He looked at the girl on the other side of the desk. "Here's your ticket," he said. "When you get to Penn Station in New York, go downstairs to the subway -- you want the A train -- and talk to a token booth clerk named Khalid. If Khalid isn't on duty, wait there. He'll find a way to get in touch with you and get you to Westchester.

"If anybody stops you, or gives you any trouble, call this number," he handed her a card, "and they'll come and get you." He made her repeat the instructions back to him, word for word. Then he said, "I don't know what Khalid's part of the plan is -- that's not how it works. But I know he'll get you where you need to go."

A shy smile lit the girl's face, which turned a pale greenish-blue color. "Thanks, Mr. Kellerman," she whispered softly, and fled his office.

She's a pretty girl, he mused. Too bad she has mood-ring skin. He sighed. Now it was time to get to the money-making portion of the business.

He'd been a detective in one way or another for many years, and thought nothing people did could surprise him. When the presence of mutants in the world was revealed, he hadn't been too shocked. Munch, of course, claimed to have known all along. But then, Munch also believed that the Warren Commission was covering for alien invaders who'd killed JFK.

No, what had surprised Mike Kellerman was that he was now the Baltimore station on the mutant underground railroad.

In his time as a cop, he'd seen a lot of things -- a lot of senseless evil (or evol, as Meldrick insisted) -- and people with odd skin conditions, or whatever, didn't bother him. He couldn't see any good in persecuting them -- they were just people, same as everyone else.

A few months ago, when Julianna had been in town, he'd gone with her to hear Dr. Jean Grey speak and, he admitted it to himself at least, he'd been infatuated. Nothing had come of it -- nothing romantic anyway, though even at 40 he still had his boyish good looks -- but he'd found himself helping out stray mutant kids looking to get to the school Jean worked at up in New York. Soon, word on the street was that he could get you a ticket to Westchester, where there was a place mutants kids could go to be safe.

As a private investigator -- his days as a cop long over, thanks to the Mahoney debacle -- he was in the perfect position to have a stream of odd, desperate characters moving through his office unnoticed. And Baltimore was close enough to New York to be the last leg of the journey for some of these poor kids. St. Mikey, he thought, and laughed, wondering what his old squad mates in Homicide would have thought. Of course, Gee and Tim were both dead -- Tim had eaten his gun after the Ryland incident -- and Munch was in on it, sort of. But what would Kay or Meldrick think? Would the perfect Frank Pembleton still look at him with disdain?

He was pulled out of his reverie by the buzz of the intercom. "Yes, Helene?"

"Your ten o'clock is here."

"Send her in," he said, brushing back his hair and preparing his best confidence-inducing smile. The door opened.

"Detective Kellerman?" The speaker was a medium-sized woman he guessed was about his own age, though she gave the impression that she was older. Her face showed evidence of a hard life. Her hair was mostly gray and hung past her shoulders in a frizzy mass. She had a deep southern accent and an air of resignation, acceptance of what life had dealt her, which he bet a lot of people mistook for stupidity.

Details clicked into place in his mind. Husband left her for someone younger, won't pay alimony or child support. She's probably living in an unkempt rowhouse in Pigtown.

"How can I help you, Mrs.," he paused slightly, "Smith?" Why can't they ever be original? he wondered idly, directing her to sit in the client's seat while he slid behind the desk.

Her hands worried at the strap on her black handbag. They were big-knuckled and rough-looking. Mrs. "Smith" had washed a lot of dishes in her time, he thought.

"I'm tryin' to find my daughter," she said, throwing all his preconceptions to the wind. He hated the search, so often fruitless, for missing kids. People only came to him when the police turned up nothing, and by that point, it was usually too late, in one way or another.

"Tell me what happened, Mrs. ... Smith."

She shifted uncomfortably, her eyes focused at a point somewhere beyond his head. "Marie -- that's her name -- Marie ran away about a year ago. Her father, god rest him, said some terrible things to her. We caught her in her room, with a boy-" her voice was barely a whisper. Kellerman knew she was lying, but not yet about what. "He, he told her to get out and never come back and, and," she fumbled in the big black purse for a tissue, "she did. She was gone the next morning."

"Did you go to the police?" he asked, mainly to give her some time to get herself under control. He suddenly realized why the girl had run, so he knew what the answer was.

