-Ok, sorry it took such a ridiculously long time to write this chapter! I've been sick like crazy lately and too dead to write. I've already got plans for the next one so I'll hopefully get to post again within the week. I don't own Logan but Aya is all mine!

Personal thanks to...

GypsyWitchBaby- I'm stealing your shoutouts because I owe you so much! I've already written Logan's breaking point and I must say, I am proud of it! Still working on the in-between though!

needtowrite- Thanks for the Alert add! Yea, I tried really hard on Logan because he's one of my favorites (and Victor!). Thanks!

"Beer. Whatever ya got on tap, and you?" He threw his jacket into the booth and sat down, scowling. "The same for him."

"How old did ya say you were?" He scoped the place out, mentally noting the exits and the distance from here to his truck. He always did that and he never knew why. He was always aware of the exits and how many people he'd have to fight to get out in case of trouble. Just a habit, he'd picked up somewhere. But he couldn't say.

"That is so rude. So, ya never told me what kinda car ya wanted?"

"I'll tell ya when I see one. Now, kid, we gotta lay some ground rules down if you're gonna stick around—,"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Was I not invited? Din't ya say ya wanted me to come with you? Ground rules are fine with me, but I'm settin' 'em. First off, ya eyes wander anywhere lower than my chin again, and you'll wish you were born female. Second, we pay in shifts. It's an equal share. Thirdly, ya cut the personal questions. My shit is my business. Take it or leave it," she snapped. She ticked off her fingers to count each rule. The waitress returned with a tall, foamy glass of beer for each of them. "I'll have a hamburger, well done, with everything on it and a side a onion rings," she said. The waitress smiled and jotted down the order. Logan shooed her away with his hand and scowled at the young woman in front of him.

"You got a funny way of conductin' business little lady," he said, sipping the foam. She picked up a sugar packet and started carefully tearing the edges. "Alright. That's fair. But I get to ask questions, I'm not driving around a serial killer without my knowledge. Like, how are you gonna get me a different car? I don't steal and I ain't afraid of hard work." It wasn't a lie. He worked for all the money he made, except for the gambling. That he did only when he had to.

"I'm not a serial killer, okay? Does that make ya feel better?" she smiled, cocking her head to the side. She rolled her eyes and turned out the window. "Just know I can take care of myself. Been doin' it a long time."

"Obviously. So where'd ya learn to fight like that? A little lady like you isn't just born with it," he said. The woman returned. Aya smiled and took the plate from her.

"Dunno, just decided I'd try it out one day. It started with some girl's fight the bar hosted. I won, and it turned into big ol' guys like you tryin' to get their ass kicked," she said through a mouthful of onion rings. "What about you? Ya said ya fought?"

"Yea, just to get by when jobs were tight. I stopped in there to check it out, but you did enough for me." She chuckled. It was the first time he'd seen her genuinely smile, let alone laugh. And he heard the growl again. It might've sounded like a wheeze to anyone else, but his trained ears told him it was a growl. She polished off her onion rings and looked around. She finished the beer. He downed his and felt the slight tickle of what should've been a buzz. He wondered if she ever felt the same thing. She would've kept growing up though. When he was 18, he could still get drunk. But she didn't seem the slightest.

"So why don't ya have a woman? Men like you always do," she said.

"Travel too much," he said shortly. It was the truth. Whenever he was in town long enough, he would. But even then, it didn't last long.

"'Sat why you're always lookin' down?" she asked, smirking. She took a huge bite of her hamburger, dropped a few bills on the table and stood up. "Keep the change, Margot!" she called.

"You swinging through any time soon, sweetie?" the waitress, Margot, called.

"Probably not! Take care of that baby!" she yelled. She pushed through the swinging door. By the time he'd reached her she was twiddling her thumbs in the truck, waiting impatiently for him. A new scent pricked his overdeveloped nose and made him wonder what she was radiating this time. "Can we go?" she asked angrily as he pried open the door and slid in. He wordlessly shifted into gear and pulled out of the diner parking lot. It was still there, but what was it? Everything about her was different, so he couldn't identify what he smelled. Wait…no, it couldn't be. Fear?

