She paced. The chill autumn air whipped at the edges of her emerald-green coat, and she tugged it more closely about her chest, though her trembling had nothing to do with the cold. Her soft leather boots padded against the pretty, even stones of the front steps, and for half a second, her feet propelled her towards the door, hand half-raised to knock... but her nerve faltered again, and she fell back.

"Stay the hell away from me! Or so help me, I'll blow you back to the next century, I know how t' use this, I swear I do." -- "Of course you do, child..." -- "And don't call me 'child', neither!" -- "You'd prefer for me to call you 'Rogue', I assume? That's what you're calling yourself these days, isn't it?"

Rogue buried her face in her hands for a moment, trying to block out the memory. She wasn't sure whether it helped or not that that one was actually hers.

She wrapped a finger around a lock of snow-white hair and tugged on it gently. "They're gonna hate me," she murmured to herself, then heaved a sigh, looking up at the grey clouds above her. "Of course, they're gone. They already do. An' not without reason..."

"Hold on, Rogue! Hold on!" -- "I, I can't... she's... Momma, this ain't-" – "Just. Hold. On!"

Rogue's eyes drifted back to the massive brick façade of Salem Institute, to all appearances an elite prep school, like so many others scattered across the Northeast. Everything fit the picture: crawling ivy, manicured grounds, tennis courts... but Rogue knew better. And knowing better was, at this moment, making her feel intensely vulnerable.

"What was I thinkin'?" she wondered aloud, backing up a few steps. "I must'a been off my head, comin' here, thinkin' anyone here would want t' help me..."

"She's psychotic. Lunatic." – "No one's arguing with you." -- "And that daughter of hers!" -- "Well, not really of hers." -- "Don't kid yourself, she might as well be flesh and blood." -- "She's a child." -- "Doesn't make her any less crazy."

Ramming the heels of her hands against her temples, Rogue stamped her feet impatiently. "Not mine, not mine, not mine!" she hissed, desperately forcing her thoughts to focus.

As she gasped for breath, she looked at the door again. "Must'a been off my head... and of course that's the exact reason..."

"Let her be, Raven." -- "No one asked you, Irene! Of all the ungrateful, idiotic things, Rogue, of all the disgraceful ideas, I can't even say how disappointed-" -- "You're not disappointed, you're just damn angry, I know the difference by now."

Tears pricked at the back of emerald eyes, but Rogue refused to give them permission to go any further. "I cannot knock on that door if I'm cryin', I just can't..." She knew what she was surrendering, what she was risking, throwing herself on the mercy of her former enemies, she knew it stripped her of any right to dignity, but still... "A girl's gotta have a little pride left..."

"Weak. Pathetic. Running from your powers like some frightened child." -- "And what would you have me do, Momma? Keep using 'em until I go as stark ravin' mad as you are?" -- "Rogue, dear, that's uncalled for." -- "What did I tell you, Irene, ungrateful. As though I'd ever wanted anything but the best for her." -- "I think you an' I are startin' to have very different ideas on what 'the best' is, Momma."

Slowly, deliberately, Rogue walked back up the steps. "I can't turn back now," she instructed herself. "That'd make me an even worse coward than Momma -- than Mystique -- believes."

The wind fluttered her coat again. She drew several long, deep breaths, hoping with each that the next one would bolster her nerves enough that she could raise her hand to the door.

--

"Piotr, if you would be so kind as to check the front door," Professor Xavier said, his brow furrowing slightly. "There's a young lady out there working up the courage to come in..."