Author's note: As I kinda stated in the summary, this is a little fic that arose from pure wish. I know it's not in the cards now that Wolverine essentially has his own franchise going on, but how awesome would it be to see him join yet another group of misfits, ie The Avengers? If only…

I was originally going to post as a single chapter, but then decided to split it into three chapters each with its own POV- Rogue, Nick Fury and Wolverine.

I can't imagine Logan joining the Avengers without some compelling persuasion – that's where Rogue comes in. I reckon she's the only one who can make him do something he doesn't really want to do.


OFFER OF EMPLOYMENT

Chapter 1 - Rogue

I briefly consider changing the song on my iPod as soon as the instantly recognizable synth cords came through my earphones. I just don't think it provides quite the proper soundtrack for either the moment or my current mood. It's not that I don't like Prince, in fact, I very much do, but tearing down the interstate in Scott's old Ducati while plotting bloody revenge on Bobby Drake needs something with a significantly more grunt than funky 80s electro-pop. Something that could fuel my boiling anger. Then again, a quick glance down at the speed gage corroborates certain voices in my head telling me that it probably wouldn't hurt to calm down a little. The Logan in my head especially, is quite vocal about this, delicately pointing out that without my mutation not even a medical miracle will bring me back to life should I have to be scraped off the road.

I turn off the highway and continue down the long unpaved driveway for the couple of miles it takes me to reach the small cabin. My eyes travel across the landscape around me as soon as I kill the engine. Since the moment I left the Mansion, I've had this niggling sensation in the back of my mind, a kind of alertness I know has nothing to do with me, but is purely a legacy of the paranoia left by Erik and heightened senses from Logan. I feel like someone is watching me, but a quick scan of the black emptiness around me reveals nothing around for miles.

I figure he must have heard me by now, but I don't see a light come on. Maybe he's not home?

I head straight for the kitchen because I know that's where he keeps his booze and God knows I'm in desperate need of a long, stiff drink. Again, I've forgotten to switch off my music, because I'm obliviously bopping along to Prince's musings on nuclear proliferation when I turn to find a bemused, but still half-asleep Wolverine staring at me across the room. I take off my earphones and try to save face by opting for casual.

"Logan, hey," I say chirpily. "I didn't think you were home."

"Marie, what are you doing here?" he asks groggily, rubbing sleep from his eyes with one hand while using his other to prop himself up against the doorjamb.

"I haven't seen you in ages. I thought I'd come visit." I groan inwardly because I know that came out so lame.

From the look he gives me, he's not buying either. "It's two in the morning," he points out. Needlessly. I know what time it is.

His eyes bore into mine and, dammit, I can't lie to him. "Bobby and I had a fight." I return my attention to the bottle of Canadian Club I fished out from his cupboard.

I know he's watching me, probably wondering if I'm going to elaborate. Instead he takes a step closer and pulls two empty glasses from the drying rack by the sink.

"And you thought you'd come here to…make it worse?" he says, sliding them to me.

I sigh loudly because the whispered rumors that there's some kind of more-than-just-friends relationship between Logan and me really gets on my nerves, especially after all these years. It's getting old.

"This wedding is getting out of hand, Logan. We can't agree on anything," I say tiredly, truly feeling the late hour now. I tap the side of my head and say, "I still have you in my head, remember? If I didn't leave, I was going to punch him in the face."

At that, he can't help but smile. There's never been any deep love between the two, but I know Logan still gets a kick out of messing with Bobby. "Sure that was me, kid?"

I choose to ignore the barbs, knowing that if it weren't for me Logan wouldn't even know Bobby exists. I glance quickly at my watch and confirm that yes, it really is half past two in the morning and I take a moment to look at Logan more closely and kick myself mentally. I didn't even think about the time or that he might have been asleep. And yes, I really did catch him sleeping. His hair is a mess… well, more so than usual. He's not wearing shoes but has obviously thrown on a pair of jeans, purely for my benefit. I know he prefers to sleep in the nude, especially when he's not at the mansion and no, I'm not the only one who knows that.

"I woke you, I'm sorry," I say, genuinely apologetic. "I should have called first."

I fill the two glasses practically to the rim and slide one over to him. His eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn't say anything. I think he's become used to this routine and knows I have a fiery hot temper that has nothing to do with him, or Eric, or even Pyro, but belongs exclusively to me. Over the years he has wisely learnt what to call me on and what to keep to himself. He can obviously sense I'm pissed and he sure as hell doesn't want to step on that landmine.

"Wanna talk about it?" he asks, watching me in equal measure of amusement and concern as I down half the liquid in my glass in one go.

"No, not really." I say quickly, my voice husky from the alcohol. I wince at the burning sensation and feel the anger slowly melting. "Can I crash here for the night?"

Clearly thankful that he is being spared details on my lovers' quarrel with Bobby, he takes a swig from his own glass. "Have I ever said no?"

"Thanks, Logan." I smile at him, because he may be unpredictably violent, or rude, or short-tempered, but a lot of it is for show. The man has such a huge heart and he's always there for me. Even the Logan in my head doesn't deny it. "It's just for a couple of days, until I-"

"Wait? A couple of days? You t-"

He stops abruptly and turns his head sharply. I immediately recognize the look, the far away glaze in his eyes, the slight tilt of his head, the subtle flaring of nostrils. He has picked up something nearby, or someone most likely.

"What is it?" I whisper, now also high alert but additionally, curious.

He turns to me with narrowed eyes and growls, "I think Ice Cube followed you."

He's more than a little annoyed, I can tell, and for good reason too. No one, apart from Hank and me, knows the exact location of Logan's cabin. And I am the only one who has ever been here. It's a secret, that for some mysterious reason, he guards very closely. Bobby is probably the last person in the world he would want knowing about it.

But that's what's really odd about this. Bobby knows how much Logan values his little private haven and while he doesn't like the fact that his fiancé flees there on occasion, he's never tried to stop me, or even followed me. Why would he now?

And now I frown too, because I'm confused. "That's a first."

His eyes suddenly twinkle with a little too much gleeful eagerness for my liking. I've also seen this look before. The smirk on his face also does nothing to put me at ease. "Want me to go talk to him?"

"No," I say quickly, "I should go."

And I should. I put my glass down on the counter and walk past him, placing a hand on his arm as I do. I squeeze a little and relish the skin-to-skin contact that I had been deprived of for so long. I smile as I remember the reaction at the Mansion a few years ago to the news that I'd taken the cure. Everyone had been so on edge. Storm had suggested I ease into physical contact, and warned everyone it would be a slow process. Instead, I became Marie-all-hands. I think I literally went all around the house touching everyone. Bobby bore the brunt of it, not that he complained. At first it had been as a novelty, but now it's almost like I'm trying to make up for all the subtle displays of affection I've had to hold back for so many years. And I have a lot to make up for with Logan.

"We'll talk tomorrow. Go back to bed."

I get a grunt in response, which I translate to mean he's cool with that.

I don't get very far, though. In fact, I make it as far as the front porch before I'm blinded by a dazzling blast of light that leaves me frozen. I have to close my eyes, but I saw enough and my immediate response is to panic… and to call out for Logan.

"Logan!"


Thanks for reading. Please review, if you don't mind!

Cheers, Andrea