Vagabond. That’s what she called him. Every year, same day, same hour he walked past her house. Like a clockwork. Sturdy boots thudding against the pavement. Worn jeans hugging his thighs and hips. That old, brown leather jacket hanging over his shoulder if sun was shining, glistening wet and zipped up all the way if it was raining, tattered knapsack hanging from his left shoulder. Eyes cast to the ground in front of him, jaw set, frown on his face as if he were thinking of something important. As if there was somewhere he needed to be. Something he needed to do. Every year, same day, same hour. Vagabond.
Then came the year when she finally decided to call him. Ask him to come inside if it was raining. Ask him to have something to drink if the sun was shining. Ask him his name, because she had gotten curious, and rather tired of calling him the Vagabond.
Instead of raining or scorching sun the weather was windy. Instead of walking he was riding a motorcycle. And it wasn’t her front yard where she met him.
Small scraps of paper and other debris rode in the wind along the streets. Sky was steel grey shield. It would rain later, but right now air was dry and cold. Unusually cold for this time of summer. She shivered and wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders. When she had gotten out this morning sun had been shining. It had been warm, so she was wearing a light, green dress. It wasn’t warm anymore, and the dress kept flapping against her shins in the wind that tried to rob her shawl and spun her long hair full of rat’s nests. She was half running, careful not to twist her ankle. Heels of her shoes were not too high, just something little to add some of her stature. She had been walking around the town for the whole day, window-shopping, enjoying the weather and waiting. Waiting until it was time to return to home to see the Vagabond.
But now it was entirely too cold. She hurried towards home, and unfortunately chose the wrong short cut. Never go to dingy back alleys, she could hear her mother’s voice ranting in her head. But it was too cold to take the longer route. And it was in the middle of a day.
When two figures blocked her path she gasped, still more out of a surprise than fear. Nodded her greetings for them and tried to go past them, two burly men she knew were her neighbors. She had often chatted with their wives, and even few times babysitted their kids when she was younger.
“Not so fast, snotty bitch!” She heard one of them huffing, and the other grabbed her hand, yanking her backwards, sending her crashing against hard brick wall. She hit her head, and for a moment she saw nothing but stars. She could feel something inside of her shifting. Twirling, twisting and tumbling around wildly, as if something had gotten knocked loose when she hit her head. There were two pairs of hands on him. Both holding her in place and tearing off her clothes.
“You have been asking for it, now we’re going to give it… You’ll be a good girl now, Marie…”
Then suddenly there was nothing supporting her, nothing to hold her in place. Something had clicked inside of her, locked on, and both men lay twitching at her feet, frothy saliva bubbling from the corners of their mouth, their eyes rolling backwards in their heads. And she was running. Running blindly towards stray shred of sunlight that shone through a gap between steel grey clouds. Roar of heavy engine alerted her, and before she realized a motorcycle swerved past her, tires skidding against the pavement as the driver tried to gain back control he had lost when she had stumbled to his path.
She could only stand there, frozen in the middle of the road when motorcycle rumbled to her side.
“What the fuck were you thinking, woman? Running like a headless chicken, you could get yourself killed, for Christ’s sakes!” She could hear the driver ranting. She noted absently how much he resembled the Vagabond. She had just gotten nearly raped, and nearly run over by a motorcycle, but the Vagabond was standing there next to her.
“What’s your name?” She finally got to ask. The Vagabond narrowed his eyes and leaned closer. She could have sworn he was taking in her scent.
“What the fuck… Are you on something? Forgot to take your meds this morning?” He asked. She shook her head. It was important.
“What’s your name?” She asked again. The Vagabond evaluated her wit suspicious look on his face.
“What the hell is going on? Has something happened to you? You look a bit frazzled…”
“Tell me your name, goddamned! It’s important!” She knew she was screaming. Standing practically naked in the middle of the main street, screaming her lungs out to a complete stranger, but it was important to know his name, she had been wondering about it for six fucking years already, and unless she was speaking complete gibberish how hard it was to understand a simple question and answer to it?
“Logan. My name’s Logan. Ma’am, you have to calm down a bit…” The Vagabond kept his voice low and reached with his left hand, grabbing her shoulder, then yanked his hand back as if he had gotten stung. It didn’t matter. She had gotten what she wanted. Her knees gave up and she slumped on the pavement at his feet, relieved. Finally she had a name to go with the man she had gotten used to call the Vagabond.
“Uh… You really can’t stay here… Ma’am? Hey… Uh… Shit. Goddamned-un-fucking-believable-fucking-shit…” She felt something warm landing on her shoulders.
“I’m going to give you a ride to the nearest hospital. I’m going to lift you up now, don’t scream, okay? I won’t hurt you.” Strong hands curled around her, one going under her knees, the other supporting her back. She could feel hard muscles shift under his clothes when he straightened his back and jostled them both on the motorcycle. Suddenly she realized what must have happened at the alley.
“No. No hospital. I think… I think I’m a… A mutant…” She stuttered. It was hard to talk. She was shivering and trembling all over, her teeth chattering so hard that she bit her tongue.
