Rogue curled up a little tighter in his chair. "Running?"
He zipped up the bag and looked at her, really looked at her. "Nah. Just breathing. Sometimes you need some space to find yourself." His gaze held understanding, a precious commodity lately.
She nodded. "I'll tell Bobby."
She told him. He tried to stop her, unable to see that it was too late to try and change anything between them that had already been broken and shattered like icicles spattered on the ground around him.
She left him.
She packed her bag and never looked back, riding away with Logan on his motorcycle. Rogue took a deep breath of the afternoon sunshine, Logan's cigar smell, and motorcycle exhaust.
Don't you remember us? We're still here.
She didn't really care. She was Rogue.
And she was breathing.