I'm sorry for letting you guys wait so long, I seem to have become one of those writers who suddenly develop a life that's cruel and keeps you busy. That and I had some fluff bunnies stuck in my system, I'm pretty positive I removed them all now though. Sorry. No fluff for anyone :P Writing it from dear Logan's POV would be a tad bit weird. Just a wittle.

Thanks go out to all the amazing reviewers, let's gaze at them in awe of so much awesomeness: TheMarshmaloWizardGhostCookie (wow! What a name! I had to take a break after typing this LOL), cherish15 who shares my love for drunk X-Men, Generated Anomoly love the name and the love for my story^^, smm thanks for not lurking and reviewing :D, hobbitsdoitbetter (Yes it was aimed at you anf hey, I loved Riverdance. Well okay I got drunk and... never mind :P Spinal colums are very much needed and now I picture Rogue with a mustache.), OceanFae laughing is healthy so I do something good right, Glykera thank you, JohnPaulGeorgeandRingo I hope you're happier now and you won't believe me that it was planned this way all along anyway. Btw where are you, if you went kidnapping without me I'll be iffed. Though so far there wasn't anything on the news^^, Luna-Lunak thank you and I'm curious about that, too :D Because... I don't know either LOL

Another thank you to everyone that decided to add this story to their favorites and or the alerts. You make me feel special :D

I still don't own any of the X-Men, I am still not marvel. Though I would love to own Logan but that's nother story. This continues to contain foul language here and there and it probably shouldn't be read by underaged people anyway because it was written in the aftermath of what is now known as booze-a-palooza. Apparently I needed some training^^

So that's all it took. For someone to go on a bike ride with her and exceed the speed limits a little bit. And I thought she would be scared. She isn't. She's squealing and laughing behind me, her hands firmly clasped in front of me. After a few miles she is howling and screaming like a banshee and I have never seen her like that. If she's like that just riding a bike I wonder how she sounds in bed. Now I really can't hide the grin I have been trying to hold back.

I just drive without really paying attention until I notice that we are almost in Philadelphia. The squeals have ceased completely a few minutes ago and I think it's about time we stop for a break somewhere.

"On the streets of Phiiiiiiiiladelphiaaaaaaaaaaaaaa"

Okay, so she is more drunk than I thought she was. And her voice is remarkably loud, she is sitting behind me on a damn motorcycle and we're driving... too fast. I need to stop somewhere and get her off before she falls off. I knew not putting a fucking helmet on her would be a mistake. So much for just assuming everything would go well. I just shouldn't do that. Now her hands are slipping.

Lucky for both of us there is a roadside diner just a mile away, according to the faded and rusted sign. Looked retro but it's probably an original from the fifties. I always find the old rundown places, that's another ability of mine. Screw the healing and the heightened senses. I have a built in bar sensor.

"Philly cheese steak. Sounds good. Can I get one? But hold the steak. Just... Oh, cheese. Cheddarrrrr..."

Yeah it's about time we stop. Just as we come to a stop in front of the diner she starts to slide off completely, head slumping forward. I barely manage to catch her and she goes completely limb. She just passed out on me, why the hell did I drive so far? Well because she was enjoying it so much I enjoyed her enjoying it. What kind of thought was that?

The only explanation I have for this is that she somehow shut my powers down she has borrowed this morning, or used them up, she hasn't taken much so that is plausible. But this is hardly the time to do some thinking, kneeing on the gravel parking lot outside a diner with a passed out girl in your arms at that time of night. She stirs and I barely contain a sigh of relief. Carrying a passed out girl will provoke questions when you are trying to book a room, even in the greasisest motel. Not that I have tried it before.

"Where's my cheese?"

"If you get up we can get inside and order you some cheese fries or something."

"Oh yeah with gravy and stuff."

How the hell does she think of poutine now?

"We're not in Canada."

"Philadelphia should be in Canada. No wait. We're in Philadelphia but we should be in Canada."

Drunk logic. I will never understand the workings of her brain when she is sober. When she's drunk she picks up a few notches.

"Why's that?"

"Because... Like six and a half years ago today I met this scruffy cage fighter that was really angry and gave me some beef jerky and a ride. Hey, you think they have beef jerky in there?"

"Only one way to find out."

I can't believe she remembers stuff like that. But I think most women have a built in calendar that they use to remember every little detail. She probably remembers the color of the socks she wore that day, including the rest of the outfit. It's safe to assume I wore jeans. Who cares. I don't even remember people's birthdays most of the times. Usually when I'm at the mansion there is a huge calendar somewhere in the kitchen and even then I forget them. I don't do presents, well, most of the time. There are occasions when you just have to face the enemy and soldier through a day of Christmas shopping because last time I had to deal with that holiday I wasn't allowed to give Marie a six pack. And always going on a trip down memory lane to retrieve "vital information" in late November without returning until sometime around March just isn't believable and would make me look like a coward. Then there's that brief moment of satisfaction when she unwraps the stuff and looks happy about the crap that's inside, that does count for something and after that, there's always eggnogg. It tastes a lot better after some adjustments, my favorite recipe is one part eggnogg to four parts rum.

"I think I can get up now."

We're still kneeing out here, well, I am. She is lying down but she looks sober...er. At least she isn't talking gibberish anymore. Or worse, anniversaries. But she doesn't complain about me not knowing. She knows me well enough, even though that doesn't keep her from pushing it most of the time.

