Disoriented » Captain America

chapter three

03 x not your typical party crasher

>>>

Wars, as it would turn out, are good places to meet people. Specifically the kind of people that, by some means or another, end up living far longer than y'know, a human . . . by some means or another.

I met him for the first time during the American Civil War.

He fought like an animal, and once I found out who he was, all of the pieces fell into place. Unfortunately, by that time, he had me and my scent memorized, which meant that for the years to come, I would not be forgotten.

Not until the Weapon X program, that is.

The next time I saw him was World War II, in a place separate from Steve. He and I were very familiar with each other, given my propensity for the bizarre, and his downright animalistic capacities. For though Logan was feral, I was catastrophic, and where his was outwards, mine was in. We were an odd balance, a symphony.

The first time we met, I'll never forget. Though I never forget any of my first meetings.

I had crash-landed -- literally. It was back when I had no idea that I could turn my own body into a forcefield, and the result had been a twisted wrist and so many bruises along my torso that I looked more like a Monet than a person.

Logan was the one who found me -- saw me appear out of thin air, actually -- and he was also the one who stuck around as the Civil War doctors worked their magic on me. I still remember when I was examining my stomach, and taking mental note of how it was more purple and blue than skin toned, when he'd appeared.

Not literally appeared, but goodness knows he has enough stealth about him that he may as well have.

"It'll heal," he said roughly. Every time I saw him, it was without whatever cap came 'highly recommended' for his side. In fact, to this day, I'm still not clear on what side he was on. He never told me . . . and I decided against asking.

"I know," I muttered, yanking my shirt down and giving him a nearly annoyed look. I gestured to him then, taking a seat on a cot. "Not all of us can speed-regenerate, you know," I mused, eyeing him pointedly.

He rolled his eyes and moved further into the tent, taking a seat beside me with no hesitation. Where other soldiers would've been wary of a girl so strange as me, and likely left me alone, he was already comfortable.

I didn't realize that was an oddity until much later.

"No, y'can't," he said, and I swear he snickered, though he denied it.

"Well," I said, shrugging one shoulder, "someday, Logan, you and I are going to meet, and I am going to have a chance to impose your lovely wisdom upon yourself."

He smiled crookedly, watching me in mild amusement. "Which words, specifically?"

I looked him dead in the eyes with a smirk too wide for my own good, a good many years later during World War II after he'd just taken six shots to the torso, and spoke with good will, "It'll heal."

I swear if he hadn't been too preoccupied letting his body regenerate he probably would've knocked my legs out from under me.

Then Weapon X had happened. Then adamantium, and erased memories, and a forgotten history had occurred. I'd never quite realized that things would leak through from his amnesia of his former life, though I suppose I should've anticipated it. He was, after all, extremely old despite not looking it . . . and there's only so much one brain can forget, without allowing at least a little to leak through.

I just never expected part of that 'little' to be me.

I found out just how ignorant I was in that regard when I appeared smack in the middle of what I had thought was a Steve situation . . . and he nearly pushed me through a wall while pinning me to it. His eyes were wide, his nostrils flared, and I knew he was more animal than human as he gave me a rough once over, one hand fisted in my shirt, the other one displaying dangerous metal claws. I hadn't struggled, though I could have.

I just waited.

It took him forty-six seconds -- I counted -- before the next thing I knew I wasn't having my life threatened, but rather was being pulled into a hug. He'd never hugged me before that, and I don't think he has since, but when he pulled away he gaped at me. "Jo . . ."

"Yup," I nodded, squirming my way out of his hold, "still me." I watched him cautiously though, a little worried that this new break through of memory might do him more damage than good.

But then he smiled -- at least, as much as Logan does -- and just shook his head and laughed. "I should'a known y'd be hard t'forget."

I relaxed somewhat then, "And I should've known you'd somehow get scarier with age," I teased, poking his shoulder.

He scoffed. "Pretty sure y'should've known that, yeah."

I rolled my eyes. "Don't get cocky with me, sir. You may be old, but I am positively ancient. So hush."

Logan chuckled, a deep, throaty sound, and shook his head. Though I noticed his claws withdrawing into his skin, I made no comment on them; I figured he'd tell me when he was ready. He fixed me with his dark eyes then, and arched a brow. "How'd you find me?"

Licking my lips, I considered the various ways I could answer this question. I went with honest. "Wasn't looking," I told him. "Actually was looking for another . . . friend. Finding you was an unexpected surprise." I smiled then and shook my head to myself, looking at him curiously. "What have you been up to? I mean . . . it's been a while."

And this, I remembered, was around the time of the X-Men for him. So I shouldn't have been surprised when he told me, "Found a team of misfits, figured I'd stick around." But that wasn't the kicker. No, the kicker was when he looked me dead in the eyes, and said, "Y'know, I think y'd like it there. And they're real into new people."

My brows arched of their own accord, and I (unable to help myself), said "Did you just offer me a place on the X-Men?"

To which he, of course, kind of smirked. "Should'a known y'd already know 'bout 'em. Just your thing, ain't it?" He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I did. Y'got a problem with that? I figure it's more your style than mine. All that hero crap."

Except I knew he was just as good as 'that hero crap,' as I was, if not considerably better. I wisely kept that thought to myself, though -- no way was I going to be the one to tell Logan he was more heroic than he thought.

Instead, I shook my head, and forced a smile to my lips. "Don't think so, Logan. Don't get me wrong . . . it's a good place for you. But not for me."

Then he gave me that all-seeing old-man stare, the one that was simultaneously trying to figure me out and making me feel like he was worming his way into my soul. "Why's that?"

My smile turned sad then, and there was nothing I could've done to stop it. Master though I may be at concealing my emotions, that all faded away when I was with the man who had been at the beginning of some of my more interesting adventures. He knew better, anyway; whether I let it show or not. So I might as well let the walls down. I shook my head, and the smile vanished completely. "It's not my place in the world . . . or the universe . . . or time," I informed him carefully. "I'm too much for that. Me getting involved could be . . ."

But he finished my sentence for me, and in a knowing tone that helped soothe the guilt I felt for having to explain at all, "Cataclysmic."

I nodded then, a bitter smile twisting my lips. "Exactly."

Some things are too dangerous to be owned. I am one of them. I can't stay in one place, anyway; not with all of my urges to get out and around time and space. Were I to stick around in one place, with one team, the unthinkable could happen. My appearing in various points among people's timelines was already baffling to them . . . for me to stay and solidify any number of things wouldn't be better. For anyone.

Though sometimes I wondered if there was even the slimmest chance that it could be better for me.