Every year, same day, same hour he appeared behind the window of the library. Little worse to wear. She gave him her keys and he showered, shaved and spent a night in her bed. At morning they had breakfast, and after that he left. He never stayed longer, she never asked him to. She knew now that the incident that happened years ago was just a convenient excuse for him. Excuse for moving around, never settling down. He was The Vagabond, and if he stayed, it would kill him. Neuter the wild beast in him that kept him going, the one he shackled away, kept tucked away that one night and morning he spent with her.

At first she didn’t notice it. Small, fleeting touches here and there. Just little jolts of his life coursing through her veins. Brief brushes, hand against hand, fingers skimming over her cheekbone. Easy to brush off as accidents. Then one morning at the breakfast she realized how old everybody looked compared to her. Professor Xavier had died two years ago, and at his funeral she had seen the first shades of pepper in Scott’s hair. Now she saw the fine line of crow’s feet lining Ororo’s eyes. Children that had crowded her small library as students had long ago grown up, and there were always new children stepping to their place, and maybe that had confused her to thinking things would stay the same forever.

It was the night before Logan’s visit when realization hit her on the face like a ton of bricks. There she sat, delicate comb clutched to her hand, in front of her vanity. Looking exactly the same as she had looked almost fifteen years ago. Fifteen long years ago. And she knew the real reason for Logan’s wandering nature. She knew The Vagabond. Knew what made his hands stray when he was near her. What made him sit closer when she wasn’t completely covered. What possessed him that one night when he had grabbed the front of her nightgown and kissed her, taste of dust and exhaust on his lips when she had leaned out from the window to give him the keys to her room.

She kept the library closed the next day, blaming a headache. In reality she couldn’t face them, face the newest batch of students that already looked older than she would ever look. She sat alone in there, waiting for the night. Waiting for The Vagabond.

At some time during her wait she fell asleep. There was only darkness, and a lonely figure in the middle of the emptiness, dancing waltz. Hands and feet moving graciously through the steps, every move perfectly coordinated, and he was alone. Alone in the darkness, dancing, dancing and twirling endlessly.

She jolted awake, not knowing exactly what had pulled her out of the dream. It was already dark outside. Little over midnight. He should have been there already. She sat there, not even breathing, straining her ears to catch the silent knock against the glass. And there was nothing. She sat for several long moments, holding her breath, clutching the edge of her desk with numb fingers, and nothing. Not a sound came from outside of the window she was staring at so hard that her eyes hurt.

She felt tears gathering to the corners of her eyes, but she brushed them off annoyed. It was stupid. He had never said that he’d be back today. He never said anything more than just fiddled the dog tag she now kept around her neck and promised to come back for it. It wasn’t like he was her boyfriend. They hadn’t even kissed apart from that one time, and apparently that had been all for him, a new way to keep her with him another year longer. She stood up and threw a last glance towards the window. Noticed a small glowing spot further in the garden. In the gazebo. Small, red dot in the darkness, moving slowly, glowing brighter for few seconds before fading again.

She hurried to the garden, following the scent of the cigar that wafted in the breeze. He was sitting in the gazebo. Worn jeans, old, brown and tattered leather jacket, sturdy boots that had obviously seen better days. And he didn’t have his knapsack with him. She sat next to him.

“Hi.” Next she was supposed to ask how he had been. He was supposed to answer with something witty and flirty, and ask her how she had been. But she couldn’t bring herself to ask the question. Not now.
“Hi,” he answered to her half-hearted greeting with hoarse voice.
“So… You came back for this?” She asked, lifting the chain of the dog tag from around her neck and handed it to him. He took it and slipped it around his neck. And again they sat in silence, she fiddling with her gloves, him puffing his cigar. And suddenly the scent of it wasn’t soothing for her anymore. She didn’t want it to be the one thing she would always remember him by. She didn’t want to become the old maid of the mansion that started blubbering after her long lost love every time somebody lighted a cigar. She moved to his other side, hoping that the wind would blow the smoke off from her.

Logan smoked the cigar in peace, then crushed the stub under the heel of his boot. Turned to look at her, and just stared for a long moment. His hands rose to cradle her face, and his lips brushed against hers briefly. She heard him gasping softly, and he let go of her, folding half from his waist, his eyes closed, nostrils flaring when he took deep breaths, struggling to stay conscious.

“I can’t do this anymore, Marie. To see them all die a little every fucking year I come by…” He spoke quietly.
“Are you going to find a new Magnolia Street?”
“I was hoping I wouldn’t have to. I found it little over twenty years ago. But it’s up to you, isn’t it…” He said, straightening his back and turning to look at her.
“I don’t have anything to offer. I don’t even know if I have the right to ask. But I’m asking anyway, because I have gotten so goddamned tired of this fucking game. Will you come with me?”

It was awfully tempting to end it all here. To say no. It would all be over, she could go on with her life, grow old and wither away with people she had grown to consider as her family. There was still time to do that. They weren’t that old. Then she looked at the man sitting in front of her. Really looked at him. Saw the naked fear and need churning in his eyes.

“Yes.”