The years slowly went by. Logan found out that he no longer cared who he had been, who he was or who he might be becoming.
He no longer was Logan but Wolverine once again.
Back to only caring for himself and no other. It just didn't matter anymore. It was if he was an empty shell.
Not long after he left he received a long letter from Ororo telling him that Scott and Marie had been married.
Ripping it in half with his claws he threw it away. He got as drunk as he could that night.
Logan got requests to go on missions with the X-men but he always declined until the invitations stopped coming all together.
One day after a pretty brutal cage fight he made his way back to his hotel room. He was surprised to find a very familiar car parked out front.
He passed the Ice Cube kid who was seated in the drivers seat listening to some music. Logan didn't bother to say hello or even to nod in acknowledgment when he looked his way. And he wasn't the least bit taken aback when he opened his hotel door and found Professor Xavier, who somehow managed to get inside the crammed room with his wheelchair, sitting there looking at him as he entered the dark room.
"Logan." he said offering Wolverine a warm smile.
Wolverine blinked twice, a movement that for anyone that knew him well would have told them he was getting agitated. He hadn't been called Logan in a long while. And it coming from the Professor rubbed him the wrong way.
"What are you doing here?" he asked tersely as he took of his bloody shirt to change into the cleanest he had.
"I've come to talk to you."
"Could have called." he said, slamming his drawer and sitting down on the bed facing Xavier.
"We both now that wouldn't have done any good."
The Professor started to rifle through some of Logan's letters that were on the paint chipped night stand.
"You ever read any of these?" Xavier asked.
"Yea, just haven't found the time lately."
"Some of these are over a year old and still haven't been opened." Xavier flipped through them still looking them over.
"Did you come all this way just to rummage through my things Chuck?" he asked gruffly.
The Professor put the letters back down on the night stand.
"We are worried abut you."
"Its been over two years and suddenly you're worried about me?" Wolverine asked in disbelief.
"I suppose we always believed you were coming back."
"I told you I wasn't." He grated.
"Yes, I suppose you did." Xavier acknowledged, letting out a discontented sigh.
"Did you hear about what happened to the Friends Of Humanity Society?" The Professor inquired of him, changing the subject.
"I heard that most of the organization has been closed down, why do you ask?"
"Because Rogue, with the help of Scott were the ones that did it." He said proudly.
"How's that possible?" Wolverine asked curiously.
The Professor encouraged by his sudden interest continued.
"Well remember all those years ago when she "borrowed" the x jet for her own personal reasons?"
Wolverine nodded.
"Well although she didn't exact her revenge the way she originally planned she still managed to "acquire" through her gift some knowledge from people in the organization that she came in contact with. And with the help of the info she obtained she was able to use it against them to close them down."
"They will be back." he remarked.
"Maybe so," the professor straightened up in his chair "but not for a long time."
They talked for a couple more minutes about nothing in particular and nothing personal. Finally the Professor seeing that he was about to wear out his welcome made his way toward the door.
"You know you are always welcome at the Xavier Institute, and will always be a member of the X-men." he said, stopping beside Logan where he was still sitting on the bed.
"I know." Wolverine got up and opened the door for the Professor.
"How's Marie?" He found himself asking before he could stop himself.
Xavier looked up at him and gave him a small smile.
"Happy." he answered simply.
And then he left.
Shutting the door behind him. Wolverine went back to the bed, slamming his body onto it fiercely.
The bed creaked under his weight. Many silent minutes passed before he rolled over, got up and went to take a shower. Painful thoughts consuming him along the way.
Ten more years passed. Logan still never in one place long enough to start any relationships or gain any friends. Although a lot of the bartenders knew him by name.
Still Wolverine.
He didn't think about the X-men much anymore, they seemed a dim memory, almost a dream. Wolverine would still help out an occasional person here and there which made him feel a little better about himself.
Ever once in a while he would smell someone or see something that reminded him of a certain southern girl. But he would force those thoughts out of his head as fast as they entered.
None of the X-men wrote him anymore and he hadn't seen the Professor since that dark night in the hotel room. Life wasn't good, not even great. But he was living and surviving...
Through all his cage fighting he earned enough money to buy some property.
It was out there far enough away from civilization that Wolverine found himself comfortable. More so than he had in a long time. He built himself a small cottage and actually found himself somewhat content after the first night when he lit a fire in the hearth. He stayed at his cabin whenever the cage fighting was slow.
And so life continued.
Wolverine didn't get much mail. Although still managed to get junk mail. How they got his address was beyond him. He would go to the small town's post office to pick up his mail. Which he would do once a month when he also went to replenish his supplies.
During one of his slow seasons he found himself going back to his cabin, but before heading there he stopped at the post office.
The young teenager girl behind the counter, looked over Logan appreciatively before handing him a pile of letters. On the top was one black letter.
Logan had never seen anything like it.
The girl watched him, expecting him to open it up in front of her he supposed. But he didn't. Walking out of the store he headed to his truck.
Stopping at a trash can he quickly went through his letters, after throwing 99 percent of them away he continued to his vehicle.
Wolverine was left with the one black letter. He looked at where his address was written. A Handwriting he would know anywhere. Its smooth letters and elegant characters telling him right away.
Ororo.
Getting inside his truck and closing the door behind him he quickly ripped it open with one of his claws and then started to read.
Dear Logan,
I know that I haven't written you in a while and that is something for which I am sorry about. And I am also sorry that my first letter after all this time comes with some very sad news.
He noticed that some of the words were stained. She had been crying when she wrote this. He continued to read.
I could try to water the news down for you but you were always one who liked things straight.
Rogue has passed away. It happened so suddenly. Out of the blue . She became violently ill and before the final diagnosis had come in she died.
She had a brain tumor Logan. It seems that the bracelet she always wore that allowed her to touch caused it. Dr., McCoy said she must had been in excruciating pain and he didn't know why she never came to him. Or maybe he does.
We are having her funeral in two weeks. On Sunday the fourteenth. I know that she would have liked you to be there. In fact we all would like you to be.
I hope to see you there and I am deeply and truly sorry. I know how much she meant to you.
With much regret and sadness.
Ororo Monroe.
Wolverine put the letter slowly down on the passenger side of the car. And felt rare tears building up in his eyes.
He then started to roar and curse and then letting out his claws he shredded everything he came in contact with.
After several minutes, he finally calmed down, retracted his claws and let out a long breath. Grabbing the letter again he looked at the date on the letter. It had been written over four months ago. He was too late. Her funeral was already over.
Wolverine started the car which was luckily still working, even after what he had done to it.
He then headed back to New York. Back to Marie... One last time.