Disclaimer: All rights belong to DC, Marvel and other entitled parties. I'm making no money on this and post it here for private entertainment only.
Wolverine in Gotham
AN. This is a sequel to my story "Wolverine in Arkam." I recommend reading it first, but you are of course free to be a rebel and read on ahead with what's in front of you. I'd rather you stay here than not read either one. Also, this is rated T for f-bombs and violence.
Chapter One: A Gotham Night
Dr. Sharon Patel hadn't intended on staying out this late. She hadn't intended on getting this drunk either. But now it was nearly 2:00 am, she could hardly walk in a straight line and she had five blocks to go before getting home.
Muttering under her breath, she pushed graying black hair from her dark face and her glasses up her nose. It started to drizzle and that gave her one more thing to mutter complaints about, until she heard the noises behind her. They broke out suddenly, only 40 feet back: shouts, growls and curses, the usual thuds and smacks of a brawl. Then there was a metallic snikt sound and a curdling scream.
Two large men she vaguely recognized from the bar she'd just left, stumbled out of a dark ally and scampered away like frightened dogs. One of them was holding his arm… or rather he wasn't, because it seemed to be missing. There was a lot of blood and Sharon was too drunk to be sure what she saw, but it frightened her enough to make her gasp in fear and fumble in her bag for her bulky mobile phone. When a third figure jumped out into the light, all dark hair and brawny muscle with the gleam of blood and metal at his hands, Sharon yelped and turned to flee, forgetting all about the phone and everything else, as the rain finally came down in full.
As if in a nightmare, she heard a bestial snarl behind her and the scrap of metal on cement, as the monster pursued her with a speed that didn't seem possible. Stumbling, she skidded on the wet ground and lost one of her heals. Then she slammed into a dumpster and got around a corner, only the hear the crunch of rusted metal behind her and catch the brief glimpse of someone jumping off the fire escape above her, before he landed right before her eyes. Screaming, Sharon tried to stops, but her ankle twisted in her remaining heal and she fell forward.
Strong hands caught her and the smell of cigars, beer, leather and blood filled her nostrils. "Doc!" said a somewhat familiar voice, "Doc, It's me. You all right?" She was pushed back onto her now bare feet and finally saw the man's face.
"L- Logan?" Sharon asked, wishing she wasn't so drunk. He looked different than she remembered, but patients always did when she saw them outside of the context of Arkham. Instead of the loose grey Arkham uniform and white robe, he had on dark jeans and a leather jacket, both of which had more than their fair share of ware and tear. His hair was longer, though as dark and unruly as ever and he still had the ridiculous muttonchops. However, the absence of the bulky custom cuffs was what stood out the most and what made her nervous. Edging away, she pushed up her glasses and tried to speak in her professional voice, despite her nerves and intoxication.
"You attacked those men didn't you?" She accused, her Indian accent slurring slightly, "Have you learned nothing about controlling your violent impulses since leaving the asylum, Logan?"
Logan growled and bent over to pick up her lost heal. He already had the first and he shoved them both back at her, as he stood up. "They were following yeh. Stocked you all the way from the bar and one of em' had a knife."
A chill ran down Sharon's spine, but she kept her composure. "That doesn't mean anything. The bar closed. They were probably just on their way home, same as me."
The mutant snorted, "Sure thing, Doc, and the knife was for cutt'n any flowers they found on the way, so they could press 'em 'tween the pages of the phone book when they got home. Look, I aint been living in Gotham long, but I've been here long enough to know that you should always assume the worse."
"You think that gives you an excuse to go chopping off arms?" Sharon demanded and glanced hastily at some of the blood spattered on his jacket, before looking him firmly in the eyes. "You're twice as dangerous as anything else in this city and just as bad. If those two were following me, then what were you doing, may I ask?" Stuffing her heals into her purse; Sharon looked him up and down. They were both soaked now and even without her heals she was and inch or so taller. "You're an escaped mental patient and a wanted criminal, not to mention a mutant."
His hands clinched into fists and she could almost hear him mentally counting down from ten in his head the way she'd taught him to do when he was angry. "I was following you too," he growled, "Been look'n all over for yeh. You quit your job, not that I'm surprised after what you did to me."
Sharon managed not to blanch, but it was difficult. There was a reason she preferred to spend her time getting drunk in sleazy bars rather than working and researching in her professional field. The reason had to do with Logan, but mostly it had to do with herself. Apparently she was a true Gothamite. Despite all the good she'd set out to do, in the end she'd come out as dirty and corrupt as the next guy. "Yes, well…" she sniffed and tried to walk past him.
