Room 3, Bedrock Motel, Mayo, Yukon, Canada

"Here's the key, kid. Ya gonna be ok?"

I looked down dumbly at the key he handed me and gave a little nod.

"Ok, then. See ya tomorrow... Remember to lock the door."

When he stepped out of the doorway, I closed and locked the door then turned to glance around my room furnished with a queen-sized bed, TV, and a rickety-looking chair. The color scheme, a gaudy orange and a sickly pea green, wasn't the height of fashion, but it appeared tidy and clean, and most of all, it was private.

I dropped my bag by the door and with a giddiness I hadn't felt in months, loped into the bathroom. It met and exceeded my every fantasy, containing a shower/bath combination with small bottles of shampoo and conditioner, a small bar of soap in the shower, and another by the sink. Best of all, a compact hair dryer rested on the acrylic countertop next to the sink.

My mouth drew into a open grin of unbridled glee. I could finally, after months of quick ablutions in public restrooms, take a hot, cleansing, revitalizing shower without fear of discovery.

Stripping off my clothes with wild abandon, I left them where they fell and turned on the shower. It warmed up immediately and as I stepped into the spray I felt as if I were entering Nirvana. The tendrils of liquid elixir caressed my weary, filthy frame, and for a moment, I simply closed my eyes, held my breath, and stepped directly under the current, allowing the water to cocoon me. With all my other senses momentarily blocked, touch overwhelmed me. Every drop that hit my bare face, every rivulet that weaved a path down my body, tingled along my skin until my every inch hosted a flock of goosebumps. I shivered in almost sinful delight and then stepped back out of the stream to use the shampoo and soap.

I breathed in a deep sigh of pure satisfaction and sincerely wished I hadn't. The smell of wet fur, musky and ripe, filled the small room causing my eyes to tear in odorous agony.

Rapidly untwisting the top of my miniscule allotment of shampoo, I poured the perfumed fluid atop my head and rubbed it in quickly and vigorously. Then, with equal haste, I ripped off the paper wrapping from the soap and began to lather my water-sodden body. My efforts were eventually fruitful as the wet fur scent was replaced by a chemically-fabricated flowery scent.

Stepping back fully into the liquid bliss, I scrubbed and rinsed, finishing just as the water turned from warm to tepid. I shut off the water, pulled back the curtain, grabbed both towels, and walked out of the steamy bathroom into the cooler bedroom, feeling clean and fresh... reborn.

As I scrubbed my water-logged fur with the towels until both were soaked, I thought about the circumstances that lead me to my current, delightful yet confusing situation. Was it only yesterday that I found myself alone and shivering on a empty road in the middle of the Yukon only to be saved by the first vehicle I saw? Was it only this morning that I rushed out of said vehicle to shave off the incriminating blue stubble that had appeared on my face overnight before either Logan or Marie noticed it?

It'd taken until mid-afternoon today before we'd finally traversed the slick, snow deluged roads and arrived at the village of Mayo. I thought that would be the end of our short acquaintance, so as the minivan pulled into the parking lot of Rob's Cafe, I wondered if perhaps I could find a ride there back towards Alaska.

"Hope you're hungry, kid," Logan said, as he shut off the engine and opened his door.

Hungry? Was he offering to buy me a meal?

"C'mon, sugah," Marie invited. "I'm starving."

I followed them into the small cafe with pure astonishment. Rarely did any drivers treat me to an actual meal, and usually they were grandfatherly-type truckers, never young couples.

Logan chose a booth in a far corner of the cafe and Marie scooted in next to him, leaving the opposite side of the table open for me. Our waitress, Molly according to her name tag, arrived at our table before I'd fully situated myself and handed us three, one-page, laminated menus.

Both of my benefactors ordered large meals, but when my turn arrived, I chose the cheapest item on the menu. A hamburger that came with a side of fries and a water. I was desperately hungry, but it didn't feel right or appropriate to take advantage of the generosity they were bestowing on me. I'd been raised to behave with the upmost politeness and follow the best social mores. Even though my mutation has made me little more than a beast, I can't bring myself to behave as one.