She shook her head. "No police. George wanted her gone. About a month later, she called, but my husband -- he was a god-fearin' man, Mr. Kellerman, he didn't mean no harm -- told her she was dead to us." Her voice broke. "My baby, dead to us."

"Where did she call from, Mrs. ... Smith?"

She looked at him, surprised he'd even ask such an obvious question. "She didn't say. Why would she? We'd just told her she was better off dead." He'd been right -- she was sharper than she looked. "I know she was headin' for Alaska, though. That girl always had a hankerin' to see Alaska."

"You waited a year to track her down?" he asked, trying to keep the judgment from his voice.

"My husband -- he, he was a very stubborn man, Mr. Kellerman. He couldn't admit he was wrong to throw her out, even if she was an abomination before the Lord. It ate at him -- killed him. My poor George had a heart attack two months ago. Went to meet his maker after a nice dinner and some football on TV."

I hope he's burning in hell, Mike thought, but maintained his sympathetic expression. "And how old is Marie, ma'am?"

"She'd be 16 now. Such a pretty thing." She pulled a creased photo from her bag -- a school picture. Marie was a pretty girl, he noted dispassionately, thin, dark-haired, with laughing eyes.

"Is it possible she just stayed in Baltimore, ma'am? It is a city you could easily get lost in."

She looked startled. "Oh no, Mr. Kellerman. We're from Mississippi." She elided the first two syllables, so it came out "Mizzippi." "I got your name from the Internet. Said you sometimes handled," her voice dropped to a whisper, "unusual cases."

He sighed inaudibly. Sure, his name was out there, if you knew what you were looking for, but it seemed strange that a solid citizen like Mrs. ... Smith -- even in his thoughts he gave the name an ironic twist -- would have been able to find him, even on the Internet. He needed to cover his tail better. He'd always sucked at that.

"You came all the way from Mississippi to see me, Mrs. Smith?" he allowed the slightest hint of disbelief to creep into his voice. "After doing nothing for a year?"

"I know, I know," she said, "but I'm here now, and I wanna find my daughter. I'm willin' to pay. George had a very generous life insurance policy." She reached a hand out to him. "Please, Mr. Kellerman. I just wanna see my baby again."

This time he let her hear his sigh. "Okay, first thing I need to know is, what is Marie's mutation?"

Mrs. Smith was staring over his shoulder again. "I, I can't explain it, but something bad happens when people touch her skin. She put the boy -- David -- the boy she was in her room with -- put him in a coma for three weeks. She didn't mean to, though. I know she didn't." She started crying again.

"Okay, ma'am, that should certainly narrow things down a bit." He came out from behind the desk to go down on one knee next to her chair -- he considered it his "comforting" position. "If you're straight with me, I think I can help you." He turned the full force of his baby blue eyes on her and used his best smile. "But you need to know up front that, even if I find your daughter, she may not want to see you."

"I know. That's okay. Just so long as I know she's safe." Mrs. Smith shredded another tissue.

"Okay, then," he said, rising. "Helene will give you all the details, but generally I get thirty dollars an hour plus expenses." He stuck a hand out. She shook it, her grip even stronger than he expected. "One last thing," he added. "What's your real name?"

---

It was either going to be a dunker or a stone cold case, he knew, depending on what Jean told him. He knew her boss, the famous (some would say, infamous) Charles Xavier, had some way of tracking down mutants, but they'd want to make sure Mrs. Smith -- she hadn't exactly been forthcoming, and he decided not to press -- was on the level.

He was a pretty fine judge of character, but a lot of lives depended on his being right in these situations. He knew Jean trusted him enough to give him some information to help kids, but he also knew she had ways of verifying intent that were not available to him. That would be a damn fine skill for a cop, he thought, and wondered how different his career would have been if he had some mutant skill like telepathy.

But the phone was ringing and the voice on the other end said, "Hello?" drawing him out of his thoughts.

"May I speak with Jean Grey, please."

"Whom shall I say is calling?" asked a woman's voice, very formal.

"Mike Kellerman from Baltimore. She knows me."

"One moment please." He heard the woman cover the phone and repeat his name. Then he heard Jean's voice in the background.

