Chapter Two: Echoes of the Past
The early morning sun fought its way through the cracks in the bar's shutters, casting faint streaks of light across the worn floorboards. The smoke from the night before still hung in the air, mingling with the scent of stale alcohol and regret. Logan stirred at the sound of the door creaking open. Instinctively, his hand moved toward the blade sheathed at his side before his senses told him there was no threat.
Rogue was still there, sitting on the edge of the bar, her legs swinging idly beneath her like a restless child. She hadn't left after their conversation, and neither had he. There was something unsaid lingering between them, something fragile but stubbornly alive.
"You're up early," Logan grumbled, his voice rough with sleep as he sat up in his chair. His keen eyes studied her in the dim light, noting the shadows beneath her eyes that hadn't been there the night before.
"Could say the same about you," she shot back, her drawl soft but teasing. "Figured you'd be the type to sleep off a night like that."
"Not much for sleep," Logan replied, running a hand through his wild hair. "Too many memories. Too many things to forget."
Rogue's legs stopped swinging. Her gaze fixed on the glass she'd been absently cleaning with a napkin. "Yeah," she murmured. "Memories can be a real bitch."
Logan's eyes narrowed as he caught the shift in her tone. She wasn't just making small talk anymore. He pushed himself to his feet, crossing the room to lean against the bar beside her. "What's on your mind, kid?"
She hesitated, her gloved hands tightening around the napkin. "I saw someone yesterday," she said finally. "Someone from...before."
Logan didn't need her to elaborate. Rogue's past, like his, was full of jagged edges and broken pieces. "What happened?"
She exhaled sharply, tossing the napkin aside. "It was nothing, really. Just someone I hurt, back when I didn't know how to control it. They didn't say anything to me, just...looked. Like I was a monster."
Logan felt a flicker of anger on her behalf. He understood that kind of look—had seen it in the eyes of people he'd saved, people he'd fought for, and people he'd fought against. "You're not a monster," he said firmly.
Rogue let out a hollow laugh, her eyes glistening as she finally looked at him. "Sometimes, I feel like one. I mean, what kind of person can't touch another human being without...without..." She trailed off, her voice breaking.
"You're not a monster," Logan repeated, his voice low but resolute. "You're human. You've got a gift, sure, but it doesn't define you. What you do with it does."
She blinked at him, a tear slipping down her cheek before she quickly wiped it away. "How'd you get to be so wise, old man?"
He smirked, a faint glimmer of amusement breaking through his gruff exterior. "I've lived a long time, kid. Seen a lot of things. Made a lot of mistakes."
Rogue tilted her head, studying him. "You don't talk about your past much."
"Not much to talk about," Logan said with a shrug, though his jaw tightened. "Just ghosts and blood. Same as anyone else who's been around as long as I have."
"Ghosts, huh?" she said softly. "You ever try to face 'em? Make peace with 'em?"
Logan let out a dry chuckle. "Tried. Never works. Best I can do is keep moving forward. And make sure they don't weigh me down too much."
Rogue nodded, her expression thoughtful. "Maybe that's what I need to do," she said. "Stop letting the past hold me back."
Logan didn't reply right away. He watched her, the way her resolve seemed to harden even as she spoke. She reminded him of himself in a way—stubborn, scarred, and always fighting to find a place in a world that didn't always make room for people like them.
"You're stronger than you think, Rogue," he said finally. "Don't let anyone—yourself included—tell you otherwise."
She gave him a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, Logan."
The bar door creaked open again, and both of them turned to see a man standing in the threshold. He was tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a worn leather jacket that looked older than he was. His eyes scanned the room before landing on Logan and Rogue.
"Logan," the man said, his voice low and measured. "We need to talk."
Logan's eyes narrowed as he stepped in front of Rogue, his protective instincts kicking in. "Who the hell are you?"
The man smirked, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Someone who knows you've got a habit of sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. And I've got a message for you."
Logan tensed, his hand already itching for his claws. "You've got five seconds to spit it out."
The man's smirk widened. "The past doesn't stay buried forever, Wolverine. And neither do the people in it."
With that cryptic warning, the man turned and disappeared into the morning light, leaving Logan and Rogue staring after him.
Rogue glanced at Logan, her brow furrowed. "What the hell was that about?"
Logan didn't answer right away. His jaw tightened, his mind racing. He had a sinking feeling that the ghosts he thought he'd left behind were catching up to him.
"Trouble," he said grimly. "Big trouble."