Part One: They Meet
A battered pickup plowed its was across the frozen roads of Northern Canada. Logan sat in the driver's seat urging the automobile ever forward, and occasionally muttering under his breath. The heat was off and his breath hung in the air, mixing with the smoke from his cheap cigar. He had been driving for hours, but the strain had not, and would not catch up with him. But still, he knew a town was coming up fast, he was in the mood for a beer, and a bite to eat. It was a no nothing town in upper Manitoba, the kind of place that naturally attracted vagrants, ruffians, and occasionally the odd mutant, like Logan himself.
Logan hid it well though. He was lucky to at least look like a normal human, but that didn't stop his bad attitude, and loner tendencies. He was suspicious of everyone, sometimes cruel and brutal, but with an animal charm all his own. He was dressed in his typical get up, boots, ragged jeans, layers of shirts, a jean jacket, and over that a beat up brown leather coat. He looked feral to say the least, his hair coming up into points on either side of his head, and extending from sideburns to a gruff, seldom trimmed beard that graced the sides of his jaws, but leaving his chin and upper lip with only a little stubble. His brown eyes sparkled with wildness, with a potential danger that no one would ever realize until it was to late.
His truck crunched over the rock salt in the parking lot of a very seedy looking bar.
"Just my kind of place." he thought to himself as he stepped out into the cold Canadian winter. Snow fell around him leaving its cold kiss to freshen his senses. He breathed in deeply letting the frigid air enter his lungs, and clean out the last reaming traces of the lingering tobacco smell. He started for the door of the bar; his boots crunching on the snow and salt covered pavement, as he entered the dive.
All at once his senses were assaulted with the strong smell of beer, whiskey, sweaty bodies, vomit, urine, and strangely enough the hint of sweet rose perfume. He sat on a rickety barstool, and took in his surroundings. A group of fat rig drivers huddled next to an old potbellied stove, smoking and jabbering away about something or other, two thinner boys were sitting further down on the bar trading shots, one looking the worse for wear, and the other cackling happily. A small TV was on in the upper left-hand corner of the bar, it had a bad picture but the sound came in good enough, two men looking Logan's apparent age were whooping at a hockey game and jittering in French. The only thing missing from the scene was the barkeep.
This exact thought had just passed Logan's mind, when the door opened, and a new addition to the bar entered covered in numerous layers of clothing, including a dark blue scarf wrapped around her head.
"Bloody hell, it's freezing out there." It was only when she talked that Logan realized two things, A, she was a female, and B, she definitely wasn't Canadian. She also appeared to be the bartender, because after she had striped of her layers, hanging three sweaters and a leather coat on the rack by the stove, she gracefully swayed behind the bar letting the swinging door flap behind her on old hinges. She was now wearing only a white tank top, blue jeans in a state of dubious wear, a belt with a large buckle, and cowboy boots. Her hair was long sun bleached light brown and bedraggled from a toboggan. She looked straight a Logan as he sat at the bar taking the sight of her in.
"Krikie, I hope you haven't been waiting long mate." Logan shook his head. "Well these blokes should have told you that it was okay to get yourself a drink. Bloody bastards don't care to talk to strangers much though." She gave the room a scathing eye, and they all seemed to quiet down for a moment. After all it was she who controlled the flow of the liquor.
"I'll have a beer." Logan simply said, and she obliged by producing a Fosters from a little refrigerator under the bar.
"Hey, Marilyn, did the Randle boy make it home without puking?" One of the truckers asked from across the room.
"Nah, He didn't chuck till he was 'alf way to 'is door. You bastards shouldn't have let the poor thing get all pissed like that." She looked at Logan again, and smiled. "I had to take one of the locals home, poor kid got pissed."
"I understand." He wasn't looking at her; he was staring at his beer. His brown eyes lowered from the whole room, as if he were brooding. He was thinking, he could tell the woman was Australian, but he was also wondering how she came to end up in the frozen north. He shut his eyes briefly not hearing the things going on around himself. A loud bang from the door caught his attention. Another wayward traveler had just entered the bar. Logan looked around to see a monster of a man standing in the doorway, wearing little more than a tee shirt, a pair of pants, and ratty sneakers, with no socks.