"'Ro, it's okay. I know him." There was fumbling as the phone changed hands. "Hi, Mike."

"Jean. How're things with you?"

"Things are going pretty well here. How's Charm City?"

"Same as always. Are you sure you won't let me take you out for soft-shell crabs next time you're in DC? It's only a short trip on the Beltway."

She laughed. "Thanks, Mike. Maybe Scott and I will take you up on that." Scott. That was the fiancé, if he recalled correctly. Damn. "I take it this is not a social call."

"No. I had a client come in today -- a paying client -- looking for her daughter, she says. She's lying to me about her name, but I think she's sincere when she says she just wants to know if the girl is safe. I figured you could judge that better than I, if it turns out you know where the girl is."

"What can you tell me about her?"

"Name's Marie. About 16, dark-haired, pretty. Originally from Mississippi. Ran off about a year ago. Weird things happen when people touch her." He heard Jean's gasp and thought, Dunker. "That's about all the mother could give me, but I figure it's a pretty full description. Sounds like you know her."

Jean was silent for a little longer than normal. Kellerman could almost hear her thinking. He hoped he wasn't about to get bad news. "She's a student here." Jean paused. "It's complicated."

No doubt, he thought.

"Can you bring the woman up? Professor Xavier and I would like to meet her. We'll pay for your ticket."

"Not a problem. Mrs. Smith has already hired me. It'll just go on my expense report."

"Smith?" Jean asked, laughter in her voice.

He liked that they'd had the same reaction. "I know. But if people got creative, how would we ever know they were lying?" he responded. That line got a laugh.

"Okay, then, we'll see you on Tuesday?"

"Sure. Do you want me to have her write the girl a letter? Maybe make it easier for the initial approach?"

"That's a good idea, Mike, but let's wait until the professor and I have met her." She was quiet for a moment. "Take care."

"You, too, Jean. Be careful." And he broke the connection.

---

Mrs. Smith was happy, though extremely nervous, about going to New York. "I've never been to New York, Mr. Kellerman. Do you think Marie is there?" She sounded dubious, as if she thought he should be hopping the next flight to Alaska and searching the frozen tundra, instead of taking the Metroliner to New York.

"The people we're meeting may be able to help us find her, ma'am," he replied. She had asked him to call her Barbara, but he wasn't really comfortable with that. He liked to keep a professional distance from his clients. Less trouble that way.

A peek at the credit card she'd used to buy their tickets provided her last name, but since she'd not yet confided that information to him, he couldn't use it. Funny how people hire a private investigator to look into things, but get all defensive when you find something out, he thought.

It had been a long three hours on the train. Mrs. Smith had turned surprisingly chatty, telling him all about her Marie and how wonderful she'd been and how she hoped these people wouldn't hate her too much, because she'd let a year pass before seeking the girl out. Then she spent a good half hour apologizing for talking too much. He had the makings of a splitting headache, and hoped this meeting wouldn't make it worse.

And now, here they were, meeting Jean and the Professor (and MaryAnn, too, he thought whimsically) at a fancy coffee shop on the Upper East Side.

Mrs. Smith was wearing her Sunday best, he noted as he opened the door for her. She was still all in black -- her widow's weeds contributing to the impression of age she gave out. Her hair was slicked back into a bun at the nape of her neck. He could tell she was nervous and tried to think of something to say that would help her relax, but his usual brand of snarkiness had generated only puzzled looks from her.

He caught sight of Professor Xavier, imposing even in his wheelchair, bald pate gleaming in the soft light. Jean wore her red hair pulled back in clips and her blue suit was tasteful, professional, and expensive-looking.

Jean spoke first. "Professor, this is Mike Kellerman. Mike, this is Professor Charles Xavier." The two men shook hands.

"It's good to finally meet you," Mike said. He turned to Mrs. Smith. "This is my client, Barbara ... Smith. She's looking for her daughter, and we hope you can help us. Barbara, this is Dr. Jean Grey and Professor Xavier. Dr. Grey often helps me in cases where children are missing."

Mrs. Smith shook both their hands and said, "I'm sorry. I've been less than candid. My name is Barbara Dailey. I'm from Meridian, Mississippi. I'm looking for my daughter, Marie, who is a mutant. Mr. Kellerman says y'all can help me find my baby."

