Disclaimer: I own nothing but Morgan. Please R&R.

I hadn't thought this through.

I had a problem with that. I never really thought things through. Some idea pops into my head and I do it without really thinking it through. I had done it all my life but this time had to take the cake.

I pulled my long green jacket tighter around my body as the harsh, icy winds of Canada picked up. The cold bit at my face, leaving it raw and pink. My hands were covered in deep violet gloves that gave them some protection from the weather. I pulled my duffle bag higher up my shoulder and trekked on.

I was walking down a snow-covered deserted road, wondering if I had made the right decision. Running away from the orphanage to find this man, a stranger, wasn't my best idea. But I had been wanting to meet him for over 15 years. Now I had to ability to locate him, I wasn't going to just sit around. I know he won't recognise me when he sees me. From what my mother left in her letter, there was a chance he wouldn't have any memory of me at all. I began imagining scenarios in my head; how would I tell him? How would he react?

I wondered if he would see any resemblance. I had no idea what he looked like, so I guess I would find out when I see him. Would he have dark hair like me? Right now my long hair was a medium blonde colour but I was a brunette naturally. Would I see my own dark eyes when I looked into his?

"Guess I'm gunna get my answer," I said to myself as a spotted a gathering of cars ahead. As I approached what looked like the very small hub of Laughlin City, I could already hear the rowdy calls of drunken men. I wondered what kind of man Logan was to be hanging out in somewhere like that. Maybe he wasn't the glorious, kind man I had imagined him to be?

I squashed my fears down as I walked into the bar. Instantly my ears were assaulted by loud yells of anger and booing. I wrinkled my nose at the smell of alcohol and body odour that was radiating off the men. I was beginning to wonder if I was the only woman in the bar when I spotted a cluster of scantily clad women huddled near the bar, their clothes leaving little protection from the Canadian weather.

A few men were throwing me looks that normally would have made me shiver in disgust, but I was too focused on finding Logan to care. I closed my eyes for a second, concentrate for a moment to find him. He was in the middle of the bar. I began pushing through the crowd. Their yells of fury had increased. I realised why they were yelling when I finally pushed through two particularly angry men.

In the middle of the bar was a metal fighting cage. A fight was in progress but it looked like it was going to end any moment, for one of the men was swaying on his feet. One more punch from his opponent sent him sprawling on the floor of the cage. The booing reached a new high as the unconscious man was dragged from the cage by two men.

"Never in all my years have I seen anything like it," said a man standing in the centre of the ring, a microphone in hand.

I tried to look over the heads of the people in front of me, desperate to get a look at the other man standing in the ring. I knew it was him, I could feel it.

"Are you going to let this man walk away with your money?" the man asked the crowd, who replied with a chorus of angry calls.

A man suddenly stood up from the bleachers in the corner of the bar. "I'll fight him!"

His statement was met with another round of calls, although this time they were cheers. People were banging on the metal cage, showing their support for the new hero.

I could see an outline of the other man on the other side of the cage. He had one hand resting above his head on the cage. He looked to be shirtless and even though he currently had his back turned to me, I could see he was very well built.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, our saviour!" the man with the microphone said as the new challenger stomped into the cage. He covered the microphone with one hand as he said something to the new challenger, a bald, thick man with numerous tattoos down his arms.

I squeezed through a few more people, trying to see him. I had been waiting for this moment for so long, yet it was nothing like I had pictured. A bell echoed through the bar, signalling the start of the new fight. Without a seconds hesitation, the bald man ran at him. I opened my mouth to yell at him, how could he attack Logan when he still had he back turned to him?

The man lifted his leg and struck Logan right in the back. Logan spun around from the force of the attack, so he was now facing his opponent. But he hadn't even raised his hands before the challenger had punched him, twice. Logan fell to his knees.

I watched with my mouth open in shock. Why hadn't he thrown a punch yet? From the sounds I had heard when I had come in; he had been winning for a long time. Why was he suddenly looking like he had nothing to give?

The crowd was jeering as the man aimed a kick at Logan's stomach. He struck again.

"Fight back!" I found myself yelling. I hadn't come all this way to meet him, only to have him knocked unconscious.

