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** ** indicates telepathic communication
‘ ’ indicates thought
“ ” indicates spoken words
“Lets get this over with”

“Excuse me,” the old bartender set down the newspaper he was reading and looked up at the latest entrants into the bar-cum-fighting arena.
“Ya?” he glanced at the two men and the woman along with them. Both of the men had their shaded glasses on, even indoors. One of them had the normal black ones, while the other had a red one. ‘City folk and their shenanigans,’ he shook his head.

Paying more attention to the female of the group, he appreciatively moved his eyes over the top half of her body, the part that was visible over the counter. She was ‘tall’, taller than any woman he had seen till date, even taller than him, by at least four inches. Her skin color told that she was of African origin, but with the bluest eyes ever. Even her hair was odd, different. They were white and were tightly bound at her back.

“What can I get ya today?” he asked as him stood up and came towards them. “The restrooms are over there, if ya wanta use them.” He pointed to the left. They looked like the typical tourist, which made him think that maybe they were taking a whiz break rather than buying a drink or two or more.

“Thank you,” red-glasses replied. He seemed to be the leader of the group. Standing next to him, black-glasses was staring right at the bartender. The woman seemed distracted, her eyes darting over the entire bar. It was as if she was expecting to find someone here, a missing friend and from the look in her eyes, it seemed that that person maybe be even more than just a friend.

------

“We are looking for someone,” red-glasses spoke again. “A man.”
“Look around ya,” the bartender gestured around the bar. “Ya got a lotta man. Can you be clearer? Gotta name or photo to go with the man?”
This time the female spoke, cutting off red-glasses, her voice smooth and cultured; held the barest hint of impatience. “We are looking for the Wolverine.”

Immediately the bar grew silent. It was as if it had gone completely empty.
“I take it he is known here,” the female gave a half smirk, her lips slightly curling at one edge.
“Sorry lady, can’t help you there,” the old man moved away from the counter, his hand lowering to the shot-gun stored below the counter. “Don’t know who you are talking about?”
“I think you do,” she countered back.

“Listen,” red-glasses jumped in, his voice slow as if trying to calm both the woman and the rapidly deteriorating situation. “We need to find him. Its very important.”
“Told ya, don’t know any one named Wolverine,” the bartender snapped at him. “So if ya don’t wanta buy anything, I suggest ya get on yer way. Have a nice day.”
“Mon ami,” black-glasses spoke up for the first time, his accent having a odd French tint in it. He wasn’t Canadian either. “Maybe we can work out sometin’, non?”

“There is nothing to work out,” he was getting angry now, and pulled out his gun. “Now if ya don’t wanta lose parts of yer body and yer life, I say GET.”
“Please,” the woman’s tone softened, her eyes filling up with pain and love. “Its very important that we find him. Its a life and death matter.”
“Whose?” He cocked his brow. Looking at her, he instantly got the answer. “Ya know, let that be. Go through that door, I’ll be with ya,” he whispered to her and turned to a younger employee.

------

“Did you just try to bribe him?” Cyclops hissed at Gambit as they walked into the ‘office’ of the bar, most probably of the owner or manager.
“Non,” Gambit shook his head. “Remy only try to get the information, which y’ fail t’ get.”
“Meaning you were try to *buy* it off,” Scott said bluntly.
“Whatev’ works homme,” Gambit just shrugged, going silent as the door knob was turned.

“What do ya want with the Wolverine?” The bartender-cum-manager-cum-owner started. He was addressing just Ororo now, not paying the least bit of attention to the other two men in the room.
“He is a friend,” she answered cryptically.
“Sure he is,” the old man smirked at her, becoming serious the next instant. “What do ya take me ta be? The village idiot? If ya expect me ta believe that someone like him would move around and mix with people like ya, then I might as well believe that milk comes frem the moon.”

None of the x-men seemed the least bit put off by his outburst, with Ororo doing the talking now.
“He IS a friend,” she stressed before softly adding. “He saved my life, a long time ago.”
“That is even more unbelievable,” the owner smirked. “He ain’t gonna get anyone a glass of water, let alone save their life. The only people I have seen him help are his old woman and the k…” he stopped himself, realizing that he spoke too much.

Wolverine had told him that no one should come to know anything about him or his family, especially smartly dressed city types like these. He had been very ‘convincing’.

“H…his wife,” the woman faltered. “What do you know about her?”
“Listen lady,” he audibly sighed. “I have already told ya people a lot. Can’t tell ya anymore, unless ya use yer torture techniques and injections ta get it out frem me.”
“Torture techniques? Injections? We don’t…..” red-glasses started.

“We are not from the government,” the woman stopped him.
“Sure that’s what they all say,” the old man, *Lou* smirked.

------

“Leave,” Ororo turned to her teammates, speaking in hushed tones. “Give me ten minutes.”
“Why?” Scott questioned, taking care of not using any of their real or codenames.
“Just leave,” she whispered back.

Nodding his head, Gambit immediately the office, with Cyclops slowly following him, glancing over his shoulder at the couple left behind them.

------

Ten minutes later,

Ororo stepped out of the bar, a tight blank look on her face and in her eyes.

“Lets go,” was all she said as she reached near her teammates and walked past them towards the Blackbird’s hidden location.
“Where are we going?” Scott started along with him, the rest of the x-men close behind him “What did you find out?”
“Westchester,” she answered. Her voice tight and unfeeling. “Back to the mansion.”

“What about Wolverine?” Jean inquired.

“Forget about him”

------

Three months later,

“You called Professor,” Hank *inquired* of his mentor. “I regret that I am late.”
“No need to apologize Henry,” Xavier smiled, gesturing to Beast to occupy his seat.

“Vat happened Professor,” Nightcrawler spoke from his *perch*. “You called all of us.”
“Yes Kurt,” Xavier looked around, his gaze finally settling on Ororo. “I have some important information to give, especially for Storm.”

“Me?” Ororo looked up. “What about me?” She asked hesitantly.
Having returned to the mansion, she had slowly settled into her old routine of school and x-men related missions.

“Yes,” Xavier nodded his head, raising his mental shields to avoid the deluge of thoughts and emotions going to burst at this next words.

“Wolverine is coming back….and, he is not alone.”

Note: I know the last couple of chapters have been short. That's for a reason. I want to keep on moving the story and as I don't have the time for long chapters....I am breaking them into small episodes.
Next Update will take some time. Please bear with me!!

Please Review!!





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