A Year and A Day
Prologue
by
Jenn



"Town air makes one free."--medieval law regarding the escape of serfs from their seigneur, instituted during the beginning of the growth of urban centers in Europe. Thanks to Dr. Bargeron.

* * * * *


"Can you tell me why?"

Marie grinned over her shoulder as she discarded clothing in a pile--what she could take, what she couldn't, what she needed, what would fit. Enough to get in one backpack, enough to grab and still be able to run.

She'd learned from the best.

"Because I have to."

"Because you want to." Jubilee's voice was a little bitter, and Marie turned around to face her.

"That too." Carefully, she pushed the pile aside and sat down, covering Jubilee's hands with one of her own. "I told you a long time ago I was going to try."

"But there's Bobby--"

"He'll be here when I get back." She turned away, pushing some socks into the bag.

"Only if you come home alone."

Marie stopped, taking a short breath. That hurt--or it should have. Slowly, she hunted up her extra gloves, placing them carefully in a side slot of the bag.

"I have to know."

"You do know." Jubilee reached out, finding a clothed elbow and pulling gently until Marie looked at her. "He's been home, what, six times? In five years. You gave up a long time ago--and I thought you were happy with Bobby."

Marie zipped the slot closed with an unsteady hand.

"This isn't about him." Which him Marie meant was left up to interpretation--she preferred it that way.

A bounce on the bed cascaded a line of shirts to the floor. Marie sighed.

"Then what the hell is it about? You saw him over a year ago, you said--"

"I lied." Marie dropped to her knees, hunting up another pair of shoes, checking the weight in one gloved hand. "You don't understand.'

"No, I fucking *don't*, even if everyone else is playing footsie with you on this, Rogue. Why? Just tell me why. He doesn't give a rat's ass for you, not like you--"

"Not like I want." Marie finished easily. Then shook her head. "This isn't about him--it's about me." A final check through what she'd bring--shirts, shoes, jeans, gloves, one tracking device and--

And she pulled out the worn chain, staring at it dangle from her fingers. Watching the light glint before drawing it over her head, tucking it in her shirt.

"I need this--to be free. Really free, Jubilee. I need to know, I need to be sure, I need to look at him in a place that isn't the classroom and the practice ring." Uncertainly, she fingered the long sleeve of her shirt. "This is the one thing I've waited for, trained for--"

"To chase him down?"

"To find out if it's real or not, if its just a kid's fantasy or--if it's something else. I'll never find out here. I've worked to become an adult--now I need to act like one."

"So you run."

"But not away." Marie pulled out her wallet--credit cards, travelers checks, cash. Xavier had only nodded when she stepped in front of his desk, handed her the passport and her visas, gave her the account numbers and the keys to cars in cities she hadn't entered yet. The tickets for her first flight tucked in an envelope. Letters of introduction, an address book with people she could contact if she got in trouble, places she could stay. Six false identifications, if she needed to run.

No commentary. She'd almost been angry. Almost.

Then a brush of his fingers across her gloved hand, and she'd wanted to sit down and cry, because no matter how sure she was, she'd never be sure enough.


"I understand," he'd said with a gentle smile that took away the pain of leaving, the feeling of abandoning him when she was needed--the de facto disloyalty to the people who'd trained her and taught her and cared for her and loved her. She never denied the debt--but she'd asked only one extension. One year and one day. Find what she was looking for and come home complete--alone or not.

"Do you have an address?" Jubilee's voice was soft, and Marie flipped through her wallet and pulled out a faded letter, written to the Professor eight months before. Jubilee picked it up, eyebrows raised at the characteristic scrawl across the front as Marie pulled out her map, spreading it hastily on the bed and stabbing a finger into the center.

"Des Moines."

"This is a *fucking* cold trail." Jubilee stated the obvious with regretful relish.

Marie shrugged.

"It's all I got. There was some trouble--" her teeth flashed. "They'll remember, and I should find someone who can tell me which way he was going."

"What trouble?"

