Sunday afternoon I went and saw the X-Men movie; then, on Monday, I went back and saw it again. Then I waited a day, and on Wednesday I did it for a third time. And this coming Sunday I plan to drag my friend out to see it with me.

What can I say? I really like this movie.

As for this little story here, it's basically a pointless little reflective piece. But I needed to write something, and I felt like writing this, and for about an hour it made me relive the movie again, without even having to pay the five bucks this time. So I figure it's a good deal. Besides, if everything I wrote had a point to it, then I'd start feeling horribly legit and then I'd drive myself crazy making everything perfect... but we're not here to psychoanalyze me, now are we?

Contains random spoilers for the movie, in case you couldn't figure that out on your own, so bewarned. It's set just after the movie ends.

Disclaimer: Fuck, I don't know who owns any of these people, but it certainly isn't me. (Would that be considered a vague disclaimer? Unfortunately, a vague disclaimer is nobody's friend. I know, I'm terrible.)

One More Shot
by Maya Tawi


I remember the heat, and the yelling, and the blows. The pain that never lasted long enough to register and the sweat-slicked bodies of the men trying their hands at taking me on, and the thrill of finally rising up and taking them out, of proving that no, they can't hurt me after all, no one can anymore.

I don't remember exactly why I got into the ring in the first place. Ring, ha- cage, more like. Guess I needed the money. Or maybe I was just looking for someone to try and beat me up. Looking for an excuse to hurt someone.

Listen to me. Logan, Amateur Psychologist. I should just buy a couch and start billing myself and get it over with. Maybe I could pay for my own summer villa in the Hamptons, fuck knows I'm enough of a head case for it.

'Course, I don't need an excuse now- I can hurt anyone I want, now, long as they're a bad guy. 'Cause I'm an X-Man now.


That's only if I go back, mind. I'm still not sure I want to. Not entirely....

I have to go back. After all, I gave Rogue my dogtags.


Seemed like a great idea at the time, you know, symbolic gesture and all that. And it was, I'm sure, but I just feel plain naked without 'em, have ever since that great big hairy bastard took 'em from me. Vulnerable from the inside, like the last bits of my identity've just been stripped away.

I am a number. I am Logan.

I am the Wolverine.

For fifteen years now, that's all I've known.

But that's what I'm coming here for now, isn't it? 'Swhat I'm riding through the fantastic Canadian wasteland towards- some kind of answer. Some clue to just who exactly I am, and how the hell I got myself equipped with a metal skeleton and foot-long claws.

You know, the usual of life's little mysteries. Evolution's a pure fucking miracle.

It's kind of funny, really, in that not-humorous-in-the-least sort of way. I mean, I've been constantly on the move for fifteen years, first trying to chase down an identity for myself, find some answers, and then eventually trying to just get by but always moving, and the second I slow down is when things start to happen. Like there's been a ten ton Mack truck patiently riding my heels for the last few years, just waiting for me to stop moving so it could slam into me the way only Mack trucks can do.

I stop in a bar in Laughlin City, to catch my breath and beat the crap out of a few morons and make some quick cash, and it happens. Or more to the point, Rogue happens.

That's how it always starts, isn't it? You meet a girl, and then the two of you're attacked by evil mutants and then recruited by the non-evil mutants to fight in the never-ending struggle on the side of good.

Well, maybe it doesn't always go that way after all. But the beginning's always the same.

You meet a girl.

And shit starts to happen.

Don't get me wrong, I like the kid. She reminds me of someone, in a too-close-for-comfort kind of way, someone I can't quite pin down; and she's smart, and vulnerable, and hell, I volunteered to be her all-mighty protector and I don't regret it, not really. But that girl has brought more crazy shit into my life in the past few days than I've had in the past decade and a half, and that's saying a hell of a fucking lot-

You meet a girl and your life gets turned upside down.

Or, in my case, you get a life.

I'm just not really sure it's one I want.

The scenery's great around here, what I can see from this super-sonic puppy I'm sitting on, anyway. Good old Scott Summers; the brat orders up a souped-up motorcycle Cyclops-mobile that goes, like, warp speed and then leaves the keys dangling from the handlebar. 'Course, if I lived with that band of terminal do-gooders, I might grow a little more optimistic myself, gain a little faith in human nature....


Not as long as I still had to live with me, anyway.

I'm just having a little trouble here envisioning myself fighting on the side of good. Actually, I've got problems with me fighting on the side of anyone but me. It's not that I'm categorically opposed to good in general, although that certainly depends on your personal definition of good, it's just when you've spent all of your life that you can remember living looking out for number one it's a little hard to get into the proper frame of mind. Fighting for other people means giving a damn about other people, and that part's dangerous. Or is it really? Changed my ways quick enough as soon as Rogue got into trouble, didn't I?

Changed my ways as soon as Rogue crawled into the back of my travelling home away from everywhere else and fell asleep.

I didn't mean to care. It's not like we're anything alike, aside from our shared isolation and confusion and unfortunate tendencies to nearly kill people we care about. Nope, nothing alike at all....

...Great scenery. Strange, but you never really notice how the place looks when it's been your home for as long as you can remember and you know these snow-covered roads 'cause you've lived them for all that time. I'm looking at it differently now, for some reason, like seeing 'em for the first time.

Wonder if that means I've found another home.

Scary thought. I mean, I'm not a people person, not by a long shot. Traditionally, I'm not a team player, and the thought of it doesn't exactly fill me with warm rubbery happiness. But still....

Out here's as different from my other constant home- the hot, stuffy bar of the sort that got me into this mess- as the two sides of Hell. Fire and brimstone versus the endless freeze. Put 'em together and you got everything I know about my life: Canada. The Great White North. The Big Empty. That last one, I can sympathize with, all right.

Heading west, back to where this whole thing started. And the snow's starting to fall again.

...I haven't thought about Jean once since I left, though I sure as hell fucked that record now. There's a reason for it, too; I've been trying to forget her. Long as she's joined at the hip with that dick Scott I haven't got a chance in Hell (or Canada), and I wouldn't try. Joking aside, I don't break up couples- that's not my thing.

But she's... she's just- well, love at first sight is a pretty half-assed concept, and anyway at first sight I was doing my level best to get away from her, not lovin' her. But after that.... She's, well, smart and capable, and she can hold her own, and she's incredibly hot. And noble. Hell, they're all freakin' noble. But then, if you listen to Jean, so am I, so I guess I'll fit right in-

Would fit in, I mean. If I did go back. If I was actually going to....

...Fuck. I'm gonna do it, aren't I? Gonna go back. Gonna be an X-Man. Hell, I was only joking when I said that. But Rogue's counting on me, and Jean thinks I'm noble. Wouldn't wanna let the ladies down, now would I? I've got a reputation to hopelessly mangle beyond recognition.

And anyway, there's something to be said for having a purpose in life, I guess. So far my purpose's been to find out who I am and what happened to me. If this lead of Professor Chuck's pans out, that could come to an end very soon....

Something else I'm not thinking about. Don't wanna get my hopes up.

I promised Rogue I'd look out for her, and strangely enough, I intend to keep that promise. I've got a responsibility now, to someone other than myself. I've got a life now.

It's different.

Means I'll give the geeks one more shot.

After all, superheros get all the best toys. And if I work this right, I might even get to keep Scott's bike.


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