Disclaimer: I'd advise you all to stay off of the roads for... oh, the next seventy years or so. The disclaimer is learning how to drive. Repeat: disclaimer on the road! Disclaimer on the road! For the love of heaven, people, move!

A/N: Thank you to everyone that has been reviewing the older fics under my name. I don't get a chance to reply to your reviews because those stories have already ended – with the possible exception of Hazard – so I'm taking the opportunity now to bow down in absolute gratitude. :)

~ Lucky439, T., roryrogue, Ning Ning, Lady Unlucky, KatLeBeau, Lemon Parade, Makura Koneko – Karaoke anyone? A sure-fire way to make idiots of ourselves! Well... out of me, at least. But that'll be fun, too! :)

~ Disturbed Courtney – *returns to gutter* I definitely agree with you on the Remy oozing sensuality front. But wouldn't it be all the better mixing that Cajun with foreplay? Oh wait... image entering my brain... fantasy starting up... aaaannnddd yup, you've officially lost me. I'm gonna need a minute... (hour... year... ;)

~ Amber Myst – You'd be surprised. This writing-by-the-seat-of-my-pants method is giving me more trouble than I'd care to admit. I'm getting stuck an awful lot, whereas before – with the planned chapters and plot – I had a goal to reach, something to achieve with each installment. Here I don't have that, and I'm writing blindly. It's frustrating as hell, to be honest. And the plot bunnies have all but beaten me into a bloody pulp!

~ Green Eyed Lilys Daughter – Hmph! Logan's getting all Hollywood star on us, eh? Get a couple of hit movies, and it all goes to his head... So, you're saying you're against a sequel to Hazard? Really? 'Cause I had plans of continuing that fic eventually... hopefully... :)

~ Eileen Blazer – Bodies?! Are you starting your own mortuary? *Leans in close and whispers* Do you take in plot bunnies?

~ xxFleurdelySxx – You're being French fascinates me because, if you wanted to, you could write an entire conversation between, let's say, Remy and Henri, and have it be completely authentic. While the rest of us would be using a translator that wouldn't be half as good. Btw, I was wondering, when writing chèrie – is that the correct accent? Or is it written chérie? That's been bugging me for the longest time because I'm so used to typing the first one.

~ girl4chat86 – Well, if you get any dizzier from this fic, the bunnies have a supply of barf bags stored somewhere. I think they were planning to make the readers sick all along...

~ Rupeshwari – Your hotmail add is on the Hit List, so I don't really know why you aren't getting notified whenever there's an update. Unless you've changed your email address? Or maybe it is a conspiracy, and the bunnies are stealing all your mail! ... I know what you mean about the sibling-embracing thing. I'm not so physically affectionate with my brother either. But I know that other people are like that, so I guess Logan and Rogue fall in that category...

~ Christy S – Well, that's the problem with spell-checkers; they won't pick up on the 'brain' thing since technically speaking, it wasn't misspelled. Just a result of going over the chapter so much that my own eyes missed it. Or the bunnies could have switched them around. Personally, I'm going with the latter theory.

~ melancholic – Ooh, I think the power company wants to speak to you about that little global blackout you caused... :)

~ ishandahalf – 1) Well, I know you're on vacation right now – and yes, I purposely uploaded when you weren't around! Bwahaha! ;) – so you won't even get to read this until you get back... Good luck with playing fan fic catch-up! 2) Ooh, Logan so heard you and that 'fluffy puppy' comment! Run, woman, run! While you still can!

~ Ledophole – Ahh, we'd be lucky if the interval between these chapters is just two weeks. If we followed Hazard's schedule then we'd be waiting an entire month, if not more! As for Marie... well, I have to save some information for the sequel! How anti-climatic would that be if I just came right out and told you? All I'm gonna say is, it ain't pretty, and leave it at that... ;)

~ missy42 – 1) And I miss typing your name in the little responses at the beginning of each chapter! Draco and the gang miss you, too. They keep grumbling that you don't come to the poker games anymore – and that I'm the only shmuck around to win money from... 2) *sigh* I miss Broadway's writing. She kind of left us hanging with a number of her fics. Grrr... 3) Thanks for the recommendation! I've never actually heard that song before, but when you mentioned it I went hunting for the complete lyrics. And you're right, I can work that in for the first part of the story. It's already helping me to expand on my original ideas. Here's hoping that I get around to actually writing it! Thanks again! :)

~ Panther Nesmith – *surveys parking lot* So, I'm guessing you didn't want to keep at least one of those cars for yourself? Not even the silver Ferrari in the corner? Or the red Lamborghini in the back? ;)

~ Mag Carter – You know, I was debating whether or not to make Frank, Frank Castle a.k.a. The Punisher. Both are dark-haired and well built. I still don't know... Maybe if it serves some kind of purpose later in the story. But so far, both Frank and Jimmy are OC's, as is Sal, Miles and Brian.

