I don't react. I can't react, not when everyt'ing she's dredging up is stuff I never anticipated needing a reaction to. I was s'posed to be long gone out o' de X-Men's lives by de time all dis came out, but dat's not exactly an option dese days. Nowhere to run to.

Dat don't stop me from throwing a quick glance over my shoulder just in case.

"When did it happen?" I ask quietly, and it isn't just my way of keeping her talking, keeping her from realizing dat what she's remembering might be familiar for all de wrong reasons, keeping her from hating me for at least a couple more minutes. I really do want to know.