She rushed on before anyone else could speak. "I know what George and I did was wrong, and I want to make sure that Marie is safe and, if she wants, she can come home." She rummaged around in her big black bag as the others took in this speech. She came up with a creased, stained envelope that looked as if it had been handled many times.

"I wrote her this letter. If you find her, please give it to her. She doesn't have to see me if she doesn't want to." Mrs. Dailey finished by handing the envelope to Professor Xavier.

"It's just so nice to find someone who doesn't turn away when I talk about Marie. Everyone in town knows she's," her voice fell to a whisper, "a mutant, and they all think she's evil for what she did to David, but I know it wasn't her fault. I've been carryin' this around with me for a year now, and George never wanted to hear anything about it. It's enough to make a body burst, keepin' everything inside."

Jean and the professor looked a little taken aback. Kellerman had gotten used to Mrs. Dailey's periods of frantic speech, which were surrounded by an almost bovine placidity that deceived people into thinking she was stupid. She wasn't -- and she was smart enough to use that perception in her favor.

Jean looked askance at Mike, as if to say, "I told you to hold off on the letter." He shrugged imperceptibly. He hadn't mentioned it and that envelope looked like it had been carried around for a long time.

The waitress came over then, and they all ordered coffee. Conversation was desultory after that. Marie's mother basically told them the girl's life story, from her first steps to her starring role in the fourth grade school play as Maria in “The Sound of Music” to the incident that had led to her running away. She spoke in low tones, sometimes sniffing into her ever-present tissue.

Jean tried to keep track while she and Xavier conversed silently.

~She's sincere,~ Jean said.

~Yes. You're fairly close to Rogue, Jean. How do you think she'll respond? ~

Jean gave the mental equivalent of a shrug. ~It's hard to say. She never talks about home or why she left. It could be she never expected to be able to go back, so she's chosen not to think about it. God knows, putting the first boy you ever kissed into a coma can't be a pleasant memory, and with all the other memories she's got rattling around inside her head, it might be that it's easier for her to let Logan's and Magneto's problems overwhelm her own.~

~And Kellerman? ~ the professor shifted gears rapidly. ~He's quite dedicated to helping us, and not simply because he's infatuated.~

Her face was suffused with a delicate blush as she nodded and smiled at the people across the table. Kellerman knew he was missing something.

~He's a good man, Charles. He wants to help. I think it makes up in some way for his resigning from the police force.~

Mrs. Dailey wound down. "But I'm borin' you with all this. You're so good to listen to me go on and on."

"Mrs. Dailey, we will do everything in our power to reunite you with your daughter." Xavier had no trouble switching between the simultaneous conversations.

"Thank you, Professor Xavier." She pumped his hand vigorously.

Mike rose as well. "We're staying at the Doubletree, if you find anything. Jean has my cell number."

Marie's mother said, "It's okay, Mr. Kellerman. I'm sure y'all have things to discuss. I'm just gonna get me a cab and go see the Empire State Building. “An Affair to Remember” is one of my favorite movies, and I'd kick myself if I didn't get to see the Empire State Building. I mean, how often is a girl like me gonna be in New York?" And with that, she put some cash on the table -- over Professor Xavier's protests -- and left.

Mike sat back down. "Well?"

Jean and Xavier looked at each other. "Mrs. Dailey is what she appears, Mr. Kellerman," the professor began.

"Please, call me Mike."

Xavier inclined his head. "She's distraught over her husband's death and Rogue's disappearance."

"Rogue?" Kellerman interrupted.

"That's the name Marie chose for herself when she was on the road," Jean explained.

"Oh." He could understand wanting to change your name, change your life. Hadn't he been ready to kill himself over the stain on his name -- his father's name -- during the bribery investigation, back when he was still a cop?

Some of that must have filtered through to the telepath, because he said, "I see that you do understand." Kellerman didn't think he'd get used to that, but he had to pay attention because Xavier was still speaking. "I think we should ask Rogue if she wishes to see her mother, and give her the letter, in any case. Why don't you come with us and meet her?"

He agreed, and they made their way to the garage where the professor's car was parked. A man wearing strange wraparound sunglasses came over to meet them.

"How'd it go?" he asked, putting his arm around Jean and kissing her cheek.

