This road is unsafe;
You're too stubborn to wait.
Are you listening?
They want you to know:
They want you to stay.
But it's too much to take;
So you're running away.

~ Our Lady Peace

"Hey!" Her voice was like honey; innocence embodied. And who ever thought I could care for a little girl I picked up off the road outside some bar in Canada? Who ever thought I could care at all? Not me, that's for sure. But then, I don't know anything about myself; I don't remember who I am. The more I think about it, the crazier it seems- caring for someone I've known for less than a week. But I've always been one to follow my instincts, so I do it again, and it comes naturally. I feel I should care about her, so I do. It makes me wonder if maybe I have a daughter out there somewhere; but that thought frightens me even more than caring for this girl so I don't think about it.

Instead I turn in the doorway and face her, looking at that innocent face. She knows; she knows I was going to leave without saying goodbye, but I don't know if she understands why. It has nothing to do with her; I don't even really know why I'm leaving at all. Maybe it's because I don't want to stay with these geeks; maybe it's because I really want to find my past. Or maybe it's another instinct I'm just following. Run! It cries. And I don't know why, but I do.

"You runnin' again?" she asks me, our little code, reading my thoughts. I have to suppress a smile as she asks this, and I look away so she doesn't see the humour in my eyes and misinterpret it.

"Not really," I say, not meeting those eyes that are pleading for me to stay. "I have some things to take care of up north." I look at her finally, and she gives a little sigh, as though she is even less convinced than I am of my reasons for leaving. Then I remember I'm in her head, and I feel guilty. For a moment we stand there, uncomfortably, two people who have shared so much and yet have known each other for such a very short time. It's a strange relationship, ours.

To break the awkward moment, I reach up and touch the white streak in her hair, realizing she must have Magneto up there in her head as well as me. And I hope we're treating her right, and I try to hide my sympathy as she shies slightly from my touch, afraid to hurt me; she wouldn't believe me if I told her she didn't have to worry.

She says, bravely, endearingly: "I kinda like it." And right then I know that I love her, and that maybe if I do have a daughter somewhere out there in the world, I hope she's just like Rogue. I offer her a small smile and a nod. The white does suit her.

She says firmly: "I don't want you to go." And then I don't want to go either, but it's only for a second before that instinct rears its head again. And even as she speaks the words I know she knows she doesn't mean it. I'm in her mind; she understands me. She knows I have to do this. But she needs to tell me she doesn't want me to go, because I don't know her like she knows me and she needs to make it clear that she wants me here. I don't have to have her in my head to get that.

And maybe she also needs to say the words for herself, so after I'm gone she can believe she did something to try and get me to stay. I understand, and that's the reason I reach up, take the dog tags from my neck -- the necklace I haven't taken off in fifteen years. I take it off for her, and I don't feel bad when I place it in her gloved palm, curling her fingers around them. She looks at me as I do this, knowing how much of a sacrifice this is and thanking me with her eyes. And right then it's not a sacrifice anymore; that look is worth any nostalgia I might have for the necklace down the way.

"I'll be back for this," I tell her, looking at her pointedly and trying to communicate what I really mean, still holding her hand in mine. I won't let go and leave her behind until she understands. She looks at me like she does, and I give a little nod, releasing the gloved hand and turning from her, pulling open the heavy front door of Xavier's mansion. I can feel her eyes on my back as I head down the steps, but I don't need to turn back. I know she understands. I won't be back for my tags; I'll be back for her.