In all honesty, Rogue wasn't quite sure what she was doing.

She laughed at her own thoughts; these days, it seemed like she never knew what she was doing.

The wind slid past the black helmet with a dull, constant roar and flattened her clothes against her body. The late fall air made her shiver, reminding her that these were currently her only clothes and that she needed her things. She had considered letting the Wolverine—no, Logan, that was what she was supposed to call him now that they were on the same side—letting Logan do as he said and just getting her stuff for her. Following him hadn't really been a thought-out decision, and now that she was here, with him, on her way back home—no, not home, that wasn't her home anymore, and that was just as scary as anything else that had happened to her today—now that she was on her way to the place she had been living for the better part of two months, she couldn't fight back the cold sweat breaking over her. This was it. This was what would seal her fate. When she took her belongings out of that house, she would never go back.

Oh, who was she kidding? She couldn't go back anyway.

They pulled onto the long, trash-ridden street and Rogue tapped on Logan's stomach, gesturing to the side. He pulled over and cut the engine.

"Somethin' wrong?"

"I… no," Rogue stuttered, pulling off the helmet. "But, um, I… I was thinkin' that maybe I should go get it myself? People don't come round here much, and I don't think they'd take too kindly to the Wolverine pullin' a motorcycle into their driveway."

He turned to give her a level look.

"Y'know, Mystique might've already told them."

Right to it. Rogue winced in spite of herself. "Yeah, I know that. I just… look, I don't know. But I don't wanna just, y'know, show up on the back of an X-Man's bike and ask for my stuff. I don't think they'd like that too well, and I don't want another tangle. Not today."

Logan shrugged. "Look, kid, it's your stuff. Your choice. You ask me not to follow you, I won't. But things turn ugly, it'll be you against four. Five, if Mystique's there, and she might be."

If Mystique's there. That hadn't even occurred to her. Rogue glanced between Logan and the house at the end of the street, suddenly finding herself even more nervous than she had been before.

"I…" Rogue gulped. "Do you think you could, er, wait for me?"

Logan nodded. "Whatever you need, kid."

She led out a shuddering breath, then slid off the back of his bike. "Thanks."

"Holler if there's trouble."

"Yeah. I will."

Her feet moved of their own accord, carrying her down the darkened asphalt, under the familiar broken streetlight that Toad loved to climb. It struck her that after tonight, she'd probably never see him climbing there again. The house sharpened in her vision as she passed the broken-down sign out front. There was still a light on in the kitchen. Dukes had probably fallen asleep there. Again. As she came nearer to the front door, her mind was whirling. Toad was probably passed out on the couch. Lance was probably in his room. Pietro was probably asleep somewhere else entirely. Or who knew? Maybe he was still awake. It was always a guess with him.

She winced as the steps creaked under her feet. She grasped the doorknob, but for a moment she couldn't force herself to go farther.

This was it. Whatever safety she'd found here, whatever hints of friendship had bound her to these luckless, practically homeless boys was going to end. Here. Tonight. And no matter what the Professor or Scott might say about what safety they might offer her in return, it scared her to let go.

And no matter what Mystique might have said against the X-Men, she knew she'd made her choice. Rogue closed her eyes, steeled herself, and turned the knob.

They'd never gotten a lock for the door, despite how much she and Lance had campaigned for one, but she nearly jumped out of her skin at how loud the hinges were. The floorboards groaned, and the door was much too loud when she closed it. A quick glance into the living room revealed a curled-up Toad who was making a rhythmic noise halfway between a snore and a wheeze, and she could see Dukes slumped over the table in the kitchen, snoring much more loudly.

She tried going up the stairs slowly, but even that didn't do anything to soften the noise that the house never seemed to stop making. By the time she had gotten to the second floor, she gave up on moving slowly altogether. She was close enough to her room anyway, so she squared her shoulders and marched the rest of the way, doing her best to ignore the floor's protests.

Her room remained undisturbed, which she wasn't sure if she should feel surprised about or not. Her rickety bed lay unmade, her clothes were scattered on the floor and her hair brush lay on her dresser. She wasted no time. She wanted to be done with this as soon as possible.

She hadn't packed too much when she'd moved here from Mississippi, and she hadn't bought too much when she'd moved in. All of her new things had been given on Mystique's charity, and she'd been loath to spend what little she had saved up from her old life. All in all, it wasn't too difficult to fit all of her things into her old, beaten-up duffel bag.

