Summary: Logan/Rogue centric fic. Kind of a romance, but kind of not. It shows just how complex Rogue and Logan's relationship is. It follows the X-1 movie canon pretty closely, but after that its AU all the way. This is my first X-Men story, so please be kind. Rated T for language.

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For fifteen years I'd lived my life as a nobody. A drifter with no home, surviving on money made by knocking the shit outa some sorry bastard or another, living a day to day existence on cheap cigars, beer, shitty bar food, and occasionally getting a free fuck from some bar fly with big tits and a short skirt. There was no one I gave a rat's ass about. I didn't even fucking know who I was, where'd I come from. I didn't even know why the hell I had fucking claws in my hands. As far as the world was concerned, I didn't exist, and it looked like that was never gonna change.

And then that kid came along.

It was about four in the morning when I collected my winnings and stopped by the bar for a drink before I hit the road again. I sat and ordered a beer. I glanced to my right and there she was, just two bar stools away. She curiously peeked at me from under the wide hood of her coat. I could tell she was just a kid, a teenager, and sure as hell no barfly. She was mousy at best though I figured she probably could be pretty if she cleaned herself up and got outa those frumpy clothes. I wondered why the hell she was even there, and why she was all bundled up even though the room was pretty damn warm. I turned my attention to my cigar and the beer in front of me, but outa the corner of my eye, I could see her stealing glances at me. I guessed she was probably scared of me and was making ready to haul ass should I make any sudden move. I ain't no boy scout, but I sure as hell would never harm a young girl.

Then that skinhead cocksucker decided to make trouble, and that all ended with me ready to shove my claws into his throat, and the bartender holding a gun to my head saying, "Get outta my bar, freak." I turned to glare past the gun, at the old man. Freak. Whoever coined the phrase 'words can never hurt you' was a fucking dumbass, but I'd been called worse so instead of slicing his throat I just sliced his gun.

The girl just sat there, wide eyed, but when I looked at her she didn't turn away. We held each others gaze, until I broke by shrugging and glaring at the bastards who threatened me and then I left the shithole.

Once in my truck, I massaged my knuckles. They hurt like hell, just as they always did when the claws came out. The word freak kept repeating itself in my mind. Damn horrible thing, not knowing what you are. As I started my truck, that girl popped into my mind. There was just something about her. The way she looked at me when she saw my claws—now she no doubt thought me a freak as well. That bothered me, no idea why, but it did. It wasn't like I'd ever see her again.

I'd only driven down the road a few miles when I heard something rumbling around in my trailer. I pulled over to check, thinking it was probably some kinda animal. It was her, the kid. She looked up at me, fearfully.

"Do you wanna tell me why the hell you're in my trailer?"

She climbed out. "I'm sorry. I needed a ride. I, uh, thought you could help me." She had a Southern drawl. Christ, I thought, she's a long way from home, most likely a runaway. That was the last thing I wanted to deal with. I picked up what I guessed to be her bag, and threw it on the snowy ground.

"Sorry, kid, you got the wrong guy." Was this girl nuts? After what she saw at the bar, she was still willing to try and hitch a ride from me?

"But, where am I s'pose to go?"

"I don't know." I really did not want to deal with a homeless teenager.

"You don't know or you don't care?" Now, she cops an attitude with me?

"Pick one."

I walk back to my truck, and started off again. I tried to convince myself that I didn't care what happened to that kid. I gnawed my cigar, stopped the truck, put it in park and waited. I couldn't leave her there, just waiting for some bastard like that skinhead to come along and have his way with her. Hell, I figured I could at least take her to the nearest decent town and let some bleeding heart old couple take her off my hands. I took a long drag off the cigar as the girl opened the passenger side door, hopped in, and sat her bag on the floor.

"Thank you." She settled in, obviously relieved, and buckled up.

I blew out a stream of smoke in reply.

She pushed back her hood, revealing smooth brown hair. "I'm Rogue." She kept looking at me, like she was expecting me to tell her my life story.

"What kind of name is Rogue?"

"I dunno. What kind of name is Wolverine?" Shit, this kid had a mouth on her, but I figured if I humored her she'd shut up.

"My name's Logan."

"Marie." She muttered, and began peeling off her gloves.

I took that to be her real name, it really didn't fit her. Hell, Rogue fit her better. I couldn't help but grin at that as I glanced at her. She was rubbing her small hands together, and shivering slightly. Her hands were pale and tinged purple from the cold. I could easily encase the both of them in one of mine. My heater didn't work worth a damn, but I started pounding away at the buttons regardless. The sight of those cold little hands bothered me.

"Put your hands up in front of the heater." I tried to grab one of her hands, to show her how, and she flinched away. That stung for some reason. "I'm not gonna hurt you, kid."

"S'nothing personal." She said. "It's just every time someone touches my skin something happens. I don't know what they just… get sick."

"Fair enough." What the fuck do you say to something like that? Shit, I didn't know if this girl was making this all up or not, but I guess it's no stranger than having abnormal healing abilities and claws in your hands.

"You wouldn't happen to have something to eat would you?" She asked this quietly, timidly, as if the request was a long shot. She probably hadn't had a decent meal in days, if not more.

I dug around in my glove compartment, and pulled out some beef jerky, don't know how old it was, and tossed it into her lap. Beggars can't be choosers. She didn't complain, only starting munching away, obviously starving.

She was quiet for awhile after that, which I preferred. She gazed out at the terrain, occasionally starting to hum something. I said nothing. She wasn't annoying when she kept her flap shut and not playing twenty questions. There was actually something soothing about her… just sitting there.

"You know you should wear your seatbelt." Naturally, she had to start again.

"Now look, kid, I know how to look after myself. I don't need advice from a—"

I then flew headfirst through my windshield, and my life would become fucked up in a

whole new way.

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Please let me know if you like it so far.