"You sure that's gonna be enough, kid?" Logan asked me with gentle concern.

I reassured him that it would be more than adequate and thanked both of them profusely for the meal.

Logan shifted uncomfortably in his seat and shot a questioning glance at Marie, but she responded with a so subtle as to be almost undetectable shake of her head.

"Don't mention it, kid," he replied to my gratitude. "Ain't more'n a few bucks anyway."

It meant so much more than that to me, but I couldn't explain without giving away too much about my personal situation, so I remained quiet.

We sat in uncomfortable silence until the food arrived. Logan immediately began slicing into his steak and Marie peeled off her thin gloves to handle a piece of fried chicken.

I licked my lips and reached for my hamburger, but before I grasped it, Marie said, "Aren't you going to take off your gloves, honey? It's warm enough in here."

Oh no. So close to a real dinner and yet so far. If I take off my gloves and reveal the bright blue fur covering the backs of my hands, I'll reveal my status as a mutant. If, however, I refuse to remove my less than sanitary gloves, I'll raise suspicions anyway.

Think. What's another reason why a person wouldn't want to remove their gloves? Thankfully, my education came to my rescue.

"I'm afraid if I removed my gloves, you might lose your appetites," I stated, apologetically. "You see, I've suffered a mild case of frostbite, and even though it's been treated and there's no need for concern, my knuckles do appear rather cracked and bloody. Such a image would likely not be conducive to our otherwise pleasant meal."

I wrapped my hamburger in my napkin in an attempt to keep my filthy gloves from touching the bun and took a small bite. I was hungry enough to eat the entire sandwich in one bite, but I had to keep my mouth as closed as possible so as not to expose my fangs.

"You're a walking encyclopedia aren't ya, kid?"

What? Oh, my vocabulary.

"Yes, I have acquired a great deal of education in my years."

"We're both teachers," Marie revealed. "What grade are you in?"

I can see her as an educator, but Logan? I shouldn't judge him. I know better than most that appearances can be deceiving, but I can't help but wonder what he teaches. Hmm... Marie's looking at me expectantly. Why... oh, she asked me a question. What grade? She thinks I'm in grade school. Well, at least I have experience explaining this aspect of myself.

"At the present time, I am not attending classes, but I was beginning my graduate work before I left."

"Graduate work? Like in college?"

"Yes, I'd just completed my pre-med work at Columbia. I'm... what people refer to as a prodigy."

"You're a genius." Marie said.

"Is that part your gift, too?" Logan asked.

"My gift?" I asked, genuinely puzzled. "Well, I have heard it referred to as a gift or a blessing, but to me, it's normal. I've never known any other way."

Logan exchanged another meaningful glance with Marie, and they dropped the subject. We returned our focus to our meals, although sharing a more comfortable silence.

Even eating slowly, I completed my meager dinner before either Marie or Logan. I watched them finish their food, politely turning down offers of more food or dessert. My hunger was far from sated, but it had been tamed, and I was unwilling to indebt myself any further than I had to with these kind travellers.

As they finished their last bites, I prepared myself to say my goodbyes, looking around the cafe for any prospective rides. Unfortunately, it appeared that we were the only customers so far.

"That hit the spot," Marie said, patting her stomach. "Now all I need is a nice warm bed, and I'll be happy."

"I saw a motel on our way into town," Logan said, pulling out his wallet and paying the check. "Let's go check it out."

They both scooted out of the booth and were walking towards the exit before they noticed I wasn't following.

"C'mon, kid."

"What? No, I'm... You're going East. I'm headed for Alaska."

"What's in Alaska that isn't somewhere else?" Marie asked. "You already said you aren't visiting family."

"It's... just where I'm going."

"Why?"

Why? I don't know why. Why do I get up every morning? Why do I breathe in and out? Habit. That's all. My life is basically an aimless, purposeless existence and the only thing that keeps me going is the repetitive rut I've established. I eat, sleep, and try to reach Alaska.

What happens when my goal is achieved. What is left when my obsession is realized?

Nothing.