"Yo, Marilyn. What's the fucking deal running out on me last night!" The guy seemed cheesed, Logan sensed trouble, and it was directed at the barkeep. He turned to get a better look at him. Marilyn didn't back down; she stood her ground and started cursing at the man in her native slang.
"You bloody bastard! You wanker! I'm the one who should be angry. I saw you with that bluey from the diner. You fucking yobbo! You fucked her didn't you? Didn't you!"
The pieces were falling together for Logan now. The big guy with the chip on his shoulder was the barkeeps "boyfriend" and apparently not very faithful. The meager crowd at the bar started filing out, but he remained. She was such a pretty thing, and he'd be damned if he let anything happen to her.
"God, I'm getting to be such a softie." He thought to himself. The argument played on, and neither of them paid any attention to him, as caught up in the moment as they were.
"You damned Aussie piece of trash." he had come up close to her now and was staring down at her from the other side of the bar counter: madness, and drunkenness, making him lose all reason. "You fucking bitch." He spat at back at her, then made the swift move to slap her, but Logan was ready. He reached up and grabbed his hand, and quickly twisted it behind his back.
"That's no way to talk to a lady." His voice was low and deep, almost a growl. "I think you better get out of here before you piss me off too, Bub."
"This don't concern you asshole!" the guy roared out, but Logan just twisted his arm tighter, making the drunk grit his teeth in anguish.
"Don't make me break it."
"Fuck you buddy!"
That was when Marilyn saw the flash. Her "boyfriend" had pulled his hunting knife out of the sheath by his side. Logan hadn't seen it because he had been at the wrong angle.
"Look out!" She screamed. Logan spun him around and suddenly seven-inch metal claws had the boyfriend pined against the bar. The hunting knife fell harmlessly to the floor. Logan backed off a little once the man had pissed his pants. A hot stream of urine staining the front of his pants and trickling down to the floor.
"W…what are you?" the man stuttered out.
Logan let out a low growl.
"What do you think I am? I'm a mutant asshole, and no ones gonna hit a girl when I'm around." The "boyfriend" started whining and choking back sobs. Logan's claws slipped back into his hands with a quick movement, faster than the eye can see. "You're not even worth the effort. Get out 'a here." He growled. And with that Logan let him go. The boyfriend literally bolted for the door, staggering as he went, and was gone. Logan then turned to Marilyn, and looked at her.
"Are you okay?" He asked sincerely. She was standing back a ways holding her arms around herself, and shivering. She blinked before she looked at him.
"Yeah, just cold." Logan was at a loss. He was expecting her to freak out about his talent, but she didn't seem to be that all concerned about him. "Thanks mate." She said at length. Logan took off his jacket and approached her; she let him drape her shoulders with his coat, and then looked at him.
"No problem." Was all he managed, still puzzled.
"He would'na 'ave hurt me though." She said somewhat distant.
"Oh," He said lifting one eyebrow, "why's 'at?"
She looked down at Logan's half finished beer and smiled. She extended her hand and waved it right through the bottle as if it were air.
"Because I would 'ave seen it coming." Logan smiled at that. He knew then what he was dealing with. A fellow mutant, and a gorgeous one at that. "Look I've got to get out of 'ere, I ain't got a workin' car, an if I know Sol, 'e'll be back, and next time with the cops, or somthin' worse."
"You're probably right, lets jet. I'll get you outa here."
Logan led the way across the parking lot to his truck. Marilyn followed him pulling on a sweater and carrying their coats. They piled into the truck and speed out of the parking lot, with Logan at the wheel. There was an extended silence as they both let their blood cool. For Logan it took longer, but it was Marilyn who finally broke the calm.
"You got a name mate?"
"Yeah, it's Wolverine."
