looked at me … and smiled in return. “Hi, Kara.”

I laughed, and he chuckled a little. “Where’re you from?” he asked.

“Massachusetts,” I replied, really starting to like Logan now.

“Really? Why the hell are you all the way up here?”

Oops, feeling gone now. My smile disappeared, and I sighed, turning my eyes to the snowy road before us. “I, um … I did something.”

Logan looked at me again, his face serious. “What?”

I held my breath. I could tell him, couldn’t I? He’d understand. We both were … alike.

“I got in a fight,” I said finally, tears stinging my eyes a little. “A boy, well, attacked me, and I uh … I hurt him.”

Logan’s head snapped around. “He attacked you? And you got in trouble for it?”

“That’s not the end of it,” I said, wiping a tear away quickly. “I … I’m not exactly …”

He slowed the truck down suddenly. Putting it in park, Logan turned completely in his seat, his face hard.

“You’re not normal?”

I shook my head furiously, the tears threatening to flow.

For a long time, Logan didn’t say anything. I began to panic; ‘Don’t judge me like this! We’re the same, can’t you see it?’

Slowly, Logan slid across the seat to me, draping his arm around my shoulders. “Don’t get upset, darlin’,” he murmured, pushing my hair away from my face. “I ain’t normal either … and you saw that first hand.”

I smiled, though the tears still lingered.

Logan wiped my eyes gently with a finger, and I imagined that he would lean just a little closer and kiss me.

But it didn’t happen. He only smiled at me and turned back to the steering wheel.

I mentally pouted for a moment, the brushed it aside. Oh well.

I looked at his hands on the wheel, wanting to touch them again. And yet …

“Logan?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

I drew in an unsteady breath. “When they come out … does it hurt?”

Logan slowly blinked, and all of the air suddenly rushed out of his lungs. “All the time.”

I understood. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, Kara,” Logan replied, trying to force a lopsided smile. But I knew that look; he was hurt. Like me.

Again, we lapsed into silence. I entertained myself with fantasies--yes, I was severely turned on by him. And I was desperately hoping that he found me attractive too. Hell, I’d take him in a second. I was longing to be held by those arms, feel his breath on my cheek, but was that gonna happen?

Nuh-uh.

Finally, I couldn’t take the silence any longer. “Do you know where we are?”

Logan shrugged, looking at me. “Dunno. Heading out of Alberta, I’d gue--”

Neither of us saw the tree coming, but I sensed it. I would have screamed if I had the time, but it fell too quickly.

I bellowed as I was slammed violently against the dashboard, restrained only by my seatbelt. I was aware of a horrible shattering sound, and I shouted wordlessly as the truck’s front was crushed to nothing under the tree.

I lay there for a moment, unable to get my bearings, unable to breathe. It felt like my lungs were clogged, and I had to choke a few times to suck in air.

Weary, dazed, I slowly sat up, groaning against the pressure of the seatbelt, suddenly tight across my body. With one pale, shaking hand, I gently probed a cut on my forehead. “L-Logan?”

He didn’t answer, and I turned to see if he was conscious. It took a moment to realize what happened, but when the fog of confusion lifted, I stared in horror at the seat where he should have sitting.

“Logan!!” I cried, suddenly seeing a huge hole gaping in the windshield. Terrified for my friend, my eyes searched the snowy drifts until I found the dark shape, laying slumped a dozen yards away.

“No!” I reached for the door, but was jerked back by the seatbelt. Swearing, I wrenched on the belt, but it was stuck tight.

“Damn it, damn it!” I clawed for the release, but I couldn’t see it. “Damn it!!”

A wisp of smoke suddenly curled out of the window behind the truck, from the RV. Startled, I turned look, and I almost screamed as a fire hissed through Logan’s clothes, creeping to a gas tank.

Too frightened to think straight, I looked back towards Logan--

--And saw him rise shakily out of the snow.

“What …?” I stared in confusion as Logan staggered on weak legs, gingerly touching the edges of a hideous cut on his forehead. How in God’s name did he survive?!

Still not as clear as I was, Logan trudged forward, turning to spit blood into the snow. Snarling, he craned his neck back and stretched the muscles as the wound on his head sealed up like a drawstring pouch.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

He grimaced as he lifted his head to look at me. “You all right?”

I tried to speak, but couldn’t.

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “Kara, are you all right?”

“I’M STUCK!!!”

Not hesitating a second, Logan raced forward, his eyes meeting mine, as if to say “Don’t worry, darlin’, I’m here.” And, for a minute, I was happy that he was there for me--

Suddenly, he skidded to a halt. Confused, he turned, looking over his shoulder to the trees.

Huh?? What was he doing?!

“Logan!” I cried as the heat in the truck’s cabin intensified. “Help me!!”

I don’t know if he heard me. He stared at the trees, his lips parting in a cautious growl. His claws blasted out of his hands as he scanned the area.

Instantly, I knew that someone made that tree fall.

A roar ripped through the woods, and I heard myself yelp. Terrified, I swung around in the direction of the roar, just in time to see something leap out, slamming into Logan.

