By Empress 

Series:  Seventh in the Falling Apart Together series, following Marcato: Bargaining.

Summary: The battle at Alcatraz Island is over.  Scott, Jean, Phoenix, Professor Xavier are all dead.  Rogue is AWOL.  And the real war has just begun.

Rating: R – for language.

Categories: X3, AU

Pairing:  None

Genres: Angst, Adult, Shipper
Warnings:  This is an over all series warning - Grief and loss issues.  Character death - but that took place in chapter 5 & 6 so you don't need to worry about it from here on in. 
Author's Notes 1:  A little AU before this, lots de AU from here on in.  I play with Rogue's mutation a bit in this one.  It'll be explained later.  Much later.  We're jumping ahead to about six months after the last chapter, about four months after the end of X3.  I apologize in advance for a truly atrocious phonetic accent in this chapter.  I just writes 'em like I hears 'em.  My Beta tried to convince me not to do it, but I ignored her. 
 Author's Notes 2: Any and all mistakes are mine.  No blaming my beta who has enough to put up with just dealing with me.  And ah…lemme check here.  *humming*  Yep.  Still hate Jean. 

Distribution: The Wayside Inn, Empress' Private Library, and Lady Scriven's only.  All others ask first.

Disclaimer: I own no one.  Marvel owns it all. Alas, that means Logan belongs to Marvel too, so I can't keep him.  But I'd be happy as all hell to Wolvie-sit should it ever be necessary.  *eg*

Some days I feel broke inside

But I won't admit
Sometimes I just want to hide

'Cause it's you I miss
You know it's so hard to say goodbye

When it comes to this
Would you tell me I was wrong?
Would you help me understand?
            Hurt - Christina Aguilera

The Xavier Institute

Offices of Headmistress Ororo Munroe 

Six Months Later… 

The battle was over.  The war just begun.

Ororo rubbed her cold fingers against the warmth of her sweater-covered arms, shrugging off the chill seeping into her bones as she watched the rain spatter against the window pane.  The skies outside of The Xavier Institute, formerly Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, were a dank grey, as if they too were mourning the losses suffered within these walls. 

How she was supposed to fight a war without her beloved mentor, she had no idea.  She missed him desperately.  He had taught her so much, and been a surrogate parent more often than not.  She couldn't help but wonder if some of the newer occupants of the mansion felt the same as she.  

But she didn't ask.  So much had changed and so quickly.  The Professor was dead.  Scott was dead.  Rogue was missing, presumably on the run again.  Jean came back from the dead only to lead a faction of mutants against the humans, nearly destroying the world in the process until Logan had stepped in and done the one thing she never would have pegged him as able to do. 

He killed the woman he loved. 

Not for them, surely, she thought.  But to keep what was left of Jean from suffering any more at the hands of the Phoenix. 

Jean had been Ororo's best friend once.  And even now, even now that she understood what had happened, the choice that she'd once thought Jean had made only to learn it had been the Phoenix that made the choice to side with Magneto, she still harbored resentment towards her former teammate.  She missed Jean.  But she hated the Phoenix and what she'd done.  She'd killed Scott.  She'd killed Charles.  She'd made Logan destroy a piece of himself when she pushed Jean into begging him to kill her.  And her instincts told her that wherever Rogue had run to, Phoenix had had a hand in that as well.  Somehow.

Giving a shuddering sigh, she wiped away a lone tear that rolled steadily down her cheek as the rain outside picked up in heaviness.  The children seemed to be coping well, as were most of the faculty.  She gave a miniscule smile as her eyes scanned the landscaping beyond the glass panes.  At least she still had Hank, she thought, sending up thanks that he'd remained behind with her.  To help her carry on as the Professor had wanted her to do.

The battle had changed their world in so many different ways.  And would continue to do so for years to come now that the politicians were actively involved in Mutant Rights again.  Alcatraz had taken them all public whether they wanted to be or not.  On one side, mutants didn't need to hide any longer, unless they chose to.  On the other, the human race as a whole still wasn't ready for the difference between them.  And now that the Mutant Registration Act was back on the docket before Congress, the uneasy tension that had existed before was now tenfold. 