“No shit. Kind of figured that out when touching your bare skin hurt like a bitch…” The Vagabond… No. No Vagabond. Logan. Logan murmured.
”Where to, then? You got a home?” He asked. She curled tightly against his chest. He felt warm.
“It’s just around the corner… White house, white fence…”
“The one on Magnolia Street? With that small gazebo at the backyard?”
“Yes… How did you know about the gazebo? It’s behind the house.” She asked puzzled. Logan smirked.
“Spent a night in there last summer. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Oh…”
Now she remembered. It had been raining the whole day. Heavy torrent of water battering the ground. She had sat by the window, waiting. She had waited the whole day, and he hadn’t shown up. Later that night rain had turned to hailstorm. She had gone to bed hoping that wherever the Vagabond was, he was sheltered from the stinging bits of ice.
“Home, sweet home. Are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital? Or… Or call the police?” Logan asked. He had driven slowly, and had parked the motorcycle in front of her porch.
“No. No hospital. No police. I don’t want them to know… The people around here don’t appreciate mutants. If the word gets out that I’m…”
“I can smell at least two different men on you. This is just a wild guess, but they were trying to rape you, right?” Logan asked. She nodded, still trembling.
“They knew you. And you dropped them with your mutation. Right?” Again she nodded. Logan shook his head.
“The word’s out already. At this time tomorrow KKK has probably camped out on that porch of yours. If I were you, I’d pack my stuff and get the hell out of Dodge.”
She climbed off from the saddle with shaky knees, her gaze sweeping over the house, the yard, and the neighborhood. The place she had spent her whole life, from birth to this moment. Her parents had left the house for her in their last will. And now something as stupid and menial as a mutation was threatening to take away her whole past?
“I have nowhere to go… This is my whole life. These people… They’re my only family…”
“Newsflash, lady. They stopped being your family from the moment your mutation kicked in. That’s the way it goes. Seen it happen before,” Logan grunted, starting to turn his motorcycle.
“Wait!” She couldn’t let him go. He stopped and looked at her, one eyebrow raised questioningly.
“At least let me make you some coffee. As a thanks for… for helping me out there…” She stuttered, then remembered his jacket that was still draped over her shoulders.
“And you almost forgot your jacket…” She let it fall from her shoulders and offered it to him. Logan shrugged his shoulders and took the jacket, stepping off from the motorcycle.
“Coffee sounds okay.”
“Unless of course you have somewhere to be…” She mumbled, stumbling towards the stairs. Strong hands scooped her from the ground and Logan carried her to the front door, careful not to touch her bare skin.
“Have nowhere to be. But I guess you had that already figured out…” He grunted. She blushed and started fumbling the keys from a flowerpot that hung beside the door.
“I’m sorry if I have made you uncomfortable. It’s just… This town isn’t exactly the party central. And I’m not exactly a party animal. I work in a library, for God’s sakes. The most exiting thing in my life is the weekly “New Releases” –letter I get from the publishers. You were… You were something to wait for. Something different… Where is that key?” She huffed, fingers grazing the dirt in the pot. She heard Logan grunting behind her, felt the warmth radiating from him when he reached with his hand, his fingers nearly brushing hers in the pot.
“I know what you mean. It hasn’t been sunshine and roses for me either. I guess that’s what drew me in to this direction at first place. This is a nice looking neighborhood… Here.” He had found the key and gave it to her. She pushed it in to the lock after brushing off the dirt from it.
She guided him in to the kitchen and excused herself, hurrying to change her torn clothes. She was practically naked. Her bra and underpants left very little for imagination.
“Much better…” She huffed returning to the kitchen. She had put on jeans and a green, figure-hugging shirt with long sleeves. Logan flashed a brief smile.
“Could argue with that…” she blushed again furiously.
“Sorry. Bad habit,” he offered sheepishly.
“Don’t worry. But I promised you some coffee. Though somehow that doesn’t sound decent compensation for your troubles.”
“Hey, it’s not every day I get a good looking half naked chick on my bike. Having coffee with her is just icing on the cake.”
“You’re easy to please,” she muttered and started loading the coffee maker.
“I’m easy, period.”
They waited in silence for the coffee.
“Oh, I forgot to do my groceries. I don’t have any milk or sugar. Black okay with you?” She suddenly remembered.
“I prefer black. Hate that crap they call coffee nowadays. All that cream and sugar and candy in it…” Logan grimaced, seemingly offended for the mere thought of sweetening his coffee. She poured him a large, steaming mug, then chose a smaller one for herself. He took a careful sip from his coffee and nodded.
“This is good.”
“Should be. My momma used to make it like that. Just a pinch of cinnamon in it.”
“Cinnamon? Never would have guessed. One chick I knew drank hers with cardamom.”
“Cardamom?”
“Well, she was a telepath. I guess she was entitled to little quirks like that.”
“A telepath? She was a mutant? This woman you knew?” She asked. Logan nodded.
“Just like you. Just like me. One big, happy family of muties. Whole shitload of them, back at Xavier’s.”