Ah, Mike thought, the fiancé.

"She's Rogue's mother, Scott," Jean replied. "And she sincerely wants to see that her daughter is safe."

He smiled. "It's about time something good happened for that girl."

"We have to see what Rogue's reaction is, Scott," Xavier said before Jean could respond, as the younger man transferred him into the front seat of the Jaguar and then folded up the wheelchair.

"This is Mike Kellerman," he indicated the blond man now in the back seat of the Jag. "He's been very helpful in steering youngsters to us, and Rogue's mother contacted him to find her." Mike grinned and the two men shook hands.

"Let's go then, and see if we can't give Rogue a happy ending."

---

Rogue was nervous. It was rare for her to be called to Xavier's office. She went over the past few days in her mind, but could think of nothing that would get her in trouble. She'd been extra good since Logan's return this time, hoping that she'd get to go with him when he left again, if it was during summer vacation. He'd come back about four months after he'd left the mansion, stayed for Christmas, and then took off again. He continued that pattern -- going for a couple of months, and coming back for a few weeks -- for the rest of the year, which had passed swiftly. She couldn't believe she'd been at Xavier's for so long. Her old life seemed very far away.

She knocked and entered the professor's office. Jean and Scott were with him, as well as another man she'd never seen before. He was tall, blond and blue-eyed, and very good-looking, if you liked that baby-faced, boy-next-door type. Which she didn't, personally, but she knew Kitty would swoon over this guy.

"Rogue, have a seat," Professor Xavier said.

She sat, nervously twisting the cotton of her gloves. "Is everything okay, Professor?"

He smiled comfortingly. "Of course, Rogue. Mr. Kellerman," he indicated the blond, "is a private investigator in Baltimore. He sometimes helps some of our students with their," he paused, "travel plans. He has some news that might be of interest to you."

Kellerman sat down in the chair next to Rogue. He looked her square in the eye. "Your mother came to see me, Marie. She wants very much to know if you're safe."

She gasped. "Momma?" She blinked rapidly, trying to control the sudden burning sensation in her eyes. He took her gloved hand in his. She was surprised at that -- strangers usually tried to avoid touching her, especially when they knew what might happen if they touched her skin. "They threw me out of the house. Daddy said he never had a daughter and I should never come back."

Kellerman threw Jean a glance. She leaned on the edge of the Professor's desk. Her voice was full of compassion. "I'm afraid we have some bad news for you, Rogue. Your father passed away a few months ago. Your mother has had a change of heart. Professor Xavier and I met with her today, and she truly wants to see you again."

Her mind was reeling. It was the one thing she had never dared to hope for, dream of. She had left Mississippi behind, changed her name and vowed never to go back. Marie was dead, Rogue had been born the night she'd called home from a truck stop outside of Boulder and her father had told her she was an abomination in the eyes of god.

She thought one day, when she'd learned to control her power -- and she always thought in terms of when, not if -- maybe she'd write to her mother and tell her that she was okay, flourishing even, but she'd never expected her mother to come to her.

Professor Xavier was holding out an envelope to her. She leaned forward and took it, her right hand still clasped gently in Kellerman's. It was oddly comforting, and she thought he was probably a good father to his children, the way hers had been before her mutation manifested.

She saw, written in her mother's prim, perfect handwriting, her name on the back of the envelope, which looked as if it had been opened and closed many, many times.

"Did you --" she began, but Xavier cut her off. "No, we didn't open it. Your mother had obviously been carrying it around for quite a while."

She knew that, with the exception of Kitty and Bobby, most of the students at the school had little or no contact with their families, and in fact, were runaways like herself. She knew this was a huge deal, and hoped that Xavier and the others were not going to pressure her into making a decision.

Part of her wanted to leap up and throw herself into Mr. Kellerman's arms for bringing her the news. Part of her wanted to rip the envelope to shreds and tell them to tell her mother to go fuck herself for not standing up to her father when it counted. She figured that second one was probably Logan acting up inside her head. But she wasn't sure. She'd been pretty angry and hurt at being thrown out, and scared about being on her own, with no one to run home to.

Xavier smiled again. She realized he was probably in her head again. "Take your time, Rogue. Go, read the letter and think about what you want to do. No one will push you to make a decision."

