Disclaimer: I don't own Logan or anything X-Men...20th Century Fox and Marvel have that honor...i'm just borrowing them for my own nefarious purposes.

Chapter 2.

(Logan)

It seems like all you've been doing the past 15 years is run. You ran naked, covered in blood out of a chamber of horrors into the vast whiteness of a Canadian winter. Later, you ran from civilization, because it was too hard to be around so many people when you didn't feel half as human as they were. Most recently, you ran from the first place you thought you might be able to call home because it was easier than dealing with the painful reminders that assaulted you wherever you went. But you've also been running from yourself.

Fifteen years of memories are all you have, although you feel so much older than that. Most of the memories you do have are memories of pain, of horror. Everything previous to that is a blank slate, as though you sprang fully formed from that tank, having never lived before. Sometimes you wonder if that might not be true, except that your body knows things which your mind has no recollection of learning. And those things aren't the kinds of things that you get without years of practice. So, there has to be a life that happened before you became the thing you are today.

As you sit in yet another run-down bar, nursing the latest in a long string of beers, you wonder if you'll ever find the truth. But you also wonder if the truth is worth it. You are very good at what you do, probably the best, but what you do isn't nice, not by a longshot. So you drink your beer and wonder if the killer was always inside you or if someone made you that way.

Finally sick of sitting here and arguing with yourself, you stand, throw some money down and stalk out of the bar. You straddle the borrowed motorcycle and kick it into life with a roar, heading down a road that seems just as dark as every road before it. You don't know where you'll end up this time; you just let your instincts carry you on your way. After all, they've never led you astray before. Maybe they'll lead you somewhere with a little more light this time.

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I couldn't believe what I just heard. Did this woman I'd known for less than half an hour really know me? Did she really call me by name? There were only 3 explanations for this: She was a telepath, she was with the government and this place was a very elaborate front, or she honestly knew who I was. Since this is me we're talking about, I assumed the worst.

"What?" I asked, not trying to keep the menace out of my voice.

"I said…" she began, but I cut her off.

"I heard what you said." I pitched my voice low, so I wouldn't be overheard. The odd thing was, her scent didn't give off anything like fear. She wasn't afraid of me, not even a little. "Who are you?"

Her eyes held a look of mixed anger, surprise and confusion as she searched my face. I don't know what she was looking for, but all I was about to give was the patented Wolverine scowl. "What the fuck does that mean?" She snapped loudly. "You don't remember me?" She turned away, scowling. "Well isn't that just fucking rich."

Her burly bartender came striding over to the table and took up a defensive position behind her. "Everything ok bosslady? Need this asshole taken care of?"

I started to get out of my chair, ready to put this musclehead through a wall, but the woman put a hand on my arm to stop me. "No, Ricky. It's all right. Everything's fine, nothing I can't handle." I'm sure she was thinking that she was saving me from getting my ass kicked. Or maybe she knew she was saving him, if she really did know me. Either way, I sat back down, slowly, never taking my eyes off of him. He looked me up and down, snorted and went back behind the bar.

I turned back to the woman and fixed her with an icy stare. "I won't ask you nicely again. Who are you?" She ran nervous fingers through her hair, clenching it in the front like it hurt her. I was already sick of this cat and mouse shit, so I reached over and grabbed her wrist. "Who the fuck are you?"

She looked up at me and it seemed as though something connected in her mind. "You really want to know?" I nodded once. "Fine." She jerked her arm out of my hand and stood up. "Come on. Come with me."

"What? Why?" I was instantly suspicious. "Where the fuck do you think you're takin' me?"

She sighed. "Upstairs. My apartment is up there. There's something I need to show you." I narrowed my eyes at her and didn't move. She sighed again. "Look, I swear to you, this isn't some kind of a trick, a trap or a ploy. I don't have a platoon of people lurking in the alley hoping to get their hands on you. It'll be just you and me, in my apartment. If you don't like what I have to say, you can trash the place for all I fucking care. I can afford it."

I considered what she said very carefully. None of my senses gave me any indication that she was being anything but honest. But really, what were the chances that I'd ever find anyone who genuinely knew me and in Detroit of all places? I'd spent more time in the States in the past month than I'd spent in the previous 15 years. I took her measure. Just barely over 5 feet tall and she looked like she weighed 100 pounds soaking wet. Her hair was a light brown color streaked with an unnatural shade of bright red and she wore it long. Now that it occurred to me to look at her closely, I saw that she was very attractive. Of course, at least part of that was the attitude she gave off. I can't help it I've always had a weakness for strong women. Still, attitude or not, she'd never be able to take me in a fight, fair or otherwise, so I made my decision. "All right." I growled. "But I swear, if this is some kind of trick little girl, I'll…"

She cut me off. "I'm not a little girl." She said, glaring at me as she stood. I followed suit and we stood there for a moment, glare to scowl. She gave a little snort, turned and went into a walk in cooler behind the bar. She emerged a moment later with a 12 pack of beer and gestured for me to follow her. "Hey Ricky." She said over her shoulder. "I'm turning in for the night. Close up for me, would you?"

"Sure thing, bosslady." He replied with a smirk. "I'll take care of the deposits. Try not to disturb the neighbors." She flipped him off (which made him chuckle), took some keys out of her pocket and opened the door she'd vanished behind earlier.