"What kind of name is that?"
Logan looked at her from the corner of his eye.
"It's the only name you get till I can figure you out."
"I'm not to hard to figure out mate. M' names Marilyn."
Logan remained silent, as he lit a cigar, and cracked the window. Marilyn busied her self by putting on her coat and lying Logan's in the space between them. The silence between them wasn't your sort of uncomfortable one that leaves both parties sweating. They had already unconsciously developed an easy manner with each other. Realizing how far to push a topic and when to back off. Logan looked over at her again, and breached the quiet.
"So what is it exactly that you can do?"
"All sorts of things mate. But it's all interrelated. For instance, I can become invisible, transparent, or as you see me now. In each three forms I can either move through things or, be as solid as the ice on the road. It's a pretty cool power, but sometimes it's kinda hard livin' like a ghost."
"I know what you mean. Listen, you got any reason to go back there? Any family or anything?"
"No, why where you heading?"
"New York, to see some friends of mine. You can't go back to the bar, and something tells me you can't go back to Australia either."
She didn't say anything about his theory. They both knew he was right.
"You're one of them aren't you mate?"
"One of what?"
"You're one of the X-Men."
"How do you know about the X-Men?"
"Word gets around if ya know the proper channels."
"Such as…?"
"A mate of mine sent one o' her kids to the school, after he started showin' signs."
"What's his name?"
"Bobby."
"I know him, he's the Iceman."
"He's a good bloke."
There was another pause in their conversation. Blue cigar smoke blew out the window, as Logan puffed away. His hands rested on the steering wheel slowly moving right and left with the contours of the snow covered road. The air was chill with the cracked window but Marilyn wasn't complaining she was watching his hands, and thinking.
"Been livin' like a ghost for so long." She said after some time had passed. Logan looked over at her.
"What?"
"If I'm goin' t' New York I'm leavin' me behind. I need to start over. I need a new name. I been a ghost a long time, might as well call me that t' your mates."
"Al right, Ghost it is then."
A battered pickup plowed its was across the frozen roads of Northern Canada. Logan sat in the driver's seat urging the automobile ever forward, and occasionally muttering under his breath. The heat was off and his breath hung in the air, mixing with the smoke from his cheap cigar. He had been driving for hours, but the strain had not, and would not catch up with him. But still, he knew a town was coming up fast, he was in the mood for a beer, and a bite to eat. It was a no nothing town in upper Manitoba, the kind of place that naturally attracted vagrants, ruffians, and occasionally the odd mutant, like Logan himself.
Logan hid it well though. He was lucky to at least look like a normal human, but that didn't stop his bad attitude, and loner tendencies. He was suspicious of everyone, sometimes cruel and brutal, but with an animal charm all his own. He was dressed in his typical get up, boots, ragged jeans, layers of shirts, a jean jacket, and over that a beat up brown leather coat. He looked feral to say the least, his hair coming up into points on either side of his head, and extending from sideburns to a gruff, seldom trimmed beard that graced the sides of his jaws, but leaving his chin and upper lip with only a little stubble. His brown eyes sparkled with wildness, with a potential danger that no one would ever realize until it was to late.
His truck crunched over the rock salt in the parking lot of a very seedy looking bar.
"Just my kind of place." he thought to himself as he stepped out into the cold Canadian winter. Snow fell around him leaving its cold kiss to freshen his senses. He breathed in deeply letting the frigid air enter his lungs, and clean out the last reaming traces of the lingering tobacco smell. He started for the door of the bar; his boots crunching on the snow and salt covered pavement, as he entered the dive.
All at once his senses were assaulted with the strong smell of beer, whiskey, sweaty bodies, vomit, urine, and strangely enough the hint of sweet rose perfume. He sat on a rickety barstool, and took in his surroundings. A group of fat rig drivers huddled next to an old potbellied stove, smoking and jabbering away about something or other, two thinner boys were sitting further down on the bar trading shots, one looking the worse for wear, and the other cackling happily. A small TV was on in the upper left-hand corner of the bar, it had a bad picture but the sound came in good enough, two men looking Logan's apparent age were whooping at a hockey game and jittering in French. The only thing missing from the scene was the barkeep.