~ Goddess Evie – What about those puffy cotton tails or the long fuzzy ears? Can't the bunnies type with those?

~ Marie – Yeah, let's do that! I'll get the rum, you bring the island! ;)

CHAPTER 4
Bells and Blows

The first punch was a sharp left to the side of the head, followed immediately by a right hook to the body. Then came a succession of blows, one right after the other, so quick it barely gave his opponent time to breathe much less counterattack. He shouldn't have been doing this well. He shouldn't have been landing this many hits. He should have been knocked out flat on his back, the other fighter towering over him in victory.

But he wasn't on the floor.

And he was winning.

Despite the three-inch, twenty-pound difference.

And damn, did it feel good.

His right fist came up again, making merciless contact with the taller man's jaw. The sound was sickening. Loud. Cracking. Blood flying from the corner of the other man's mouth and splattering the pure white fabric of a woman's blouse in the front row. An apology rose to the forefront of his brain but never made it to his lips. His mama raised him right; manners were important. Especially where women were concerned. But manners didn't have a place in the fighting ring. Manners got you broken bones and bloody body parts. In this case, it almost got him his spleen handed back to him.

He sidestepped, dodging the clumsy punch aimed for his face. Raising his arm, he brought his elbow down onto his opponent's skull, just above his ear. The man swayed on his feet slightly, before collapsing to his knees, and eventually the floor.

The crowd roared.

The bell sounded.

He'd won.

From where he sat on the sidelines, Logan couldn't help but feel impressed. He wouldn't admit that out loud, of course, but he felt it nonetheless. He and the boys hadn't thought much of the kid when he approached them about fighting in one of the night's bouts. He was little more than a toothpick, in Logan's opinion - more skin and bones than actual flesh. They were going to refuse his application, save him the trip to the hospital's emergency room at one o'clock in the morning. But the kid was insistent, claiming he was a better fighter than he looked. Logan grunted. Kid had actually been telling the truth. He wasn't just blowing smoke out of his ass.

Logan watched as the kid stepped out of the cage, leaving his unconscious opponent on the floor. Some of the men in the crowd were patting him on the back in cheery congratulations as he passed. In truth, they were more ecstatic with their betting results rather than with the winner himself, but the kid knew that. He nodded politely, and continued on his way toward the main table. Halfway there, he was met by the bar's owner.

"Not bad, kid," greeted Logan, tossing him a clean towel. "Not bad at all."

"Thanks."

"What'd you say yer name was?"

"Sam. Sam Guthrie." He hesitated, not quite sure how to say what he wanted to say. He decided to be blunt. Logan seemed the type that liked blunt. "So, can Ah fight here again?"

Logan snorted, puffing on his cigar. "You got brass, hayseed. I like that." He handed the boy a thick, white envelope. "Sure, you can fight again... on one condition."

Sam's hand hovered over the envelope, cautious of the 'condition.' If the price of this gig turned out to be too steep, he'd walk away, no matter how much he could make with only one night's work. There were other things more important than the money cage fighting could offer. "An' what's that, sir?"

"You tell me what it is yer fightin' so damned hard for."

He hadn't been expecting that. "Excuse me?"

"There's somethin' yer tryin' ta protect. Someone, actually." Logan nodded, as if confirming the statement with himself. "Someone important ta you."

Sam shook his head. "With all due respect, sir, where are you gettin' this from?"

"I've seen that look b'fore, kid... in the mirror. It's raw determination mixed with the stubbornness o' ten jackasses. Stubbornness 'cause if you fail, it ain't only you goin' down but someone else, too." He pointed over his shoulder to a young woman with auburn and white hair, laughing along with a table full of people. "That's who I was protectin'." His eyes softened, as if he was remembering past events. Judging by his expression, they were bittersweet memories. Then, just as suddenly, his gruff demeanor returned. "One stupid mistake an' she would've taken the fall with me. I was fightin' jus' as hard as you are ta make sure that didn' happen."

"You were a fighter then?"

Logan nodded. "Fer seven years. It ain't a pretty life, but it's good money. Enough ta take care o' the ones that count."

