I know it's only been a couple of hours, but I can't quite believe it, not when I'm on what feels like my thousandth circuit of de floor, pacing and smoking (it's an empty basement, who's around to yell at me for it?) and waiting for somet'ing, anyt'ing.

I'm not sure what I'm expecting. I'm not even sure what I'm hoping for. She knows. Rogue knows, and I'd gotten so used to treating dat like such a non-option, I don't know what to do wit' it. I'd run if I could, but dere ain't nowhere to go here, so I just start another lap down de hall and keep waiting.

Eventually, finally (even if de first t'ing to cross my mind is Already?), I hear a noise from behind de curtain and I'm at her side fast enough for all my carefully built-up illusions of purely professional interest to go up in so much smoke.

"Rogue?"