This exact thought had just passed Logan's mind, when the door opened, and a new addition to the bar entered covered in numerous layers of clothing, including a dark blue scarf wrapped around her head.
"Bloody hell, it's freezing out there." It was only when she talked that Logan realized two things, A, she was a female, and B, she definitely wasn't Canadian. She also appeared to be the bartender, because after she had striped of her layers, hanging three sweaters and a leather coat on the rack by the stove, she gracefully swayed behind the bar letting the swinging door flap behind her on old hinges. She was now wearing only a white tank top, blue jeans in a state of dubious wear, a belt with a large buckle, and cowboy boots. Her hair was long sun bleached light brown and bedraggled from a toboggan. She looked straight a Logan as he sat at the bar taking the sight of her in.
"Krikie, I hope you haven't been waiting long mate." Logan shook his head. "Well these blokes should have told you that it was okay to get yourself a drink. Bloody bastards don't care to talk to strangers much though." She gave the room a scathing eye, and they all seemed to quiet down for a moment. After all it was she who controlled the flow of the liquor.
"I'll have a beer." Logan simply said, and she obliged by producing a Fosters from a little refrigerator under the bar.
"Hey, Marilyn, did the Randle boy make it home without puking?" One of the truckers asked from across the room.
"Nah, He didn't chuck till he was 'alf way to 'is door. You bastards shouldn't have let the poor thing get all pissed like that." She looked at Logan again, and smiled. "I had to take one of the locals home, poor kid got pissed."
"I understand." He wasn't looking at her; he was staring at his beer. His brown eyes lowered from the whole room, as if he were brooding. He was thinking, he could tell the woman was Australian, but he was also wondering how she came to end up in the frozen north. He shut his eyes briefly not hearing the things going on around himself. A loud bang from the door caught his attention. Another wayward traveler had just entered the bar. Logan looked around to see a monster of a man standing in the doorway, wearing little more than a tee shirt, a pair of pants, and ratty sneakers, with no socks.
"Yo, Marilyn. What's the fucking deal running out on me last night!" The guy seemed cheesed, Logan sensed trouble, and it was directed at the barkeep. He turned to get a better look at him. Marilyn didn't back down; she stood her ground and started cursing at the man in her native slang.
"You bloody bastard! You wanker! I'm the one who should be angry. I saw you with that bluey from the diner. You fucking yobbo! You fucked her didn't you? Didn't you!"
The pieces were falling together for Logan now. The big guy with the chip on his shoulder was the barkeeps "boyfriend" and apparently not very faithful. The meager crowd at the bar started filing out, but he remained. She was such a pretty thing, and he'd be damned if he let anything happen to her.
"God, I'm getting to be such a softie." He thought to himself. The argument played on, and neither of them paid any attention to him, as caught up in the moment as they were.
"You damned Aussie piece of trash." he had come up close to her now and was staring down at her from the other side of the bar counter: madness, and drunkenness, making him lose all reason. "You fucking bitch." He spat at back at her, then made the swift move to slap her, but Logan was ready. He reached up and grabbed his hand, and quickly twisted it behind his back.
"That's no way to talk to a lady." His voice was low and deep, almost a growl. "I think you better get out of here before you piss me off too, Bub."
"This don't concern you asshole!" the guy roared out, but Logan just twisted his arm tighter, making the drunk grit his teeth in anguish.
"Don't make me break it."
"Fuck you buddy!"
That was when Marilyn saw the flash. Her "boyfriend" had pulled his hunting knife out of the sheath by his side. Logan hadn't seen it because he had been at the wrong angle.
"Look out!" She screamed. Logan spun him around and suddenly seven-inch metal claws had the boyfriend pined against the bar. The hunting knife fell harmlessly to the floor. Logan backed off a little once the man had pissed his pants. A hot stream of urine staining the front of his pants and trickling down to the floor.