People were choosing sides, families against families, neighbors against neighbors.  Friends who had known each other for years now found themselves on different sides of an argument they never thought they'd have to face.  Were mutants human beings still?  Or some other species all together?  And as such, did they still have the same rights as awarded to any other citizen of their nation? 

Other countries didn't seem to be having the same issues, although, there were several smaller nations that didn't even acknowledge they had mutant citizens among them.  But at least of the ones they knew about, none of them were going so far as to revoke citizenship and rights promised them by the United States Constitution for mutants who had been born in their country, like the US was doing in some isolated cases. 

And even more heinous, some of those mutants arrested in the fight on Alcatraz were immediately executed on the decision of a specially convened court that stripped them of their humanity.  Those deemed to be too much of a danger to stand trial or to figure out long-term incarceration.  They'd judged them to be more animal than human and had put them down like rabid dogs.  Not cured.  Executed.  On the spot. 

Whether or not it was justified for some, it still wasn't right, Ororo thought.  How Magneto had managed to evade that fate, she didn't know.  He'd been neutralized.  Hank and Wolverine had seen to that.  Four vials of the Cure, jammed straight into his chest, by Hank himself, and Eric was just another lonely, angry, embittered old man.  No longer a threat to any of them.  Still wanted by the police for his previous crimes, plus the newest ones he'd managed to rack up, he'd somehow managed to slip away unnoticed in the chaos of the night.  They hadn't found him yet, but Ororo knew he'd turn up sooner or later.  And she could only hope he was as neutralized as Hank believed him to be.

Sighing, she pushed those thoughts aside and turned her inward musings towards her newest responsibility.  The legacy and huge responsibility left to her by the Professor.  His precious school and those wondrous children he doted upon.

On a more localized scale, the Xavier Institute was doing better than ever.  Enrollment had picked up and parental involvement was higher than it had been in years.  Of course, it didn't hurt that some of the faculty had celebrity status thrust upon them.  Parts of the battle on Alcatraz had made it to the television networks somehow, most likely from the footage gathered from the security cameras stationed around the former prison. 

She'd been a little concerned for Wolverine at first, thinking he'd be in danger from whatever government dregs may still be clamoring to get their hands on him.  But she really needn't have worried.  He took care of that himself, by making sure he was very well seen by all who were present.  She even caught him smiling evilly at the security cameras, saluting them with, a raised eyebrow, a sarcastic wink and one middle claw.  At the time, she'd laughed a little, thinking, while mildly entertaining, it was a stupidly cocky, grandstanding gesture.

But in retrospect, it was a very smart move.  Now that his face was plastered all over every television, newspaper, and magazine, what government agency would be overtly interested in him?  He was now too easily recognized and thereby a liability to whatever nefarious plans they may have had in mind for him. 

So nationwide, some of them had been seen performing amazing feats.  Herself included.  Wolverine too.  And Hank. 

Of them all, thanks to the short attention span of the American populace, the only one of them that managed to be remembered en mas was Hank.  Blue fur was hard to forget evidently.  He was handling his newly found fame with the gentle, embarrassed elegance she'd become accustomed to throughout the years they had been friends.  There had been some clamoring about Wolverine and herself, but they'd died down quickly enough when neither of them had presented themselves to the outside world.

Now it was life back to normal as they knew it.  Or at least what passed for normal these days.  She had a school to run.  Wolverine…well, he'd just walked away, as usual.  But Hank didn't have that luxury since he'd once served as a member of the President's cabinet.  But he had resigned the post and installed himself as the new resident Physics and Chemistry teacher as well as doubling as school physician when it was called for. 

But the changes weren't limited to the faculty.  The X-Men team members had changed radically as well.  She was so proud of how Piotr and Kitty had stepped up, maturing almost over-night.  Angel had stayed on and had become her strength in many ways.  His quiet steadfastness always bolstered her whenever she got overwhelmed. 

