Brand new chapter, Just been finished and my head hurts. That is what happens when I think too much, my brain rebels. All you need to know really is that yes, the ending is supposed to be THAT vague. I deliberately wrote it in simple terms because... Well because I wanted to. LOL. I will of course be going into more detail in the next chapter. Everything will be explained!

A HUGE thank you to the following people. And especially Muroun who reviewed this story yesterday and with that much needed poke, I sat down and wrote this today. I have had the first paragraph of this chapter saved on my computer since the last time I updated, and sometimes I just need somebody to wave a stick or cattle prod in my face. That or I receive a lovely review, then I read the rest of the reviews and I feel inspired.

So a thanks to: Raven, Mango, PrincesA, dirtylittleangel, Yak, desy, Scott has a pole up his ass, TheLittleRogue, My own little fanfic stalker who always has such nice things to say – The Reserved Reader, moonlove, Lady-Lyonnesse (Thanks for giving this story a try), Indigo (Wow, you reviewed every chapter. Thanks) and last but not least: Muroun who you need to thank for this chapter even existing. Lets just say she is the Godmother of chapter seventeen. LOL.


Bladders, Bodies and Lies


Eight miles outside of Surprising County: Close to gutting the Pansy Ass. So close...

"We're not stoppin' again." I growl, the vein in my forehead close to bursting and splattering the windscreen with blood. I'd rather decorate it with Scooter's blood and guts, but I need to channel this anger into further scenarios involving my claws and Gumbo's manhood.

"Logan, it's never a good idea to take a full bladder over it's third state line, it might just rupture." Scott whines, shifting in his seat and wiping the sweat from his brow. "We need to stop and find a restroom."

I snort, my eyes flickering from the road to his face. "Piss outta the window or in an empty bottle, I don't much care. Just pick one and man the hell up."

We've been on the road for a day, and about ready to drop by the pile of bricks that once stood and housed the criminals of Surprising County. Hell, I don't know what's more surprising to me; That I ain't gut the whimpering Pansy Ass like a fish. Yet. Or the girl whose Southern ass I'm in charge of would pull something like this knowing damn well how I'd act.

The day I first met the kid, she was shy, had been through some shit but it never crossed my mind once she got to know me, she'd change so dramatically. Jesus, I'm always telling her I'll never call her Rogue because it doesn't do her justice. Now I might have to reconsider a hell of a lot of things, not just what I call her.

I have no business being in her life. I'm an old, gruff, cage fighting son of a bitch that hates to talk, pussy foot around and put down roots. But I haven't just put down roots, nah, that ship has definitely sailed. I've gone and planted an entire God damn forest and got myself a kid without doing any of the fun stuff with her mother.

Not that I would have touched her mom with a ten foot barge pole, I've seen photo's and Hell would have to freeze over before I tapped that ass.

"Logan, I can only find beer bottles."

"What's your point, Scooter?" I demand with a heavy sigh, wishing I'd followed my instincts and left his ass at the last diner we stopped at.

He flips a button and the window unwinds. Me being a nosey bastard not withstanding, I glare straight ahead and will happily claw my eyes out of their sockets if I catch sight of what he's about to do. Nuh uh, the Wolverine don't swing that way. The only thing I swing is my claws and Gumbo's intestines around my head like a lasso. That'd be quite a way to catch the kid. She wouldn't forget that in a hurry.

I'm about to order him to haul his ass into the back seat to take a leak. You know, in case he takes in upon himself to wave it in my face, when I realise that he's about to commit the largest damn sin a man could.

"Damn it, One Eye." I grumble, snatching the bottle out of his hand and snapping the cap free with my teeth. "There's still beer in this one."

"I know," He replies simply, crossing his legs and frowning. "I was going to pour it out of the window. My well-being is more important then your beer, Wolverine."

"Don't count on it, Bub."

"I don't believe that for a second. You care about people, and if truth be told, you're not very good at hiding it either."

He receives a growl in response. I'm too busy nuzzling on my precious beer to bash his brains out against the door frame. It's a damn crying shame really, it might have helped me put everything into perspective.

There's isn't many people I care for and I can count them off on a set of claws. My own stupid ass, Jean's perfectly round ass. That would be same one I'm gonna lure into my bed with the cock of an eyebrow and a single growl. What can I say, I'm good at what I do. And, the Kid. Whose disobedient, equally stupid, out of control butt is going to be black and blue after I've finished with it.

I arch an eyebrow at Cyke's nagging as I finish off my beer and toss the empty bottle into his lap.