“Ah!” In a panic, I wrenched my gaze away. I couldn’t watch. I had to get out.

Gasping and choking on the smoke, I pushed the chest belt up and over my head, then hefted myself up, pulling my legs up. Falling to the driver’s side, I dragged my feet out of the belt, finally freed.

I couldn’t open either door, so I rolled down my window, pitched my bag out, and threw myself after it--

‘WHAM!!!’

Logan slammed onto the hood of his truck, rattling the damned thing. He hit his head too hard, hard enough to leave a dent in the hood. His claws slid back into his hands, and he lay quiet.

“Logan!” I cried, leaping to my feet. I grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him over the hood, towards me. “Logan, wake up!”

The animal that attacked him snarled, and my head snapped up. My eyes widened as I realized that that thing was definitely no bear!

It was a man, at least twice the size of that Steve Austin guy back at the bar. He had a long, shaggy mane of blond hair that swept around his fur clad shoulders.

He pointed a lethal looking talon at me. “Forget the runt, honey; yer comin’ with me!”

I snarled at him. “When hell freezes over, asshole!” Slipping my hands under Logan’s shoulders, I dragged him off of the truck. “Logan!”

The beast snarled again, starting toward Logan and me. I was ready to panic; I couldn’t carry Logan and run at the same time!

Trying not to drop Logan too hard, I laid him on the ground and planted myself between him and the monster. What was I going to do? Damned if I know.

“That’s cute,” it growled, “Protectin’ the runt. Takes a little girl to protect a full grown man.”

I wanted to either attack the bastard or throw up. But, this mutant--no, thing--was going to tear me to shreds. Fight as hard as I could, I wouldn’t be able to defend myself--or Logan--from those teeth.

It growled, and swept its arm out. It caught me by my jacket, jerking me forward, and up into the air. My feet left the ground.

“Bastard!!” I swung, and my fist landed squarely on the thing’s nose. Something cracked, and blood splattered everywhere.

“Bitch!!” it screamed, dropping me. Catching myself, I leapt to my feet, and tried to catch him with a roundhouse kick. He might slow down with a bruised kidney, right? Well, I never found out.

He was too quick. Swinging his arm like a lion battering down its prey, the thing clawed my arm open--not to mention sent me flying several hundred feet through the air.

“Argh!” I cried as I slammed into the frozen pavement, bruising muscle and bone, hitting my head. Coughing on blood, I slowly pushed myself up to my knees as it stalked forward.

I raised my eyes to the monster as it came forward. My vision reeled, and I grunted, shaking my head. I tried to stand, but I was so dazed that I wound up tripping over my own feet. Clarity was slow to return, and I bit my lower lip in terror as the mutant bent down to grab a hold of me. I tried to struggle, trying to give myself time to wake up. As it turns out, that wasn’t necessary.

A razor sharp, freezing wind whipped through the air, rising with a suddenness that it caused the manimal to hiss and jerk away from me. The wind intensified and monster grunted, sliding a little against the gale. He snarled, and looked up, over my head. Confused, I looked behind me.

Several meters away stood two people clad in black jumpsuits. One was a black woman with startlingly white hair. The other was a white man wearing some sort of visor.

Startled, the monster behind me reeled back. I could almost hear him say “Huh??” in confusion.

Calmly, the man with the visor raised his hand to his head. Touching something on the side of the visor, the man sent a bolt of red laser screamed forward.

Roaring in shock, the thing leapt upwards, dodging the blast, which shattered the tree that flattened Logan’s truck. With another roar to let us all know that he was pissed, the beast leapt into a clump of pine trees, and was gone.

This was too much. Clutching my blood-soaked arm, I keeled over, sickened and exhausted. “God …”

Black boots entered my vision, and hands lifted me up. The black woman knelt beside me, blinking her eyes as they faded from white to a crystal blue. “Are you all right?” she asked.

I couldn’t understand her accent at first … well, that, and I was dazed from blood loss. Forgetting my own agony, I glanced back at the fiery truck. “Logan …”

The black woman looked up at the man beside her. “Cyclops?”

“Already on it.” The man in the visor turned and ran to Logan as a column of fire hissed out a broken window.

The woman helped me stand. “Are you badly hurt?”

I shook my head, too fixated on the one called Cyclops as he hefted Logan up. To my dazed surprise, he had my bag too.

“What happened?” I asked, turning to the white-haired woman. “Logan’s hurt …”

The woman nodded. “We know. We’ll help.”

Accepting my bag back from ‘Cyclops’, I fell in step beside him and the woman, looking nervously to Logan.

Behind us, the truck exploded.

The three of us yelped, instinctively diving to the ground. The woman lost her balance and stumbled, bringing me down beside her. The Cyclops character dove beside us, shielding Logan with his body.

I half gasped, half grunted, one side of my face buried in snow. Growling, I forced myself up and shook the snow off. “Me and my dumb luck …”

The woman next to me quickly got to her feet. “That was closer than I would have cared for.”

I accepted her extended hand and stood up. “Is Logan all right?”

As if in reply, Logan groaned.