Bobby had come a long way too, but still had moments where she thought he'd be better off on the second team rather than the first.  But she tried to cut him a little slack.  Facing down and fighting someone who had been your best friend had a way of both scrambling your brains and emotions and burning away any remnants of the child that lingered at the same time. 

Jubilee had gone from a wise-cracking smart-mouthed teen to a brooding, moody young woman whose powers were probably one of the most potent of all of them if she would just tap them.  But in her current state it was probably best that she didn't.  Her capture by Stryker and his men had done damage, and the battle at Alcatraz hadn't helped.  She still didn't let anyone close to her, aside from Angel, and even he she kept at arm's length.  He was probably the only friend Jubilee would acknowledge now that Rogue had left.

Regardless of their individual scars, all of them were some of the best people and X-Men she'd ever seen.  Those young people were a credit to the years of training under Charles and Scott, she was sure of it. 

A bitter chuckle escaped her, and thunder crashed around the manse, as she remembered the conversation she and the Professor had had shortly after Jean's death, long before Scott and Rogue ever went public with their relationship.  Charles could have told her then, yet he chose not to.

x-x

"I don't understand," Ororo began as she walked beside Charles down the hallway.  "Magneto's a fugitive.  We have a mutant in the cabinet, a president who understands us.  Why are we still hiding?"

"We're not hiding.  But we still have enemies out there.  And I must protect my students.  You know that."

"Yes, but we can't be students forever."

Xavier chuckled.  "Storm, I hadn't thought of you as my student for years.  In fact, I thought that, perhaps, you might take my place some day."  His wheelchair slowed to a stop as he looked up at the stunned amazement on her face.

"But Scott's -"

"Scott's a changed man," he whispered gruffly.  "He took Jean's death so hard.  His future lies elsewhere now.  Yes, things are better out there.  But you, of all people, know how fast the weather can change."

Ororo searched his face then murmured softly, "There's something you're not telling us."

x-x

What he wasn't telling them was that at the time of that conversation, the Professor knew of Scott and Rogue's newfound intimacy, yet he'd kept his silence.  Not for the first time Ororo felt a twist in her chest at that, guilt eating at her over her casual disapproval of their relationship when they'd finally let everyone know they were a couple.  Had she only known…but she didn't.  She should have, though.  Charles should have told her that it was more than just a rebound fling.  But he hadn't.  And when she thought of the coolness she'd shown to both Scott and Rogue during that time…this time she didn't bother wiping away the tear that rolled down her cheek to make a dark spot on her sweater.

And Charles, for whatever reasoning he had, didn't tell anyone that Scott wasn't coming back.  That he couldn't.  He had also known the moment Scott had died.  That Jean had murdered him.  And yet, he'd kept it from them all for over a week. 

If Logan hadn't brought it out into the open by waking Jean, she had her doubts that Charles would have said anything about Scott for who knew how long.  And that was just cruel.  To all of them, but especially to Rogue.  Now, knowing what she did about what Charles had done, she wasn't entirely sure that Rogue could have talked to anyone about her husband's death, even had she wanted to.

She liked the girl.  Loved her, in fact.  Most people did.  But none of them knew how to help her.  Because she wouldn't talk.  Not to any of them.  Especially not to Wolverine. 

He was the one she thought Rogue would automatically open up to when the news about Scott broke.  But he hadn't been.  And she had no idea why.  No one seemed to.  No one but Wolverine, and he wasn't talking.

In the end, Rogue had gone off to take the cure, Ororo had assumed.  She was just grateful that her body hadn't been among those littering the ground at the former prison when the smoke had cleared a few days later, since many mutants had gone there for the shot that would make them normal again.  Only they'd not found a new life there.  They'd found death, having been caught in the cross-fire of the two battling factions.  She'd not seen Rogue since that night she'd left the mansion.  Hadn't heard from her either.

And Wolverine had left the night of the battle at Alcatraz.  He didn't even come back to the school with them.  He'd stayed only long enough for Hank to take Jean's body from him, cradling her to his chest until the moment the big man pulled her from his arms.

