If you run you can only take one person, and you have to be sure. They can’t break down and call their folks, give their real name, make a scene in front of a bank security camera and get on the nightly news. It’s your life. Right ? So mostly you run alone, because there’s nobody who can earn that kind of trust.

You have to be sure.

Except- she catches him on the stairs, and he thought he was being pretty fucking quiet. She’s packed and wearing sensible shoes.

At last, he’s sure.

---

They don’t leave so much as a tire track to indicate their direction. They’re not being chased. Maybe it’s got something to do with the giant brain that glows deep in the basement, and the way everybody seems to go crazy all the time and kill their roommates. She’s eighteen and she knows what the inside of a holding facility looks like, and the inside of the human body. Is it that they fear, the registration that will come? Or maybe the megalomaniacs will get them all first. Are they running from killer robots?

Well, not really. Logan doesn’t think about it; Logan only runs when he feels like running and stops when he feels like stopping. And she just really likes diner food.

They both suspect this could go on for a while.

---

She doesn’t hold Jean against him.

It’s a small miracle, as miracles go. It’s not like he feels bad for fooling around with a beautiful woman; no, Logan’s not capable of that particular brand of regret. What he does feel is the span of time between the grief and the return to reality- a time when she drifted somewhere beyond his eyelids, waiting quietly for him to come around. He feels her patience, and knows he wasn’t worth it. He’s grateful.

He’s more than grateful. Hell. She’s straddling him in a motel bed, and it’s like being drunk and rich and handsome on your birthday. “How are we gonna-” he starts, but she doesn’t bother letting him finish.

“Aw, baby.” she says. “Ain’t we superheroes?”

At the moment, they could be.