"So, she's yoah...?"

"Sister." Logan smirked, suddenly recognizing the thought that was flitting through the younger man's mind. "Hey, I ain't some dirty old man who's inta cradle snatchin'."

Afraid that he'd unconsciously offended him, Sam stammered, "O' course not, sir. It's jus' that... well..."

"We don' much look alike?"

"Well, yeah..."

"Yeah, we get that a lot." Taking another puff of his cigar, he explained, "Technically, we're half-siblings. Kid looks like her mom... tall, leggy brunette. Me? I take after the old man." Logan's hand shot out, snatching two beers from the tray that a passing waitress was carrying.

The waitress turned angrily, ready to chew the person out, when she recognized her employer and quickly shut her mouth. She left without a word, but Logan's heightened senses caught her grumbling under her breath about another trip back to the bar.

He handed one of the beers to Sam and led him to the nearest vacant table. "Don' know why I'm spillin' my guts out to you, kid. Usually ain't this loose-lipped. Maybe it's 'cause I like you. You remind me o' me." He raised the beer bottle to his lips and took a hearty swig. "So, who is it?"

"Huh?"

"Who're you gettin' all bloodied up fer? A girlfriend? A wife? A kid?"

"Actually... a sister." Sam took his own deep drink from his beer. "Mah sister, Paige. She's fifteen."

"An' that would make you...?"

"Twenty."

"You runaways?"

"No," replied Sam, shaking his head. "Well, not by choice anyway."

Logan raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.

Sam hesitated. This man was a virtual stranger. He'd only met him earlier that afternoon. But he seemed nice enough, trustworthy... honorable.

"There were these men..." he began shakily. Logan could tell that the memories were fresh, still raw on his nerves. Whatever it was, it had been recent. "Mah daddy borrowed some money from them. He didn' really have much o' a choice. There were eight o' us kids ta feed, an' his job in the mines wasn't hardly enough. The men came ta collect an' Pa jus' didn' have it all..." Sam looked away, but not before Logan saw the pain in his eyes. "They made it look like a gas leak... Paige an' Ah were comin' home from the late shift..."

Though he wasn't much of the sentimental type, Logan gripped the younger man's shoulder in sympathy. To lose your entire family... just like that? He didn't even want to imagine it. He already went berserk when someone even looked at Rogue or Ororo funny. What more if someone actually took them away from him? He wanted to growl at the prospect.

"I'm sorry, kid," he murmured instead. "I really am."

"Thank you." Sam tried to cover up his sudden vulnerability with another swig of beer. "We're okay – Paige an' Ah... we're doin' okay."

"She still in school?"

"Yes, sir. She'll be a junior come fall."

"That's good. School's important an' everythin'." Logan's cigar stopped midway to his mouth. "Where is she now?"

"In our apartment, down on Fisher Street."

"Fisher Street? That's a rough neighborhood, kid. That ain't no place fer yer sister."

"Believe me, sir, Ah know. Once we get a li'l bit more money, we'll look fo' a better place. Somewhere nice."

"You could stay here."

Sam was shocked. "Excuse me?"

The look on Logan's face must have matched Sam's. The older man had no idea where those four words had come from, or why they seemed to have exited his mouth. He wasn't in the habit of inviting anyone to stay with them. Why was he starting now?

"Through that door is our house an' some o' the private offices," he said slowly, testing the words out on his tongue. It didn't feel wrong saying them. In fact, it actually felt right. Logan hadn't been lying when he told Sam that he reminded him of his younger self. If the kid was just trying to provide for himself and his sister, then he could use all the help he could get. "We got plenty o' room. Wouldn't be a problem."

"Ah... Ah don' know what ta say..." The offer was more than generous. After their family's deaths, the bank had taken the house and most of their furniture, leaving Sam and Paige with next to nothing of worth. They'd left Kentucky not only to escape their father's loan sharks, but also to find work. They'd only barely managed to get by. And with the increasing cost of Paige's school needs, it wouldn't have been long until they couldn't even afford the beaten-down, one-room apartment they were currently residing in. "Not ta be rude or anythin'," Sam continued, "but why would you open yoah home ta someone you jus' met a few hours ago?"

Shrugging, Logan replied, "Beats the hell out o' me, kid." He tapped his nose. "You don' smell like trouble. In fact, you smell as clean as they come. I'm goin' on my instincts here, an' they're never wrong."

