She found him in a bar, however cliché it sounds. He was sat alone, a quiet unmistakable shadow in the corner of a booth. He watched everyone around him, making mental notes of them, the same way she did to him.

She had watched him from her seat at the bar, her so called friends chatting loudly beside her. She'd given up trying to follow their superficial conversation filled with gossip. Instead she was nursing a bottle of tequila in hand, trying desperately to reach the drunken haze my companions had reached.

In her 100 years of life she had found that drunk was not an easy thing for her to be. In all honesty it required too much time, effort and money to actually be enjoyable. Yet here she was.

Having given up she went back to looking at the pair of eyes in the corner of the bar. Completely ignoring her friends now. She watched as he loosely passed his bottle of Molson's between his hands, his brown leather jacket sleeves rubbing at the edge of the table, his dark hair unimaginably wild but swept away from his face.

Subconsciously her hand travelled to the chain around her neck, the stainless steel tag resting just above her chest, but low enough to be covered by her tank top. Watching the stranger across from her, she noticed the subtle glint under his collar of a chain so similar to hers.

"Are you gonna say hi to him or you just gonna keep watching him like a stalker?" Jaz asked from beside her.

She laughed and thought about it, and as she did she watched the strangers lips pull into a slight smirk. "I don't go chatting up random men, Jaz."

"You're not watching him like no stranger."

She finally turned away from the man, "He looks so familiar, but I can't place him." she sighed, and poured a shot for each of them.

"From dancing?" Jaz asked.

She grimaced as she downed her shot and shook her head, "Darlin' ain't nobody came to a club like that."

Her friend refilled her glass, thinking hard about where she could know the man from, continuing her list of jobs she knew Morgan had worked in. "From Stark Industries."

"Wish I was in there long enough to have met anyone." She shook her head, downing the next shot before Jaz filled the glass again.

"Military?" She thought about. Having tried to block out the memories of the years she'd spent working for the American army, always claiming that she was really 'English' after then. She'd worked in a special mutant's division, a special weapons operation almost, but, well for time's sake, lets say she left after a few years.

She looked harder at the man across the room. "SHIT!" she exclaimed, turning to Jaz beside her. "I remember!"

She carefully got up from her seat and grabbed the bottle of tequila before making her way across the bar toward the wild man in the booth. She slid lithely into the booth, up close she easily recognised her ex-team mate. "James?" she asked, "Shit is that really you?"

"I ain't James kid, don't know nobody called James either 'fore you ask me that question next." He replied, his gruff voice the same as it always had been. "Name's Logan."

"So you're going by Logan now?" She guessed, "I always preferred James." She trailed off uselessly.

His face shifted, confusion, anger, fear flashing across in a spectrum of emotion before settling on his deadpan, "What do you mean? I never met you before."

"What the fuck James?" She asked him angrily, "You're my bestfriend, or you were before you up and left. No call. No nothing. Just left me alone with Stryker. Don't act like you've forgotten all that now."

His eyes flashed toward the door. "You know Stryker?"

"Well yeah, we both worked for him didn't we?" She asked. "Shit, James, what did he do to you?"

She watched as he rolled up his sleeve slightly before lifting his arm, and tensing to reveal his bone claws. Well what were his claws. I'm not sure what they are now, sharp metal blades coming from between his knuckles. "I don't remember." He said, "But these have something to do with it."

"Weapon X." She whispered. "I never realised, I didn't think it was you. Stryker's greatest success gone rogue."

"I don't know how I got these kid, or who the hell you are but if you've got any answers for me, you better tell me really fucking quickly."

She shook her head at him, unsure of how to carry on. "I can't, not here. It's too long. Besides, I'm not leaving you again. Not now I've finally found you."

She watched as he mulled over what I was saying. "Where you staying kid?"

"Let's say I'm in the process of moving." she answered, "You gonna call me kid all night?"

"Well what am I callin' you then?"

"Morgan."

"Huh, Morgan, you don't look like a Morgan." he chuckled.

"That's what you said the first time I told you."

"Well come'n Morgan. You're coming back with me then." He stood, and stepped away from our table, starting to walk toward the door.

"James stop," she called out after him, "Where are we going?"

"Back to my place I guess." He said, as he continued walking.

She followed him out, grabbing her duffel bag and jacket from it's place tucked away behind the door where no-one could have seen it.

She shuddered at the chill that the late January night brought, "You guess?" She asked pulling her deep blue jacket on. They stopped beside a motorbike, a Harley Panhead, which James swung his leg over and settled himself on. "I work at Xavier's Institute."

"You've gotta be shitting me?!" She exclaimed. "No way are you working in a school."

He growled slightly under his breath. "Look are you coming or not?" He asked agitatedly.

She hopped on behind him, holding the metal of the bike to keep her in place. "Oh I'm there baby."

Xavier's Institute isn't like one of those great historical boarding schools you see in brochures. You know the ones I mean, schools like Eton or Harrow, where every kid wears tweed and straw hats, and talks pretentiously about the importance of a second home in the south of France.

It's, well warm, welcoming. All kinds of kids were there, well those that were up late enough for me to see, pottering around the building in pajamas and bunny slippers.

"Bunny slippers?" she hissed at James.

"Haven't got a pair myself." he replied, "This way, we'll getcha a room for the night."

They took an elevator up several floors to reveal a corridor with several doors spread evenly apart. "They got enough rooms in this place?" she asked.

"I guess there's always someone who needs a place to stay coming to places like this."

They walked along the corridor before stopping at a door, "This is my room." James said, looking at her seriously. He pointed at the room opposite. "That can be yours for the night."

"Better than a couch," she smiled at him, "I'll take it, thanks James."

"I ain't gonna get used to that anytime soon." He replied, shaking his head. He turned his door handle, "I'll see you in the morning kid."

"Morgan." she corrected.

"See you in the morning Morgan."

She turned the handle letting her into what would be her room for the night, and found herself facing a fairly spacious room. Opposite the door was a large bay window with a small couch in the alcove, a desk pushed against the wall to the right of this and a large bed further down the wall. On the right of the door into the room there was an ensuite, which she quickly stepped into and shed her clothes. Morgan started the shower and used the small bar of soap to clean her body and hair before drying herself on one of the fresh towels left hanging beside the shower curtain.

When she was fairly dry she wrapped the towel back around herself and tied her hair into a bun before searching in her duffel for a set of clean underwear to sleep in.

She folded her dirty clothes and placed them on the edge of the couch and picked up her towel, putting it on top of the pillow on her bed, "Don't need to ruin the fancy shit with my dirt." she muttered to herself before pulling back the covers and falling into a dreamless sleep for the first time in forever.