“Oh, thank God!” I staggered to his side as Cyclops carefully rolled Logan onto his back. Falling to my knees, I gently took his head, laying it in my lap. “Logan? Are you okay?”

He groaned again, and his eyes slowly fluttered open. “Kara …”

“Ssh,” I whispered, stroking his cheek. “Don’t try talking.”

“You’re all right?”

“Yeah.”

His eyelids grew heavy again, but he smiled at me and slowly lifted a hand to touch mine. “Good …”

The smile still on his lips, he passed out.

Cyclops glanced at me, his eyes hidden behind the red glass of his visor. “We’ll take him back to our base for treatment. He’ll be all right.”

I nodded, then smiled a little, looking down at the Wolverine I now held.

As Cyclops and the woman--called Storm--carried Logan back to their plane, I trudged after them, wondering then, if I had known what would happen after meeting the Wolverine, would I have still gone with him?

My smile grew a little wider. Yeah, I would have.








Darkness




“Kara?”

“NYAGHH!!!” Petrified, I leapt out of my seat, hands clenched into fists. I whacked the desk as I jumped up, giving myself a good bruise on my thigh. Behind me, my chair spun wildly on one leg before toppling to the carpet.

“Whoa!” Cyclops gasped, jerking backwards and ramming right into Storm. Frightened, they both took a cautious step backwards, out of my room.

Catching his breath, Cyclops held up a hand, as if to show me that he held no weapons. Yeah. It’s not his hands I’m afraid of.

It’s his eyes.

“Easy, Kara!”

Realizing whom it was, the muscles in my shoulders slowly relaxed, and I exhaled heavily. “God, Cyke, gimme a freaking heart-attack, why dontchya?”

Cyclops frowned and straightened himself. “Didn’t you hear us knock?”

“No.” Uncomfortable, I reached up and rubbed my left shoulder, feeling where Sabretooth had torn open my arm. I shuddered as I traced the Frankenstein-like stitches underneath the gauze. The scars ached and flamed painfully, and I wanted to find Dr. Grey and beg for some more painkillers. God. I’d be a freaking drug addict by the time I got out of here.

Storm gently pushed Cyclops aside as she stepped into my room. “Are you all right?”

I grimaced, only partially from the pain. “Not really. Is Logan awake yet?”

Storm blinked in surprise, and, in the doorjamb, Cyclops snorted in irritation; an hour wouldn’t pass without me demanding to know how Logan was. Dr. Grey was going to treat him after she took care of me, and that was hours ago. I was frustrated that Cyke and Storm didn’t tell me how he was, or that Dr. Grey wouldn’t let me see him.

But that wasn’t the end of it; before Cyclops had barged in and scared the living hell out of me, I thought that I sensed Logan. It’s strange; I’m extremely well attuned to the emotions of people and animals. I know when they’re scared and when they’re hungry, or angry, or just about anything else.

And a few minutes ago, I could have sworn that I felt Logan’s presence, felt his panic and anger and confusion. It had taken me aback, swamping me to the point where I was practically in a trance.

Storm smiled at me and reached out to touch my shoulder. Unconsciously, I jerked away, as if frightened that lightning bolts would come singing out of her fingers. The reaction was not lost on either Storm or Cyclops, and I was immediately embarrassed by it.

Storm’s smile faded. “I wasn’t going to hurt you, Kara.”

“I-I know … I’m sorry. I just get …” Unable to find the right words, I shrugged, then gasped as I felt my stitches strain. “Ouch! No, I meant that I get … uneasy … around people.”

Cyclops lifted an eyebrow from behind his ruby quartz glasses. “You didn’t seem uneasy around Logan.”

For some reason, I took insult to that and snarled at the man.

Storm flinched in shock, and I immediately stopped myself from attacking anybody. “Sorry!”

Storm opened her mouth to speak, but she hesitated, then glanced uneasily at Cyclops. Inwardly, I moaned; I screwed up again.

Calming herself, Storm forced a smile and turned back to me. “It’s all right. Come along now; the Professor wishes to speak with you.”

I blinked, humiliation replaced now by surprise. Again?? Professor Xavier wanted to talk to me again???

A moment passed before I realized that both Storm and Cyke--whoops, shouldn’t call him that … he hates it--were stock-still, watching me with intense nervousness.

I swallowed hard. “Okay … let’s go.”

Storm nodded and smiled again, but the smile was strained. Seeing that fake grin, a sudden surge of misery swept through me and I sighed quietly.

I wished they weren’t scared.

I trailed Cyke--dammit! Why do I keep doing that?--out of my guest room, and Storm took up the rear. Feeling like I was being marched through a penitentiary, I sighed sadly again.

Nice as these people were, I didn’t want to be around them. I didn’t want to be in this mansion. I didn’t want to be in contact with the students here. I was nervous. I was angry.

And me being angry and frightened?

That can be dangerous.

We reached the main corridor, passing through the nicely upholstered parlor. Almost immediately the three of us were swamped by scores of teenagers moving to their next classes. I gasped, my head ringing with the noise and movement. A dozen scents assaulted me, overwhelming me. Confused, I staggered backwards and bumped into a tall, gangly, auburn-haired boy. Our shoulders brushed, but that was enough to make me cry out in agony.

