YOU'RE LOSING ME ✦ WOLVERINE

CHAPTER ONE

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 3RD — 2007

THE BAR CLARA currently sat in was not the finest establishment she'd set foot in. But it wasn't the worst, either.

And yet, she kept coming back to it. Probably because the man who ran the bar was a mutant in hiding, and knew she was one too. Had accepted that she was a forty-five year old woman who looked twenty-two.

The funniest thing about it all, though, was the fact that Clara wasn't even sure she could get drunk. She certainly didn't vomit after downing five shots, like a normal person would, but she enjoyed the margaritas Jerry made, and the stories he told.

Deep down, she was slightly disappointed she couldn't get drunk. She'd been so young when her healing factor had mutated, nowhere near old enough to drink. And by the time she had been, she'd already had Jamie.

The bar door opened behind her, and Clara ignored it like she did every time, keeping her eyes on the TV bolted to the ceiling. It was no one she knew, anyway. Kiera was off being a badass S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, Katie was overseas in university, and Jamie was off in New York city, in college, becoming a journalist.

And she was here, in this small town, running a multi-repair shop for the residents and any mutants that came in. She used hidden messaging that other mutants would know and attract them to her shop.

Whoever had walked in sat down at the bar, a couple stools down from her, and she risked a glance. The man looked haunted. Brown hair slightly spiked on each side, he wore the coolest leather jacket and bell bottoms she'd ever seen on a man. For as depressed as he was, she had to admire his dedication to style.

She turned her attention back to the TV, and overheard him order a whiskey. Playing on the TV was some baseball game Jerry had recorded, nothing she was interested in, but Jerry liked always having sports on, so she never complained.

Jerry looked Clara's way again, silently asking if she wanted a new drink. Her glass was empty, so maybe it wasn't too bad an idea to get a new drink. She could feel the new guy's eyes on her, so she made it a point to not look at him as she handed her glass back to Jerry, and said, "Something sweet, please."

"Coming up," He replied, and then set her old glass in the sink, getting two new cups out.
She could still feel new guy's eyes on her. She realized it was probably because she looked barely twenty, sitting in a bar getting drinks.

Or maybe he was a mutant...? She thought to herself, then shut it down. Not every single person she'd come across in life was a mutant. She needed to stop thinking that.

Finally, she glanced at him, and he turned away suddenly, finding the baseball game playing interesting. She rolled her eyes, and then turned back to it herself. It was only the three of them in the bar tonight. Which made sense, it was a September night on a Monday. Not many people stayed in town while it still felt like summer.

"Here you guys go," Jerry cheerfully said, setting their individual drinks down on the bar, napkins underneath both.

Clara reached out, grabbing hers, and brushed fingers with the new guy. She gave no reaction to the weird sensation she felt, but he openly stared at her for a moment, before shaking his head and taking a drink of his whiskey.

Thankfully, Jerry knew that her night was coming to an end, and had given her a small Shirley Temple to balance out all of the alcohol she'd drank that night.

Finishing it quickly, Clara pulled her wallet out of her pocket, and paid for all of her drinks she'd had that night. "Goodnight, Jerry!" She called as she left the bar, and he replied, "See you tomorrow night!"

Stepping outside, she saw a new motorcycle that hadn't been parked outside before. It must belong to the new guy, She thought. It was a nice motorcycle, although it needed a little bit of work. Maybe he would hear about her shop and come by. But who knew when that would be.
Rolling her shoulders, she cut left through the parking lot, and crossed the street to her shop. She got her keys out of her pocket, and unlocked the three locks on the door, stepping inside and closing the door behind her.

All in all, there were six locks on the door. Just an extra precaution, you could never be too careful after all that Clara had been through. Likely, they wouldn't keep out the winter soldier if he'd ever come after her again. Most nights, she only locked a few of them anyway.

She crossed her workshop to another door on the left wall, opening up to a staircase to her apartment above her shop. Another three locks on this one, and two more on the one leading to her apartment. Although her apartment was never locked.

Once she was inside, she tugged off her boots, and wandered into her small kitchen for some food to microwave.

This was her life. Her small, melancholic life.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Across the street, still sitting in the bar, was Logan.

He wasn't entirely sure how he had ended up in this town—to be honest, most days, he wasn't sure how he did anything.

Life felt like a blur, now that Jean and Scott were gone. Life had no meaning, now that they were gone.

It had all happened so fast, over just a couple of days. And then he had to kill her. She wasn't here, and it was his fault. He had driven into this town just to find a hotel for the night, and directions to an auto-body shop to fix the motorcycle. It had gotten a bit run down from his constant driving, and with Scott's birthday coming up...It only felt right, getting it fixed up. Almost like it was an actual birthday present for the guy.

But then he'd found the bar first, and wandered in because a drink of anything sounded good.
But then there was that strange looking girl sitting in here, alone. No one else was in the bar but that girl. She looked barely old enough to drink, but held herself as though she was much older. Her hair was a blondish-white, nowhere near as white as Storm's, but light enough to mark it unnatural. Not dyed, but...Unnatural.

His staring had probably been completely obvious. She'd barely looked at him, hadn't spoken a single word other than her order to Jerry, who he assumed was the bartender.
Something sweet, please.

Even her voice sounded older than her looks. And then after she left, he had noticed her looking at Scott's motorcycle outside. Maybe she knew somebody who'd be able to fix it up. Maybe he could ask her tomorrow, when he was clear-minded enough to ask someone.

"Do you know of any motels in town?" Logan finally asked the bartender, who paused his wiping of the countertop.

"There's one a couple of blocks away, actually. Take a right on Riverside, and keep going straight. There's a big sign for it, you won't miss it. It's called Riverside Inn." He responded, and Logan thanked him, and dug his wallet out of his pocket.

"I'll probably be back tomorrow night," Logan admitted, and set the cash down on the counter. He got up from his stool, and left the bar. Across the street to his left, the apartment above the repair shop's light was on. When he had pulled up, it had been dark.

Huh, he thought to himself. Maybe she lives there with her mom.

He got onto Scott's motorcycle, and put the key in the ignition, bringing it to life. It wasn't right. He should be fixing up Scott's motorcycle to be giving it back to him, not keeping it for his own selfish purposes.

But who else was going to ride it? Scott wasn't here anymore...The thought nearly brought tears to Logan's eyes. Best he get to the motel so he could be alone.