Perhaps it's time I considered a new goal. While I think about it, why not accept the offer of a warm place to sleep?

"You mentioned a motel?" I asked Logan.

"Yeah. You comin'?"

Yes. No. Wait. An old and completely rational fear entered my mind. They're nice people. I've spent more than 24 hours with them and they've never been anything other than generous, but they gave me a ride, fed me, and now they want to take me to a motel.

"One room?"

"Yeah."

"I..." my voice shook slightly before I steadied it. "I've already intruded too much on your privacy. Perhaps I could sleep in the minivan and leave the room to you."

"What? No." Logan answered, shaking his head sharply.

Well, I can understand his reluctance. He might suspect I'll steal the van while they're asleep. I wouldn't, but he doesn't know me. Still, I don't want to share a room with them. It's not just the cautiousness I'd learned through painful experience that was stopping me. I couldn't take off one article of clothing without revealing my mutation.

Marie seemed to sense my apprehension and suggested. "Why don't we get two rooms?" She looked at Logan with a meaningful glance. "We are, after all, using Xavier's money."

"Yeah. Hey, kid. How about a room of your own?"

So that's how I ended up here holding two dripping towels with damp, clean fur and an ecstatic disposition.

Returning the towels to their racks, I picked up my shirt and dropped it again immediately. No wonder Logan and Marie were so willing to provide me with a separate room. The scent off this shirt alone is strong enough to anesthetize a patient for surgery.

Holding my breath, I gathered my clothes quickly, threw them on the floor outside the bathroom, and then went to collect my bookbag. The scent from the clothes in there wasn't much better. I don't know how I ignored such lethal odors wafting from my clothes for so long. Perhaps it was a survival mechanism, and my nose just shut down, ignoring that particular odor.

I couldn't imagine wearing any of them tomorrow, so I picked out the least unpleasant shirt and underwear and selected my sweatpants despite their acrid aroma. They'd dry faster than my denim jeans.

Filling the sink with tepid water, I unwrapped the other bar of soap and scrubbed my clothes and my gloves until not even a sliver of soap remained. Hanging my clothes to dry on the shower rack, I emptied the sink and plugged in the hair dryer.

Compact and weak as it was, the sensation of hot air blowing through my damp fur was heavenly. It was like putting on clothes fresh out of the dryer. A warm, comforting sensation that I wished would never fade.

Only when my fur was completely dry and I was filled with a sensation of lazy contentment did I turn off and unplug the hair drier and slip under the welcoming bed covers, falling into an almost immediate sleep.

I awoke to pain. I'd had a dream, and I was still only half awake.

I dreamed Mother and Father purchased me a puppy for my birthday, finally succumbing to my persistent arguments. He was a beautiful golden retriever, playful and loud, but oh so adorable.

I was petting him, trying to think of an appropriate name for my new best friend when he started playing with my hand. He rolled onto his back and batted my fingers with his forepaws as I scratched at his belly.

It was an amusing game until his entire attitude changed. He latched onto my hand with all four legs and bit into my index finger. I watched in stunned horror as his small teeth severed my digit. The pain was excruciating, but I couldn't free my hand. The puppy pulled his head back and spit my finger out of his blood coated mouth only to lean forward and gnaw on the remainder of my fingers.

I awoke with pain throbbing through my right hand just as it had in the dream, and I for a moment, I forgot where I was. As I woke up more and looked around the room, though, I recognized it.

Even as I became more and more conscious, the pain in my hand didn't fade. I tried to pull it up to get a look at it, half expecting my index finger to be missing, but when I pulled, white-hot pain ran up my arm and I couldn't help whimpering in agony. I did, however, figure out what was wrong.

When my claws developed, I started sleeping with gloves to hide my mutation. In fact, tonight was the first time I'd removed them. My claws had come out sometime during my sleep and had gotten tangled up in the sheets. My puppy dream was an extension of the pain I was experiencing in real life as my claws were pulled.

Carefully, I unwound the sheets from my hand, gasping and hissing in pain as I pulled the claws from their entrapment. My index finger was missing it's claw and I could see it fastened to the white sheet. I was able to pry the rest of the sheet off my hand without losing any more claws, but my middle finger's claw was loose and wobbly. It'd probably fall off tomorrow.