Ororo had watched in stoic silence as Logan stayed on his knees in the smoldering pile of rubble for a moment, his bare torso heaving.  Yet he made no sound.  No, the sound of his cry when Jean had died in his arms had been enough.  It echoed through the night, touching every ear that heard it.  And she was sure, as she paused a moment in her own fight to feel the tears slide down her cheeks, that she'd never forget the sound as long as she lived.  After a few moments on the simmering mound, he struggled to his feet and simply walked away from them into the smoke from the fires still lighting up the night.

He'd come back before the start of the next term.  Some three weeks later.  He'd come home, he'd said, not offering an explanation of where he'd gone, where he'd been or how long he planned on staying.  But she'd not asked either, knowing him well enough to know that he'd tell her when he wanted her to know and not before then. 

Wolverine was back.  Yet he was changed.  Reserved.  He'd never been a gregarious person, not one quick to laugh.  But now he was even more withdrawn than he had been before he'd left.  No more sarcastic quips.  No more leering double-entrendres.  No more blatant arrogance at his own prowess, both in the Danger Room or of his bedroom proclivities.  And while those were all attributes of his personality that she'd loathed before, now she found herself missing them terribly. 

Now Logan was all business.  Or more appropriately, Wolverine was all business.  It was like he'd buried Logan when they'd re-buried Jean alongside the Professor.  He'd come back and stepped right into the place Scott had left behind as team leader and had taken over the training of what was now the first team of X-Men with her, as well as hand choosing a second team to being teaching. 

He was driven, ruthless, harsh, exacting, and everything they needed in that particular position.  He trained them day and night, even adding in a few self-defense courses for the teenage girls, strength training for the boys, and even a few generalized physical education classes for the youngest of their students.  He worked nearly round the clock and had an intensity that frightened most of the students.  And even a few of the faculty.  But no one who made it through one of his classes could say they hadn't learned how to defend themselves under nearly almost any given situation.  Especially the teenage girls. 

It was almost like he was making up for not being able to protect Rogue any longer, Ororo mused silently.  But she didn't dare suggest that to him.  For that matter, no one was foolish enough to mention Rogue's name in his presence, after that first time, some months ago, when he literally threw Bobby through the big stained glass window that over looked the second floor balcony. 

Had the young man not quickly made an ice slide down to the ground to keep from killing himself, Ororo was sure they'd have had another funeral to plan.  All set to tear verbally into Wolverine for actually intending to do another faculty member harm, she'd drawn up short when Bobby had slid back inside to launch a volley of razor sharp icicles at Wolverine, laughing all the while.  Instead of what she'd planned to say to them, she heard herself admonish them both to keep their antics in the Danger Room where they belonged and to clean up the mess they'd made.

Bobby had taken Scott's place in Wolverine's life.  Evidently the man just needed someone to fight with regularly to stay focused and content.  And Bobby seemed to fill the bill just perfectly, her lips twisted in wry humor at the thought, wondering what Wolverine would say to her observation.

Yes, the Wolverine was completely entrenched in the Xavier Institute now.  No one referred to him as Logan at all any more.  Only she and Hank could occasionally get away with that without being sharply reprimanded and reminded that his name was Wolverine for a reason.  And even still, when they forgot themselves and used his given name, they'd earn themselves a growl and bared teeth. 

But Ororo could see the threat didn't reach his eyes with her.  Or even Hank if she thought about it.  Despite his occasional insulting comment, he liked the Furball, as he put it.  But he rebuffed any attempt on their part to draw him closer.  Apparently he'd decided that he wasn't going to be friendly with any of them any more.  And, short of occasionally trying to damage Bobby, he hadn't.  He was even keeping Kitty at arm's length now.  And Ororo could tell it was hurting the young woman, yet she seemed to understand why he did it.  There were only three people he had been close too before he'd left.  Two of them were dead.  And the third…

Ororo sighed, closing her eyes for a moment before slowly opening them again.  She wished she knew what had happened to Rogue.  She might be the only one able to reach out to Logan without getting sliced for it. 