I followed her into what had to be her office. It was really the stairwell that led to the upper level, which told me she must own the whole building. There had to have been some remodeling done, otherwise the massive computer desk would have never fit in there otherwise. The computer setup was impressive, to say the least. The only other furnishings were the chair behind the desk and a filing cabinet. I made note of a door that probably led to the alley next to the building. It appeared to be made out of steel, probably solid, and it had 3 deadbolts on it. Well, this was Detroit after all, you could never be too careful when you're a woman living alone above a bar you own. I also noticed the keypad next to the door, which she punched a code into. I correctly assumed it was an alarm.

She went up the stairs, still rattling her keys and I followed close behind her. She was obviously very security conscious, because she had to have at least 3 locks on this door as well. She finally pushed the door open and preceded me into the apartment. A small entry hall led into a decently sized living room. The carpet was a silvery gray color and all the furniture was black leather, chrome or glass except for a narrow cabinet in one corner. That was about 6 feet tall and lacquered in a bright red. Other small touches of red were scattered about, which kept the place from looking completely monochrome. Hell, if I ever had my own apartment, I'd probably decorate it the same way. As I made my way further in, I noticed the kitchen off to the right and from what I could see, the color scheme continued in there. Another short hall to the left led to what I assumed were the bathroom and bedroom.

She kicked off her boots and sat down at one end of the sofa. I remained standing for a while, trying to detect anything that would be amiss in this situation. The only strong scents in the place were the two of us, the only sounds the ones you'd expect to hear in an apartment above a bar. I decided that everything was probably all right, took off my jacket and threw it in an armchair before sitting at the opposite end of the couch. I looked over and she was holding out another Waterloo, an open one in her other hand. I took it and popped it open.

"Who are you?" I asked, taking a sip of the beer. It really was good stuff.

"Angela Rex, who are you?" She snapped.

"Ya know, that's not exactly an answer, darlin'." I said. "Names don't mean shit. I should know."

"Yeah well, what can I say? It's not every day that someone I haven't even seen in over 15 years comes walking into my bar like some damn ghost." She tipped her beer back and downed at least a third of it. "I honestly thought you were dead." She added quietly.

"And why would you think I'd be dead?" I asked cautiously.

"Because the world isn't so big that I wouldn't have run across you before this. And if I know you, you'd never leave North America for love or money."

"Exactly how well do you think you know me?"

"Now, that all depends. Do you remember anything? Anything at all?" She'd turned in her seat, curling her legs beneath her like a cat. "I mean there has to be something left." I still got no sense of fear from her and there was no indication that she was being dishonest.

"That depends on what you're talkin' about." I said evasively.

"How about I put your stubborn little mind at ease, ok?" I raised an eyebrow, but gestured for her to continue. "I know you're a mutant. I know you have claws. I know you have metal all through your body." I glared at her, once again extremely suspicious. "But before I tell you how I know, I want to know what you actually remember."

I still had no sense that this was some kind of setup. However, it was still a risk to tell her anything. But for some damn strange reason, I also had the sense that I could trust her. I decided to play it straight. "Not much, really." I said. "I remember some kinda lab with this tank in it. I'm in there and someone's cuttin' me open, doin' shit to me." I swallowed hard. "And I remember pain, lots of pain then lots of blood." I closed my eyes, concentrating. "I remember the snow, being cold. There's a lot that's just a blur, but I know I moved around a lot, took jobs here and there for quick cash for a while. I don't remember much that makes sense before about 15 years ago." I opened my eyes and sat back, taking a long drink from my beer. "I can say that I don't remember you, not at all. Which probably means I'm a fuckin' idiot for tellin' you any of this."

She shook her head. "No, you're not an idiot. I promise you, I'm not trying to trick you or anything. I have just as much reason to be invisible as you do." She tilted back her beer and finished it, then grabbed another. "I just got sick to death of hiding in the dark and decided to hide in the open instead."

I finished my beer and she handed me another. "Ya know I'm still no closer to knowin' who you are than I was when we came up here." I said, cracking open the bottle. "All this evasive bullshit is gettin' really old really quick darlin'."

She moved a little closer to me and leaned forward. "Do you really want to know what I know? Does it matter that much to you?"

"Would I have asked you if it fuckin' didn't?" I replied, raising my voice. "I have a whole life that happened before all that other shit and damn it I want to know if any of it's worth rememberin'! There has to be somethin' back there!"

She nodded and stood up, crossing to the red cabinet in the corner. She removed her keys from her pocket again, but she turned to me before opening it. "Fine. I'll show you what I have. But I'm not sure how you're going to take it. Just remember, I warned you." She unlocked the door and it swung open easily. I couldn't really see what was in there from where I sat, but the smell of sandalwood filled my nose. She took something down from a shelf and closed the doors before returning to the sofa. This time, she sat down right next to me. I saw that she held a small black lacquered box in her lap, about the size of a cigar box, and I noticed that this was the source of the sandalwood. She half raised the lid before looking at me again. "Logan, I can't really tell you anything about before I met you. You never liked to talk about your past. But I can tell you that you've been around a lot longer than you can imagine. And you're not the only one who's been altered." She reached into the box and pulled out a few items: a silver ring, a little cat figurine and a photograph. It was the last thing that she pulled out that almost stopped my heart. It was a steel tag on a metal ball chain and I recognized it. My hand was shaking as I took it from her, running a thumb over the characters pressed into it. There was a serial number and a word, "Hellcat". I looked at her in shock. "Logan, I was there too and I owe you my life."

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AN: Thanks to anyone who's read this...i actually have a rough of the whole thing completed, i'm just going through and reworking the flow and stuff...also, see that little thing down that what says "review"? If you click it and write some stuff in the box that appears, i'll do the happy dance for 15 minutes...:) Special thanks to Miss Lover Girl for my first review!