The first shirt. Rogue's eyes widened a little as he told his story, and she couldn't help but be grateful that, even if it hadn't been an easy transition, at least he hadn't been completely alone for it. That organization, S.H.I.E.L.D., had been behind it and him, and she was fairly certain that if he needed anything in this new life, they would have his back.

Her transition to this new world hadn't been anything like that. A night on the streets and one in a shelter before she'd finally given in and listened to Remy - picking pockets had been the only one to get herself somewhere remotely safe to deal with everything. She felt guilty and ashamed of it, but she'd picked her marks carefully and none of them missed what she'd taken.

Those little casual kisses were so perfect, and she hoped there never came a day where those didn't come naturally between them. That easy affection was important to her. She watched him go with a smile before setting the folded clothes on the end of the bed so she could slip off her dress; luckily it wasn't at all difficult to unzip on her own her. She removed her bra as well and folded it and the dress into a semi-neat pile before pulling on the shorts and shirt. The shirt felt even softer against her skin and she had the fleeting thought that Steve might have to fight her to get it back.