But then she remembered - Rogue was dealing with her own version of hell no matter where she was.  The cure may have suppressed her mutation if she actually went through with it.  She may be able to touch people now without killing them.  But she's still lost the man she loved.  And no matter how he felt for her in return - Ororo still had her own suspicions regarding that - losing the one you care the most for is a pain that doesn't retreat quickly. 

It lingered and spread its talons deep into every part of your life.  Making mere existence an exercise in agony.  Heartache was crippling, destructive, and sometimes even lethal.  She just hoped that Rogue wasn't headed down that particular path, no matter where she'd fled.

-x- 

He said, son, I've made a life out of readin' peoples faces,
And knowin' what their cards were by the way they held their eyes.
So if you don't mind my sayin', I can see you're out of aces.
For a taste of your whiskey Ill give you some advice.

So I handed him my bottle and he drank down my last swallow.
Then he bummed a cigarette and asked me for a light.
And the night got deathly quiet, and his face lost all expression.
Said, if you're gonna play the game, boy, ya gotta learn to play it right.
            The Gambler - Kenny Rogers

Jacks Are Better Nightclub
Manhattan, NY

"What the hell are you doin' here?"

The newcomer to the upscale nightclub looked up in surprise at the hostile tone from the bartender.  She turned to fire back a nasty retort, but pulled back sharply when it registered who was standing behind the bar.  "I could ask you the same question."

"I work here.  You want something to drink, fine.  If not, hit the door."

Quickly, Kitty Pryde nodded.  "Ah yeah, gimmie a Stoli's on the rocks and a water."

Rouge snorted.  "Water.  In a bar.  Yeah, that just figures."

"Pardon me?"

"I wasn't talkin' to you.  Matter of fact," Rouge spoke in clipped tones as she fixed the drinks, "It'd suit me just fine to never talk to you or see you again."  She slid the tumblers across the bar and looked up in time to see Piotr plowing easily through the crowd of mutants and humans alike threatening to crush the bar.  "Any of you."

"Rogue!"  The big man smiled at her, obviously surprised to see her. 

She didn't smile back.  "That'll be six-fifty.  Cash or credit?"

"Rogue, come back," Piotr entreated, as he pulled out the requisite bills and laid them on the bar in front of her.  "We miss you.  All of us."

Kitty nodded.  "Logan most of all.  He's not the same, Rogue.  He needs you to come home."

She stiffened perceptibly at the mention of the other man's name. "I don't have a home.  And I don't give a damn what Logan needs."

"You can't mean that."  Piotr reached out to capture her gloved fingers, like he had many times in the past, but Rogue jerked away violently. 

"Hands off!" She snarled, her eyes going flat and cold.  "Do that again, Colossus and I swear to God you'll wish to hell you hadn't!"

Her former teammates started in surprise at the venom dripping from her words and the hostile fighting stance she'd taken.  Kitty started to reply but clamped her lips together when a new voice broke in on their conversation.

"Dis homme…he bodderin' you, chèr?"

Her eyes followed the tall line of her boss, the owner of Jacks or Better, one of the more popular new nightclubs in the heart of Manhattan.  Lean and lethal, was how she liked to describe him. 

A shock of auburn hair sloping over eyes that reminded her of Scott with a painful similarity.  Red on black.  Demon eyes, her grandmother would have called them.  The whites and pupils were black and his irises a glowing red.    It was the red that reminded her of her late husband.  And she usually did her best not to meet his gaze for that reason.  But sometimes it couldn't be helped.  Tonight was one of those times.

She lifted her gaze to his, feeling the tears well up at the sight.  Her boss couldn't stand to see her cry.  And tonight, she had no problem using that to her advantage.  "Yes.  Make them go away."

The miniscule tightening around those eyes reminded her of someone else, but the flash of rage that always accompanied thought of him washed over her.  She fought it back.  The last thing she needed tonight was to lose her temper.  Again.

The tears had their desired effect.  He dropped his voice to a threatening rumble and fingered one of the playing cards held casually between his fingers.  "You heard ma chèr.  G'wan.  Git 'way wit yosevs.  An' don' bodder ma chèr agin' dis o' ol tief have to show you da door."