"Logan, you shouldn't drink and drive." He scolds, gesturing to my hands on the steering wheel and the rapidly disappearing town behind us. Heh, I drive like a badass on crack. There will be no oldies overtaking me, they'll be back there coughing up dust and choking on their false teeth. "No cop will believe the story about your healing factor. "

This is one of those times where I truly wish I could not only get drunk, but shitfaced. So hammered that I have no God damn idea where the hell I am or who I'm with. That sounds almost like my idea of Heaven. Though I'd need to throw a few hookers into the mix, a good steak house, too. Oh, and no chance of me reproducing any more brats.

"Just go get acquainted with the bottle." I grumble in response keeping my eyes ahead on the deserted road. "In the back seat, if ya don't mind."

I know the kid ain't technically mine, but she may as well be. Marie can be just as secretive, conniving, bad tempered and a royal pain in the ass to deal with as I am. That's where the problem lies. I don't want her to be acting out and running off. Nor do I want her skipping classes and blowing off her homework so she can follow her dumb little friends around and get into trouble.

She has a chance to make something of herself, get a decent job and not become an X-Man. I'd be five times dead before I let her dress up in one of those damn perverted leather suits and prance about on the field fighting every mutated asshole she comes into contact with. The girl can't even listen to the simplest of orders without talking back. She'd most likely become the first X-Man to get herself killed for shooting off her mouth.

Not that it would ever happen, 'cause it won't. I'll make damn sure of that. Nobody touches a hair on her head, makes her cry or hurts her in any way or they have me to answer to. But I can't always be there, which is why she is going to learn to listen to me. When I say no, I damn well mean no. And I couldn't care less if she doesn't like it.

Yeah, I screwed up grounding her ass and not listening when she told me she didn't order that drink. That don't give her the right to run away with a thieving, Gumbo loving man whore, try to kidnap a cop, get herself arrested, blow up a jail, then steal a car while every news station in the country flashes her mugshot, though.

"Logan, slow down will you. I can't go when I'm nervous. And your driving makes me nervous."

I don't bother glancing at the Pansy Ass in the rear view mirror. Do you think I'm sick in the head or something? See, even he can follow my orders and do as he's told. He's on the back seat with my beer bottle trying to take a piss. Not that I'd want the Kid to be acting like that, but I'd be grateful if she would do as she's told once in a while.

"Stop whinin' like a bitch, Summers."

As soon as I spit those growled words from my lips, a flash of some fancy blue lights captures my attention. That and a cops siren. There's a sheriffs car to my left and somebody seems hell bent on making Cyclops piss himself tonight because a flash light is shining through the back window.

I snort, I grumble, I curse and I pull over. If I get carted off to a cell again, Marie will never see the light of day because I'll be locking her in the mansions cellar and throwing away the damn key.


In the hotel: So close to Cesar Millan, I can touch him. He smells like a Summers day...

It took me over an hour to calm myself down because I met my hero last night. I met him, talked to him and now have thoughts in my mind about kidnapping him.

Don't get me wrong, I only want to talk to him some more. There is no sexual tension between Cesar and myself. Unresolved or otherwise.

You have no idea how much I just squealed inwardly at that. It was a real fan girl scream, too.

I hero worship Cesar Millan and the ground he walks his many dogs on. It's not love, lust or any other crazy passion that makes people act like love drunk fools, I just think he's amazing. That's the only reason I've been following him around all day.

It wasn't my intention for this to happen. I just felt like some fresh air early this morning, I stepped onto my balcony and there he was in the parking lot, pacing back and forth having a discussion on his cell phone.

Of course I couldn't hear what he was saying from where I was standing, so I made my way downstairs, through the lobby and out into the crisp morning air. The sun was shining down on me while I was hiding behind a bush and I couldn't help but smile.

I wasn't able to catch many words, only a jumbled answer of "Yes," "No," and "We will do it tonight." I guess he's not much of a talker unless he's in front of the camera or a crazed fan.

So that is how I spent my day. Crouching behind bushes, cars and clothes racks. I think he went shopping for his wife at one point, because he purchased a pair of beautifully delicate silk negligees. The type of sleep wear I would just die to own. At one point I even wished he was my husband, but that daydream didn't last longer then necessary. Actually it stopped when I thought I had lost him in the crowds, only for him to emerge again like a dog to a bone.

He must have been really hungry. I had to sit there with the same glass of water for two hours straight as he ate a chicken salad, a bread roll and four slices of Key Lime Pie. Then he talked to the waiter about how much cash he had in the bank.