She smiled tremulously. "Thank you, Professor. And thank you, Mr. Kellerman."

He gave her a cocky, gap-toothed grin in return. "Glad to be of service, Marie. Your mother is a formidable woman. You have a lot of her in you."

Good looking and smart, she thought. She looked at Jean meaningfully and hoped the woman could "hear" her, ~You should set him up with Storm, if he's not married.~ She fled the room. Jean looked startled and then laughed.

~Not a bad idea at all, Jean,~ thought the Professor, with a smile.

---

Rogue rushed up to her room, but she could hear Kitty and Jubilee all the way down the hall, so she turned around and headed out toward the stables. Being around the horses always soothed her.

She sat down on a mounting block and, with trembling fingers, opened the envelope.

Dear Marie,

I am so sorry for what happened the night you left. Your father and I love you very much, and just want you to come home so we can be a family again.

We said some terrible things, and I know you're hurting, but if you could find it in your heart to forgive us, I'm sure we could make things work. I know you didn't mean to hurt David, and that you'd never ever do it again, so please, baby, come home. I miss you, and your daddy's not the same, either. He just sits out on the porch every night, watching the road, looking to see if you're on your way home.

I understand if you don't want to see us again, after the way we treated you, but if you could just write and let me know you're okay. Just a postcard, even, with your name on it, would be enough. Or maybe you could tell me where you are, and I could see you, but you wouldn't have to see me if you don't want to. I don't know.

Anyhow, we love you and pray for your health and safety every night, Marie. God be with you.

Love,

Momma and Daddy

She could barely see through the tears in her eyes. She read it over and over again, torn. Her mind raced, the same thoughts circling endlessly.

How could she forgive them? They had wanted her dead -- they had run her out of the house, out of the only home she'd ever known. They'd just do it again if she let them back into her life.

To hell with them -- she didn't need them, she had Logan and the people at the school to be her family now.

But Momma, who had hugged her close and sung to her when she was scared of the monster under the bed, the woman who had kissed her scraped knees and taught her to bake gingerbread men and played piano every night, singing all her favorite songs...

And Daddy, who'd given her piggyback rides and taught her to fish -- Daddy was dead. She couldn't take it all in. She started sobbing in earnest. She put the letter down carefully. She didn't want it to get ruined by all her crying.

"Hey."

She raised her head, startled, to see Logan looking at her, concern etched on his face. She hadn't heard him come in. She sniffed, wiped at her face with one gloved hand and tried to smile. "Hey, yourself."

He sat next to her, put an arm around her. "What's going on?" he asked softly. She wordlessly handed him the letter. He read it quickly. "Oh, Marie," was all he said, cradling her to his chest. He made wordless comforting noises and stroked her hair.

She cried until she was all cried out. "What should I do?" she asked him, raising her tear-blurred eyes to his.

He was silent for a few minutes, thinking. "I'm not one to give advice," he said finally, "but I think you should at least consider meeting her. It took guts for her to track you down, and she is your mother. You don't get but one of those in this life, so it seems to me if you're lucky enough to have one who wants to be in your life, you should maybe give her a second chance. I'll go with you if you want, and I'm sure Jean or Chuck will, too."

"Oh, Logan," she whispered, crying again. "Thank you. Just knowin' you're here makes me feel like I can face anything. Maybe I will see her. It might be nice to have someone to come visit me during the holidays and bring me presents."

He gave her a squeeze. "What, I don't bring you enough stuff when I come home?" he teased. She smiled then, through the tears. "I promised I'd protect you, kid, and I will. No one's gonna hurt you again. Not while I'm around. So we'll face this together, right?"

Her smile was luminous. "Right."

---

Rogue and Logan went to Xavier's office and told him of her decision. Jean called Kellerman and arranged a meeting with Rogue's mother for the next day.

"Isn't that kind of soon?" Rogue asked when Xavier told her.

"'If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well / It were done quickly,'" Logan quoted, and then looked puzzled. "Macbeth, right?"

"Yes," Xavier said, and smiled.

"How the hell did I know that," Logan asked, "when I can't even remember my own damn name?"

"The mind is mysterious, Logan, and memory even moreso," the bald man replied.