My voice was surprisingly loud and harsh, and a dozen kids around me gasped, stopping in their tracks and looking at me with wide, frightened eyes.

I’m not usually uncomfortable in these situations; normally, if I do something dumb and people turn and look, I just shrug at them and say “Oops, sorry”. But now, with these people my age, all mutants, staring at me like I was a freak--a real, honest to God freak, something to be feared and avoided--

I couldn’t help it. Unable to hold back my growl, I gripped my burning shoulder and turned away from the boy, humiliated and burning with rage.

Mustering all the courage she had, Storm rushed toward me. “Kara, what is wrong?”

“NOTHING!!” I snapped, a lot more viscously than needed. “Just …!”

Ready to lose my temper if not my mind, I turned to walk to the professor’s office--and dammit, walked straight into that boy again!

God, if my mutation had never occurred, if I had never been hurt by HIM, I wouldn’t have met the boy with bared fangs, looking as though I would tear his throat out right then and there.

Startled, the boy’s eyes widened, and he backpedaled, stammering something unintelligible--

A wave of his concern hit me like a truck. I gasped, my snarl disappearing instantly. My God!

Not really understanding what was happening, I refocused on his emotions; aside from being scared of me … this boy was concerned. For me.

“Uh-I-uh-I’m-I’m sorry … if I hurt-y-you,” he stuttered. Though he was visibly shaking before me, he still lifted up his hand. Inside his palm was a chunk of ice, formed in the shape of a perfect rose.

Astonished, I wordlessly accepted it as he went on. “Um … I didn’t know you were hurt … I’m sorry.”

‘Oh, God … I’m sorry …’

My mouth moved once. I think I was trying to apologize. Why did I scare him like that? Why did I scare any of them?

Tears welled in my eyes as the boy slowly walked past me. Sickened by my actions, I turned, gazing pleadingly to Storm. “Miss Munroe … I’m …”

“I know.”

Slowly, the kids around us began to dispel, wandering off to where ever they had to go next. They began to speak again, but their voices were low and wary. More than once I caught whispers about “that girl”, and “what’s her deal?”.

Miserable, I allowed Cyclops to remind me that the professor was waiting. I willed away my unshed tears and, clutching the ice rose to my aching shoulder, trailed Cyclops and Storm to the office of the school’s headmaster.

As Cyclops began to reach for the doorknob to the office, a panicked jolt ripped through me; what if the professor heard the commotion in the hall? What would he say?

I braced myself; Mr. Xavier didn’t seem like a harsh or stern man. He had greeted me rather warmly early this morning, when I limped down the hatch of the huge jet, the Blackbird. My first impression was that he seemed nice enough … he seemed like someone I could trust, like Logan.

But then, I worried; what would he do if I hurt somebody here?

Cyclops twisted the doorknob and opened it a crack--

One sniff was all it took. I gasped, my eyes flying open in shock. Dropping the now tiny ice chunk on the carpet, I shoved my way past Cyclops and Storm, racing like a woman possessed into Professor Xavier’s office.

“LOGAN!!!”

Startled, Logan spun around. His suspicious eyes went wide as I ran to him. “Kara! Are you all right?”

Without thinking, I ran straight to him and threw my arms around his neck, relief coursing through me. “I was worried!”

Before I was actually able to realize what I did (did I really just hug a guy I had a major crush on? Can you say, “d’oh!!”?), I felt Logan wrap his arms around my body, surprisingly tight. But it felt wonderful, beyond description. For a second, I felt totally safe, comforted by his touch, by the warmth of his skin, by the soft brush of his sideburns against my cheek.

“Me too, darlin’,” he murmured, running his broad hand down my back. “I didn’t know what happened to you.”

“I’m all right,” I said quickly, lifting my face to study his. “I’m a little scared, but I’m all right.”

“There’s nothing to be frightened of here,” a mild, educated voice broke in.

“Oh!” Shocked, I spun around, coming face to face with the professor himself. I had completely forgotten that he was there! “I … I, uh--”

“It’s quite understandable, Miss Senecal,” Professor Xavier replied, almost cheerily. “You’re overwhelmed by the past events of the last few hours.”

My shoulders sagged in defeat. “You don’t know that half of it.”

Professor Xavier chuckled, as if I was joking. I bristled a little, but didn’t try to challenge the man. That would be cruel, if not rude.

After all … he is in a wheelchair.

The professor’s gray/blue eyes flickered away from me to Storm and Cyclops, who had finally decided to enter the office. “Ah! Here they are; Logan, this is Ororo Munroe, also known as Storm …”

Logan stared with disbelief as Storm smiled kindly and nodded her hello.

“And,” Professor Xavier continued, “this is Scott Summers, also known as Cyclops.”

Standing at a militarily erect pose, Cyclops nodded a hello and held out his hand in greeting.

Logan glanced at the extended hand, then back at Cyclops, frowning with suspicion. I stiffened a little as Cyclops faltered, then politely drew back his hand.

