ahn~ originally completed on 08/25/2013, with slight alterations to fit slightly better in the WaTX universe. I decided to post it because I needed to post something as opposed to just leaving this account all lonely and empty. I may decide to do something further with this... which was my original plan all those months ago, but I know better than to promise anything.

Cover credits to nick-d on DevArt; slight editing by myself

…

Rogue couldn't shake the feeling, like she'd been here before. Like she'd been here for multiple befores, one on top of the other, layered to the point where the edges frayed and became indistinguishable from one another. An ouroboros of being, self-fulfilling prophecy rushing headlong into implosion.

She looked down at her hands. The fabric was threadbare, almost transparent in spots where it was so worn down that it was movements away from ripping. The seam at the apex of her thumb and index finger was near bursting already—if she looked closely enough, she could see slivers where her skin shone through, the light brown pale in comparison to the chocolate brown synthfab. It needed to be replaced.

Rogue sighed. The gloves were a money sink; they always needed replacing. Cheap synth pairs would last a few weeks to a month, expensive ones could last up to two or three times as long. Leather, of course, was Rogue's first choice, but even ones made out of synthleather were too high for her meager budget. But she didn't trust the nascent control she had on her powers, infinitely preferring to keep her body covered than brush against someone skin-to-skin and absorb their psyche.

She leaned back against the rough surface of the column, closing her eyes briefly. She was exhausted, feverish, and hours away from anywhere she could call home. She reached into one of the many pockets of her coat and pulled out a cigarette from the mostly-empty, half-squished pack she carried. Rogue thought maybe she should throw them away, but she couldn't bear to part with them. Simple luxuries and all that, though chocolate bars would have been both a healthier and a less expensive alternative.

Well, it's too late now. She lit the cigarette with a soft breath of fire. The abilities she had absorbed back in Memphis hadn't faded, something Rogue wasn't sure she was supposed to be concerned over or embrace. She took a drag; the smoke filled up her lungs and she held it there, exhaling only when it started to itch.

"Didn't take you for a smoker, Rogue."

She scoffed. "Things change. You should know that better than I do." Her jaw was clenched, though she had made an effort to appear relaxed. Not that Logan was fooled. He'd been around too long not to pick up on tells, and Rogue was too raw to hide them, anyway—especially from him.

He snatched the cigarette and crushed it with his boot, glaring at Rogue when she looked like she was going to protest. She turned away from him in irritation, the blood rushing to the surface and making her reddish in anger. Her scent had changed in the intervening years, along with her accent. She looked older, dressed differently, held herself like a new person... yeah, things had definitely changed. Logan wasn't sure how he felt about that, all he knew was that it wasn't a surprise. He'd known it was coming better than anyone else.

Time had a way of transforming people into different versions of themselves. For all the years he'd been around, he hadn't decided if it was for the better or the worse.

"You should come back to the institute." Rogue made a sound caught somewhere between a chuckle and an incredulous cough. "'Ro misses you... and Julia ain't the same without ya." We need you was the unvoiced plea. War was on the horizon; they needed all the help they could get.

"Y'all don't want somebody like me around."

"Don't sell yourself short, kid."

Rogue shook her head. "I'm not selling myself short, I'm—"

"We both know what you're doing, but I'm not gonna argue the point. The offer stands."

She nodded her assent; he walked back where he came from. She stayed where she was. The moon hung full and low on the sky like an overgrown fruit.