My index finger was bleeding freely and required treatment. I could see it pretty well with my night vision, but I needed to wash it off and examine it in more light to be sure exactly how badly I'd damaged it.

Right as I was pulling off the bedcovers, I heard the sound of metal slicing against metal and my motel room door burst inward.

Acting completely on instinct, I lied down and pulled the covers back around me, concealing my entire body under the gaudy orange comforter.

"Kid?" Logan's voice, rough and harder than I'd ever heard it. "You're hurt."

"Honey?" Marie's voice. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"I'm fine. Just go. Don't look at me."

"You're bleedin'. You're not ok."

"I'm more than qualified to handle such a minor injury. You don't need to concern yourselves."

"Quit that flowery speech and just talk to us, kid. Let us help you."

It was then, hiding under my bed covers and clasping my injured hand, that I had an epiphany. They'd never once used my name. I'd told them to call me Beast, but I'd never heard the word pass their lips. To Logan, I was "kid." To Marie, I was either "sugar" or "honey."

"Why don't you ever call me by my name?"

There was a pregnant pause before Logan replied, "I ain't callin' you that, kid."

"Why?"

"'Cause you're no beast."

He had no idea. I am the very definition of a beast. Giving in to the compulsion to prove him wrong, to show how horrible I actually was, I pulled the covers down to my waist, bared my fangs, and released my claws.

Logan winced, and for a moment, I thought I'd shown him exactly how little he knew about me. I was surprised at how strongly remorseful I was at the realization that I wouldn't be travelling with them anymore. I gotten to genuinely like the couple in only the short time I'd known them, and it hurt to know that they'd reject me as so many others had.

Then, Logan spoke. "That looks like it hurts, kid," he said, wincing again and indicating my bleeding hand. "Marie, do we have that first aid kit?"

"I'll get it."

He didn't reject me. He wasn't beating me or screaming at me or running away in fear. Instead, his face held an expression of pure empathy and understanding.

He reached for my hand, and I allowed him to take it, still shocked by his reaction. As we waited for Marie, he held my hand gently, inspecting the wounds.

"Why aren't you afraid of my claws?"

He chuckled and answered, "You wanna see claws?"

Letting go of my injured hand with one of his, he formed his hand into a fist and with the sound of metal scraping on metal, released three, nine-inch metallic claws. Amazingly, they emerged from between his knuckles.

"Is that an organic metal?" I asked leaning forward and analyzing them with a critical eye.

"Nah. Adamantium."

"What? How did you get adamantium in your..." I didn't complete the question. The pained expression on his face more than answered me. It couldn't be a natural part of his mutation.

We sat in uncomfortable silence until Marie arrived. She handed him the white first-aid kit before sitting down next to me on the bed and putting a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"Henry Phillip."

"What?" Logan asked, looking up from treating my finger.

"That's... my real name."

Marie wrapped her arm around my shoulders in a sideways hug and Logan smiled.

"Good to meetcha, Hank."

Hank? I'd never been called by anything but my full name. Never just Henry or Phillip. Always Henry Phillip. I'd once read a joke on the internet that said the only purpose for middle names was so children could know when their parents were angry at them. If that's true, mine were in a constant state of ire.

Now, I'm Hank. Not Henry Phillip. Not Beast. Hank. I like that.

As I sat and watched Logan dress my small wounds, I reflected back on the moment I'd revealed myself. They weren't surprised at my appearance. Not a flinch, not a moment's hesitation. It was almost like they expected it, like they already knew.

Then, the pieces fell into place. Their presence on a quiet road right when I needed them, their meaningful glances, their willingness to feed and accommodate me.

"You didn't find me on the road by accident. You were looking for me."

Logan looked at his wife, "Smart kid."

She smiled and nodded.

Logan nodded to himself, like he'd just received permission to do something and he was thinking about how to go about it.

"We were lookin' for you. We're teachers at the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters. Mutants. We've got an offer for ya."