AN: This story centers around Logan, and ties into some parts of the Origin's series. Talk about The Native takes place in book 3 of the series some stuff that you may think is wrong comes from my imagination, so deal. I'm using artistic license here.

Disclaimer: The X-Men belong to marvel, I only borrow them for my own personal uses. No money is being made off of this.

Warrior X

By: Gymp

Warrior

Beast

Soldier

Animal

Cage Fighter

Wolverine

Man

Protector

Logan

Lover

The flashes of his past were something that Logan tried hard to forget at night, even though he fought his memories during the day, his dreams at night left him feeling alone and confused, something that he tried to avoid at all costs. The nightmare he woke from usually ended with the vision of the woman he loved lying dead, less than 20 feet from the burned out shell of a home he had forgotten about years ago. Creed had left him a message by her mutilated body; written in her own blood, "You can thank me for it later" it was a message that tore at the tattered shards of his soul. The only woman he could remember in any sort of detail, their unborn child ripped from her womb, and his own feeling of guilt for letting her slip away from him, for thinking that she would leave the forest with him tearing at his insides.

The Native had been thought of by many to be Bigfoot, how wrong they were to think it when her lithe muscular frame barely reached his own chin. Logan had sat in stunned silence clutching her lifeless body in his muscular arms as tears of pain leaked from his clenched eyes upon discovering her. As the winds shifted he could smell the faint scent of Creed carried from farther down the mountain. With a roar filled with all the pain he had ever known, Logan let go of the shreds of his humanity and let out the animal so many believe him to be. His dreams were haunted with the memories of his bloodthirsty hunts, the pain he inflicted upon those around him in his berserker like rage. With the death of the native, the only things on his mind was letting the Native rest, as she deserved, and gaining revenge on the man who had taken away everything he cared for when he had killed HIS woman.

…

The call had come only a few minutes after Kurt Wagner had finished his sermon; his diligent followers had already left the small church to make their way through the rain to their own homes. Several of the patrons disappeared into the sewers, others flew away into the night, while most blended in with the rest of the populous, climbing into cars, or hailing cabs to get out of the bad weather. Locking the doors to the small rundown church, Kurt made his way through the rain to a small bar; it's pink neon sign flashing in the dark. Ignoring the Closed sign that hung in the glass pain on the heavy wood door, he made his way to a barstool and sat down heavily. The bartender, a twenty something girl with pink, shoulder length hair pulled into low pigtails came over to him as she dried a beer mug.

"You either gotta be rich or and idiot if you can't read the sign." She said.

"I'm just waiting to perform the last rights," he replied as he brushed the water out of his wavy black hair and shirked out of his black minister's robes and keyed a button on his watch.

The girl looked unfazed as the mirror behind her reflected back the man's transformation of friendly neighborhood minister to the blue demon known as Nightcrawler. The girl leaned on the bar as she passed him a mug filled with water; they both sat in silence for several minutes.

"He's late." The girl said looking up at the clock.

"No, he said he'd be here, and he will." The man said with certainty, his German accent thick with feeling.

"Wolverine seems to cold too be needing the last rights for anything" The girl said as she went back to drying off glasses.

"Logan may seem to be as cold, unfeeling, and animalistic as everyone seems to believe, but on the inside, he's every bit the pain filled and feeling human you and I are." Kurt said, taking a sip from the thick glass.

"He seems too much like a beast." She said as she put away a row of shot glasses below the bar.

"He fights everyday to be the human he once was, to combat the animal everyone made him, and to live a life in peace for once." Kurt said, his voice filled with compassion and understanding.

At the sound of the heavy wood door slamming shut both of their heads swiveled to the entrance where Logan stood pain and determination on his face as he asked for last rights. Unconsciously he tightened his hold on the bloody bundle he held in his arms, he was covered in dirt, blood, and other grime, but he seemed to have lost all thought of himself.

The girl immediately pointed to the back of the bar. "You can use the back room. There's a cot and a long table in there." She said.

Kurt nodded.

And stood from where he sat halfway down the bar. He immediately began putting on his ministers robes, and straightened out the white collar proclaiming his craft. Logan carried the body of the woman he loved into the room and laid her shrouded body down on the narrow cot.

Kurt, hovered over her body, quietly whispering the last rights as he silently prayed for the man who stood beside him. Every once in a while a blue tail could be seen as it slowly moved under his black robes, after several minutes of prayer he crossed himself and the body of the Native, then stood and said a few words of prayer for Logan aloud and crossed himself again. When he was done he leaned down and gently kissed Natives forehead. Looking up at Logan he said in his accented voice, "They will sleep in peace now."

Logan looked started at the realization that Nightcrawler had known without being told that he had lost more than a mate when Creed had killed the Native. He had lost yet another family.

…

Logan disappeared after wards, leaving with her body to return up the mountain. He stayed there and mourned his loss sleeping in the gutted cabin, spending his days sitting by the grave he had dug with his won bare hands. A small cross stood out of the ground the name Native etched deep into the slim tree that made up the cross. After three days of this, a familiar scent traveled to him on the breeze. Stalking through the woods, he returned to the cave he had found her in and after digging through the remnants of her possessions, found the army box she had hidden. Logan dug through until he found the matching set of tags to his own. Taking one of the tags off of his own he switched it with one that was stamped with the single word, NATIVE. Then he buried the box again, and climbed up the mountain again. By the time he reached the grassy summit it was almost dawn again. He walked reverently towards the grave of his lover and after kissing the tags lightly, let them hang over the cross bar of the white birch marker.