Sam was sorely tempted to say yes. He wanted to get Paige out of their neighborhood as fast as possible. But if this place wasn't any better... He glanced at the girl with the auburn and white hair. Though she was roughly his age, she reminded him of his sister. Charming, sweet and smiling. Logan noticed the direction his gaze had wandered, and half-turned as well. Sam caught that softened expression once again, and knew that there wasn't anything to worry about. They would be safe there.

"Can Ah run yoah offer by Paige first? See how she feels 'bout it all?"

"Sure, kid, jus' let me know." Logan stood, draining the last of his beer. "Bring her around sometime. Let her see the place." Holding out his hand, he said, "You got a fight tomorrow. Midnight sharp."

"Yes, sir," Sam said, rising and then shaking the older man's hand.

With a curt nod, Logan turned and made his way back to the main table.

- oOo -

"What is that, Remy, your fifth beer?" Ororo inquired, approaching the Cajun who'd gone to the bar for another drink. When standing, he was a good four inches taller than her. But as he sat perched on a bar stool, they came to about the same height. "Are you not intoxicated yet?"

"Still t'inkin' straight, chère, so I'm guessin' dat's a no." He winked cheekily at her.

"Well, since you're still lucid, perhaps you'd like to explain this to me?" She held in her hand the table napkin with the phone number and lipstick mark.

"What would you like me t' explain? How dey made de napkin, or how dey get dose cute li'l designs on de top?"

"How about why you find it necessary to jump from one woman to the next?"

"I don' 'jump,' chère, I glide. De femmes jus' seem t' follow along."

"Remy..."

He made an extravagant show of sighing. "We've been down dis road b'fore, 'Ro. I am like I am, an' you don' approve. T'ought we'd covered dis already."

"Yes, we have, but..." She sighed herself, taking one of his hands into her own. "I just want you to be happy."

"I am happy, 'Ro. As much as a t'ief like me c'n be."

She caught his gaze and whispered softly, "Are you really, Remy? Truly? It doesn't seem so to me."

"'M sorry if we all can't be sickeningly in love, like you an' Logan... Wolverine... Patch... I-have-more-names-dan-my-maman-could-fit-on-de-birth-certificate over dere."

She smiled despite herself. "You're impossible."

"An' you love me f'r it."

"Goddess, help me, I do." She leaned forward and kissed him on the temple. "Are you staying here tonight?"

He smirked. "You ask me dat ev'ry night an' I always say de same t'ing: 'I got somewhere else t' be.'"

"Remy, it's almost three o'clock in the morning - "

"' – an' it's way past ya bedtime, young man,'" he joked, teasing her with a matronly sounding voice. "I'm a grown boy, chèrie. C'n take care o' myself."

"You never let me win an argument, do you?"

"Not if I c'n help it, no."

"One of these days, I will follow you just so that I can see for myself how you spend your nights."

He turned wide, shocked eyes to her. "Mademoiselle, I'm speechless. Didn' know you were inta watchin'. Dat's kind o' kinky."

She slapped him lightly on the arm before changing the subject. "It seems strange that this place is so quiet, after being so loud only a few hours ago."

Remy followed her gaze around the bar. True, most of the audience had gone home after the fights were through for the night. Only a handful of regulars and some betting winners had stayed for another round of alcohol. "Kind o' feels like a ghost town, don' it? Scott, Jimmy an' Frank headed home 'bout an hour ago. Ice-Pick stickin' around?"

"That's unlikely, unless he's too drunk to get himself a taxi. Though Sal will probably do that for him."

"What about Miles an' de baby?"

"Brian," she corrected with a small smile. "They left as well, just after the fight. Apparently, his young cousin has a curfew that they were thirty minutes late for."

"What about you, chère? Poppa Logan got you on a curfew, too?"

She shot him a stern look, though there was a definite twinkle in her eye. "What makes you so sure that I am not the one setting the curfew for him?"

Remy grinned at that. "A dominatrix, are you, 'Ro? Who would've thought?"

Before Ororo could reply, a distinct voice carried itself across the room - a distinct voice with a prominent Mississippi accent.

"Ah do have mah own apartment, Logan," Rogue declared hotly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I know you do, darlin', but it's three a.m. an' yer apartment's clear across town. Yer stayin' here fer the rest o' the night." He snuffed out his cigar and stood, clearly ready to face off with his sister.

"Ah'll take one o' th' cars then. Be home in twenty minutes, tops."

"An' get jumped while gettin' from the car ta the parkin' garage elevator?" He snorted. "Yeah, right."

