It's the middle of the night again, and Rogue stiffens at the slight metallic creak of her room door opening. She pretends to be asleep, forcing herself to breath slow and deep. She know it won't work, he won't go away. He never does, as much as she might will it.

She doesn't fight it anymore, when his hands peels back the covers, push clumsily under the the t-shirt she wears to bed. She cringes inside herself, eyes squeezing shut a little tighter as if that will make it all go away. She can smell the alcohol on his breath, the stale cigarette smoke that clings to his skin like a film. The chill of his hands is what makes the bile rise in her throat, burning like fire as he pushes her onto her stomach. She bites the pillow case, clenching her jaw in order to not cry out when he pushes her sleep shorts roughly down her legs. Stifling all sound as he touches her, puts his hands on her, pulls her hair.

She dreamed about this, his coming to her in the night. Touching her, his hands all over her bare skin. She thought the Cure would give it to her. Let her be loved, bask in touch and all the nuances of it, forever.

She had never thought it would be like this. Cold, rough, without any love at all. He hurts her, every time. The first time he had made some small attempt to make sure she was ready, able. Now he doesn't even bother with that.

He presses her shoulders to the mattress, she can feel the hair along his calves against her own smooth legs, before he's pushing, forcing himself inside of her again. Her hands curl, claw at the underside of the pillow as she chokes back any sound, any tears. She doesn't give him even that, anymore. She just tries to force her mind far away. To better times. When Jean and the Professor were still alive, when Scott used to be there, watching the hallways at night.

This, this is how he deals with his grief, he's told her. How he forgets all the pressures suddenly pushed on him. How he gets away from all the responsibilities he has now, the things Storm expects from him. How he has had to change his old life. This is how she pays for her sin, this is how she pays them back for being able to stay here. This is her penance for wanting to be touched, for betraying the Professor, for getting the Cure.

The first few times she cried, begged him not to do this. Tried to call for help, but no one came. She knows the walls are thick, her room had been designed so when she woke with the nightmares, she wouldn't wake anyone. Still she cried, hoped someone would come. Hoped someone still loved her enough to save her. She still hoped, even when he'd pass out on the bed beside her and snore until morning, and never heard her cry. But there was no one to come for her, to care, to rescue her. Not anymore. Not in this place that used to be everything real, everything she believed in. This place that used to be where she thought everyone she loved lived.

Not anymore.

He's done, and leaves her there, feeling dirty and defiled. It wasn't supposed to be like this. The tears come, and once they're done, she slips into sleep. Dreaming of the life she'd wanted, hoped for. The life she had prayed the Cure, the chance to be normal, would bring her.

Tonight, it's more vivid than her dreams have ever been. She can feel the sunlight on her

skin, she can hear the wind through her hair. A quiet little place to call home. A place she belonged. A place where she wasn't hurt every night, where she didn't have to dread the setting of the sun. The only other place she's ever thought could be home.

She wakes again, her heart at peace for the first time in weeks. Packing her bag all over again, the sunlight pouring through her window only giving her more resolve. Rogue sits at her desk, pen in hand to write a short note, sealing it in an envelope with some green wax.

Her coat on, moving down to the medlab to offer the letter to Hank, asking him to deliver it when he can. Shaking her head when the good doctor tells her she should stay, where else does she have to go?

“Ah don't want the world, Hank. Ah can get by, can live on my own.” Rogue almost smiles, and the mutant known as Beast falls silent at the look on her face. He can't remember the last time he saw Rogue look this way. He can tell, her mind is made up, she's at peace with whatever her decision is.

Hank follows her upstairs, to watch her walk out. He sees the southern belle tip her face up to the sky, the sun lighting on her skin. Looking at the envelope in his hand, resisting the urge to open it. Instead, he puts it aside to wait for the man it is addressed to.



When that day came to the mansion, Hank hustled him aside, hovering as the envelope was opened.

“Logan, I had to leave. If you go to my room, you'll know why. I don't need to stay here. I can be who I am, loved for who I am, somewhere else. If you want to, I know you can find me. I wanted to wait for you. I realized I couldn't. Love, Rogue.”