The Gift

by Affro Chick

*Standard disclaimers apply. I am making no profit from this story and do not own these characters. All rights reserved to Marvel and any other companies that own them.

Wolverine stared out into the dark night. Swirls of misty fog surrounded him, accompanied by the icy touch of snowflakes. The wind teased his shaggy locks, causing them to flutter over his skull. It was silent; well, as soundless as a sleepless city could be. There were still a few partiers going home and some ambulances bustling, but nothing in comparison to the storm of commotion during the light hours. The reason was due partly to the blizzard that had come the night before, but mostly because it was around three in the morning.

・Humph. To late to party and to early to work・ he mumbled to himself, his own voice thick and husky.

・Who・re you talkin・ to?・ Logan spun around, surprised. Firstly, it was near impossible to approach him without him knowing. Secondly, the voice belonged to a child.

She was incredibly tiny and skinny, looking clearly undernourished. Her hair was long and jet-black, but it hung in stringy icicles, frozen from the snow. She was dressed in an oversized t-shirt and cut-off shorts. Asian features shivered violently as her small arms wrapped around her in a vain attempt to keep warm.

・What?・ he asked, stretching to his full height of five eight, broad shoulders squared. She didn・t even pause. Stepping closer into the light, she repeated her question.

・I・s said, who・re you talkin・ to?・ Her blues eyes looked at him impatiently. (Blue? He・d never seen a Chinese with blue eyes before.) She tapped her ragged sneakers impatiently.

・Just・myself・ he answered carefully, still curious as to what she was up to.

・Why?・ Her voice shook slightly and he saw her skin was starting to develop freeze burn.

With a sweep of his hand, he gestured to the empty streets. ・D・you see anyone else around?・

She shrugged, teeth chattering. ・I-I・m here.・

He sighed. ・What・s your name, kid?・

・I・m NOT a k-kid!・ she growled. ・I・m almost seven years old,・ she held up one hand and her thumb and index. ・See?・

・So then, I take it your nameless?・ She shook her head.

・M-my names J-Jubilee.・ He noted a tone of arrogance.

・Well, Jubilee. Shouldn・t you be at home and in bed?・ He wondered what kind of parents let their seven-year old wander the streets in this weather, at this time and in those clothes.

・Nope! My parents are on vacation. I・m staying at the orphanage until they come back.・ She said it with such sureness, he was afraid to tell her otherwise. In a wave of sudden sympathy, which surprised even himself, he took of his jacket and handed it to her.

・Here, take it.・ He couldn・t explain why, but there was something about this kid he liked. He felt a sudden father like protectiveness for the child.

She shook her head at the offer. ・No thanks mister, you・ll get cold.・ He frowned.

・Take it. I got a bunch more collecting dust in my closet.・ That much was true. But out of all of those jackets, this was his favorite. He・d first bought when he・d gotten his Harley. Black, made of thick, high quality leather, it was a beauty. Of course, much to big for her, though she didn・t mind.

・Thanks Mist-・"


・Ok.・ She smiled. It seemed she lived up to her name. Her eyes were full of vibrancy and life.

・Good luck kid. Now, you get back to that orphanage before you get sick.・ Nodding, she turned and started to sprint down the dark streets. Just as he started to do the same, she called back.


Before he could turn to berate her for the use of an unwelcome nickname, (which he actually didn・t mind) she was gone.

That day faded into weeks and then years. But neither forgot that first confrontation. And neither forgot the gift received that day.