Chapter 3: Wolverine

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"The Mafia. I can't believe we're wasting our time following the Mafia. Don't we have any super-villains to take on?"

"The vigilante hasn't gone after any super-villains, Wolverine. He's gone after the regular criminals, mostly human. Now perhaps we should talk about something else, for fear anyone should hear us?" Nightcrawler ducked his head further under the hood he wore and glanced around the restaurant nervously. Logan rolled his eyes.

"We don't even know if he's coming. I don't see why he'd interfere with mob warfare anyway. It's not like either side is innocent." Logan picked up his absurdly small soup spoon, gave up on it, and lifted the whole bowl to his mouth. Over the brim he could see a grey-haired woman at the next table giving him a disgusted look, and he slurped a little more loudly.

"I'm afraid not everyone here is guilty of something," Nightcrawler said in his annoyingly soft voice, pointing at something.

"Yeah, I wouldn't be too sure of that. How do you know—" Logan followed the blue length of his finger, and the soup bowl fell from his hands with a loud clatter.

"What the hell," he started, rising from his chair. In the far corner, by herself in a small booth, sat Rogue—or Marie, as he'd been calling her over the last year. She sat with her profile towards them, that white strand of hair that still pained him to see framing her face. He'd have recognized her anywhere, and now he could even pick out her smell, that flowery, milky soap she used mixed with the faintest bit of sweat. He took a deep breath and tried to keep from getting too angry, but when he stood over her and she looked up, eyes widening, he couldn't help feeling a little gratified by her fear. "Did you think I wouldn't see you following me?"

"Logan! Oh my god, I swear, I'm not following you. What are you doing here?"

"Don't try to pull that one on me, Marie, I know you better than that."

"Then you should know that I respect your wishes and that I wouldn't try to follow you when you'd asked me not to. This is just a—a crazy coincidence."

"Oh please," Logan slid into the booth across from her, glancing around quickly to make sure that nothing was going down yet. He'd have to get her out of here as soon as possible, but first, he wanted her to fess up. "You've always followed me when I told you not to."

"Years ago, when I was a kid, Logan! Damn it, will you never listen to me? I'm not the child you met in that boxing hall."

"Reaching your eighteenth birthday doesn't mean you're not a kid. I've lived long enough to know that it's not a simple matter of numbers."

"Actually that's iexactly/i what it means. For those of us who actually age, Logan, numbers matter a lot." That blow hit home, but he tried not to show it. So she had learned to strike back at him, and hit him where it hurt. If she wasn't a woman yet, she was well on her way.

"Well if you're not following me, then what in the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm, um, meeting someone." He didn't like the way she looked away and blushed, and he narrowed his eyes.

"A boy?"

"Oh, what do you care?" she snapped. He just glared until she sighed and rolled her eyes. "I don't know exactly, alright? I've been getting these messages."

"Messages."

"These letters, from someone who—well, from someone who says they know you. They saw us together on the news a while back, and tracked me down."

"You're meeting a complete stranger who's been sending you anonymous messages about knowing me? You know what kind of past I have, Marie, how can you possibly think this is a good idea?"

"Well I didn't come unarmed," she hissed at him, and she opened her purse briefly so he could see the revolver she'd stowed there. Great. Now she was playing with guns. "And this is a very public place, so don't' tell me I'm being stupid."

"I didn't say—"

"You implied it," she cut in, her Southern accent sharpening in her anger. She slumped in her seat, and he realized that this might be one of those times when Jean would have said he was not being a good guy.

"I'm sorry. I'm sure you know what you're doing," he lied, wanting to soothe her feelings. "But I can't help wor—"

"Worrying. I know. When it comes to me, you're always angry that I'm worrying you, or pushing me away so I won't. Do you even want me in your life at all?"

Logan blinked. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? She was in his life, it didn't matter what he wanted. And since she was, he had to make sure she was safe.

"I—"

"This is for my brother!" A gunshot went off and several people, Marie included, screamed. Logan leapt over the table and shoved her down until she crouched underneath it.