"W…what are you?" the man stuttered out.
Logan let out a low growl.
"What do you think I am? I'm a mutant asshole, and no ones gonna hit a girl when I'm around." The "boyfriend" started whining and choking back sobs. Logan's claws slipped back into his hands with a quick movement, faster than the eye can see. "You're not even worth the effort. Get out 'a here." He growled. And with that Logan let him go. The boyfriend literally bolted for the door, staggering as he went, and was gone. Logan then turned to Marilyn, and looked at her.
"Are you okay?" He asked sincerely. She was standing back a ways holding her arms around herself, and shivering. She blinked before she looked at him.
"Yeah, just cold." Logan was at a loss. He was expecting her to freak out about his talent, but she didn't seem to be that all concerned about him. "Thanks mate." She said at length. Logan took off his jacket and approached her; she let him drape her shoulders with his coat, and then looked at him.
"No problem." Was all he managed, still puzzled.
"He would'na 'ave hurt me though." She said somewhat distant.
"Oh," He said lifting one eyebrow, "why's 'at?"
She looked down at Logan's half finished beer and smiled. She extended her hand and waved it right through the bottle as if it were air.
"Because I would 'ave seen it coming." Logan smiled at that. He knew then what he was dealing with. A fellow mutant, and a gorgeous one at that. "Look I've got to get out of 'ere, I ain't got a workin' car, an if I know Sol, 'e'll be back, and next time with the cops, or somthin' worse."
"You're probably right, lets jet. I'll get you outa here."
Logan led the way across the parking lot to his truck. Marilyn followed him pulling on a sweater and carrying their coats. They piled into the truck and speed out of the parking lot, with Logan at the wheel. There was an extended silence as they both let their blood cool. For Logan it took longer, but it was Marilyn who finally broke the calm.
"You got a name mate?"
"Yeah, it's Wolverine."
"What kind of name is that?"
Logan looked at her from the corner of his eye.
"It's the only name you get till I can figure you out."
"I'm not to hard to figure out mate. M' names Marilyn."
Logan remained silent, as he lit a cigar, and cracked the window. Marilyn busied her self by putting on her coat and lying Logan's in the space between them. The silence between them wasn't your sort of uncomfortable one that leaves both parties sweating. They had already unconsciously developed an easy manner with each other. Realizing how far to push a topic and when to back off. Logan looked over at her again, and breached the quiet.
"So what is it exactly that you can do?"
"All sorts of things mate. But it's all interrelated. For instance, I can become invisible, transparent, or as you see me now. In each three forms I can either move through things or, be as solid as the ice on the road. It's a pretty cool power, but sometimes it's kinda hard livin' like a ghost."
"I know what you mean. Listen, you got any reason to go back there? Any family or anything?"
"No, why where you heading?"
"New York, to see some friends of mine. You can't go back to the bar, and something tells me you can't go back to Australia either."
She didn't say anything about his theory. They both knew he was right.
"You're one of them aren't you mate?"
"One of what?"
"You're one of the X-Men."
"How do you know about the X-Men?"
"Word gets around if ya know the proper channels."
"Such as…?"
"A mate of mine sent one o' her kids to the school, after he started showin' signs."
"What's his name?"
"Bobby."
"I know him, he's the Iceman."
"He's a good bloke."
There was another pause in their conversation. Blue cigar smoke blew out the window, as Logan puffed away. His hands rested on the steering wheel slowly moving right and left with the contours of the snow covered road. The air was chill with the cracked window but Marilyn wasn't complaining she was watching his hands, and thinking.
"Been livin' like a ghost for so long." She said after some time had passed. Logan looked over at her.
"What?"
"If I'm goin' t' New York I'm leavin' me behind. I need to start over. I need a new name. I been a ghost a long time, might as well call me that t' your mates."
"Al right, Ghost it is then."