"He fights for money--what kind of trouble do you think?" Marie's eye lit up a little and Jubilee couldn't help smiling in return.

"Will you write me?"

"Well, I wasn't going to, but since you ask so nicely--"

"*Rogue*--"

"No. Marie." She tilted her head. "I'm not Rogue until I come home." With a final pat on the yellow shoulder, Marie got to her feet, pulling her jacket from the chair and dropping it by the bag. "I'm ready."

Jubilee stood up slowly.

"Don't come down." Her mouth quirked as she pulled the backpack on and hooked her jacket under one loop. "Stay here."

"I want--"

"I want you to stay. No one watches me leave, kay? This isn't a funeral and I'm not going off indefinitely into the great beyond. I'll be home--this is just a trip."

She saw the rebellion, followed by acceptance, and pulled the older girl into a quick embrace, before backing off and turning away.

One more thing.

* * * * *


She walked into his room, looking around it for a minute. Despite how bare it was--and it *was* bare, Logan wasn't the type to pick up collectibles and souvenirs--his personality was here. The bed made with those disturbingly tight military corners from an unremembered past, the repaired wall from where he put a fist through it one nightmare or so into his return home longer ago than she could calculate on the spot. The light scent of cigar smoke that lingered, and the clothes he didn't need anywhere but here.

But that wasn't all, because she hadn't been in here since he left. She opened the closet and found his jacket, hanging in easy reach--there was no reason for him to have left it. She took it, pressing her face against it briefly, taking in the scent that a year and a month hadn't dimmed, then released hers from the loops, easily, removing his from the hanger, checking the pockets and finding the remains of one cigar and a handful of Canadian money.

Slowly, she traced her way out, walking to the door and giving the room one long look.

"It's time, Logan. I've waited long enough."

Then closed the door behind her.

* * * * *


It was Scott waiting with the car, already warmed up, and she got in without comment, though she'd expected Jean. In one hand were her tickets and her identification--Marie Summers, the name she'd chosen when her parents didn't claim her that long ago day in a judge's chamber that she never remembered without tears--until today.

"I think you've lost your mind." His voice was even--even he was exhausted from the night before. She remembered the anger, the yelling, the patience and empathy and understanding and shock, all mixed together--and Jean and the Professor alone who didn't comment, letting her fight a battle she'd already won.

"I know."

It wasn't so far to LaGuardia, but it could have been forever, the silence so thick she could have cut it with the metaphorical knife and served it on fresh bread with a side of mayo. She wanted to grin at the thought, but didn't.

"Don't go."

She gripped her bag tighter, folding herself into the seat with Logan's jacket around her. The car came to a stop before the main entrance and she opened her door, placing a foot on the pavement crawling with people that were already, just from watching, making her edgy.

"Scott--" She stopped, then offered a half-smile. "Maybe you'll never have to be jealous again."

He didn't look at her. Slowly, she leaned over, brushing her lips on the visor, where she couldn't hurt him, because her emotions were too close to the surface and she couldn't count on her control to hold. It was brief, but she felt his fingers brush her hair.

"Be careful."

She nodded slowly and he pressed her fingers once.

"If you need anything--anything, Marie--call me."

Marie. He did understand and she nodded quickly, refusing to let the tears break the surface of her eyes. Backpack gripped between her fingers, she stepped out of the car.

"And if you can't get his ass home--just let me know. I'll be there with a car and some handcuffs to toss him in the trunk for you."

The last thing she saw of him that day was through a haze of laughter--as it should be.

* * * * *


"Last call for Flight 438, non-stop from New York to Des Moines, now boarding."

Marie clutched her ticket and considered her course--then smiled at the woman and extended one gloved hand, handing out the ticket.

So it began.

"Thank you."



CHAPTERS:   Prologue   Des Moines   Chicago   Jackson   Harlingen   Interlude   Austin/Los Angeles   Seattle   Vancouver   Calgary/Regina/Winnipeg   Niagara Falls   Epilogue




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