"Stay there," he growled, already feeling the adrenaline. Men were jumping up from their tables and pointing guns at one another, but so far no one else had pulled a trigger.

Then, before he could decide how to act, one of the men disappeared. No, he didn't vanish—Logan watched as the man's body vaporized into a million pieces until there was nothing left.

Someone screamed but most people hadn't seen it happen. Then another man vaporized, and everything fell into chaos. Someone let off another shot, there was more screaming, people started running, and yet another man disintegrated into nothingness. The vigilante was here, and he was going after the people with guns.

The people with guns.

"It's the mutant!" a waiter yelled, pointing at Nightcrawler. A fat man in an expensive suit ripped the hood off his face and the humans shouted their anger. Logan had to help him, but he had to make sure Marie was safe first. Screaming in frustration, wanting to help both friends at the same time, he unleashed his claws. It was time for Wolverine to clean this mess up.

He leapt to the floor and reached under the table, using his claws to grab the gun that he just iknew/i she'd have taken out. Marie shrieked as he sent the gun hurtling across the restaurant, praying the safety was on.

"Stay here!" he ordered. "And no guns." Leaving her crouched there in relative safety, he spun around and saw that Nightcrawler had teleported away from his tormentors, and was now perched on top of the chandelier. Someone shot at him and sent glass sprinkling over all of them, but Nightcrawler was already on the enormous fireplace mantle. Unfortunately, his method of teleporting was too similar to the way the mafiosas were disappearing, and now everyone was convinced he was doing it.

"Kurt, get out of here!" Logan roared. He tossed a couple of people aside, throwing them to the wall as he ran towards his friend. One of the men in dark suits raised his gun and aimed at Nightcrawler, but Logan got to him first. He jumped on the man's back and clawed through his forearm, making the man scream in pain and drop the gun. "Kurt, go! Take Marie with you!" Nightcrawler disappeared.

Someone landed on Logan's back but he barely noticed, flinging them off in one movement. He went after the greater threat, the various men who had their guns trained on him. He yelled and jumped into the air, spinning with his arms extended, knocking away at least three of their guns and possibly dissevering someone's hand. He landed on all fours and was about to leap on another gunman when the man shredded into nothingness before his eyes.

So the vigilante was still here.

"Drop your weapons! Drop your weapons and it won't go after you!" Logan yelled, not totally sure he was right. But no one listened anyway, and he felt two sharp stings tear through his shoulder and stomach at the same time as he heard more bangs. He fell to his knees and realized he'd been shot. He looked up and saw a gun aimed at him, again, but once again the man was vaporized. The restaurant was still in pandemonium. Bystanders were crawling towards the door, women were screaming every time someone vanished, the mafiosas were brawling over the few remaining guns, and—

iThwap!/i Logan fell face-first to the floor, his vision going black for a few seconds. Someone had clubbed him over the head from behind, possibly with a chair.

"Kill the mutant!" he heard, and their kicks and strikes were just starting to piss him off when someone else shouted.

"Fire!" in a panicked voice. The chair they were beating him with landed on his back and Logan watched as pair after pair of feet raced towards the door. At least they were finally leaving him be. He shoved the chair off and sat up, feeling the bullet holes in his body closing; both bullets had passed cleanly through. The heat of the fire reached him then, and he looked up to see where it was coming from.

To his surprise he didn't see a raging fire but, instead, an enormous, flaming bird. It was at least eight feet tall with wings that extended five feet in either direction, and it was moving towards him fast. As huge and overwhelming as it was, it was clearly a bird, and Logan watched it in awe. Then he looked closer, at its body, and at where its eyes should have been. He began to make out another form hidden within the flame.

"Jean?" he said faintly.

Before he could move, one of the tables between them exploded, cutting him off in a cloud of smoke. The force of it sent him flying back onto a pile of chairs, which broke beneath his weight and left him dazed. Then someone was pulling him from behind, dragging him out of the restaurant.

"No, wait! Jean!" he cried. But the bird had disappeared and only fire remained, tearing through the restaurant and sending it collapsing to the ground.