"Rogue? That you?"

Rogue whirled. Footsteps were coming down the hallway. She'd left her door open, and after a few moments Lance was peering blearily into her room. She froze under his gaze like a rabbit in headlights, but he seemed too groggy to really notice.

"Where you been?" he mumbled. "Pietro's been all around lookin' for you."

Rogue shifted guiltily. "Didn't need to. I'm fine. Was out on a school trip, s'all."

"School trip?" He leaned against the doorframe, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. "Right… the geology thing?"

Rogue nodded. "Yeah, yeah. Up in the mountains. Got caught in a whiteout."

"Fun. Is the light on downstairs?" The boy leaned back to glance down the hall. "Dammit, did Blob fall asleep in the kitchen again?"

"Yeah, looked like it."

Lance growled and started down the hall. "God damn it, if Mystique catches the light on again she's going to be making us pay for the electricity."

Rogue heard him stomp down the stairs and took a shaky breath. He hadn't noticed her packing. Good. Maybe she could get out of the house without having to explain at all. She didn't want more trouble than she needed. She slung the bag over her shoulder and started down the hall, too. If she went fast enough, she could make it to the door before he began to question what she was doing.

Lance wasn't making any real effort to be quiet, but he also wasn't actively trying to wake Fred as he made his way through the kitchen to the light switch. She was almost to the door, and then—

"Hey Rogue, throw that in the trash, will ya? She'll take our arms off too if she sees more food lying around."

She stopped in her tracks and turned to see Lance gesturing at the half-finished plate of food Dukes had fallen asleep next to. Rogue swallowed and nodded, going about the task as efficiently and quietly as possible.

"Hey, Rogue…"

Rogue turned.

"… I know you didn't take it, but have you seen my…" Lance blinked, and then he seemed to take in her appearance for the first time. He looked at her bag, then at her face, then back to her bag, then back to her face again.

"Going somewhere?" he asked, tone more than a little confused.

Well, shit.

"Um… yeah. I am."

"This late?"

"Yeah."

"But you just got back."

"Yeah, I, um, needed to get my things."

"Needed to get your things? Where are you going?"

"… out."

He tilted his head, still unsure of what she was saying. "Do you need to go tonight? 'Cause I could give you a ride in the morning…"

"No, I can't." Rogue finished throwing away the food and began to make her way quickly towards the door. "Look, I really gotta go."

"Rogue?" He had followed her, and was watching her fight with the door that had suddenly decided that it wanted to go to sleep, too. She glanced up at him, taking a breath to say something, anything she could to stall, but it died in her throat when their eyes met.

His expression shifted from one thing to the next. Confusion. Curiosity. Turning wheels as he looked at her bag, at how heavily it weighed on her shoulders. Then there was comprehension.

"You're going with the X-Men." His words weren't angry, weren't hurt or cold, weren't even accusational. They just… were. It was a fact lingering in the air, a truth as tangible at the boards beneath their feet. Not hard, but heavy. Final. Rogue could say nothing back.

Lance's face was as void of emotion as his statement. He didn't look disappointed or pained. He didn't even seem relieved. If anything, he just looked… well, she didn't know what it was like. As if this was something he'd expected all along.

He said nothing. She said nothing. There was nothing more to say. Lance didn't nod or shrug. He simply removed his gaze from Rogue's, turned, and went back up the stairs.

Rogue let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. That was it, then. She didn't take any more care to be quiet as she finally forced the door open and stepped back into the brisk air of the night. She was done with this house.

The dark blot of the motorcycle beneath the lamplight was almost a relief. Logan turned at her approach.

"That it?" he asked, arching an eyebrow and gesturing to her bag.

"Yeah. Don't have much to bring."

He grunted and shifted to give her room on the back of the bike. Rogue swung her leg over and settled her arms around his abdomen as the motor revved to life. A strange kind of peace filled her, now that she was leaving. She wasn't the best at making choices, at least she wasn't any better than anyone else, but she wasn't one to let someone else make them for her. She did that herself. And for better or for worse, she'd chosen to walk away from Mystique and her house of tumbleweed mutants. The string had been cut, and there was no going back. She'd deal with the consequences, because that was all she could do now.

And as they pulled out of the street, despite the weight on her shoulders, for the first time in a long while Rogue felt… light.