A/N: So I had a few people ask me to continue. I wasn't intending to, but I'm having a bear of a time getting Jean out of the driver's seat in Son o' de Guild (does the word "Remy-centric" mean anything to you, Ms. Grey?), so instead of being good and doing serious rereading and working on something I ought to update, I thought I'd scribble something here that may or may not continue past this point. You are forewarned. I'm writing a story I'm not invested in. If I can keep it short, it will probably survive anyway.

Anywhere

Remy dropped his jacket over the back of a motel chair.

"You get the window bed," she said and dropped her own duffel by the door side.

She had meant to drop him off—anywhere. Instead, they rode with barely a handful of scattered phrases between them as Rogue scalded her tongue on hot coffee until they shared a battered table at a faded roadside diner, crawled back into her truck, and kept driving.

There was comfortable routine here, him lighting up a cigarette near the window, world-weary and world-wise in equal measure. Rogue preferred to the wash away the dirt of the road in the shower and braid back her brown hair for the night before coming out again, brittle edges and youthful innocence in equal measure. She pretended not to notice Remy's eyes following her movements as she settled onto the bed, pulled out her phone, and checked the messages.

Dozens from the Institute—boyfriend, friends, staff, and even Logan. He was the only smart enough to leave messages. Rogue would listen to what he had to say, though she never called him back.

"Just making sure you're still okay, kid. There's a present under your passenger seat in the truck."

She raised her eyebrows, studying the phone for a second before flipping it shut. "Don't suppose y'all already know what that is?" she drawled with a honey-thick leisure she'd never worn as her own.

Remy's dry chuckle trailed off into a casual shrug, the cigarette ground out in the ashtray. "Thought y' were southern."

"Got somewhere to go?" she asked, accent once again more lost altogether than understated.

She flipped through her cards and receipts. Remy had proven trustworthy as yet. She wasn't really worried about him knowing which bag she kept her money in. Her fingers gripped the cards tighter. Besides, she had a backup if it came to that.

Rogue glanced up at his continued silence. His face was closed to her, but thoughtful.

"Not really," he said at last. "Leaving somewhere."

Rogue glanced around and hummed a considering measure. Anywhere, they had said. They were certainly anywhere. Alaska had lost its appeal. The South had worn out that old-fashioned charm. New York was too modern for her like by now. Canada… She might as well have gone off with Logan.

She blew out a frustrated sigh and packed her things away again. She checked the bed for cleanliness and deemed it worthy. "You planning on sleeping?" she snapped.

"Eventually." He was quieter than usual. With Remy that didn't seem to be a good sign, but she let it pass, let him wrestle his own angels, and packed herself into bed.