He was her commander, in the purest sense of the phrase - the one on whose ship she resided, who she was loyal to. But she had also meant it in that possessive way. Her friend, her Commander. She was both pleased and grateful that he hadn't rejected her outright for it.

Rogue would claim him in any way he would allow.

A grin was the response to his order/invitation and the prospect of finally being able to spar with him again. She'd missed it more than words could express. Dressing took less than a minute, green shirt and jeans, and she spared a few seconds to pull her hair back to keep it out of the way when they fought.

"Let's go," she announced eagerly, practically bouncing out the door and leading the way.