Title: Cold November

Author: Phatz

Rating: R

Disclaimer: Don't own them. So get the hell off my back.

Summary: AU. Logan is a hit man for Eric Lenscherr's crime family, but what happens when he meet's a young woman named Marie Xavier?

Authors Notes: This is an AU, mutants do not exist. I used most of the X-men characters, but they are all human. Oh and it's a Logan/Marie angst/romance piece. It takes place during one full week in November.

Monday, November 11th

Logan walked up to the elevator of the hotel, his right hand tucked under the flap of his jacket, gripping his gun. The hit went well enough, two bullets to the forehead. The guy died before he hit the ground. Logan, however, felt terrible for killing him.

He didn't know anything about him, except what the family told him, which, as usual, was nothing except that he needed to be killed. He didn't even know the guy's name. But that shouldn't matter. He's killed many nameless people for the family.

This one was different. After Logan killed him, he noticed a picture on the table. It was the guy with his family. He must have brought it with him. He had three kids, two sons and a daughter. The eldest was ten years old at most. He had a wife. Just then, Logan realized he had no idea why he took those kids father away. He felt terrible.

He was a heartless killer. He shouldn't be thinking about this shit. The elevator opened up, and he stepped inside. Great, he thought to himself. A Nun. He didn't need this.

"Hello. My name is Sister Mary Theresa. What is your name?"

"Logan."

"Logan. That is a lovely name. What floor do you need?"

"First." Logan grumbled.

"Why that is my floor as well."

'Like I give a shit' Logan thought. He didn't think he could stand thirty floors with this Nun. She seemed like the type of person to never shut up.

"So why are you staying at the hotel? I am here visiting the church on Thirty-second Street. I might be transferred there. It's lovely. The architecture is beautiful, and the minister and other Nun's are very friendly. It also seems to have quite the regular church going crowd. So why are you here? Business or pleasure?"

Logan wanted to say neither, but he managed a quiet "Business."

"Well what is your job? I am a Nun, even though I don't consider it a job. It's a calling. I love it."

"I work for the family." He was right. She wouldn't shut up.

"Your family? Do you like it?"

"It's work."

"Well why are you working for your family then? You should look for God to give you a sign, maybe you were not meant to work for your family. God gave me the sign to become a Nun when I was little. I was in my parents' car in the parking lot of a gas station. A station wagon full of Nuns pulled up, and they went into the store and bought gum. On their way out, they all smiled at me while they blew huge bubbles with the gum. I knew right then that God wanted me to devote my life to the church." She smiled sweetly at Logan. He looked like such a nice man. It was a shame he didn't like his job. His father probably forced him to work for his family's company. It happened all the time.

Logan shifted his feet, and looked at the floor number. Twenty. He ran his hand through his jet-black hair. Christ, he thought. Would the damn elevator hurry up?

"You should tell your father you don't like working for your family business."

Sister Mary said, interrupting his thoughts.

Logan almost laughed out loud. Tell Eric Lenscherr he wanted to quit? Only if he didn't give two shit's about living anymore. "I can't. Once you're in, you're in. I know too much."

"Oh, like business secrets? Surely your father knows you would keep those to yourself. You are a good man. Your fath…"

"How do you know that?" Logan cut her off, his dark hazel eyes piercing hers.

"Know what?"

"That I am a good man. You know nothing about me."

"I can tell. You seem like a proud, honest man."

She was serious. He couldn't believe it. Him, a good honest man? He was a cold-blooded killer. A killer who didn't give a shit about anybody but himself.  "You know what lady? You know shit about me."

Logan hit the stop button on the elevator, and flew out of the doors as they were just opening. He couldn't take being near that Nun any longer. She was irritating and, worse of all sympathetic and compassionate towards him. Something he sure as hell did not deserve.

Logan waited for the next elevator, fiddling with his gun. When the door opened, he saw a priest inside. "Damn church people." Logan grumbled as he turned on his heel, and headed toward the staircase.

When Logan finally exited the hotel, he looked up into the night sky, and cracked his neck. The cool November breeze chilling his bones. Checking his watch, he realized it was late. Foregoing going to a bar to get hammered, he called Eric and told him the hit was a success, lit up a Cuban cigar, and headed home.

Logan walked the deserted streets, alone with his thoughts. God, how he loathed himself. He never quite enjoyed what he did, but he sure as hell never felt this bad about it before. He hated that he killed people, and he hated the fact that he hated it. He shouldn't. He was damn good at it, and it was the only damn thing he knew how to do.

In fact, the family and killing was all he knew. He woke up in a hospital in Alberta, Canada four years ago with no memory of who or what he was. The doctors said he was a John Doe; a person brought him into the emergency room and just left him there. Logan had a skull fracture, and swelling to the brain. He was lucky he survived.

The doctors didn't know what to tell him. No one in the area had reported a missing person with his description, and he had no forms of identification on him. It was like he never existed.

He didn't even know his damn name. They one nurse stated that he looked like a 'Logan', and he just used that. He picked a Last name out of his ass. Howlett. So on a cold November day four years ago, Logan Howlett was born.

He tried for a few months getting a job, finding a place to stay. He wanted to build a life. Logan quickly found out that was hard when you didn't officially exist. Most places turned him down, and the only 'real' work he managed to get were a few odd jobs at places that paid him under the table. But they paid him poorly.

Logan was homeless, living day to day on the little work he did get, until he stumbled upon a bar fight. Apparently it was an illegal underground bar fight circuit that moved from bar to bar, never staying in the same place more than one night. Deciding to give it a shot, he could always use the money, Logan entered. And won. He discovered he was pretty damn good at fighting. He must have had some sort of training or experience before his accident.

Because he was good at it and it paid fairly well, Logan followed the fight circuit for four months. He managed to save enough money to by a camper, and he lived out of it. He wasn't the poster child for a successful life, but considering he woke up in a Canadian hospital seven months ago with no memory or identity, he was doing ok.

Since the fight circuit sometimes ventured into the United States, Logan found himself at a sleazy bar in the heart of Brooklyn, New York, kicking ass as usual. After the fights, he grabbed his winnings and headed out the door, when an older man stopped him. That was when he met Eric Lenscherr.

Eric had a proposition for him. He wanted Logan in his crime family. Eric needed strong, violent people. He also needed loyal people. And Eric did not hide the fact while during Logan's brief stay in New York, he had uncovered that Logan had no memory, or life, until roughly seven months ago. Eric figured he would be getting a person with a clean slate. Nothing tying him down, and no loyalties. Logan agreed, and became the main hit man for Eric's crime family.

Logan stood in front of his apartment complex, ending his little trip down memory lane. He flicked the stub of his cigar out into the street. Jesus Christ he was pathetic. He had no life four years ago, and the little bit of a life he managed to forge for himself since then, he was suddenly loathing.

He entered his bare apartment, and crashed on his bed. Even though he was tired, he had a night of restless sleep.

(To Be Continued…)