"Touch"

Epilogue

The sense of the road, brought on by the bare scent of the morning mingling with that of cold asphalt and warm tires, the feeling of the morning breeze through her hair. Road salt taste, gravel sensation: like trampled snow, traveled across a million times over but still untouched, still virginal... still being discovered.

The lazy road-awakening, tired from the night before and tired throughout the day, yet ready to cross a greater distance.

She lifted her head, to look at the driver's seat. It was empty. She then noticed, that there was no motion. She was sitting in what she knew to be Scott's car. Somewhere.

Looked around. Generic roadside scenery, the clichés of the scenic route: mountains, some covered with the green of trees and maquis and bushes, thick wall of trees on either side of the neatly-poured asphalt. Anonymous diner/fuel stop around her. The scent of water pooling on aged concrete mixing with that of stray gasoline droplets, the sense of thick, black, flammable liquids through stainless-steel pipes across her skin.

A coat of dust on her.

A ding and a familiar voice saying thank you attracted her attention. She turned to the side.

There he was. Jeans, a red t-shirt, black Chuck Taylors, walking with a smile. His glasses, red and gleaming under the morning sun, adding to his aura of contentment. He was coming to the car, armed with two large 5 liter-water bottles and three nylon bags filled with what she could make out to be cookies, chips and various other snacks. He put everything in the back seat, right next to one of the suitcases Rogue recognized to be hers.

He walked around the car and got to the driver's seat.

Then, he turned to her.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

She couldn't respond. It wasn't anything in particular, it was just that the question was too difficult to answer. How was she feeling? She didn't even know.

"Rogue? You okay?"

Concern in his voice. Damning, almost cruel.

"Scott..."

Silence. His presence, there, real. His attention, undivided.

What she wanted. That which she didn't know what to do with.

"Where are we?" she asked, seeking neutral ground.

He started the engine and moved onto the road. After going for a few minutes, he pulled over.

"We're very near this town called Binghamton. There should be a Holiday Inn or something, somewhere we can crash for the day. I know that driving by day is better, just... I don't feel very comfortable doing it. I think you could use a real bed, too."

One hand on her shoulder. His warm touch, lingering there, making her shiver. Too much sensation for a body that wasn't used to it at all.

"Where're we headed?"

"Chicago. Emma Frost's Academy of Tomorrow."

She didn't get it. Her mind was too jumbled, under too heavy a load to work properly.

"You okay?"

Concerned caress of his hand, his fingers sort of sliding across her shoulder, cupping it in the palm.

Rogue noticed then, that the waking thought had been her own this time. First in a long, long while. She didn't know what to do now that she had to face her own thoughts, feel her own feelings. It scared her. She looked at her lap, at her knees. Her hands, curled up into fists. Black nail polish peeling away, in desperate need of a fresh coat.

"Ah want to ask ya somethin." She said, "Ah have ta know somethin."

"Go ahead."

"Why aren'tcha afraid of touchin me? Everybody else avoids it. You don't. Ah'm just wonderin... just wonderin why that is."

Scott smiled. His gentle, compassionate smile she had come to know so well.

"Remember the first lesson of... well, the first lesson? What does it say? That people want to escape from, or destroy, what they don't understand. Others think, one touch and they're doomed, like it'll give them cancer. I know different."

His hand ran through her hair. She shivered all over, the contact point sending waves across her body. The palm moved to her cheek. Rogue shivered again, sighing. Almost needy, almost ready to give away everything.

Closed her eyes. Wanted to savor it.

His emotions came rushing in. How tired he was from the night, desperate for a real bed and some good night's rest, but too much to do before that, too much distance to cover. Too much vigilance to spare for her.

Concern for her. Thoughts on whether she'd be alright or not, whether they had enough money, where Alex was, whether Emma Frost would be better than Charles Xavier, whether this was the right thing to do.

If he was making a mistake. If he was helping her.

Then, the hand withdrew. Something in her cried out for more, screamed for more of it. Not just one touch, of so much more, of so much more...

"This is what I know."

Rogue looked at him, unable to understand completely, aware bitterly of her flushed cheeks, slightly heavy breathing.

"I know that this is okay." He said, "I'm safe. You're not going to hurt me."

The words. His, and now hers. Real, there, and hers.

Hers alone. Hers to keep.

She couldn't help herself. Something rose from within her, a wave of emotion, of pure, raw, focused feeling. She choked on her own tears and wept, sobbing. Scott reached out and threw one arm over her, and she scooted closer to him, resting her head against his chest. She slid down, gradually, and rest on his stomach. Drew her knees to her chest and continued to cry, to release.

The reality of him, beside.

Safe. Warm.

Home.

"It's alright, Rogue." Scott said, "It's going to be alright."

And she believed him.