I thought that was a little big headed of him, but who knows how I would act if I was a millionaire. I'm sure Cesar is a millionaire by now. He's famous and has the charisma needed for people to hand over their cash to him.

If I was rich, the first thing I would do is fly to Miami on a private jet, stay in the most expensive five star hotel and sip cocktails by the beach.

Nobody could tell me what to do if I was a millionaire. The hangers on and party people wouldn't care about my skin either. I would buy a mansion in the most exclusive area of Miami and throw parties every night.

That's enough dreaming for today, I'm back in the hotel now and loitering in the lobby. Cesar has just strolled into the dining room, he's standing by the bar and shaking people's hands. They're even buying him drinks and and congratulating him on his success.

I have my doubts that Remy is conscious yet. He would have been at the bar, too. Drinking whiskey and smoking a cigarette as he flirted with the pretty barmaid.

I'm feeling a little unsure of myself today, it might be because I French kissed a Swamp Rat last night and still have his cute little butt running around in my head. Or it might just be that I can only search through parts of his memories. He's a hard guy to read, even when he's in my mind.

The only memories I have access to are the recent ones. His arrival at the mansion, the flirtatious moments we shared, our small road trip he had planned from the start... As soon as he kissed my gloved hand. And most importantly the real reason he wanted to go to New Orleans.

Remy Entienne LeBeau wanted to visit Luc. He is the only dry cleaner that Gambit trusts with his coat.

All the trouble with the cops, all this so Remy can have his coat dry cleaned. If he wasn't already in a coma, I'd certainly be draining his ass. The stupid bastard. I would have helped him find a reputable dry cleaner in Westchester if he'd asked me to. It would have saved a lot of trouble.

"Can I help you, Ma'am?"

I'm leaning against the desk at reception, watching the back of Cesar's head as he mingles with the other guests. I wonder if people would buy me drinks and treat me with respect as The Wolverine Whisperer?

At least I finally discovered why Wolverine has the behaviour of a dog that has never been socialised properly. The simple answer is that he hasn't been socialised properly. His previous owners should be ashamed of themselves. I should be, too. He's only overprotective because he sees me as a weak, silly, little girl that needs protecting from the big, bad world.

"Ma'am, I said, can I help you?"

I snap my head to the side and stare at the smartly dressed man behind the desk. He's sitting behind a computer, wearing a blue blazer and a red and white striped tie. His dark brown hair is receding and I feel bad for him, he doesn't even look that much older then I am.

"Um, actually you can." I answer, digging into the pocket of my hooded sweatshirt and sliding the hastily written postcards over to him. "I haven't had the time to buy stamps for them and I was wondering..."

"They will be sent first thing tomorrow. First class, of course." He replies with a tightly controlled smile, one that I think is as fake as Pamela Anderson's breasts. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"No, thanks. I'll just be going now."

"Are you sure there is nothing I can help you with?"

I had started to walk away, I wanted to check on Cesar and then Remy. But there was something I recognised in the man's voice, it sounded like desperation. My own voice takes that tone when Logan threatens to move us both to a cabin in Canada, in the middle of damn nowhere because he can't stand watching Jean and Scott together.

Of course he never admits that is the reason, he just growls about wanting to head North and do some cage fighting. Maybe stay there for a few months, even a year.

My eyes settle on the bar instead and I don't spot Cesar anywhere. Oh no, I've lost him again. That thought makes my heart sink and... What the...?

There's a pained moan behind me and I swing around just in time to watch the man, and his receding hairline take their last breath. I can't gaze away and I see so much pain and suffering in his eyes, I'm rooted to the spot. Even when I hear footsteps behind me and the mutant with the nails... Claws releases the now dead man and his blue blazer, I don't run. I'm too scared.

I know the mutant with the claws, the one that is smirking at me, I know him from somewhere but he looks different. His hair is shorter, maybe.

It's funny what goes through people's minds when they have Cesar Millan circling them one minute and Mystique the next. But for the record, I'm not only crying because I never actually met my hero and the single glove upstairs that I was going to frame is now dead to me. I'm crying because I just saw a man have his throat cut with a single claw. He bled to death in front of me and I couldn't... Didn't help him. But most of all, I'm crying because I want Logan. I just want Logan.


Please let me know what you're thinking. I do live for reviews... Until the day I manage to kidnap Hugh Jackman, that is. When that happens we will run away and nobody will hear from us ever again :P