Something stirred in Angela’s mind.
“You all know each other? Magneto, you, and Charles?”
Logan broke into a grin.
“Yeah, we go way back—years.
Not exactly happy memories, though.
And honestly, I don’t remember all of it.”
“You don’t remember all of it?” Angela asked, puzzled.
Logan nodded, unbothered.
“I’ve lost my memory more than once.
I can’t even be sure myself what I’ve forgotten.”
“Uh…” It was the first time Angela had ever run into something like this; she blanked for a moment before recovering.
“Maybe we could sit down in the office and talk? If you’re willing to, that is.”
Logan took her up on it, dragging over a chair and dropping into the seat across from her.
“Angela, what do you want to know? Ask me anything. As long as I remember it, I’ll tell you.”
There was something faintly strange to Angela about how open he was being.
“Logan, doesn’t it feel odd to you? Someone from another world sharing your blood.”
Logan shook his head, smiling, and the words came from somewhere genuine.
“All I feel is happiness.
I’ve finally met you—Angela Ziegler, the long-lost family I’d been parted from all these years.”
“Well, since you don’t mind…” Angela leaned in, studying Logan’s face closely.
“Okay, I’ll admit I can’t read a mutant’s age at all.
Dr. McCoy said our blood ties are pretty distant by now—hard to work out exactly which generation is which.
If it’s all right with you, I’ll treat you as an older brother.
That work?”
“Angela, you don’t have to be so tense about it. New chapters come out on g.com first.
And don’t force yourself to change how you address me.”
Logan didn’t seem used to talking this softly; he paused a moment before going on.
“Either way, I’ll look after you and protect you like a little sister. Whatever trouble you run into, you can always come to me.”
Angela nearly blurted out, Then come join Overwatch—but she caught the impulse before it could escape.
Returning the kindness instead, she said, “Then if injury or illness ever troubles you, you’re welcome to come to me anytime. I guarantee it—I’m the finest doctor of this century.”
Logan laughed.
“I never doubted that for a second.”
At this point Angela still didn’t quite grasp what the name “Wolverine” meant among mutants.
As a mutant with a powerful healing factor and a body that aged at a crawl, Wolverine had lived through spans of time most people couldn’t begin to imagine.
He’d even fought in the First World War—though that stretch of memory was gone now.
Across his long life he’d met with countless schemes and wars, countless encounters and farewells.
He fought without end, surviving one brutal campaign after another, yet he’d lost nearly as much as he’d gained—maybe more.
If Wolverine had never lost a single memory, he’d have been a living history book.
Even as it was, Wolverine was more than qualified to teach a history class—nothing describes “history” more vividly than having seen it with your own eyes.
What the past looked like before it became “history” is something only the people who lived it can ever truly know.
Angela had once been a top student too—straight A’s across the board, the textbook model of a good pupil, “history” included.
Unfortunately, much of the historical knowledge she’d once mastered had blurred over the years, and the “history” she’d studied wasn’t the history of the world she now lived in.
Put simply, even though Angela cherished knowledge and had tried to hold on to the memory of an ancient civilization’s thousands of years of glorious culture, all she could really keep was the ancient history that had practically become common knowledge; on modern history, she was hopeless.
Now, faced with a “living textbook,” Angela couldn’t help her curiosity, so she went along with Wolverine’s wish and asked about his past.
He might have looked like a crude, ignorant man, but that was just an illusion born of the aura of violence and war that had soaked into his very bones.
After enough time, anyone who isn’t an outright fool ends up with broad experience, rich learning, knowledge, and a real breadth of spirit.
Logan spoke of the years he’d lived through in a voice nothing like the stiff—if perhaps fair—prose of a history book.
“…No, that fight was honestly pure luck. Strategy? Sure. Tactics shape a war, of course. But once you get down to a single battle, nobody controls how it all unfolds. To the brass up top, whether a soldier lives or dies is just a number. Surviving takes strength—but it takes even more luck.”
Logan let out a self-deprecating chuckle and reached for a cigarette out of habit.
He’d already worked one between his fingers before it hit him; a little awkwardly, he said, “Angela, mind if I smoke?”
That made Angela laugh.
She held out a hand and said brightly, “Could you spare me one?”
It was the kind of reply that should have dissolved the awkwardness—but Logan answered with a surprisingly firm “No,” which left Angela briefly stunned.
Logan was still talking.
“Smoking’s bad for you. And you’re a young woman—you really shouldn’t. Tch. Forget it.”
The old chain-smoker actually swallowed his own craving, tossing the cigarette in his hand straight into the trash to prove he meant it.
The motion was so decisive that Angela didn’t even get the chance to say you can’t hold a double standard.
In the end all she managed was, “Logan, I’m hardly a ‘girl’ anymore. My age is a long way from those sweet, youthful years.”
She added silently: so far that I can’t even remember what I did back then—probably nothing but classes and exams.
The remark earned only a snort from Logan.
“In front of me, you’re a girl—want to compare ages?”
“…Fine. You win.”
Angela pursed her lips, putting on a deliberately pitiful look.
“I just hope you won’t ban me from drinking later for the same reason.”
Logan grinned and ran with it.
“Right—no smoking, no drinking, and no staying out all night either. There’ll be a curfew—kidding. But if you want to go out after dark, remember to bring me along. Public safety in the States isn’t good enough to leave anyone at ease.”
Angela had only been joking, and Logan playing along amused her—until that last part, which left her a little helpless.
“Hey, Logan—if I go out on a date with someone, am I supposed to bring you along then too?”
Logan kept that easy, commanding smile and answered without batting an eye.
“Oh, then I’d take a good look at what the kid’s actually made of. If he can’t protect you, I’ll be tagging along anyway.”