Rogue looked impressed. "You got some book-learnin' at some point, Logan," she teased. He was glad he'd been able to provide her with a light moment to relieve her nervousness.

---

The day was clear and bright and Kellerman was happy behind the wheel of the rental car. He decided he preferred driving himself to taking the train or being chauffeured around by Jean's boyfriend, who had offered to pick them up.

Mrs. Dailey sat next to him, silent and nervous. He'd expected her to be chattering away, but since they'd hit the Hutchinson Parkway she'd been almost eerily quiet, lost in her own thoughts.

Finally they arrived at the mansion. There were some kids playing basketball under the watchful eye of a beautiful black woman with white hair. He recognized a couple of them. The girl with the mood-ring skin -- Brianna -- was shooting free throws. She looked happy.

"Mr. Kellerman!" another kid -- Jack, if he recalled correctly -- yelled. "What's up?" At that, two or three other kids he'd helped materialized (literally, in one case) and called out their thanks. He smiled and waved. He was doing something worthwhile with his life, even if he wasn't murder police anymore. That's what he'd told Munch and Julianna when he'd convinced them to help out.

Jean met them at the front door and led them to Xavier's office.

"Mrs. Dailey," Xavier said when they were all seated, "we haven't been completely honest with you. We did, in fact, know where your daughter was when you contacted us, but we had to make sure you were sincere in your desire to help her. We've had ... experiences with parents whose goals have not always been congruent with ours.

"However, Marie -- or Rogue, as she now calls herself -- has been a student here at my school for the past nine months. She's made friends and is happy here. And you see, I'm sure, that we are equipped to deal with her mutation far better than the outside world."

"Thank God," Mrs. Dailey gasped and pressed a hand to her mouth, eyes filling with tears. A great deal of tension seemed to leave her body.

"She's agreed to meet with you," he continued, "but I must ask that you not pressure her in any way to return home with you."

"I understand," she said, her voice trembling.

"Your daughter is somewhat changed from when you last saw her, Mrs. Dailey, but she is doing well, and we don't want to disrupt her progress," he finished, while thinking ~Rogue, you may come in now.~

The door opened and Rogue entered, Logan on her heels.

Barbara Dailey rose and stood frozen, as if she couldn't believe her eyes.

"Momma?" Rogue said tentatively, still unsure of the reception she'd get, even after everyone's reassurances.

"Marie," said her mother, galvanized into action, reached out to pull her daughter into her arms.

"Careful, Momma," Rogue said, making sure there was fabric between them at all times.

"Oh, Marie, I thought this day would never come. I prayed night after night that you'd be safe and I'd see you again. Can you ever forgive me?" She looked down into the girl's brown eyes, so like her own.

They were both crying, tears streaming freely down their faces. Rogue took a deep breath, and let go of her resentment and anger. "Of course, Momma. I love you." Rogue buried her face in her mother's shoulder.

They stood that way for several minutes. The others in the room looked pleased. Jean wiped away a tear, Scott turned away to surreptitiously do the same, while Logan's face softened somewhat as he gazed at the girl. The professor smiled calmly.

"Marie, you've grown up some. Let me look at you." She pulled back to arm's length without releasing the girl's hands. "You're beautiful, baby. But what happened to your hair?" She ran a hand down one of the white streaks framing her daughter's face.

Rogue smiled through the tears. "It's a long story, Momma. You see this man here?" She indicated Logan. "He saved my life. Twice. Momma, this is Logan. Logan, this is my momma."

Barbara let go of one of Rogue's hands and offered hers to him. "Words can't express how grateful I am, Mr. Logan," she said.

He hesitated almost imperceptibly before taking her hand, but both Rogue and Kellerman noticed. Rogue shot him a look that said, "Go on," and Kellerman wondered at the relationship between them. The man fairly radiated anger -- at the treatment Marie had received at home, he guessed -- and looked as if he'd kill at the girl's command. It was better than a soap opera.

"Marie is a great kid," he said gruffly, shaking her hand.

"We'll leave you two alone," Xavier said, leading everyone out.

"I love you, Marie, and I don't want to lose you again," Barbara said, stroking her daughter's hair. "I'm willin' to do whatever your Professor Xavier wants. You can stay here if you're happy."

