Rogue left the Institute on her eighteenth birthday.
She snorted. As near to a birthday as she had; they'd always used the date Mystique adopted her.
One shadow detached from the rest by the gate, and Wolverine stepped forward with crossed arms and a grim look. Rogue met his eyes steadily.
"Late for a walk, kid." he observed.
"Not for the kinda walk I had in mind." she returned, not looking away.
He sighed and fished a cigar out of a pocket. "I don't guess you told 'em yer leavin'."
"No."
"You comin' back?"
She shrugged. "Someday."
Logan frowned again. "You'll call." It's not a question or a request.
"Yeah."
Wolverine curled an arm around her and gave her shoulder a thump that sent Rogue staggering forward a step. "Take care a' yourself, kid." he ordered, and pressed something into her hand.
She looked down at the wad of bills. "Logan…"
"Be safe."
She nodded.
He watched her walk away, the white streaks on either side of her face gleaming in the moonlight.
She didn't look back.