“Xavier’s?” She asked.
“Xavier’s School For Gifted Youngsters. It’s in N.Y. A school for mutants. And now I’m supposed to give you The Speech. The Big Speech with Big words and try to persuade you to move in there, because they could really use a good librarian, and mutie librarians are so goddamned hard to come by. I think I’m going to skip over it and just ask if you’d be interested to move in there?”
She closed her mouth when her inner mom piped in and told her how rude it was to stare at somebody and drool like you were somehow retarded. She had fallen off from the wagon somewhere around when he said something about a speech that he was supposed to give to her. Only thing she had heard after that was the part where he asked if she would like to move in to this school that sounded quite magical. And little too convenient seeing her current situation. How the hell a drifter even knew about a place like that?
“So? What is it going to be? Are you going to wait here and enjoy the show when KKK incinerates a cross on your front yard, or do I call to Xavier and ask him to pick you up?” Logan asked. She closed her eyes and shook her head. She must have misunderstood him somehow.
“Wait. There’s a school for mutants in N.Y.?” She asked and opened her eyes. Logan nodded.
“And they need a librarian? A mutant librarian?” She asked. Again Logan nodded.
“And what are you? The coach of their football team?” She asked.
“Art. I’m an art teacher.”
“Nice try, mister, but no dice…” She smiled, scooting slowly towards the phone on the wall. If she were real quick, she could probably get the line to the police before he… He dug a wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and threw a small plastic card on the table. His driver’s license. Then another one. Teaching permit, and the name and ID number on both cards matched. She picked them up.
“And how do I know these are not fake?” She asked, waving the cards in front of his face.
“You don’t. But you can call to any of the numbers listed to the back of those cards, and they will tell you who I am. Hell, you can call to Xavier if you like, I got his number in here somewhere…” He started to rifle through his wallet again. She handed him back the cards.
“Fine. I believe you. It’s just a weird consequence, you showing up just when I need help.”
“Not a consequence. I come through here every year. Call it a dumb luck,” Logan said.
They finished their coffee in silence. She took the empty mugs and washed them quickly, then sat opposite Logan again.
“How would I get there? It’s a long way from here to New York. And what if they decide not to hire me?” She asked.
“I’m heading back there myself. I could give you a ride. And they will hire you, trust me.”
“Trust you? I just met you!”
“I could have said the same when you proposed the coffee. Look, here’s the number. It’s Xavier’s private line. Call him. Ask anything you need to know,” Logan huffed, flipping a small square of white cardboard over the table. Number was written on it with blue ballpoint pen. She grabbed the phone. His steady gaze met hers over the table when she punched in the number.
“Logan?” Voice of an older man answered, with no usual greeting, but instead of a question.
“This is Marie D’Ancanto. With whom am I speaking with?” She asked.
“Well, this is unusual… I could have sworn… This is Charles Xavier. You have called in to my office. How may I be of your assistance, miss D’Ancanto?” Man asked.
“I’m sitting with a man that claims he’s working for you. Teaching art for mutant children.”
“Oh, yes! Well, that certainly explains where you got this number. I presume you have talked with Logan?” Voice on the other end of the line asked.
“Yes. In fact he’s sitting right in front of me. And he had an interesting proposal for me. I have gotten in to a situation where it’s very hard for me to stay where I live any longer. He said that you could hire me as a librarian to your school.”
“Yes. Yes, we have been looking for a… For a librarian for quite some time already. I’m sure you will fit right in. If I may ask, when could you start working?” Voice asked.
“But… You don’t even know me, you haven’t seen my portfolio or…”
“I trust to Logan. I’m sure he wouldn’t have asked you to join to our staff if you weren’t suitable for the job at hand. Now, will you be needing help with arranging your move in here?”
“No… I guess… Logan’s already promised to help me out, but…”
“That’s… That’s most unusual… But I trust things will go well. I’m looking forward of seeing you, miss D’Ancanto. Have a good day.”
“Well?” Logan was clearly waiting for her decision. She took a deep breath; fiddling with the card he had given her earlier. He snatched it from her fingers and placed it carefully back to his wallet.
“Speak up. We don’t have the whole day. It’s going to rain soon.”
“Uh… Yes. I believe you. I believe you’re who you say you are. And Xavier was ready to hire me.”
“So?”
“Yes. I take the damn job. It’s not like my life could get any worse.”
“Trust me, it could. But only if you stayed here. Start packing. I’ll go and get my truck.”
“Your truck?”
“I left it back to the motel. You thought I drove all the way here from N.Y. with that bike? Are you nuts, woman?”
“Marie. My name is Marie.”
“Nice to meet you, Marie D’Ancanto. Now move that ass. Get moving. I want to see some bags and boxes on that porch when I get back,” Logan said smirking and stood to leave.
“Wait! What should I pack?” She panicked. She hadn’t moved once in her life.
“They’re probably going to torch this place tonight. Take everything important.”
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Author's Chapter Notes:
Stole the title for the series from an old Finnish movie. Stole characters from Marvel. Rest is mine.