A/N: Ahem...yes...hello you guys. I'm soooo sorry it took me so long to update. Really sorry. But you know work and all. And I was tortured by a white haired, old man who thinks he knows everything better about my job! Well, whatever. Here the next chapter goes and I hope I'm able to update sooner the next time... sorry again!

R/R please. Thx

Dela

CHAPTER FOUR

The room was dark, only lit by some candles on the neat decorated table. Charles and Isobel sat at the table and ate in comfortable silence, enjoying the food and the company. From time to time they glanced up into each other's eyes and smiled.

He had to laugh inwardly, he felt like a young man again, strangely wonderful and silly and emotional at the same time. It was great.

"You know, I've met Eric.", she said suddenly, breaking the silence, inbetween two sips of her Bordeaux. Charles looked up and rose one eyebrow.

"Eric?" he asked.

She nodded, gulping down a bit of her steak. "Charles, this is delicious." she said unbelieving and indicated with her fork down onto her plate.

"Thank you." he answered rather quiet. Charles hesitated one moment before he asked.

"So, what did Eric say?" His voice sounded curiously but somewhat innocent while he kept eating, not looking at her. Now that she had mentioned Eric he believed that this had been what she had kept from him since her arrival.

She let out a long breath. "We were just talking. We had to catch up a little bit." Isobel stared at him annoyed, foreboding where this conversation was going to end.

"Just in case you have already forgotten. Eric is my friend."

"I know that he is your friend, I'm sorry." he said politely, calming her again.

They returned to their food, the tension fading slowly.

Every now and then Charles looked up, every time taking a breath, about to say something and it began to slowly unnerve her.

"Say it, what ever it is say it!"

Before she could even finish her request he started.

"You know that he changed quite a bit since our younger years."

She threw her cutlery onto her plate.

"Please, Charles. Don't." she begged, her temper rising once more.

He cleaned his mouth with a napkin. "All I am saying is that you have to be careful around him" his voice calm but sincere.

Isobel rose, slowly but her face was a mirror of her inner turmoil. She began to slowly pace up and down the room. Her breath heavy, reaching her boiling point with every word he said.

"He is a very dangerous man. I've told you before."

"Okay, that's it!" she said, facing him, her hands resting on her hips.

"We have had that before. And I'm sick of it. I really am." she stated, voice low and dangerous.

"I don't know when you two broke apart ... in the end." she cooled down a bit, sounding only sad. "Even for me it's a life time ago." she said and rubbed her forehead. "But I'm not part of this fight. I have never been and never will be. Please don't always try to get me on your side." Isobel's and Charles' eyes met for the first time since their argument had begun.

"God, you two have been like brothers. What happened Charles?"

He only shook his head. "Our points of view changed and in the end we weren't able to find back together."

"He misses you, you know!" She watched him closely. He lowered his head. "And I know that you miss him, too."

Of course he did. They had spent so much time together, had experienced a lot together and that the things had turned out as they did had hit him deep. He had only a few weak spots, but Eric was one of them. To find out what Eric was planning, to know what he was capable of felt like a great betrayal. It was like a slap in the face. It hurt so much to find out that they weren't on the same side, that they were not going to fight side by side, to find out that he had been so wrong in his judgment of his best friend, of his brother. He still refused to believe that he had overseen the obvious.

"That makes the things he had done not less wrong, though." he stated in a resigning kind of voice.

"I know that. Don't you dare to treat me like a child, young man." said Isobel threateningly, sounding suddenly very old.

"Why do you always have to make the same mistakes? Why do you always have to start with this? Talk to me when you grew up!" she said and threw the napkin she was clenching in her fist onto the table and stormed out of the room.

Charles remained silent for several minutes before he dared to let out a long sigh.

He suddenly asked himself when everything had become so difficult, when everything had turned black and white. Back then he would have never thought that they would become enemies in the end. He longed for the time when he and Eric were still friends.

He shook his head, bringing himself out of the reverie. These time were gone and nothing could change that. Not even Isobel.

