A/N: Thanks for the seven reviews, everyone! This chapter actually has movie characters in it! *shocked gasp* The response to the corny pickup line is actually one that my friend Jessica improvised when someone used it on her. She gets hair comments all the time (it's in perfect curls, black with green fading into purple), so she's damn good at that kind of thing. No offense intended to any Jehovah's Witnesses or what have you. Still don't own X-men. Thanks in advance for reviewing, hint hint.

James-

I've been in lovely Milk River, Alberta for about two months now. Not bad, huh? I've even bothered renting a place. I got a job at the mechanic's here, and am doing quite well, thanks to my natural talent at recharging batteries. You wouldn't believe how much money you can scam off someone if they don't ask the right questions. I'm so telling you the details when I see you again. With the money you save, you could get a waffle iron or something! Since I am chugging along great here, I can send you some good old Canadian maple syrup. If you can figure out how a frying pan works, you can have it with your pancakes. Or you can just drink it. Whatever floats your boat. The puppy has gotten huge. I named him Duncan, like from the Scottish play. Every time I look at him, I think of you...then I think of you shirtless. I almost took out an ice cream truck last time that image popped into my head on the road.

Thinking of you, but not while driving,

Evelyn

Evelyn sat at the bar, staring at her fish sticks and thinking of James. She was just getting to the part that she didn't allow herself to think about while driving when a cocky voice intruded into her happy place.

"Hey bartend, one beer for me, and one for the lady." The guy at the bar tipped his hat at Evelyn. She groaned to herself. She recognized him. The pushy cowboy had been at the shop earlier and had hung around a lot longer than it took to fix his car. One of the guys had finally shooed him away, but he wasn't here right now. The bartender was eternally neutral, so Evelyn was on her own for this one. He walked over with the beers and smiled at her, but Evelyn was ready for him.

"Listen, is there a problem with your car?" she asked irritably.

"No ma'am. Runs good as new," he replied.

"Then why are you still talking to me?"

"Aw, honey, don't talk like that. You're pretty enough for me to talk to you anyway." Evelyn just stared at him. She couldn't believe anyone could be stupid enough to not understand that she wanted to be left alone. He coughed and tried again.

"With a mane like that, you must be a Leo. Am I right, sweetheart?" He grabbed one of her fishsticks and started munching. Evelyn was too annoyed to even laugh at how ridiculous this was.

"With a pickup line like that, you must have a tiny dick," she countered. The bartender laughed quietly, and the cowboy's smile faded.

"I was just tryin' to be nice, but you done pissed me off now!" he snapped.

"Save it." Evelyn tried to get up, but he grabbed her wrist.

"Where you going, doll-face?" He leered unpleasantly, and leaned in to whisper in her ear. Evelyn's world narrowed down to concentrate on his hand on her wrist and what he said next.

"I know what you are, honey. I saw you, charging up a battery with your bare paws."

"Done yet? Because you can feel free to shut up and let go of me any time now." She tried to leave again, but he held on.

"You ain't gettin' away, you mutant bitch!" he yelled. Everyone that had been just casually listening in turned their eyes on Evelyn.

Shit, not so soon, she thought. Well, only one thing for this asshole, now that everyone knows. She concentrated on charging her arm until he jumped away screaming in a rather un-manly way. Evelyn glared quickly around the bar, challenging anyone to say anything. She didn't notice that a stocky, dark-haired man with sideburns had left the bar. She walked out without a word.

Evelyn sat slumped over the wheel in her truck, where Duncan was sleeping on the passenger seat.

"C'mere Dunk," she said softly, eyes tearing up. The puppy yawned and crawled over the manual shift into Evelyn's arms. "I wish you were here, James," she whispered.

"God, why does something always fuck up?" she asked no one in particular. She was very surprised that someone answered.

"Good question. Maybe things are fucked up because next to no one will take people like us in." It was the dark-haired man from the bar.