Before she could go two steps, he grabbed her wrist and his grip was as tight as a vise. When she looked into his face, he was glaring daggers. "Let go!" she demanded, her tone as firm and commanding as it'd been in Arkham, but out in the real world he didn't listen and their weren't any guardsmen behind the next door ready to come in and drag him away in a straightjacket.
"You lied to me, Doc," Logan growled and swung her around to slam against a wall. It didn't hurt very much, but it certainly let her know who was in control and she dropped her bag, going a little pale. "I'm not sure how involved you were with Van Dyke, but you knew from the beginning what he did to me and why. And you knew he was working for Hugo Strange didn't you?"
Nervously Sharon pushed her glassed up her nose. "I, I didn't have anything to do with what Kurt did to you. What he did was sick. I didn't even know until you-"
Viciously Logan lunged at her, shoving her back against the brick wall and growling in her face, his teeth only inches from her nose. There was a snikt sound again and she saw his claw sticking out of his left hand. With the strength of a power drill, they slammed into the wall near her head, sending bits of wet gravel and chipped brinks bouncing to the ground. "I don't want to hear about what you did and didn't know back then," he snarled, "All I care about is what you know now." Rain was running down the sharp blades of his claws and black locks of his hair. The fury in his eyes was so intense, she was sure he would kill her and for once Sharon Patel was too frightened to speak.
"Where're Van Dyke and Strange?" Logan demanded, "Tell me where they're hiding and maybe I'll forget all you did to me, all the lies you fed me right along side your damned medications!"
"I, I…" stammered Sharon, struggling to slip away from him and his claws.
He shook her. "You're making me angry, Doc," he growled, "And I don't think counting down from ten is going to work. Tell me! WHERE IS STRANGE!?"
"I don't know!" wailed Sharon, "I don't know! I told Kurt I wanted out as soon as I recovered from Joker's attack on Arkham! I want no more to do with him. He's mad and so is Strange!"
With and angry growl Logan threw her to the grown in disgust. "So you know nothing!"
Fighting the urge to cry, Sharon attempted to regain some composure, pushing her hair from her face and gathering up her fallen purse. "I… I do something. I- DONT touch me!" she slapped Logan's arm away, as he reached down to try and drag her up to her feet. Getting up on her own, she undid her messy ponytail and worked on re-gathering the wet hair, not looking him directly in the face, as she spoke. "I left, but Kurt still calls, trying to convince me he's going to fix it all."
Logan gave an angry snort, but she ignored him. "I was going…" Her voice wavered some, but she pushed on, "He called earlier today and…" As she tried to find her words, Sharon was reminded why she'd been so intent on getting drunk this evening. She hated being so afraid and so guilty, "I was going to tell the police, but I was scared and…"
Logan grabbed her arm and spun her around to look at him. "Doc, tell me what you know."
She dropped her head, staring down at her wet stockings and his scuffed cowboy boots, "He's still trying to kill Bruce Wayne," she said, "Kurt said he and Strange hired someone to assassinate him. The best there is apparently, some legendary sniper he called Dead Shot. He didn't say, but I think they were planning on hitting Wayne tomorrow night at the Wayne Tower. There's a big party for him winning some humanitarian award."
Logan was staring hard at her, "You're sure?"
"No," she shook his hands off her, "For all I know Kurt's lying about everything. I told you what I heard him say and what I've managed to surmise. And no, I don't know anything more. I don't know where he is, or where Strange is, or what else they might be planning."
She tried to push past him again and again he growled and grabbed her arm. "You have his number. You could call and set up a-"
"NO!" Sharon slapped his hands away and shoved him firmly in the chest, causing him to take a stumbling step back. "I won't have anymore to do with this Wolverine," she told him, "I quit my job, I broke up with Kurt and I'm telling you the same thing I told him. If I ever see you again, I'm going to call the police and you'll be thrown back into the cell so fast you're head will still be spinning when you reach your first 25 years in jail. Now, get out of my way!"
Sharon shoved by and this time Logan didn't try to stop her and didn't follow her. By the time she allowed herself to look back, he was gone and all she could see was the usual city lights, and dark, dangerous allies of a Gotham night.
AN: Thank you for reading and PLEASE PLEASE review. Feedback is very encouraging to me, even if you only leave a word or to let me know you were here.