He sat at the open window, one foot resting against the windowsill. He smoked his cigar, breathing in the intoxicating smell, tasting the nicotine.

It was 2 o'clock in the morning, his dreams had once more woken him. It was nothing new but it hadn't been one of his usual nightmares, though. No less frightening or confusing.

The cool night wind blew fresh air into his room and he was slowly starting to get cold, but that was something he needed right now to get a clear mind again. It didn't work all too well but at least he had tried.

He took another puff of his cigar.

Logan stared out into the darkness that seemed to engulf everything including him.

Why the hell was she in his dreams now? Seeing her in his wake state was torture enough, why did she have to invade his sleep now, too? This was so frustrating. The feelings he had for her were so strange, foreign to him but at the same time comforting. He'd never felt like this before, at least he couldn't remember. He was so damn confused. Nothing seemed to be in place, at the same time though everything felt in place, right. It wasn't only her mutation that kept everything as things were now, no - his age was a big problem for him. A barrier that was impregnable. She wasn't a kid anymore that was for sure, she was something over twenty now, but he had no idea how old he was. For all he knew he could be her great grand daddy. He didn't even know his own last name. He at least should be able to offer her that.

He drew one hand through his untidy hair. "God, this is crazy!" he muttered. He shook his head, pictures of his latest dream popped up in his mind.

He closed his eyes, reliving the dream against his better judgment.

When he was about to fall asleep again with an image of her before his inner eye he heard a rather loud thud from the ground floor, his superior senses catching up to it instantly and his eyes snapped open just as fast.

Another thud rang through his ears and Logan rose to his feet, putting the cigar out in the snow on the window-ledge and ran down as fast as he could. His paranoid mind was not able to suppress the thoughts of the last attack at the mansion.

When he reached the first floor however and listened again he heard instead of several men charging the mansion only an angry quiet growl coming from the kitchen. Curiosity got the better of him and he approached the door, light shining through the gap between the door and floor.

Slowly and still cautious he opened the door only to find an extremely furious looking Isobel rummaging through the cupboards. "Where the hell..." she cursed under her breath while she kept searching for something.

Amused he watched the small woman for sometime because she didn't seem to notice him.

"Damn!" she swore and slammed her fist onto the table, after she let herself slump in one chair.

"What're you lookin' for?" he asked with a mocking smile on his face.

Startled she looked up and saw Logan standing in the door, leaning at the door-frame. "God, do you always sneak up to people?" she retorted unnerved, lowering her head onto the table and banged it onto it.

Suddenly she rose again with a jolt and looked at Logan expectantly. "You!" she said and pointed her index finger at him. With three or four long strides she stood in front of him.

"Me what?" he asked irritated, one eyebrow risen.

"You look like a guy who knows where to get something to drink!"

"In the fridge?" he answered.

"Hell, no." she exclaimed and threw her hands up in despair. "Do I look like someone who needs a stupid Dr. Pepper? No. I mean something real... something... you know... good stuff."

And it dawned on him.

"How old are ya?" he asked suspiciously, looking her up and down.

"Well, thank you for this. But I'm old enough to drink whatsoever alcohol I want."

"Prove it." he demanded. "As a kinda teacher I can't just let..." he said, his eyebrows risen, looking serious at her.

"Oh, stop this!" she said, furrowing her brow.

"This' a school. You won't find good ol' Jack in the kitchen!"

"But you know where he is, right?" she asked hopeful.

"Sure." he said and tugged his hands in his jeans pockets. "Follow!"

It was 3.30 in the middle of the night and Logan and Isobel were sitting in front of several emptied bottles of whiskey, vodka and other alcoholic drinks on the couch and were talking about one thing or another. They had spent the last hour to get them selves as drunk as possible, which didn't work well for either of them. Everyone for own reasons, reasons neither of them exposed.

"Ah've gotta say that you're quite a good drinker for your age." Logan said after he had drowned another shot of vodka, wondering why she was able to keep up with him. Others would have needed an ambulance several glasses ago.

"Thank you. You're coping good yourself, too, for such a young man." she answered resting her head on the far end of the couch, looking at the ceiling.