I had gotten close enough to the cage to see something change in Logan. In an instant, Logan had gotten to his feet. As the man went to throw a punch, Logan's fist connected with his. I winced as I imaged the pain they were both feeling. But Logan seemed to be showing no signs of pain as he stepped towards his opponent, into the light.

And for the first time, I looked into the face of my father.

He had dark hair that travelled down the side of his face into mutton chops, his dark eyes were currently glaring at his challenger and his mouth was drawn back into a snarl. I never imagined I would be scared of my father but as I watched him throw his arm back for a punch, I couldn't deny the ripple of fear that travelled down my spine. He truly looked frightening.

His fist connected with his opponents face with such force that the man flew back into the cage. As he threw another forceful punch, I saw a silver chain around Logan's neck. Dog tags.

Logan's second punch had been enough to finish the man off. He flew onto his back with a mighty groan. The bell dinged again as the fight was clearly over. Logan rolled his neck and shoulders, hardly showing any signs of pain. He had no marks to show from the fight and I knew exactly why that was. I was amazed at what extraordinary mutation he had.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the man with the microphone said as he re-entered the cage, "tonight's winner and still king of the cage, the Wolverine!"

Logan kicked the man on the ground for good measure as the furious calls restarted. He sulked back to his corner of the cage, lighting a cigarette.

I couldn't believe the fight I had just witnessed. I had just seen my father for the first time, and he had beaten a man with less than 3 punches. I was shocked but slightly in awe.

That fight had been the last one of the night, and it was well past 3 in the morning, so many people began leaving instantly. I wondered what I should do.

I didn't want to approach him right now and I had a feeling after that fight he would be wanting a drink, so I made my way over to the bar. I settled onto a barstool, chucked my bag at my feet and ordered water from the bartender. He gave me a look but said nothing as he filled up a dirty cup with tap water. As he placed the cup in front of me, my eyes slid over a jar on the bar. Taped to it was the note "Tipping is NOT a city in China". The notes stuffed in the jar looked appealing, especially when I had only a 50 stuffed in my duffle bag.

The minutes ticked by. The man who had been commentating the match was sitting at a small table with a tall blonde, counting a pile of notes. The TV above the bar was showing a news report but I wasn't paying attention.

"You want somethin' new honey?" the bartender asked as he wiped a rag over a cup. I glanced at my untouched glass of water, then at the jar sitting beside it. "Or you sticking to water?" The man reached out and slid the jar down the bar.

I didn't reply as at that moment someone had approached the bar. My heart sped up as I glanced out of the corner of my eye. There he was. He sat at the end of the bar, now wearing two flannel shirts and a brown jacket. He already had a lit cigar in his mouth and there seemed to be a permanent scowl on his features.

"Just a beer," he grunted as he dug around his jacket for change.

I was sitting looking at him as discretely as I could, but as his eyes swept his surroundings, they locked with mine. My heart jumped. I don't know what I was hoping for. Something, a spark of recognition.

But as his gaze returned to his beer, his face showed no signs of anything other than displeasure. Disappointment flooded me, but it wasn't enough to send me packing.

"The leaders of over 200 nations will discuss issues ranging from the worlds economic climate and weapons treaties to the mutant phenomenon and it's impact on our world stage."

The news report I had been ignoring suddenly gained my attention. I happened to notice one particular word gaining Logan's attention. Once again, his eyes locked with mine. I quickly looked back to the TV.

"Many American legislators have contended that the debate over mutant issues should be primary focus, of what is, on the surface, a strictly diplomatic affair..."

"You owe me some money."

I looked around as someone spoke. The bald man Logan had fought was standing behind him, looking far from happy. A mate stood behind him, obviously there to back him up.

"No man takes a beating like that and has nothing to show for it," the bald man said. Logan looked over his shoulder at the man before turning back around. Obviously he didn't see the man as a threat.

"I know what you are," the man whispered to Logan.

"You lost your money," Logan growled over his shoulder to the man, "keep this up and you'll lose something else."

The man's friend went to pull him away but he wasn't having any of that. I watched with wide eyes as he pulled a small knife from within his jacket.

"Lookout!" I yelled.

It happened so fast I barely had time to blink. Logan had jumped out from his stool and thrown the man against a pole. I felt my mouth drop as I saw two long blades slide out from his knuckles. As I watched, a third slid out, inches away from the man's throat. My mother had written in her letter about Logan's claws, but in person, they were...beyond frightening. He had knives...coming out of his skin.

