fateandfortune

Ah yes, that paradox of time travel. Rogue's aborted sentence leaves only a few options about what she'd been about to say.

Rogue's explanations had definitely helped, but he still lacked information. They needed more insight into the capabilities of the Sentinels, the methodology of human soldiers, and that kind of thing just wasn't available in non-secure locations. If Rogue's knowledge was based on a world that had been changed and technically dismantled, they had no way of knowing how accurate any of this was.

"They might not," he allows. "But it sounds like this place has already done away with supposed to as a general rule, so the possibility remains. Unless it's something you don't think is the right call?"

Seconds feel like hours as she considers telling him. She'd told so few people the truth about what she went through, the whole truth of the situation, that dancing around the subject has become second nature. But if they don't remember, then there's no point in dredging up the past, is there? It's just more heartache that he doesn't need to bear witness to.

"It's probably the only call we have," she finally decides, leaning more heavily against him. "We were based in upstate New York, though. That's not exactly local."

The yawn overtakes her suddenly, cutting off anything else she might have wanted to say, and she blinks heavily when it ends. "Sorry, sugar. I didn't sleep very well last night."

He spends about two seconds considering the route. "We'd have to detour," he agrees. "Go far enough west to avoid the cities due north of here. We'll keep that option open for now, all right? Maybe it won't be necessary."

Rogue's yawn and sleepy demeanor is endearing. "I didn't either," he admits. Unlike his conflicted thoughts earlier about keeping his own fears private, this isn't something he feels he needs to hide. "Do you want me to change to alt? You could nap."

Endearing. She feels like a little kid fighting against naptime at school as she shakes her head, straightening up slightly in a failed attempt to be more awake.

"I can just move to the floor," she counters, though it's without her usual strength. "You've been cooped up for days, you should use every second you can to stretch out."

He ex-vents, his expression one of faint exasperation but not ire. Carefully and slowly, giving Rogue plenty of time to move or otherwise tell him to stop, he cups his other hand under her and lifts her off his leg. There's an effortlessness in the movement; she weighs so very little compared to him, but his digits never tighten beyond a gentle pressure.

Rather than setting her on the floor however, he folds his arms together across his torso, just below where the armored part of his chassis ends. The planes of his forearms press together, making a relatively flat place that's big enough for her to curl up in.

"A compromise," he pronounces. "I'm not... there are surely more comfortable places, but..."

The way he moves her — not for one second does she feel even an ounce of fear. He picks her up so carefully and she lets him do it, trusting him without hesitation. If anything, his action makes her feel safe, protected... especially when he settles again.

Shaking her head at his words, she just gives him a soft smile and lays down in the space he's provided, tucking an arm under her head for a pillow. "This is perfect," she assures him, already drifting into that foggy half-asleep world. "Thank you, Knock Out."

psl.

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