Piotr looked like he was going to press the point, but surprisingly, Kitty laid her hand on his arm and shook her head.  "No, Piotr.  Not this way."  When the imposing male settled down at the small woman's touch, Rogue's heart twisted violently in her chest.  Scott used to react to her touch that way.  So had Wolverine.  She had to clench her fingers together to keep them from trembling.

Before they moved away from the bar, Kitty looked back at her.  "Think about at least calling home, okay?  For Storm if no one else.  And for what it's worth, I'm sorry, Rogue.  Really.  For everything."

Rogue watched them disappear into the crowd, then turned to her boss.  "Cover for me Remy?"

He raked his gaze over her face, a frown pulling the corners of his mouth down.  She didn't look good.  He didn't know who the strangers had been, but it was clear they knew her.  "Oui, Chèr.  You go get some air.  Gambit will cover de bar, and be waitin' on you when you get back, non?"

Nodding, Rogue bolted from behind the bar and made a beeline for the back, pushing through the door leading out into the alley, barely slowing down.  She breathed in great gulps of air, bracing her palms on the denim covering her knees, nearly bent double. 

They'd found her.  It'd taken six months, to the day, that she walked out of Xavier's, but they'd finally found her. 

In a way, she was surprised it'd had taken them this long.  And she was more than shocked that it was Piotr and Kitty who'd shown up rather than Bobby or Logan.  And she thanked whatever god watched over mutants that it hadn't been the latter.  She didn't think she could have handled it had he walked in.  But now they knew where she was, she knew it wouldn't be long before he did just that. 

If only things could be different…but she knew they'd never be the same again.  Even if they did leave her alone, Logan would still have betrayed her.  Scott and the Professor would still be dead.  And they wanted her to go home…to that.  They had to be out of their minds.

"Scott." A tear rolled unchecked down her cheek. She thumped a clenched fist against her thigh, welcoming the sting the blow brought.  She sniffed loudly as more slow tears joined the first, as she whispered quietly, "I miss you."

Scraping the back of her leather covered hand across the back of her cheeks, she took a few more deep breaths, then looked up at the sky, which she could barely see due to the tall buildings all around her.  Her chest heaving, she felt the nearly uncontrollable rage begin to build inside.  The familiar burn of the swelling of power pooled in her chest and worked its way upward.  And this time, instead of fighting it back, she gave herself over to it.  The alley echoed with the spine-chilling sound of an animalistic growl rumbling on the mild breeze.  With a roar that made the bums sleeping nearby curl deeper into their boxes in fear, she balled up one fist and drove it straight through the steel dumpster beside her.  The heavy duty metal parted under her blow like aluminum foil, and only succeeded in making her angrier.  A pained snarl escaped her as she stared with loathsome eyes at what she'd become.

It was bad enough to have her original mutation.  But now, it was changing…mutating again…and she could only wait and wonder in fear when it would eventually stop.  And if there'd be anything left of Marie Summers when it finally did.  A freak among freaks.  This…this was hard evidence that she wasn't ever going to be the same again.  She hated it.  Hated herself because of it.  And most of all hated the person who had done it to her, as well as the one who'd allowed it to happen.

Through clenched teeth, she ground out, "Damn you to Hell, Jean.  Wherever you are, I hope you're in some serious fucking pain.  If there's any justice you are and Logan will be joining you soon."

Pulling her hand from the mangled steel of the split dumpster, she wiped garbage off her undamaged knuckles and shook out the lingering mild stinging in her hand, before reaching up and tucking white strands behind her ears with her other hand.  Straightening her spine, she schooled her features into the cool indifference that she usually wore at work and walked back through the door leading back into the bar. 

She didn't see Piotr and Kitty again.  She didn't know if they'd left or simply had one of the waitress order their drinks for them.  Either way, she was just grateful they'd taken her cold shoulder and Remy's warning to heart and left her alone. 

