Disclaimer: All characters are owned and created by the wonderful minds at Marvel.

Logan sat at the end of a bar that was a popular haunt for truckers and drifters before they returned to civilization. A chewed-up cigar rolled between the coarse prints of his fingers, switching between his lips and the dirty ashtray in front of him. The television next to the dust-covered bottles on the wall talked about mutants, the subject on the tip of every politician and protester's tongue these days. The reporter said there was a group calling themselves the X-Men. Logan scoffed at the idea. X-Men? What a load of crap.

He had too many things on his mind, yet he didn't know what they were. Ghostly memories howling away, teasing him with a flash of fractured answers before disappearing back to the shadows of his mind. His quest to piece together the puzzle had taken him down too many dead ends, leaving him with nothing but more blood on his hands. Some things were maybe best left forgotten.

In one brief moment, the heat of the bar vanished out the door in to the cold, winter air. Few people noticed, their bodies warmed by the alcohol that had long since taken effect. The young woman that had entered, hood hiding her face, glided softly towards the bar and ordered a soft drink to moisten her dried lips. She dumped a heavy bag at her feet, filled with clothes and mementos from a former life. It had been a long journey, one which appeared to show no signs of coming to an end.

Logan rubbed his knuckles against the cold droplets running down his glass. While the wounds from earlier were no longer visible, and the cuts on his face gone within an instant, his hands still hurt. The young woman had watched him fight in the cage, taken a beating by the brute that had stepped up to the challenge. His face should have been crushed, his bones broken – he shouldn't be breathing yet here he was as fresh as the wild wind outside the bar.

"I saw you fight." Piped up the young woman. She seemed nervous, almost scared to look him in the eye in case he barked at her to go away. Usually he would have, though tonight his attention remained solely on his beer.

"I've never seen a man take a beating like that... he was twice your size and you go and knock him out with two hits..." She shuddered and rubbed her gloved hands as her body slowly embraced the rise in temperature. When she brought the soft drink to her lips, she held it with both hands, the glass quivering in her grip.

"Darlin', I've taken down guys three times my size."

"Is that because you're... different?"

His eyes shot at her as soon as she said the word, his fingers throttled the glass tighter, his brows knitting downwards.

"You're a... mutant, ain't ya?" She wanted to put a hand over her mouth and tell herself to shut up. This wasn't the kind of conversation you had with a stranger, especially one that had just knocked out a man for a couple of dollars. The road had been lonely; she had spent so long hiding away from others that human contact now seemed foreign.

The word certainly didn't sit well with Logan, his glare swept the room for any one that heard the name roll out her lips. "You better watch where you throw that word around, kid. This is the kind of place where the town chases you out with pitchforks and torches."

Logan saw the faint flicker of a smile, though he could have been mistaken. The poor light of the bar hit her in a way that kept her guarded by shadows, an aura of insecurity laced with child-like curiosity. He wasn't quite sure why he found himself answering so many of her questions, perhaps his body was finally conceding to the pleasant effects of the beer for once.

"They do that everywhere," she whispered, "It doesn't matter where you go, or who you know, they look at you as if you're not even human any more..."

Logan's ears could hear every creak of the leather squeaking around her glass, and he responded by slamming the base of his bottle on to the bar – the sudden noise lifting the girl a few inches off her stool. "Well you're a long way from home, kid."

"That's probably for the best."

"And what's your plan?" He raised an eyebrow. "Keep walking north until you run out of land?"

She shrugged a single shoulder, rolling her eyes to a spot on the floor. "I don't know... I never thought that far ahead."

Her plan struck a chord with Logan, himself someone who had drifted from bar-to-bar with no proper direction. Except he could take care of himself. He was just surprised that she had managed to get this far. "So what's your name?"

"Ah... uh... Rogue."

"Rogue? What kind of a name is that?"

"What kind of a name is Wolverine?" She shot back at him, remembering the way he was introduced in the cage. Before he could reply, heavy footsteps stopped a short distance behind him. He knew who it was by the smell. Stunk of trouble.

"Hey you... you owe me some money."

Logan never turned round. "I don't do rematches, bub."

"Well I do!" The brute raided his pockets, the shine of sharp metal caused Rogue to scream something that Logan couldn't quite make out. He responded to her warning, shifting his weight to the side – the blade scraping against the battle-scarred leather of his jacket. The thug charged carelessly, quickly finding his direction rerouted straight in to a wall.

The patrons of the bar shot to life and stumbled out of the bar in a crazed stampede, nearly knocking Rogue off her chair. The assailant emerged from the impact dazed, his face bloated black and blue. His arms flailed and a weak jab took Logan by surprise. The Wolverine grabbed a fistful of hair and slammed the thug face-first in to the bar... again... and again... and again... and after a while he was holding nothing but hair and scalp. His opponent swayed slowly, and Logan finished him off with a hard-hitting uppercut that cracked the underside of his chin. It launched him high in to the air and crash-landing through a tabletop of wood and glass.

His friend made an appearance, standing a short distance from Logan with a revolver in his hand. Before Logan could react, Rogue sprung from her stool and grabbed the lowlife from behind – blinding him with her toxic palms. The pale tone of his sun-starved skin turned a sickly blue and his cries pierced the sensitive ears of Logan, but the volume soon descended in to a jaded whimper the longer Rogue held on.

When he crumpled to the floor, Rogue returned to her feet as a clatter of glass turned their attention to the bar. The owner rose from where he had cowered, shotgun convulsing violently in his hands. Logan warned him with a clenched growl, his claws scraping hungrily beneath his skin. Within seconds, the old man dropped the heavy weapon and joined those who had escaped without a beating.

Rogue found herself staring in to the eyes of the Wolverine – hunched over and snarling like a beast driven by the lust of battle. This was not the sulking stranger who had shared a drink with her earlier, this was a man with eyes glazed with violence and destruction. The scenery around them was silent, they stood like cowboys about to duel in a deserted saloon. Rogue remained still, her breaths frantic, her heart battering away at her chest as he made the first move, shifting towards her cautiously. He reached down and grabbed the duffel bag that nested at the feet of her prone stool, turning around to head to the door.

"Well what are you waitin' for?" He called over, holding the door open as she fumbled her fingers back in to the gloves. "You coming?"