‘You’re scared too,’ I thought, watching as Logan’s angry eyes narrowed on Cyclops. Wanting to comfort Logan--and myself--I slipped my hand into his. It was startling how tightly Logan gripped onto my hand. I was confused; why was he so nervous?

“They rescued you and Kara,” Xavier added, leaning back in his wheelchair.

Logan stifled a growl, then glanced at me to confirm this. I nodded just as the startlingly tall form of Dr. Grey appeared in the doorway, just beside Cyke.

“ … And I suppose you’ve already met Jean Grey,” Professor Xavier said dryly.

Dr. Grey met Logan’s rather bewildered gaze levelly, then calmly brushed past him to stand protectively by Professor Xavier.

I felt Logan’s emotions shift as he watched Dr. Grey walk past. Believe me when I say that I’m glad that no one saw my jaw drop in horror; the shift in Logan’s emotions? Well not only was he angry and suspicious, and apparently sorry for something he did … he was attracted to Jean Grey!!

‘NO! You can’t like her!!’ I wanted to scream, ‘I like you!! YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO LIKE ME TOO!!’

Still, I kept quiet, even though Logan was fixated on Dr. Grey. But that didn’t stop me from scowling.

“We took you and Kara here for treatment,” Xavier continued, glancing at my shoulder. “You both took a good beating.”

Somehow, that broke through Logan’s trance. Surprised, he glanced down at me. “You got hurt?”

I nodded, grimacing. “A few cuts and bruises, but that was enough.”

Again, Logan’s beautiful eyes narrowed in anger. He growled, baring his own fangs slightly. Pissed--to say the least--he turned to glare at Xavier. “Who did this?”

“An extremely viscous mutant named Sabretooth,” Xavier replied.

Logan’s eyebrows rose slightly, skeptical. I didn’t blame him for not believing it. “Sabretooth?”

Xavier nodded. “Yes. Storm and Cyclops found him advancing on you and Kara. After dispatching him, we took you both here for treatment … and to protect you from Magneto.”

Magneto?? I looked at the professor quizzically. Magneto?? What the hell was that?

Logan summed up my thoughts for me. “What’s a Magneto?”

Xavier’s face became hard. “A very powerful mutant.”

This was too much. I shook my head as Logan grunted. “Magneto … ? Sabretooth? And …” He glanced at Miss Munroe. “ … Storm … Yeah …” Logan snorted, then, as he drew me protectively towards him, growled at Xavier. “What do they call you? Wheels?”

Xavier’s eyes widened and he sat up straighter in his wheelchair, indignant. I gasped, horrified that Logan had said such a thing.

Logan, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care. He actually laughed.

Wrapping an arm around my shoulders, he steered me towards the door. “We’re outta here, darlin’ …”

Cyclops, understandably insulted by Logan’s rude tone, planted his body between the door and us. He set his jaw and stared Logan down, daring him to try something.

Logan saw this challenge and liked it immediately. “Cyclops, right?”

Suddenly, Logan’s hand shot over my head, grabbing a fistful of Cyclops’s shirt. With one, powerful jerk, Logan yanked Cyke towards us.

“Ya wanna get out of our way?” Logan snarled.

Angry, Cyclops glared at Logan, his free hand twitching, begging to be let to reach up and pull those ruby-quartz glasses off.

I waited between the two men with baited breath. ‘Don’t do anything stupid, Logan …’

Finally, Cyclops sighed and craned his head to the side, looking pleadingly over Logan’s shoulder, towards Professor Xavier.

“Logan,” Xavier said, his voice surprisingly sharp.

I was startled to see the material of Cyke’s shirt go slack as Logan slowly released his grip, listening with mounting panic as Xavier spoke.

“It’s been almost fifteen years, hasn’t it?” Xavier asked, cautious, yet taunting. “Traveling from place to place, never knowing who … or what … you are …”

Logan wheeled around, his eyes wide like a frightened wolf. For a moment, he couldn’t force his voice out. He was too--

“Shut up,” he hoarsely whispered, his hands blindly going for mine.

--Pained. He was pained, and huge tidal waves seemed to roar out from his ache and wash over me, drowning me. His pain was as great as mine.

“Stay here,” Xavier said, his calm gaze never breaking from Logan’s wild one. “Give me a few days, and I promise, I’ll help you piece back together all that you have lost.”

Logan’s breathing became ragged. “How do you know all this?”

A slow, small smile crept across Xavier’s lips.

I don’t know what happened next, but Logan began to look about him wildly, as though a hundred disembodied voices were speaking to him.

Worried, I placed a hand against his chest. “Logan …?”

Slowly, Logan’s eyes fell to mine. He stared at me for a moment, searchingly.

Drawing in a deep breath, he turned to Xavier. “What is this place?”

*******************************************************************************

Xavier proceeded to take us on a tour of the mansion (it was my second, but I went because Xavier promised to explain everything to me more fully). Logan and I listened intently as Xavier spoke of Magneto, a former friend named Erik Leshnerr. Leshnerr, or Magneto, I guess, had survived the Holocaust, outliving his parents in the hellish Auschwitz.