After a few moments of swaying she manages to walk into the diner without much of my help. She stumbles a little but once we're inside and there is no gravel that reduces too. Holding on to my arm she slides onto a bench. Red vinyl, black and white tiles, what did I say.

"I hope their food isn't as greasy as the table."

So she's a restaurant critic now, too. But it's true, every surface in this place looks grimy. The cook probably wears a stained apron and a little white hat, at least it used to be white. A little gut, receding hairline. My imagination is running wild again. The waitress, Debra is her name, wears an old fashioned uniform and looks old enough to have worked here when the place first opened. She looks about as excited, too.

We order some burgers, fries and onion rings and she heads back to the counter. There is a soda fountain. Wow.

"Look, a table jukebox."

Fortunately, it is broken.

"I should have gotten a milk shake, too."

"Order one once the waitress crawls by again."

"She's not that old. Compared to you she's a little thing. What does that make me? A fetus?"

I shake my head and sit back. There is no reply to that. Well, maybe there is.

"Are you getting hysterical over that now? Because I think there might be a bucket of cold water around."

"You wouldn't dare to do that... Again."

"Wanna find out?"

"To think I got voted Miss Wet T-Shirt that year just because of that one beer."

"That you stole from me. And drank it, being underaged. And you threw up all over the place because you were also a kid that didn't like liquor or could keep it in."

"Good old days."

"I can still get some cold water."

"No thanks."

"Are you really that drunk?"

"Don't know, it's coming and going. Don't ask why."

"What made you think I would."

"Wow this conversation really is captivating."

"Think your binge drinker anonymous friends would want you to join them in about an hour?"

"Are you pulling the pouting teenage girl on me now? Because you know that used to be my thing Logan."

"It isn't anymore or do you say you still want to behave and be treated like a teen?"

She grins, but it looks like one of those grins that are followed by a punch.

"I've sure had enough of that."

The waitress ends our nice little chat by dropping some plates on our table. The second time within a few hours that we're eating fast food and no word about getting fat, I can appreciate that. I would be crazy to say I missed our little banters somewhere between a good laugh and slaughtering each other, but I did.

"So, what were you up to those past five years?"

"Finishing school somehow, moved out, went to work."

She really did take in too much of my personality. But she does react to my raised eyebrow and apparently decides to go for the longer version.

"You know, after you...left..."

After I left without telling everyone, after fighting with her over some silly crap I don't even remember. Everything back then was in a haze with my mind repeating "You killed her" over and over, not leaving much room for anything else.

"Well, I kinda got in trouble. A little."

My eyebrow must disappear behind my hairline by now.

"I... well, I thought I shouldn't stay at the mansion anymore, so I left."

I think I now remember why we had that fight. She knew she could have stayed even after taking the cure, but I understand why she didn't. Well, I'm the last one to judge here. It must have been miserable for her, I know a lot of mutants looked down on those who chose to get rid of their powers.

"I did leave officially, so I could finish school somewhat and well, I got my own place and got myself a job."

The way she casually says "job" sets of a code red alarm in my head.

"Do I want to know?"

"What?"

She couldn't have acted more suspicious if she had started to whistle.

"You know damn well what."

"Oh, you know. The usual stuff a girl does. Bartending, I was a cashier at a supermarket before they fired me for not being friendly enough, a dancer..."

That last one has me gripping the table with both hands. A DANCER? I know what that means and I feel like turning that table onto some neat toothpicks.

"There are veins on your forehead threatening to explode Logan."

"Don't talk to me right now."

"I didn't take my clothes off. I just danced."

"Was there a pole involved?"

Not that I really want to know. If there's a god she was a dancing chicken delivering musical telegrams.

"I wasn't good enough for the pole."

I actually broke off a piece of the table. Sawdust is slowly falling to the ground like snow in a little snow globe. Good image, I should hold on to that.

"Holy shit! Logan, I think we should... leave. Before anyone sees what you just did to the table."

"Technically, it was you."

I'd be surprised if she understood that, it takes a lot of effort to keep my rage on a leash so I can't waste it on really opening my mouth. My teeth are glued together, all I can do is grind them. A lot.

"Come on now, I only wrked there for a week and you'd see more of me on the beach."

This doesn't help at all.

"Why don't we drive back and you cool down on the way, huh?"

"You sure you can sit on the bike for another two hours?"

Because there is no way she can sober up enough for that and there is also no way that I am pushing that little button that helps us accelerate to a speed that is fast enough to make me queasy thinking about driving with her behind me in this state.

"Sure."

I don't need heightened senses to figure out that she's lying. Butt there aren't many motels on the way, either. It's probably best if we stay here somewhere.

"Actually, I need to go back anyway because I have to be in town tomorrow morning."

"You have to work? Call in sick."

What kind of pub is open in the morning on a weekday anyway? Not even an Irish pub can do that.

"No, I have other... obligations."

Well, there is a place that is almost in the middle but I seem to have been be too distracted by that anger monkey on my back to notice that until now.

"The mansion isn't more than an hour away, I can get you home tomorrow morning and we minimize the risk of you falling off the bike somewhere on the highway."

"Sounds good. Let's go."

I'm pretty sure if it wasn't for those "obligations" of hers she wouldn't have agreed that quick. Because as far as I know she hasn't been back since she left, not once. On the other hand, she probably thinks it's safe because chances are that we won't run into too many people around midnight.

I should have known this was a bad idea.