"I am, Momma. I have friends, and I'm learning things, and I don't feel so different, because everybody here is different. And, well," she hesitated slightly, "Logan is here."

"He takes care of you?"

"I told you, he saved my life. It's not like that, Momma," she said vehemently at her mother's skeptical look. "I love him and he cares for me. He's okay. He touched me and he lived. He's in my head. But I'm okay. We're okay together. Do you understand?" Rogue was frustrated by her inability to explain this important relationship to her mother. She had to make her understand. "It's not dirty. But I need him, and he needs me."

Barbara still looked doubtful, but she wanted nothing to ruin their reunion, so she said, "I understand that it's important to you."

And that was good enough.

Meanwhile, in the TV room, Logan and Kellerman were sitting in awkward silence.

"You want a beer?" Logan asked suddenly. It was eleven o'clock in the morning.

"Yeah, sure," Kellerman replied, trying to remember the last time he'd had a drink so early in the day. It had to be a good five or six years, he thought, maybe more. It was soon after he'd started working as a P.I. -- the Straub case. That had been a mess.

His unpleasant reverie was interrupted by Logan's return, beers in hand.

"I'd offer you a cigar, but Storm's real pissy about smoking in the house."

"That's okay," he replied. "I finally quit for good a year ago." He paused. "Storm?"

"One of the teachers here."

"Oh."

They lapsed back into silence, drinking their beers.

After a few more minutes, Logan said, "Thanks for bringing Marie's mother here. It means a lot to the kid."

"I'm glad I could help. Gives a happy ending to what was a sad story."

Logan rolled his head, cracking the joints in his neck. "Yeah. When I think about the way that bastard treated Marie -- well, it's a good thing he's already dead, ya know?"

"Yeah." Mike took a sip of beer. "This whole thing makes me want to call my mother. Maybe I will when I get back to the hotel. If I had any kids, I'd probably call them, too."

"Don't remember my mother. Don't have any kids, either. That I know of," Logan said. It was a topic he was not willing to discuss with anyone, let alone a stranger, and he was surprised he'd brought it up. "I don't want Marie havin' those kinds of regrets."

Kellerman's mouth quirked in a half-smile. "It's my face."

"What?"

"You're telling me stuff you can't believe you're telling me because I have this innocent, 'tell me everything' face."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I was a cop for more than ten years and murder police for three. People tell me stuff they wouldn't even tell their priest. Helped a lot on the job."

"Whatever," Logan growled. A cop. It figured. "I ain't gonna confess to anything, bub."

Kellerman chuckled. "Good."

They returned to silence -- it was almost companionable now.

After another hour or so, Rogue and her mother came into the TV room. Both were red-eyed from crying.

"I'm ready to head home, Mr. Kellerman."

"Okay, Mrs. Dailey. Marie," he smiled magnificently -- dimples and all -- at the girl, enjoying the barely audible growl from Logan. "It was great meeting you." He turned to Logan. "Thanks for the beer. Mrs. Dailey, shall we?" He offered the woman his arm with a flourish.

"Oh, you," she said indulgently. She hugged her daughter one last time. "Now you call every week like we agreed, ya hear? Reverse the charges if you need to. I wish I didn't have to leave so soon, but I can't leave the students for too long on such short notice. I never expected to find you this quickly, and I didn't make arrangements to stay in New York for long. But I'll be back whenever I can. Marie, I love you."

"I love you, too, Momma." They clung a bit, then Rogue let go. "Thanks again, Mr. Kellerman."

"You're welcome, Marie." He produced a card from his pocket. "If you're ever in Baltimore, give me a call." He led Mrs. Dailey out.

Rogue collapsed on the couch next to Logan. "He's kinda cute," she giggled. Logan raised an eyebrow but said nothing. "But he might be a little old for me."

"Stop tryin' to get a rise outta me, Marie, and tell me if you're happy."

"Oh, I'm happy, Logan. Now I have you -- everyone here, my new family -- and Momma, too. It's amazin' really. For a while I had nothing, no friends, and no place to call home."

"I know the feeling," he murmured.

"And now I have it all. Like the song says, I was lost, but now I'm found." She was teary again, and though she could never get him to admit it, afterward she always swore he got a little misty, too.

"That's great, Marie," was all he said.

The End