Disclaimer: I do not own X-men Evolution

Title: Part One : The Bamf Generator

AU: The first Part of a series, but each story can/should be able to stand alone-mainly concerned with Logan/Wolverine, Nightcrawler/Kurt, Rogue and Remy/Gambit.

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Chapter 7: Order

Crap!

Crumpled memories dissolved into a background haze in his mind as the recent events finally got a chance to break through a feral mass of emotions-

He'd went wild, that was plain to everybody who'd cheered for him this night. In his foolish, crazed persona Wolverine had crushed all logic and sliced a hole into the wall of his latest 'home.'

It was freezing, and the jumper that the kid was wearing had been dampened by the water in the child's fur! 'The brat' was all alone and suffering the after affects of the chemicals and here he'd been fighting in a damn cage because of his temper!

His mind screamed 'idiot' and a more sinister part-'murderer.'

It had all come together now-now that he'd appeased his animalistic need for violence-at a high cost.

He had totally screwed up!


Wolverine abruptly cussed a string of phrases that even made Rogue blush, he leapt off the stool; the stool clattering to the floor, and the girl slowly backing away from him.

Rogue was startled and watched him silently as he bolted upstairs, disappearing from sight. Her mouth was slightly parted but no words came, no Xavier-Enrolment speech, no 'wait- i can help'-just silence.


His footsteps thumped each weak stair as he sprinted up them, nearly skidding into a wall he extended his claws into an opposite wall for leverage to avoid the collision.

Swinging open the door, looking like the devil was chasing him, not bothering to close the door behind him, he ran over to the cot and lifted out the sleeping and shivering kid.

He held him in two arms, muttering apologises and ferociously grabbing the backpack over. He pulled out some dry clothes and paused for a moment to regroup his thoughts. He glanced over to the adjoining bathroom, heat was the main agenda.

He filled up the bath with warm water; it was the fastest way to raise the wee mutants temperature. The kid was in one arm, the other was testing the water.

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He sneezed, perhaps he'd gained a cold. He felt warm, warm and sleepy. He was in water. Memories of water, sleepiness and horrendous experiments flooded his young mind and he panicked although he wasn't fully conscious. He prayed that this time he would be able to wake up and escape or at least stay asleep permanently. One or the other would do fine.

The man who'd rescued him had swiftly changed from a hero into a bully in a matter of minutes and he'd rather just slip away, literally, or into death.

The young mutant struggled against the gentle warm water, squeaking and screaming in small hysterics.

"Calm down, Kid" a voice sounded harsh, rough, but caring, "its all right. Just need to get you warm."

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Logan fearfully wrapped the kid up in a dry t-shirt, holding him at a distance with his arms and wondering what to do next. The kids eyes were open, glazed over and staring at him. He almost felt like the kid was looking into his very soul with both demonic and innocent eyes- asking Wolverine/Logan so many questions that he could never answer.

The little blue face, staring at him as if hypnotised but it was an illusion-in reality it was just a minor rebellion from the drugs evacuating the child's system.

He would not be responsible for another death- he vaguely remembered being responsible for so many before this day.

Logan had rescued the kid so that the child would have a chance to live, not so that he'd die because of neglect!

The boy was starting to shiver, uncontrollably-withdrawal.

Withdrawal from the chemicals and drugs that had kept them in peaceful slumber were probably affecting the both of them.

Wolverine used the bed comforter and wrapped it around the kid as well. He let go of the kid, watching with a sad groan as the small mutant instantly toppled over onto his side on the bed.

Logan went and made some blocks of firewood from a convenient wardrobe with the aid of his claws. The manor in which he did this wasn't violent, more a necessary evil. His claws- they hurt every time they ripped out.

He tossed the blocks of wood into the fire place and rummaged around in any of the wall units or draws that might have a match. He found one, and luckily for the match- it lit.

With more patience that he thought he possessed, he lit the fire with careful precision and watched it for a few moments as the flames built up.

He sliced a strip of wood free from what was once a wardrobe and covered the hole, that he'd created in the wall. The wood still had its nails and so he viciously made sure each one was hammered into the wall with his fists.

The blue boy was crying again, Logan stood in the middle of the room- not knowing how he could make this better. He didn't even know why he had the need to want to make this better.

He was just as scared as the little boy.

They'd escaped from an Experiment Facility, somehow made it here and now things were falling apart.

He just stood in the middle of the room.

At the open door a voice travelled across the room, "Want some help?" she asked.



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Gloved hands held the cards as though they weren't just bits of paper but an extension of his fingers, he looked at them- bluffing that he was going to lose. Like hell- he never lost.
His eyes were hidden by darkened shades, even though he was wearing them inside, but considering the odd trench coat as well- nobody dared ask him 'why?'

Controlled and smooth, a trained gambler.

Even in a smoky, crowded pub, playing a very economically empowering game he knew something that was starting to irritate him. His keen senses, senses homed from being a professional thief observed the woman who'd been looking around the bar (that was obviously foreign to her) but then stopped searching when she'd saw him. Her eyes discreetly assessed him whilst he concentrated on a game that he'd been playing since he was seven.

She had been looking for him and he used it to his advantage- allowing a nervous twitch in his hand and a singular drop of sweat to add to the appearance that he was going to lose this game.

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