Magneto had the power of magnetism, able to move and manipulate anything made out of metal (Xavier had frowned when I murmured “cool” at this). This made him an even bigger freak to the Nazis, and they were either too frightened to execute him, or Magneto had somehow escaped; Xavier didn’t know.

In the years following the Holocaust, Xavier met Magneto in an army hospital, where both were working as doctors. Xavier warned us that he didn’t like speaking of those years, but he did say that, in the chaos of post-WW2 Europe and the spread of communism, Magneto’s pregnant wife and young daughter died in a riot--apparently, their neighbors discovered that they were mutants, and, not being able to fight the Communists, the villagers turned their rage on Magneto’s family.

Magneto went berserk, killing the villagers. Xavier had protested, and the two friends--practically brothers--fought.

Magneto formed the Brotherhood of Mutants, an army of mutants that had been maltreated by normal humans. Like the Nazis that had prosecuted him, Magneto wanted to destroy every non-mutant on the planet, and his Brotherhood was willing to join the fight.

Xavier, however, believed that humanity and mutants could learn to cohabitate peacefully; he formed the X-Men.

Storm, Jean and Cyclops were some of his first students at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. Since then, hundreds of mutants had entered the school: Hank McCoy, a brilliant scientist; Warren Worthington III, the millionaire who’s listed way up there with Bill Gates and Bruce Wayne; Alex Summers, Scott’s brother, among others. The boy I bumped into? His name is Bobby Drake, nicknamed “The Iceman” for his ability to produce ice from his body. There was a girl named Kitty Pride, whom I read about for being able to “phase” through solid objects, and Jubilation Lee, who produced blasts of kinetic energy from her hands.

I was only slightly amazed that institutions like this existed; there’s another one in Massachusetts, my home state, called the Frost Academy for Mutants. The headmistress, Emma Frost, had contacted me shortly after I was returned home, asking me to join the school. I didn’t like the vibes I got from her, and said no. She was, without a doubt, pissed.

Xavier was frank with us; he didn’t know why Magneto wanted me (or Logan; Xavier said it didn’t make any sense that Sabretooth just knocked him out instead of killing him. Logan snorted and said that was comforting to know). But he didn’t want either of us to become targets again, and asked us to stay, even going as far as promising to help Logan recover his life--something that puzzled me. What did that mean?

When Xavier asked me if I’d stay, I said no, hell no; I wasn’t going to let myself be locked up like a monster again. But, I didn’t want to leave Logan.

Xavier pressed again, and I gave in--and regretted it.

******

“I’m not sure I understand your reluctance, Miss Senecal,” Xavier said, watching as Jean inspected my stitches. “What makes you so frightened of this place?”

“Especially the clinic?” Jean added, pausing momentarily to wave Logan away--he was hovering protectively by me. Either that, or he was waiting for a chance to hit on Jean.

I opened my mouth to answer, then hesitated, letting my eyes roam the clinic. I hate laboratories--I always seemed to be trapped in one. And I hate clinics, and hospitals. I hate everything that has to do with science now.

Xavier read my mind. “How’s that?”

I jumped, yelping in surprise. “What?!”

“I read your thoughts … you don’t like laboratories, why?”

Nearby, Logan growled. “I don’t blame her.”

I smiled, though weakly. “It has something to do with my mutation … I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Are you sure?” Jean asked as she wiped away some dried blood.

“Positive.”

“Well …” Her voice trailed off, and Jean glanced questioningly to Xavier.

The professor cocked an eyebrow. “Kara … I’m rather confused; what is your mutant power, exactly?”

I shrugged; the pain in my shoulder was gone now. “Dunno. I feel people’s emotions.”

“There’s more than that.”

My stomach heaved. I felt myself pale, felt myself grow sick; don’t make me talk about this, please.

“I’m not sure what it is,” Xavier continued, scooting forward in his high-powered wheelchair. “You put up barriers every time I try to get further into your mind. You won’t let Jean perform any tests, and you’re skittish around just about everyone.”

I shook my head. “I-I can’t talk about it.”

“Kara …” Jean said, smiling kindly at me. “We won’t judge you.”

“It’s not that!”

“Then what is it?” Xavier pressed.

In his corner, Logan immediately straightened. “The lady doesn’t have to talk if she doesn’t want to,” he warned.

‘I don’t want to talk about it. I have to talk about it, I have to--but I can’t …’

I fought back tears. “I …”

I was cracking, and Xavier knew it. He leaned forward, his eyes intent.

Instead of speaking, I allowed my mind to open to him. I let him see what I remembered.

A little over two years ago, my mutant powers manifested more fully. Instead of just feeling emotions, I was able to heal wounds with a touch. I could will away illness. I could sense evil-true evil-and fight it. Like Warren Worthington III, I started growing feathery wings.

*Angelic…*

One day I was on a field trip with my eleventh grade class … don’t remember where we were going … then the explosion came, throwing the bus to its side-

‘Oh, God!’

… Something began tearing into the metal, ripping a whole wall of the bus off …

It reached down for me. I panicked. I fought back.