Almost an hour past closing now, the nightclub was quiet, the waitresses, dancers, and patrons all gone home.  It was just Remy and she left getting ready to shut the place down for the day.  Another day down, and hundreds more like it to follow, she thought, as she wiped down the last drops of water on the shiny surface.

"Was wrong, chèr?  I be missin' dat pretty smile."

It was a standard line for him, she thought.  But usually he meant it.  She couldn't help but flash a small grin whenever he would say that.  Something about the flirtatious Cajun always seemed to lighten her spirits.  And on a day like this one had turned out, he was a welcome diversion.  "I'm okay, Remy."

"Ah, now don' you be goin' an' tellin' no lies, chèr.  You been wipin' down dat same spot fo' half hour now.  I 'spect it be clean enough."  The tall man spun a stool around backwards, and sat down.  He reached over and plucked the rag from her hand and placed it on the bar between them.  "Now.  You tell ole Gambit was bodderin' yo pretty head, non?"

With an exasperated sigh, Rogue took off her kidskin work gloves, laid them neatly to one side, and folded her hands, left over right, on the mahogany bar and tilted her head to the side.  "It's a long story."

He shrugged.  "I gots nothin' but time, chèr."

He pursed his lips and nodded, waiting patiently.  His chèr never talked about herself or her life before she'd stumbled into his club six months ago.  He just helped her to a seat and wiped the blood from her nose and ears.  She wouldn't let him take her to a hospital, irrationally afraid that whomever had hurt her would find her again.  Against his better judgment, he'd agreed and sat with her for a while.  She'd seen the sign in the window advertising for a waitress and she'd immediately jumped on it. 

He still wasn't sure why he'd done it, but he hired her on the spot, explaining only after the fact that his was a mutant nightclub.  Mutants preferred, non-mutants allowed, was the slogan under the sign that read Jacks or Better.  Once she'd explained she was a mutant too, he felt better about employing her, even though her mutation made him uneasy.  What if she accidentally brushed up against a customer?  All of his employees for the liability reason alone were non-mutants.  But there was something about this woman. 

He saw her wedding rings, and when he'd asked about them, she had said only that her husband had died recently.  After that he didn't press since it was clear the topic caused her pain.  Instead he asked if she had a place to stay, and again, his instincts were proved right when she shook her head no.  Without stopping to question his own motives, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys to the vacant apartment upstairs and slid them across the table towards her.  Six months later she was still his neighbor, his own apartment being right across the hall from hers.

"Condensed version.  I used to work with them." Her voice pulled him back to the present.  "They used to be…friends."

"An' dey not no more.  Why chèr?  Dey de ones what hurt you?"

"Yeah," she whispered huskily looking down at her folded hands.  "Not the way you're thinking.  They didn't cause me to show up here that night.  But they did hurt me too.  Them and all the others they still work with."  Unconsciously she started fidgeting with her wedding rings.

"You soun' like you miss dem."

"I don't.  They're a part of a life that's no longer mine.  But that's okay," she looked up with a big bright and utterly false smile.  "I don't belong there anymore."

Remy smiled sadly.  "Dis much pain, dis not a sign of a woman over dem, chèr.  Dis be a sign of a woman who still cares, non?"

"I don't care about them.  Especially not about Lo-"    Rogue shook her head.  "Any of them.  Not anymore."

He twisted his lips like he didn't believe her.  "What 'bout de one dos people say…Storm?  Soun' like dat one miss you."

Rogue looked away and shrugged.  Truth of the matter was, she liked Storm very much.  She'd always been good to her and had always been a little disarmed at how easy the woman was to talk to, even though their relationship had grown rather strained before she and Scott married.  Rogue tended to just burble on in the other woman's presence, especially since they'd made tentative steps to rebuild their friendship. 

"She's okay."  But she shook her head again.  "I'm sure she doesn't even know I'm gone."

"Ah chèr.  Why you keep on lyin' to yosef?  It don' brin' me no pain.  Only you."  He tapped an exposed finger to the bar top.  If deres one ting I learn, it you can't run foevah from yo pas', chèr.  One day, it catch you.  Bes' you go seek it out fo it show up on yo do' step whens yo lest 'spect it."