"What's wrong?" he asked. He had to go about this carefully. He couldn't directly ask her what her fear was. He'd never get an answer that way. He glanced at her but her face was against the window. "Kid, I said what's wrong?"

"I heard you!" she snapped. She started jiggling her leg nervously and clicking her tongue stud against her teeth in rhythm. "Nothin'. I just don't feel like bein' here anymore. 'Sat a problem?"

"Nope."

Logan chewed thoughtfully on the end of his cigar. They were near Baltimore. He didn't particularly like Baltimore. He'd been once or twice. He'd found a woman, been to a few bars, and left. Aya hadn't said anything and long ago the steady breathing coming from her side of the car had lost its quiet, purring growl. He assumed she was sleeping. Which, to his inner animal, meant she trusted him. She was willing to enter a vulnerable state with him.

"Are ya gonna turn?" she suddenly huffed. Logan flicked the turn signal on and cut off a semi-truck to reach the exit. "What were ya doin'?" She turned to him, her eyes a flickering orange.

"Thinking. I thought you were asleep," he retorted. She snorted again to say 'as if.' Alright, maybe she didn't trust him. He glanced over at her when they came to a stoplight. She was jiggling her leg nervously and her tongue stud was clicking a little faster than normal. The smell of fear had gone down and switched to a sort of apprehension. "You hungry? Anywhere ya wanna go first?" he asked. He rolled down his window, needing another blast of cold air. He knew that he needed to take a cold shower before the beast within got control and he tried something stupid. But she might've had other ideas.

"I ain't hungry. We gotta find somewhere to stay first," she said. "What can you afford?" He glanced at her again as the light turned green. He turned down a narrow road, packed with cars and taxis. They were near the convention center. She was staring at him, her eyes a shade of pink. She was on the verge of anger he assumed. God, what set this kid off so much? But maybe her emotions were simply spoken through her eyes. His fuse was short too. You just couldn't see it as clearly.

"Wherever you wanna go is fine by me," he said. She rolled her eyes.

"There're too many people here. Stay somewhere less crowded," she ordered. He turned to see her what color they were now but she was facing the window again. He opened his mouth to ask why she wanted to be away from people, especially since she'd agreed to come to the city but he thought against it. Yet another secret to her delicious power. He breathed in her anxiety, her anger and her apprehension, wondering what sort of scents were radiating from his own body and drifting to her oversensitive nose. But he didn't ask. He dared not ask. He made the next turn and headed toward the rougher part of town, away from the tourist destinations and more towards the homeless, prostitutes and drug addicts.

They traveled silently through several city lights. Logan couldn't take his mind off her ability. And the ever growing physical attraction. That wasn't normal. He could stand to be around women without so much as a dirty thought, but with this one, this girl, he was dizzy with attraction. And it started at the instinctive level. He was certain she could sense the pheromones he must've been radiating because without turning she asked, "What are ya starin' at?"

"Nothing," he said. He turned the truck into a sleezy looking motel, sitting next to an abandoned warehouse and a street market. "Is this good?" Without a word, she climbed from the truck and slammed the door. She walked quickly towards the office and with his incredible hearing, the clicking of a tongue ring followed her. He leaned against the truck, arms folding over his chest, his leather jacket stretching tight across his back. He pulled a cigar from the inside of his pocket and chewed the end thoughtfully. He'd have to find more soon. Good cigars weren't like the kid's cheap cigarettes. He couldn't just find them anywhere, so he smoked them carefully. He wondered what he smelled like to her. Was it a lingering musk tainted with cigar smoke?

She had managed to pull a cigarette from somewhere and lit it while returning to the truck. Her eyes were a deep shade of amber and he could smell the anger on her. He grabbed his canvas bag from the truck bed and followed her. He didn't feel so much like a puppy right then, more like the beta male. He was important but she was still the leader. And an angry one.