"Ah'm not that young." he retorted and poured them another drink.

"Don't say this. From my perspective you're a youngster."

"Youngster? In which century are ya living?"

"Well I'm one hundred fifty years old. I may say what ever I want." she said in a snootily voice, sat up and rose her voice up high before she took her drink and drowned it. Logan on the other hand sprayed the whiskey he had drunk all over the table.

"What?"

"Yeah, I'm wondering why I still bother to count the years." she asked herself, tapping the empty shot glass against her chin.

"Hundred and fifty?"

"Hey, didn't your mother told you not to talk about a woman's age like that?" Isobel asked outraged but saw Logan's still unbelieving stare.

"Plus, minus one or two years. Hell, I stopped counting the years." she said astonished, now scratching her chin.

"But how?" he asked. One hundred and fifty years. He thought about the vision or dream or what the hell it might have been and suddenly had the feeling that Isobel really could be the one he had seen.

"God, I don't know myself. I had so many birthdays and apparently I lost track somewhere along the way."

"No, that's not what I meant."

"Oh...oh! That. Well. I am able to control the growing, regeneration and admitted destruction of living cells. And my body somehow seems to control these abilities when it comes to myself." she chuckled a bit but the laugh didn't reach her eyes. "So I'm a healthy hundred fifty year old maid in the body a twenty three year old girl." She let out a snort and watched at the empty bottles. "Well, that's quite the good stuff. I haven't been drunk like this for ages."

He looked at her still unbelieving. If she really was this old she could be able to help sort out some of his past. It would explain why he had seen her in this vision. It would explain why he reacted to her scent. And it would explain why it felt like he'd finally found an old friend. Since their drinking session had started he instinctively knew the she could be trusted, and he trusted hardly anyone. Except for Marie. She had been different from the start. He knew that the girl not only meant no danger but could be trusted as well. Since their first encounter and their shared experiences he had found out that she was somehow his peace.

Suddenly angered that he once again thought about the one person he had tried to avoid think about he slammed his hands over his eyes and began to rub them.

'Marie!' the Wolverine within him began to scream again.

The alcoholic effect seemed to fade off.

"Hey!" Isobel said in a very loud voice and he snapped back to the present time and place.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing!" he answered gruff.

Rising her arms in surrender, she signaled him that she didn't intent to cross anything he didn't want her to and that she won't ask him again.

"I am not stupid enough to mess with you." she said and grinned after lowering her hands again.

Disgruntled he took the last sip of the whiskey bottle. Flinching at the burning sensation that crept down his throat slowly.

Isobel watched Logan carefully and decided to sooth the built up tension.

"So tell me Logan. What makes you one of Charly's precious X-Men?" Isobel asked.

And without any kind of warning, without any sign of action she heard a swishing sound echoing through the empty corridors of the ground floor, and she was startled when she realized where the noise had come from.

Logan held his hand in front of himself and looking, emotionless at the shiny, silver blades that were protruding from his skin.

She gasped so loud when she saw his claws that he turned and looked into a deeply shocked face, her eyes darting back and forth from him to the blades in his hands.

Too shocked for some stranger. He had counted on that effect his claws had on other people but this was unexpected.

"That is not your mutation!" It was more a statement than a question.

"No!" He retracted his claws and showed her his knuckles. The wounds the metal had cut healed in no time and after a blink of an eye it was not visible that the skin has ever been damaged.

"I've got an advanced healing ability." was all he said, still pondering about Isobel's strange reaction.

But before he could ask or do anything else she rose, slightly shaking and wobbly in her walking as she slowly left the room, leaving him alone in the dark living room.

"Uhm...I have got to go...it's late and I have...to...!" Isobel stuttered and ran as fast as she was able to up the stairs and was gone. He heard a distant door being slammed shut.

'Strange, interesting but strange.' Logan thought before rising himself and cleaned the mess they'd left.

"Hell, now I'm the also the damn charwoman." he muttered to himself, when he threw the bottles into the dustbin and walked off to bed.