No one spoke. Every eye was upon Logan. The sound of a gun cocking echoed through the room. My eyes had been glued upon Logan, so I had missed the bartender retrieving his gun. Logan looked over his shoulder slightly as the bartended aimed the barrel of him gun millimetres from his head.

"Get out of my bar freak," the bartender said.

There was a moment where no one moved, before Logan flung his other hand out towards the bartender. Three blades shot out of his other hand, slicing straight through the man's gun. He held the two pieces of his gun in shock as Logan's eyes flew between him and the man he still had his claws at.

For some reason, he then looked at me. I wondered what my face looked like; if I was showing the shock I was feeling. His gaze travelled back to the bartender before the blades retracted back into his knuckles.

His eyes flew to every occupant in the bar, daring them to attack. After a few more tense moments, he stalked out of the bar. The men were looking at each other like they couldn't believe what had just happened.

I didn't know what to do. I couldn't just let him leave but I doubted he would take a 17 year old hitchhiker. With absolutely no plan, I picked up my bag from the ground and hurried out of the bar after Logan.

The bite of the cold was worse than ever after being in the shelter of the bar. I saw Logan's form rushing towards a very old and battered campervan with a small trailer. He jumped inside and slammed the door. I was stuck between hesitation and action. I wouldn't be able to keep up with him once he left. He had a car. I didn't. I could have jimmied one open and followed him but on such deserted roads, he would notice one car following him. He hadn't started the engine yet like I had expected so without another thought, I ran across the car park. I prayed he wasn't looking at his mirrors as I did the first though that popped into my head; I jumped into the trailer. The only thing in it was an old motorbike and a heap of rags. I stuffed my bag under my head for support and grabbed a large rag, throwing it over my body.

I heard the start up of the engine and the trailer began to shake as he pulled out of the car park. I had no idea where he was heading so I settled myself in for a long ride.

My bag gave me some comfort for my head but my body was already aching from the steel floor of the trailer. It was the first time in days that I had laid down so I wasn't surprised when I found myself drifting off. I knew I shouldn't have but I couldn't stop my eyes from drooping.

I was hovering on the edge of consciousness when the trailer jerked to a stop. I had no idea how long he had been driving for. Had they reached a town already? I heard him open his door...leaving the engine running. A sinking feeling filled my stomach. The sound of snow being crushed under boot rang out, coming closer to the trailer. I tried to mentally prepare myself. This would be the first time I would speak to my father.

I could feel him standing above me when he suddenly poked me twice. He lifted the rag that had been covering my body and threw it off. I lifted my head and squinted up at him. He had a scowl on his face and a cigar in his mouth.

"What the hell are you doing?" he grunted, taking the cigar from his mouth.

They definitely hadn't been the first words I had been expecting my father to say to me. I was disappointed and nervous. He had absolutely no idea who I was.

"I'm sorry. I needed a ride," I said as I got to my knees in the trailer, "I thought you might help me."

"Get out." He reached into the trailer and picked up my duffle bag, throwing it onto the ground.

"Where am I supposed to go?" I asked as I manoeuvred my way out of the trailer.

"I don't know," he answered.

I frowned up at him, desperate for him to see something in my eyes. "You don't know or you don't care?"

"Pick one," he said gruffly. He shoved his cigar back into his mouth and turned back to the campervan.

He couldn't just leave me here! How could he be so mean? I couldn't believe he could just dump someone on the side of the road. How could this man be my Dad?

"I saved your life!" I yelled out of nowhere.

"No you didn't." He jumped back into the driver seat, slammed the door and took off.

I resisted the urge to cry. And scream. What a selfish, mean, horrible man! I wished I could say he wasn't my father but I knew it was him. I couldn't believe I had waited so long to meet him and it had ended like this. What a waste of my time.

I was contemplating just what the hell I was going to do when I saw his break lights come on. He was stopping!

Maybe he wasn't so bad after all?

I picked up my bag from the ground and ran for the campervan. I approached the passenger side and hesitantly opened the door. I stood there for a moment.

"You gunna get in or what kid?" he asked.

