The moonlight lit the bedroom faintly as Rogue was jolted from her slumber. At least this time it was my own nightmare. She wrapped her comforter around her and moved to the windowseat. Convenient having for an insomniac to have a single room, isn't it?

The trees swayed gently in the fall breeze, the golden and orange hues of the leaves shining dimly in the mellow light. She touched the glass lightly, tracing the shape of the oak tree outside her window. It was her favorite, old, solid and rooted.

But if you look at it closely, you can see it's weathered and beaten. It's not easy being a tree at Mutant High. She sighed, settling closer to the window and looking down. She knew -- could feel beneath her fingertips, even -- the bark of the tree was marked and worn by the frustrations of those who had gone before.

/i>Pyro tried so hard to start a fire there, just rubbing his hands together. Of course the poor tree had to bear the brunt of his frustration. He'd torn off part of the bark, thinking maybe if he concentrated on a smaller target, he'd be able to make the fire himself. She worried about his growing frustration, but...

Damn it, if anyone has the right to be frustrated, it's me. No progress, no control...Nightmares that aren't even my own, and no one to run to at night. She drew the comforter tightly around herself, hearing a faint jingle as she did so. Looking down, she saw the tags hanging between her breasts, marking her as clearly as the white streaks. Untouchable.

He left the damn school, tore off after his past, leaving her with nothing but the tags and her foolish hope. Unbidden, Magneto's voice rose in her head. "I will bring you hope, old friend, and I ask only one thing in return -- don't get in my way." She shook her head to clear it, her hand unconsciously clutching the tags.

Yet another scar on the tree, she remembered. There were three deep slashes in the trunk of the tree. She didn't know what had prompted him to attack it, but she'd always imagined it was when he found that she'd run away. Had he been scared for her? Angry at her? Maybe even angry at himself? /i>If only he were here so I could ask... She sighed, annoyed. He'd woken up and left within the hour. Logan, come home!

She turned from the window, walking back to the bed still clutching the tags. Slowly she drew them up and over her head, and held them gingerly.

God, Logan...if only you knew how heavy your tags feel right now... It was as if all the frustrations and fears and desires unspoken lay in a small pressed piece of metal. She looked down at them longingly. All that I can't have, and all the reasons why I can't have them, hanging like a damn albatross around my neck for all to see. She let the chain dangle off her wrist, half expecting the weight of all that the tags represented to drag her hand to the floor.

But it didn't.

She smiled, and proceeded to wrap the chain firmly around her wrist, snatching a glove off her dresser when she was finished. She slipped the glove on, laying the actual tag in the palm of her hand underneath the fabric. Examining the result, a burden eased off her shoulders. She could wear her heart on her sleeve, literally, but it was for her alone.

The lady has a scar, but no longer must she bare it to the world.

She lay back down with a soft smile, the glove still on her hand, and slid peacefully into a dreamless slumber.