-Blackness-

‘What a lovely test subject …’

I woke up. How many days had it been? Where am I? Why is it dark?

WHERE AM I?!

A laugh.

Cold fingers on my throat. Claws trailing along my collarbone-

Who are you?

Red eyes pierced through the black.

‘God, help me!!’

-Blackness-

I woke on the operating table … What are you doing to me?!

Pain …!

Slipping in and out of reality. >What are these tubes in my arms?<

The red eyes came again. Red eyes, white skin.

The Devil?

‘Not quite, my dear …’

Screams ripping from my throat-nothing but pain-what are you doing?!

--my wings are gone.

-Blackness-

Eight months … every day, more pain.

‘Bloody hell!!’

Fingers in my hair, jerking my head up. I look, see those red eyes.

‘What’s wrong, Doctor?’

He doesn’t answer immediately.

‘Doc …?’

He throws me aside.

I’m so weak.

‘The bitch!’

I can see the laboratory, rats staring back at me. Where am I?

‘Increase the serum treatment …’

hate him …

Who am I?

-Blackness-

Woke up. Cold, but hot outside. Grass feels funny against my skin.

I feel like my bones are shattered glass. I watch numbly as they climb back in the van and close the door.

They drive away.

I’m left behind, trash on the highway.

I want to die. God, let me die.

I’m not human anymore.

I’m a demon.

Because of … HIM.

He was …

*Sinister*

By the time Xavier finally let my mind go, I was sobbing uncontrollably, collapsed against Logan’s chest. He shushed me gently, cradling me as Jean hurried to wash my tears away.

I felt so small. Like a child, I clung to Logan, letting him hug me and rock me. He whispered in my ear, promising to take care of me.

He actually carried me to my room.

*******************************************************************************

Someone knocked at my door and I grunted, slowly easing out of my stupor. Pushing the used tissues aside, I sat up on my bed. “Come in.”

Reluctantly, the door opened, and a pair of red sunglasses peeked through the tight crack. “It’s just me, Kara.”

“Hey.” Tired though I was, I beckoned for Cyclops to enter. “Come in. I won’t hurt you.”

A sad smile tugged at Cyclops’s lips as he stepped into my room. “I know you won’t.”

I blinked, surprised by his calmness. “You’re not scared?”

He shook his head, the sunlight from my windows glinting off of his glasses. “Nah. I never should have been, actually.”

I tried to smile. “I’m sorry. I just got scared when you brought me to the clinic.”

(Did I neglect to mention that I had all but ripped Cyke’s arm off when he tried to force me into the clinic earlier this morning?)

“I know. You said that like three times already.” Shifting his weight to the opposite foot, Cyclops sighed. “It’s dinnertime, but I didn’t think you wanted to be with the other kids just yet. You can eat here, if you want.”

“Okay … are they still scared of me?”

To my shock, Cyclops shook his head again. “No; they adjust quick.”

“Oh …” My breath rushed from my lungs in a relieved sigh. “Good.”

“All set?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Cyclops.”

He nodded. “Call me Scott …”

His voice trailed off, and a chill seemed to descend between us. Curious, I cocked an eyebrow at him. “What’s the matter?”

Cyclops sighed and shifted his weight again. “It’s … well, the professor gave us an idea of what you’ve been through …”

My already sore eyes shot open. “What …?”

“Not everything, though.” For a moment, Cyclops glanced away from me, gazing through the window behind me. “But I understand.” He tapped his temple with one hand. “After this happened to me, I’ve been in and out of labs for years.”

“Oh.” Saddened for him, I let my eyes fall to the carpet. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s nothing big,” Cyclops replied, shrugging. “It just makes you and me more alike.”

I nodded, unable to find my voice.

Shrugging again, Cyclops gave me another smile and turned for the door. “Dinner’ll be here in a little while.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“You’re welcomed. Oh, and--” Pausing in midstep, Cyclops glanced back at me. “Logan wanted to see you when you’re ready.”

Elated by the news, I leapt to my feet. “Really?!”

“Yeah … see you later, Kara.”

“Bye Scott.”

Waiting until the door was completely closed, I turned and shot back into the little bathroom adjacent to my bedroom, still muggy from the shower I had taken a few minutes earlier. Wiping condensation away from the mirror, I checked my face--good, the color was returning back to normal, and my eyes weren’t red from crying anymore (and no, I’m not obsessive about my looks, but I don’t like meeting people after I had cried).

Sweeping back my damp hair, I slipped my shoes back on and scooted out the door. I was pretty sure that I knew where Logan was staying, and it wasn’t too far away. Calming my racing heart, I wandered through the maze-like corridors to his room.

After a few minutes, it occurred to me that Cyclops’ scent was fresh in the air. He had just passed through here.

Funny. I thought he was going to the kitchen or something.

I turned a corner--and immediately gasped, skidding to a halt. Backtracking a few steps, I ducked behind the corner, bewildered; Jean Grey had just walked out of Logan’s room (grrrr!!!), and Cyclops was standing right there, obviously not happy.