I chucked my bag on the floor and pulled myself up into the seat. I had barely closed the door before he had taken off again. The engine groaned slightly and stuttered but it kept on going. The smell of dirt, alcohol and smoke filled my nostrils. There was nothing more I detested than cigars but I wasn't about to say anything. He would no doubt chuck me out again.

We drove along in silence before I got the nerve to speak. "You don't have anything to eat do you?"

He didn't move for a moment, so I thought he was going to ignore me. But he put the cigar in his mouth and reached across with his free hand to the glove box. He pulled out a packet of beef jerky and threw it into my lap. As I pulled off my thin gloves, he shut the glove box. I saw him eye my gloves but he didn't say anything.

I practically ripped open the packet and tore off a huge piece of jerky. As I hurried stuffed the piece into my mouth, I resisted the urge to moan at the first thing I had eaten in 2 days. I wasn't the biggest fan of jerky, but it tasted like heaven to me. I pulled off another piece and ate it. I slowed down after another piece and pushed down the green hood of my coat.

"I'm Morgan." Yet again I was hoping my name might spark something within his memory. Nothing.

He didn't say anything. He just smoked that damn cigar. I looked across at the dog tags resting upon his chest.

"Were you in the army?" I asked. In the dull light, I could just make out the word "Wolverine" on the tags. I doubt he remembered the story of how he came up with that name. I knew, for my mother had been the one to first mention that name. "Doesn't-doesn't that mean you were in the army?"

Logan looked down at his chest before he reached down and tucked the tags into his shirt, out of sight.

I bit the inside of my lip and looked away. Obvious he was not one for chit-chat. I looked around to see what kind of car I had gotten into. I looked over my shoulder into the back of the campervan. It was covered in junk. There were clothes littering the floor, empty food packets and a bottle of vodka was rolling around. It was dark, damp and disgusting.

"Wow," I said to myself.

"What?" he asked, looking back into the van.

I hesitated. "Suddenly my life doesn't look that bad."

"Hey if you prefer the road-"

"No," I cut over him. "No...it looks great." He looked over at me. "Looks cosy."

I picked up another piece of jerky, for something to do. I couldn't believe I was sitting in a car with my Dad. And he had no idea he was sitting next to his daughter. When would be the right time to tell him? If there ever was a right time. From what I had seen, I doubted he would believe me. But I had my mother's letter in my bag to show him. It was all the proof he needed.

I began rubbing my hands together, trying to get rid of the last bit of frost. Logan saw my out of the corner of his eye. He reached over and turned the heat up to maximum. "Put your hands on the heater," he said as he reached out for my hands.

Without thinking, I jerked my hands away. It was just an instinctive, especially after finding out my mutation.

"I'm not gunna hurt you kid," he said, gesturing to the vents currently spitting out hot air.

"It's nothing personal," I said as I began pulling on my gloves. "It's just when people touch my skin...something happens."

"What?" he asked.

I bit my lip. "I don't know," I lied. I knew exactly what happened when people touched my skin but I wasn't going to explain my mutation to a stranger, even if he was my Dad.

"Fair enough," he mumbled through the cigar in his mouth. He pulled it out with his free hand which he then placed on the wheel. I watched him, concentrating on the skin between his knuckles.

"When they come out...does it hurt?"

I watched his eyes travel from the road to his hands on the wheel. "Everytime."

"What kind of a name is Wolverine?" I asked.

He looked over to me, staring at me with the dark eyes I thought looked like my own. "My name's Logan," he finally said as he turned his gaze back to the road.

I began playing with the necklace resting on my chest. It had been my mothers...and the man sitting beside me had given it to her.

I noticed for the first time that it was snowing. As I watched one snowflake melt upon contact with the windscreen, I wondered what there was to say next. So being me, I said the first thing that popped into my head. "You know you should wear your seatbelt."

"Look kid," Logan began, pointing his cigar at me, "I don't need advice on-"

He was cut off as something came crashing down upon the road in front of the car. The sound of tearing metal filled my ears as I was flung against my seatbelt. I gasped from the sharp pain before it turned into a scream. Logan, without the protection of his seatbelt, had been flung from his seat, straight through the windscreen and onto the snow covered ground. He slid to a stop, face down in the snow where he remained motionless.

"Logan!"