"I called for somebody to pick up Wolverine," bartender grunted, polishing nearly spotless wooden surface of the counter.
"You called to Professor Xavier. He was unable to come himself, so he sent me." Bartender raised a questioning eyebrow, eyeing young girl standing in front of him suspiciously. Wolverine was a regular. Mean bastard, but usually kept by himself. Tonight he had refused to leave after closing hour. Bartender knew he worked for Xavier. He had always thought Xavier as a clever man. Now he was starting to doubt his sanity. Had the old man gone senile?
"He sent a little girl to do a man's job?"
"He sent somebody who can get the job done. Where is he?" Girl started to look impatient, shuffling her feet, craning her neck, trying to find the man she was supposed to persuade to go home. Well, it was her funeral; he finally decided and pointed her to right direction.
"Go away…" Angry and slightly slurred snarl greeted her when she approached the booth he had chosen. There was no lamp over it. Instead there was a single candle, sticking out from an empty beer bottle. She ignored his halfhearted command and sat opposite him, moving an array of empty glasses, bottles and pints to the side.
"Have some problems with your hearing?" Logan asked, clutching half empty tequila bottle in his other hand. Other was resting on the table, curled to a tight fist, and she could see just a shimmer of his claws between his knuckles.
"I heard you. I'm leaving when you leave." Claws oozed out slowly, scratching the wooden surface.
"I'd appreciate if you left me alone. All of you. Be a good girl and run back to Xavier."
"I wouldn't be a very good girl if I did that. I'm supposed to take you back with me." He took a sip from the bottle and grimaced.
"I'm not coming. Tell Xavier it's over. I'm not coming back." Claws hissed back in and hand uncurled. He reached for a small shot glass and poured some tequila in it, showing it in front of her.
"Drink up, kid." She took the glass and tossed it back without flinching. He took empty glass from her and filled it up again, offering it to her. She took it, but didn't drink.
"Are you trying to get me drunk?" She asked. He shrugged his shoulders and emptied the bottle with one last sip.
"Possibly…" She tossed back the other shot, shivering slightly.
"For what purpose?" She asked. Liquor burned in her stomach pleasantly. He just stared at her for a moment with calculating eyes.
"Which is it going to be? Me or Ice prick?" He finally asked, leaning closer.
That question threw her off the loop. What the hell was he talking about? She looked at him questioningly.
"I asked a simple question. Which are you going to choose? Me or Bobby?" Logan stated his question again, and from his eyes she could see he wasn't as drunk as he pretended to be. In fact, he was sober.
"What do you mean? Choose?"
"Everybody has to make a choice eventually. Jean did hers back at Alkali Lake. I did mine little after that. Now it's your turn." Logan spoke with low and hushed tone. When that didn't jostle answer from her he sighed and stood up, walking to her side and crouching there, placing his hand on her knee.
"I can't come back with you. Not if Bobby is going to be the one. It wouldn't be fair to anybody. Not to me, not to Bobby, and certainly not for you. I need an answer." His voice was trembling. She started to tremble, too, when she realized what he was asking.
"Logan…" He was up in an instant, pushing her against the wall with his body, face twisted to an angry grimace.
"You have my promise. You have my tags. You have my life!" He was growling, face only inches from hers, eyes blazing with fury. Suddenly he pressed his forehead against hers, almost mimicking their stance at the Statue of Liberty, and she could see.
Trapped. There were heavy chains around him. Trapped. They held him down. Trapped. No matter how hard he clawed them, they refused to break. Trapped. He was howling and screaming. Trapped.
His head drooped on her shoulder and connection was cut.
"Release me…" He rasped. She could feel his hot breath on bare skin of her throat. His heart was hammering in his chest. His knees started to give up, but he struggled to stand up straight.
"I can't come back. I can't leave. Make your decision."
She managed to jostle his nearly unconscious form to the SUV waiting at the parking lot. He tried to fight back, but after absorbing him she had quite an array of knowledge about how to wrestle with an opponent half as big as you. He was crying openly when she sat on the driver's seat and buckled her seatbelt.
"I'm so fucking tired of this shit. Just let me go. Let me go, Marie, please…" she shut her ears from his pleading and drove. All the way back to the mansion he prayed and begged. She didn't say a word. When she parked the car, he had calmed down a bit. He actually seemed to recognize her now.
"Where's your mother?" He asked when she helped him out of the car.
"She's resting. Funeral was today." He looked confused, and then squeezed her shoulder gently.
"I'm sorry about your dad, kid. He was a good man. How's Marie… How is your mother holding up?"
"She was looking for you earlier today," she said. He nodded and nearly stumbled over, leaning heavily to the porch railing.
"I had some business to take care of. I'll go and see her now."
She followed him soundlessly, wanting to make sure he stayed. He was walking slowly, shoulders hunched. At her mother's door he stopped and hesitated for a second, hand hovering over the doorknob. He didn't open the door. Instead he sat on the floor next to it, and pulled out a cigar, lighting it. Few minutes later she could see door opening. Her mother. Long, flowing nightgown, white streaks on her brown hair, kneeled next to Logan, placing her hand on his shoulder whispering something to his ear. Logan flashed her a sad smile, and pulled her on his lap, placing her head over his heart.
"Sleep, little one. Sleep, Marie. I'll take care of you. I promise," she could hear him whisper.