Wincing, I peered around the corner, watching as an angry Cyclops tried to smirk at Logan.

“It must just kill you that a boy like me saved your life,” he said coolly.

Though I couldn’t see Logan, I felt his anger rise a few degrees.

“Better be careful,” Cyclops continued, reaching for the door. “I might not be there next time.”

Ouch! I swallowed hard; Logan was thisclose to making Cyclops-kebabs.

I waited, holding my breath as Cyclops began to draw the door closed. I silently sighed and glanced heavenward. No fights. Phew …

Suddenly, Cyclops paused. “And Logan?”

Oh crap …

“Stay away from my girl.”

With that, Cyclops closed the door and was gone.

Glad that was over--but frustrated, nevertheless--I leaned against the wood paneling of the wall. God, I give up. Why did I think that Logan would love me? Just because we were alike, both in pain and lonely, both with dangerous powers …

… just because he defended me in the bar …

… just because he clung to me in Xavier’s office …

… just because he held me when I cried …

… and said he’d take care of me …

It didn’t mean anything.

Suddenly, my heart leapt into my throat; did he know? Did Logan know I had fallen in love with him? If he did, what did he think of it? That it was cute, that I was only a kid with doey eyes and with my head in the clouds? Was he reveling in it? Laughing at me?

I clenched my fists in anger, feeling my talons growing, biting into my palms.

Well, if he wanted a good laugh …

Willing myself to stay sane a little while longer, I turned the corner and started for his room. I paused before his door, a little surprised by how his anger had lessened. Oh, sure, he was still mad … stupid men with their damned shows of testosterone …

Growling, I raised a hand to hammer on the wood, but fell short, gasping in shock as the door was whipped open.

“Whoops!” Blinking in surprise, Logan shot forward, catching me in his arms before I even had a chance to regain my balance. “Sorry about that, darlin’.”

‘Don’t you “darlin’” me!’ I almost snapped. But, you know, having been gallantly rescued by a man whose mere scent gave me the vapors, well, it kinda wiped my brain clean for a moment.

“Uh …” I grimaced, my cheeks flaming in embarrassment as I stumbled over my own feet. “Sorry.”

Without a show of effort, Logan set me right up again. “I should be apologizing,” he said, “I smelled you out there, and opened the door--”

“Well, I should have been ready--”

“I didn’t mean to startle you like that--”

“Well I wasn’t thinking too clearly--”

“But I should have been more polite--”

All right, this was getting ridiculous. “Wait a minute!” I interrupted, exasperated. “We sound like a scene from Mad About You.”

Logan blinked, then grimaced. “Yer right.”

We stood there for a moment in silence, neither one of us knowing what to say next. Slowly, Logan drew his hand away from my arm. “Sorry.”

I shrugged, uncomfortable. I wasn’t angry with him anymore (dammit), but now I was confused; Logan’s emotions seemed to flex and shift, like he wasn’t sure he knew what he was feeling.

But he didn’t seem to know about my feelings. And he certainly wasn’t reveling in them, nor was he treating me like a kid.

Not knowing what to do, I looked away from him, studying his room. “You wanted to talk to me?”

“Uh, yeah.” Uneasy, Logan scratched the back of his head. “Mind if I close the door?”

Mph. “S’okay.”

Yeah, it was okay, but it was also weird. Not able to look at him, I wandered over to the desk in the corner, where a sketchpad and a few pencils sat. “What did you want to talk about?”

Logan hesitated, his unease rising steadily. He sighed heavily, then closed the door. “Us.”

“Huh?!” Startled, I wheeled around, my wide eyes meeting his sad ones. “Wh-what about … us?”

Logan gazed at me, his eyes mournful. Sighing again, he gestured for me to sit beside him--on his bed. Oooohhh boy …

“It’s everything,” Logan said, looking away as I sank down beside him. “I don’t understand it, Kara; we’re alike. I knew the second I smelled you in the bar.”

I swallowed hard. Any other day, I would have made a crack about my deodorant, but now was not the time. Not now.

“I had no idea what it was,” Logan continued, his head bowed, as if in humiliation. “But … uh … there is an animal side to me …”

I nodded. “Me too.”

Logan glanced at me, not in surprise; more like respect. “Kara … Darlin’, I didn’t know what happen to you …”

A muscle in my cheek twitched, and my eyes fell away from his own, down to his hands. “I would have told you one day …”

“Then you’re braver than I am.”

Confused, I glanced at him again. “What do you mean?”

For a moment, Logan didn’t move. He hardly breathed.

His emotions went from some unease to severe misery. God, what had happened to him?

Without thinking, I took his hands in mine. “You don’t have to say what happened.”

“I … don’t know what happened.”

“What?”

“I don’t remember.”

I stared at him in confusion, wanting him to explain what he meant by ‘not remembering’. But if you could only feel his pain--!

He shook his head slowly. “It’s all gone, Kara; they did something to me, and I don’t remember anything about my life.”

“But …”

“I don’t remember my parents,” he said, his voice thick. “I don’t know if I had brothers or sisters. I don’t know if I was married …”

He drew in a shudderin