20 YEARS LATER

Logan sat in his truck, gently rubbing his knuckles; he grimaced as his arm muscle twitched causing the blades to move underneath his skin. He never would get used to the feeling of them moving, such dangerous weapons hidden underneath fragile flesh and bone.

"You don't think like this normally," he said to himself. "But then again, talking to yourself is just another sign that you're crazy." Logan sighed heavily rubbed his knuckles one last time, then grabbed the beat up Stetson of the scarred dash of his truck and pushed the rest of a half smoked cigar into his mouth. Hopping out of the dodge truck he's won off some hunter up north in a bar fight a few months back, Logan made his way to the only building worth seeing in the tiny town known as Laughlin City. It was hardly worth driving past never mind stopping in, but it was the only place for at least another two hundred miles that had a cage to fight in, plenty of beer, and half a chance for a decent fuck.

Logan walked in as a small man with an American accent and a microphone announced for any takers in the next fight. Logan stood back and watched as one amateur beat the crap out of another. He stood at the bar for another twenty minutes until a second match was set up, then he tossed back the rest of his beer and threw down two hundred that he could beat the guy who was left standing in the cage. He nodded at the announcer who recognized him from his last tour of bar fights a few months back. The take had been good then, and he was hoping with the limited number of regulars, that he would get in a few matches before they all wimped out.

Halfway through his fourth fight, he smelled a bunch of half drunk truckers come in through the front. Shaking off the cool breeze that came with it, he took a few punches and then sent the current king of the cage to the floor. The American called then end of the fight and two brawny men hustled in to drag the guy out and into the back room where they iced him and gave him some time to wake up from getting his brains scrambled. As the announcer called for a new fighter he walked over to a recessed shelf in one of the corners and took a drag off of his cigar as he waited for another back woodsman to take up the challenge of another fight. He was just about to put that man out of his misery when he smelled her. She was young, nervous, and fearful yet curious at the same time. She smelled like rain on a spring day, and his eyes surveyed the crowd as he looked for her as the announcer asked for any more takers.

It was the trucker that came to challenge him next that caused him to cross his thin line of control. Warned at the start of the fight to "avoid the balls cause he takes it personal" This dumb ox thought it necessary to prove his worth by nailing him in the stomach and then right in the balls. Bored with the fighting, and interested in discovering what woman the fresh scent belonged to he went for a pain filled systematic takedown, ending with a metal filled fist to the head. It was after the fights were over, and he had cooled off that he approached the bar, and after seeing the scared kid three stools down put a scent to a face and mentally kicked himself for being intrigued by what looked like a runaway, never mind one that looked less than legal.

Three days later:

Logan dreamed of champagne glasses, and hazy images in green light. The searing pain of his skin being cut open as the Adamantium was fused to his skeleton, and the blades grafted onto his own skeletal structure. In the recesses of his mind he could hear a woman calling to him and with a pain filled grunt his thoughts turned to the one woman he'd tried hard to burry. He felt the touch of Native's clawed fingers on his skin as he felt the searing kiss of the Adamantium claws tearing through the soft tissues of his hand. With a strangled cry he sat up and swung his arm in a wide arc piercing soft warm flesh. At the feel of blood trickling down his knuckles his unseeing eyes cleared, and focused on Marie, her mouth moving as she struggled to gain some sort of breath. Immediately he retracted his blades and quickly put his arms up. The look if fear in his eyes matched her determined ones as she reached a hand out to his face. A hoarse no escaped his lips as he saw her struggling to reach out to him. The knowledge that he was killing another person he cared about tore at him as her fingers touched his cheek and the pull of her powers on him left him speechless. He watched as the look of pain disappeared from her eyes as his power healed her, then everything went black as he lost consciousness.

Logan woke in the early hours of the morning to see the professor looking over him.

"What happened" he asked as he rubbed at his face.

"Whenever Rogue touches another human being, she takes their life force, and in the case of mutants, she borrows their powers for a short time."

Logan grunted and sat up leaning heavily on his elbows. "Felt like she almost killed me." He said.

"If she's held on any longer, she could have." Logan grunted with the weight of that knowledge. In all the time that he had remembered, in his dealings with Victor Creed, he'd been able to heal form anything. Logan had begun to fear that the only thing that would be able to kill him was decapitation and even that was questionable. He'd had his brains scrambled enough to know that hits to the head did nothing, and his steel plating helped with broken bones. Logan sighed heavily.

"How's one eye doing with the kids?" he asked as he sat up fully and shook out the unwanted memories.

"Fine, the students have been asking for you." Charles said as he moved his chair closer to the edge of the bed understanding Logan's need in changing the subject. "As much as I know you wish to learn about your past, suppressing the memories will get you nowhere." He said as he laid a comforting hand on his arm. "Twenty years is a long time Logan." The professor said as he started to back his chair away from the bed.

"She would have been twenty in seven months." Logan said as he lay back down on the bed. "I would have been a father."

AN: R&R. pls.