"Yer 124 and I'm 126. See ya in the mornin'." She handed him his card key and stormed off. He watched her enter the room and slam the door behind her before he crunched across the gravel and opened the door to his room. It was dismally lit with a saggy bed, a small TV and a dirty bathroom. He'd spent nights in worse conditions. He dropped his bag and flopped down on the bed. Was trying to sleep worth it? His nightmares were ever increasing and more intense. But he needed to if he was going to keep driving. He stood up suddenly and shook off his jacket. Then, he sat back down and tugged his boots off slowly, tossing them across the wall to lie with his discarded jacket. He leaned back and closed his eyes, attempted to relax his body and sleep.

He dreamed he was riding a motorcycle over an icy terrain. There was nothing around him: no trees, no river banks, no people. It was just him and the motorcycle. He knew it was a classic one, from before the war. He couldn't remember which war though. Someone suddenly pulled up beside him. He couldn't see their face as it had started to snow. The snow was thick and heavy and freezing cold but the person didn't seem to mind. They kept steady with Logan until the thick snow turned into droplets of blood. He could hear screaming and searched frantically for the person next to him but they were gone. He swerved and stopped, determined to find them. He couldn't leave them behind. As he stepped off his bike, the ice gave way and he fell down, down, down. When he landed, he was in a swimming pool full of heavy plasma liquid. He yelled and pounded his fists on the glass, looking frantically for the person on the other motorcycle. Instead, he saw the haunted faces of people he knew were dead, people he knew he'd killed. Some were Asian with tanned skin and coned straw hats. Others were white men wearing gray wool uniforms and carrying muskets. Still others were wearing a strange symbol on their chests, carrying walkie-talkies and pistols.

"Logan!"

He tried to yell at them, to escape while they still could, but the liquid filled his mouth and poured down his throat. It tasted like metal, like pennies, and he thrashed around. Suddenly, his arms and legs were trapped as the liquid solidified, encasing him.

"Logan!" Logan roared suddenly and sat up, his three Adamantium claws extended in front of him, razor sharp. He panted, blindly searching the room for the person on the motorcycle, the people's faces he'd killed but he only saw Aya. It was just a dream. He sighed and retracted his claws. The bed sheets were balled up on the floor and the pillows laying on the nightstand. He looked from her to the front door. In response, she held up a card key and put her hands knowingly on her bony hips. "Just a dream? Thought you were bein' attacked or some shit." A cigarette was tucked behind her ear. He wanted a drink. A strong, hard drink. That was why he hated sleeping. That was what happened. He closed his eyes and a million things from the forgotten past flooded his brain in broken, senseless memories.

"Nightmare," he muttered. He stood and snatched his boots from the floor. He started to pull them on. "How'd you hear me two rooms away?"

"Ya were real loud," she shrugged. But he knew she was lying. It was her ability. He looked up at her as he tugged his boots on.

"Get some sleep kid, we'll figure out where we're goin' in the morning." She stared at him for a long while. The animal in him felt it was a threat, a surveying of any challengers he might have. The man in him thought it was curiosity, an observation of the enemy. Either way it was game tactics and he had to prove this moment of weakness had not changed anything. "Kid, are ya gonna stand there all night? Go to bed." He stood and walked to the bathroom. He bent at the sink and splashed water on his face. He listened for the gentle creak of the door and her retreating footsteps. But when he stepped back into the main room, she was sitting on the tumble of sheets, flipping channels on the TV. The lamp was off; the glow of the TV illuminated her wide eyes and thin limbs tangled amongst the sheets.

"If I paid for this shit, I can stay wherever I please," she said without turning to look at him.

"If I pay ya back, does it mean ya leave?" he asked, pulling his wallet out and tossing it on the floor in front of her. A growl resonated in her chest and her eyes flashed a vibrant rouge. Whether she meant to or not, the growl was audible and threatening; it's depth and level astounded Logan. He didn't think she would be able to strike fear into him. It wasn't petrifying but it definitely unnerved him.

"Test me, Logan." She hadn't turned to look at him. She tossed his wallet back up on the bed and stared, straight-backed and unblinking at the TV. Logan sank down on the bed and laid back, his body tense and buzzing. Her scent overpowered him and he slipped back into sleep.