"What do you want? And what do you mean, us?"

"I mean," he said, "that I know what it's like to get kicked out of bars, though I've been at it longer than you."

"Listen, do you have a point? Because I'm not in the mood for any more games, so get to it. I have a ritual to attend to."

The man smirked. "You think running again is the answer, don't you? What are you looking for?"

"You had my attention for a while, but then you just started sounding too Jehovah's Witness-like for my taste." She grabbed her keys and put them in the ignition.

"Look, just shut up and listen. I know somewhere where you can go where you won't have to lie about what you are." Evelyn let go of her keys.

"I'm listening. Go on, get in." Evelyn put Duncan in the back seat and opened the passenger door. He got in and smiled lopsidedly at her.

"What do you want to know?" he asked. Evelyn started the truck.

"Start with two things. What's your name and what do you want for tunes?" she tossed him the overstuffed CD case.

"Logan. Put in this one." He handed her Led Zeppelin. She put it in and pulled out of the parking lot.

"Very well. Now, where is this supposedly accepting place?"

"New York."

"That's a trek. You on your way there?" she asked. Logan shook his head and lit a cigar.

"No, I'm staying up North. But here's the address." He found a marker and a napkin and scrawled down an address.

"Well, thanks for your help Logan. Good to have met another mutant along the way. Where can I set ya down?"

"Tobacco store, I'm running short," he said, taking his cigar out of his mouth and inspecting it.

"Me too. Thanks again. If I go to New York now, will you be there?"

"Maybe. Can you get there on your own funds?" he asked. Evelyn perked her ears up. Money was always an issue, and if Logan was giving handouts, she wouldn't say no.

"Probably not. I blew it all actually getting a room here. Thought it might work for a while, y'know?" Even the feral-looking guy couldn't resist the broke wanderer charms, and she knew it. Evelyn parked at the tobacco store and walked toward the door. Logan got a few cigars, and stayed Evelyn's hand when she reached for her wallet to pay.

"I got it."

Result, thought Evelyn. Now if I can just bring up the costs of a trip to New York...

She didn't have to. Once outside, Logan pulled some crumpled bills out of his pocket.

"Take this," he said gruffly. "Just get to Westchester. Xavier'll help you out." Evelyn whistled.

"How'd you get rich?" she asked, amazed at the sizable wad in her hand.

"Wrestling."

"Please tell me it was the kind with the shiny masks and the trash talk in Spanish," she laughed.

"Nah, cage. I always won. That's what clued them in." He looked at his hands and unwrapped a new cigar. Without warning, a metal claw sprang from in between his knuckles and he sliced the tip of the cigar off neatly.

"Holy fuck," said Evelyn, grabbing a cigarette of her own and lighting it nervously, then handing the lighter to Logan. Logan smirked and walked away, cigar still between his teeth. Evelyn watched him for a while, then sat in the truck, smoking and counting the money he had given her.

"Christ," she muttered. "He has that much to carry around?" Evelyn put the money underneath the passenger's seat and hesitated. The meeting with Logan had thrown off her ritual, and she wasn't sure what to do next. She wasn't hungry, as she was too fascinated with the claws and the idea of a place for mutants. And she didn't need to get drunk tonight. But one thing was staying constant; she was definitely going to splurge on a new jacket.

James-

Jackpot! I met a nice scruffy guy who paid me to go to New York and bear his children! I'm kidding, by the way, no pun intended. Not about the money part. He just stuffs a wad in my hand and walks off into the sunset or whatever and leaves me with an address on a napkin for a place where people like me can go. I'm going to check it out, since Milk River no longer welcomes me. I wish you would have been there, you could have told the idiot who wouldn't leave me alone to fuck off then and there. But no, you're still all the way in Colorado. The bastard ate my fish sticks and called me doll-face. I'll stay in touch and send you the address if I get settled in New York. Still thinking of you shirtless often.

Love,

Evelyn.