"You realize Ah've been livin' on mah own fo' three years now, right? Ah can get to an' from someplace without anythin' happenin' ta me."

"It only takes one time, kid."

"You can't stand over me twenty-four/seven, you know."

"Watch me."

Rogue threw her hands up. "Oh mah Lord, yoah impossible!"

He glared at her, his expression serious. "Better that than havin' some flatfoot knock at my door, tellin' me that yer lyin' face down in some ditch at the side o' the road."

She glared her own daggers back at him, mainly because she had nothing to retort with. He always had to end with that. How could you win against something like that?

"Perhaps," interrupted Ororo, approaching the two, "Remy could bring Rogue home? After all, he is on his way out as well."

Rogue rolled her eyes. "Never mind then," she mumbled testily. "Ah'll be safer in mah old room than in a car with him fo' twenty whole minutes." She walked over to her brother. "Ah'm still pissed at you, y'know."

He grunted. "What else is new?" Wrapping his right arm over her shoulders, he pulled her close. "Night, kid."

"Mornin', Logan." She smiled, though he couldn't see it. It was an old joke between them, born out of the countless times when the early morning became their night, and the early night became their morning. Rogue turned to the others, and called, "Night, y'all."

- oOo -

Nearly an hour later, Rogue stepped out of her bathroom with nothing but a towel wrapped around her body and another working the moisture out of her hair. It always felt strange to be back in her old room. It was familiar, and yet... not. As if she had grown, but it hadn't. She couldn't really explain it.

Maybe Ah shouldn't even try, she thought as she settled down in front of the mirror. Maybe it's jus' too complicated fo' a night when Ah'm so beat. It felt like the weeks of late-night cram sessions and last-minute requirements were catching up to her. The bath had helped, but her body still felt heavy, weary.

A tinkling noise caught her attention and she started. The sound was out of place in the otherwise silent house. A chill ran up her spine. She tried to narrow down the possible sources of the disturbance. Logan and Ororo's room down the hall? One of the rooms downstairs? The windows?

She turned, squinting to concentrate on the shapes dancing through her wispy curtains. Wind chimes. She'd forgotten about them. They were a graduation gift from a high school friend.

Sighing, she picked up a brush and began running it through her damp cinnamon locks. They pressed close to her scalp, ridding the strands of their ever-present curl. A memory suddenly floated into her mind.

"Momma! Momma! Ah found it!" a cheery six-year-old voice called. "Momma!"

Her mother smiled at her, brilliant, beautiful emerald green eyes shining down. "All right, sugah, sit here. Right in front of me."

The little girl obeyed, climbing onto the large wooden chest at the foot of the bed. "How many times we gots ta brush it again, Momma?" She sat up straighter as the brush glided through her hair.

"Fifty times. Do you know how many fifty is?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "Logan showed me. It's this many," she held up ten fingers, "but lots more."

Chuckling slightly, her mother said, "That's right, sweetie. It's that many. But if you want yoah hair really pretty, you should brush it one hundred times."

Her small face scrunched up in a frown. "How many's one hundred, Momma?"

"Well... it's this," her mother reached around her and spread out the little girl's hands once again, "but lots, lots more."

"But that's a lot!" she protested, pouting slightly. "What if we break th' brush?"

Her mother laughed. "Well then, we'll just have ta ask yoah daddy ta get you a new one, now won't we?"

Rogue smiled as the image of her mother faded into the recesses of her mind. It had been a while since she'd thought of her. Much too long, actually. Was it possible that she was slowly forgetting her parents altogether? Forgetting who they were, or even what they looked like?

But that's silly, she said to herself as she studied her reflection in the mirror. Ah can't possibly fo'get what Momma looks like. Not when Logan keeps tellin' me how much Ah look like her.

Rogue was so intent in her thoughts that she never sensed the other presence in the room. Not until a hand clamped itself firmly over her mouth, preventing her from making any sound.


*looks right, looks left, then steps forward and hugs cliffhanger*
It just wasn't the same without you!

What is with these characters?! All of them seem to keep popping up without so much as a by your leave!
*grumble, grumble*

Quick note that I forgot to mention in the earlier chapters: The name 'Patch' is actually an alias that Logan used to go by in the comics. Especially when he was in Madripoor, if I'm not mistaken.

And lastly, sad to say, I might not have much time for fan fiction in the coming months – No! NO! NO! *breaks down and cries.* I might be starting a new job this week, and I don't think they'd like it very much if I spent all my time reading and writing fics. Dammit! There's got to be a job out there somewhere that let's me do that...