CATACLYSM || X-Men

16| here you come again

Fire Island, New York, 1973

"Sand in my butt, every damn time, do you know how much I hate having to come here?" Rose muttered as she fell into the sand beside Moira and her husband. "Nightmare."

    "I appreciate you putting your comfort aside for me," the agent laughed.

    "So what's up?"

    "There's mob activity in the state. I had a contact ask for help, and I was wondering if you'd know anything," she asked, reaching into her coat to take out an envelope. Handing it over, Rose opened it to pull out a few photos. Her heart stopped. "I need a name."

    "I'm sorry," Rose slipped the photos back in. "I can't help you."

    "I know you know him," she replied, making Rose look over at her. "That's the biggest reaction you've had for photos so far."

    "Look, this is, like, mutant level can't tell you," Rose sighed, handing the envelope back, defying Moira with her stern look.

    "He's in some trouble."

    "Oh trust me, he can handle himself. If anything, he'll be helping the police force if the mob decide to be stupid. He's a non-issue."

    Finally taking the envelope, Moira slipped it back into her pocket. "Always good to see you, Rose," she smiled softly, looking over at her old friend.

    "You too Moira."

    "Have you been staying in New York?"

    "Yes, I'm mostly in the state. I rent out the house down south during the school year."

    "How's the teaching going?" her husband asked.

    "It's good. Never thought I'd teach at university, but it's pretty fun, I have to admit."

Brooklyn, New York City, 1973

Logan got out of the car, looking up at the building he'd never seen before. He didn't see Rose in a place like this. How did he get so out of touch? He didn't even know she'd ever worked here.

    "Logan?" he turned his head to see Rose on the steps beside him, holding a whole bunch of books and papers to her chest. She still wore her fingerless gloves, which didn't surprise him.

    "Hey, spark plug," he nodded, making her smile a little wider.

    "Hey old man. You want to get a drink?"

    "Sounds like a good idea."

The Bronx, New York City, 1973

"Charles and Erik. Together?" she asked again, holding onto the cup of coffee with a gloved hand. As out of place as it looked in a busy bar, she had given up on what everyone thought about her years ago.

    "I have a feeling this is going to be more difficult than they let on," Logan muttered, bitter about the lack of information he was given.

    "No, it just— I don't know, I wasn't expecting it. Not after Erik— And Charles—" with each name, she made different faces, Logan having to watch to potentially understand what she meant. It didn't help. "I've kind of given up hope, in all honesty," she finally shrugged.

    "Well, according to Charles in the future, you're the only one who can get them working together with minimal damage. So I'm gonna need your help," Logan told her, swapping out his cigar for his drink.