A/N: I grew up in Alaska, and have personally driven this route through the state. I highly recommend it to the more adventurous types. As for the story, don't worry- your not missing anything; it will all be explained in due course. I took my characterizations from the film versions of Rogue and Wolverine.

References and lyrics of Red Dirt Girl belong to Emmylou Harris.

Tok. (pronounced toke)

The main highways of Canada have a sparse connection to Alaska, meeting up in the middle of the state and cutting straight through to Fairbanks. Your alternative route is down on the panhandle through Sitka, and a ferry over to the capital. Either way, a destination had to be in mind, because it was a long way around no matter which corner of the state you were aiming for.

But Fairbanks is on the way to Anchorage, Rogue thought as she rolled up the battered Milepost and turned to survey the town she was just dropped in.

Tok was the middle mark between the Canadian border that she had just come from and Fairbanks. The squiggled roads of the map were deceiving in their length, and it was with the same resigned sigh that she realized she needed to find another ride.

She had hitched through the last part of British Columbia in the back of a couple's eurovan. Rogue had counted herself lucky as she was able to watch the beautiful scenery of Canada pass by, but the couple; Pat and Jean, were retired and like most on the road, longed for the end of it. Rogue felt no such pull, and realizing that after passing the state border, she needed to slow down.

So that was why she was on the side of the road, in Tok. She looked down the highway, with the city hugging the curbs, not more than a handful of stores and dirt roads that lead off into the wilderness. To her left was the odd sight of an old Tesoro gas station; a little kid manning the register while watching cartoons on a TV that sat on atop sparse shelves. A goat was tied up to the diesel pump.

She supposed she could have waited until Fairbanks. More people would be there at least. But something told her this was it; the city that would decide her entire stay in Alaska.

Rogue dug her fist into the pocket of the long green coat that she wore, pulling out her last twenty. She sighed. First stop, lunch. Second, ask the kid at the Tesoro if there were any jobs around.

It seemed like every seedy bar/restaurant that she walked into made her crave a beer. Rogue was more than old enough, but she couldn't recall when this desire cropped up in her conscious. Not that she could afford it either.

A snappling-crack brought her back to the present. A middle-aged waitress was peering down at her, her mint blue gum making sporadic appearances in her mouth. Rogue figured she was the cook as well for such a small place.

"Whaddayalhave?"

"The, uh…over-easy eggs with toast."

"White, wheat, sourdough, muffin."

"Erm… sourdough." Might as well try it, she thought.

"Any coffee? You look dead on your feet, darlin'."

"No thanks." For the compliment, she added mentally when she smiled up at the waitress.

The woman gave a grin that turned to be something closer to a grimace, and walked back towards the kitchen. The unmistakable smell of a fryer with week old oil drifted out minutes later.

Rogue could smell the coffee behind the counter already burning to the bottom of the pot. It made her almost loose her appetite. But the sign behind the window said help wanted, and she didn't think her other prospects in town were much better.

But after the meal when she inquired, the waitress looked her up and down skeptically. "You ever worked in a bar? Gotta serving card?"

Rogue was confused. "I've worked in a restaurant, served food. I'm older than 21."

But the waitress waived it off as she handed Rogue her change, "Nah sweetheart. Need that servin' card. Can't hire ya without it. Ya gotta do all of it or none of it."

Rogue assumed she was talking about the work, and only nodded meekly. From behind the waitress, she could see a man perched at the bar, turning back to his beer.

She sighed. Rejected with bad eggs, sour bread, and no beer. At least she didn't have the coffee. Rogue slid out of the vinyl booth and headed outside, back to the Tesoro station and hopefully, the less judgmental kid that seemed to be running the place.

"The summer hasn't started yet. Why would you want to work in Tok anyway?" The kid was swinging his legs on the stool, looking at Rogue like she had grown a third arm. She hated that look.

"I don't want to work here, I need to work here," she stressed, crossing her arms.

He was unimpressed by her sarcasm as he turned back to the TV. "Might as well go to Fairbanks. That's where everyone gets a job these days. My mom hadta get a job out there. I dunno why were still here."

Behind her, the door opened and Rogue absently looked over her shoulder to see the man from the bar step in. The kid's voice changed into absolute business. "Pump number 2, twenty-three seventy."

Rogue looked back to the battered truck that was parked next to the pump, then to the man dressed in an old leather jacket and jeans. His face seemed permanently grim.

She spoke before she lost the nerve, "Excuse me, are you passing through Fairbanks?"

He pulled out a wad of cash from inside his jacket, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. "Yeah, why?"

The kid at the cashier rolled his eyes as Rogue's sudden apprehension and cracked a smile; "This girl thought she could get a job in Tok."

The cash passed hands as he turned to her, leaning against the countertop. His expression was amused, borderline sarcastic, his voice ground out in a rumble. "I know; I was there."

That did it. The last thing she needed was people flaunting their power over her situation. Rogue let her eyes narrow and she matched her tone to his. "I'm just looking for a ride. If you don't want to help me out, that's fine. But don't be an ass about it."

She batted the door out of her way and stalked back out to the road, only mildly satisfied that she got a raised eyebrow from him. The afternoon was bringing in a trickle of cars from the highway, but Rogue didn't get her hopes up.

After a few miserable minutes of staring at the highway, a second sense in her made her look back. Sure enough; there was the grizzly man, standing next to the pickup and sticking a cigar in the corner of his mouth as he met her gaze. Rogue looked him over again as the two stared at each other; a weird sort of standoff.

It was her guess that he wasn't that much older than her. Thirties, yes. Forties, no. But his eyes seemed hard and had seen many unpleasant things. She wondered if he was an Alaskan, or one of the north-slope workers that she had heard about. He was certainly built for it- had the facial hair for it. The rest of his hair seemed to stand on end, even if it was long and unkempt.

Normally she didn't like people looking at her, especially when it came to men. She had always felt the inexplicable urge to blend into the background, and valued anonymity. But Rogue noticed that when he looked at her, he wasn't studying her. He seemed to be thinking things over as he took the stogie from his mouth, his lips curled down into a frown that was quickly becoming his trademark in her eyes.

"The ride's yours. Unless you're too proud to take it."

Her eyes broke the glare and she turned, walking up to the passenger side and throwing her duffle into the bed of the truck. "Thank you."

"No problem, kid."

God help her; she smiled.