"There's nothing in my past that I need to worry about.  Very boring life."

Remy's eyes softened as he watched her continue to play with her rings.  "What abou' yo homme, chèr?  Don you need someting of his?  Jus' to 'member, if nothin' else?"

Immediately her eyes misted over and her mouth quivered.  "That's not fair."

"Fair o' no, it's fact.  You forget, chèr.  Gambit's been in yo place upstairs.  No pictures of yo homme anywhere.  Dat ain't right for a homme you loved so much as to marry.  Go home, chèr.  Settle dis 'fore it's too late," he advised, sounding more wise than she ever would have guessed.

"You firin' me, Remy?"

"Non, non," he shook his head, then surprised her by reaching out and covering her hand with his and squeezing gently, his own two-fingered glove protecting his palm from her bare skin.  "You gots a job and a place here as long as you wants it.  You know dat.  But, you need go home, chèr.  If only to prove to yosef that dis is really where you belong." 

-x-

Are you looking down upon me?
Are you proud of who I am?
There's nothing I wouldn't do
To have just one more chance
To look into your eyes

And see you looking back
I'm sorry for blaming you

For everything I just couldn't do
And I've hurt myself
By hurting you
            Hurt - Christina Aguilera 

Xavier's School for the Gifted

Offices of Headmistress Ororo Munroe 

Two Days Later… 

Pressing her forehead to the cold glass, Ororo took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.  She watched the pane fog over from the heat of her breath, never noticing the low bank of fog rolling unhurriedly towards the school.  She'd spent the last few hours reading the pages of Charles memoirs she'd found inadvertently in a hidden drawer of his desk, starting with the last entries first.  She could still hear his voice in her head as she'd read the words penned by her mentor. 

The most recent entries had been about Scott, Jean, Logan, and Rogue.  She learned more in a few hours than she'd ever had in the years she'd lived there under his tutelage.  Some of it she wished desperately that she'd known before, just to help Rogue and Logan if nothing else.  But then again, for some of it, she wished she still could plead ignorance.

x-x

I have been fully aware of her feelings for Scott since shortly after her capture and treatment at Eric's hands.  Knowing it would be virtually impossible for a girl of her tender years to be able to deal with the memories and emotions of a grown man of Eric's wizened age, as well as the anger and violence that runs so deep in Logan's fractured psyche, I began to work with her, similarly as I have done with Jean throughout the course of her life.  Originally in Rogue's case, rather than constructing the mental blocks for her as I've done for Jean, I've instructed Rogue on how to do it for herself.  Sadly, given the depth of hurt she's undergone since her husband's death, I've taken over the building of those blocks for her, as she is - at the moment - no longer capable of doing it herself.

At first I was torn regarding this.  But after some internal debate, I've set any conflicting feelings on the matter aside.  Considering her mutation, if she cannot attain some level of control over the presences of those she's drained, as well as those she most likely will drain in the future, those psychic echoes will surely drive her insane.  Yet simultaneously, eradicating them may be even more detrimental to her.  I believe she needs them.  They bring her a measure of comfort that I had not expected.  But is shouldn't be a surprise.  Having Logan, Eric, Bobby, and John "in her head" as she puts it, is very likely as close as she will ever come to actual human contact. 

Or so I presumed at the time.  But I digress.

I first learned of Rogue's feelings for Scott during one of our sessions, quite by accident.  While showing her how to visualize mental barriers, giving them substance and structure, raising and lowering shields and the like, I instructed her to select a memory she would be willing to practice with.  One she would like to hide away…but wouldn't mind me being privy to.  However, before I could give the second part of my instructions, my mind was suddenly filled with an image, from Rogue's point of view.  It was Scott using his optic blast to destroy the mangled metal seat belt buckling her into the cab of Logan's demolished truck, and the small smile he gave her at her startlement.

I allowed the image to fade without comment, although Rogue blushed quite prettily, and continued to instruct her on her shielding techniques.  Upon later reflection, I realized two things.  First, my little Rogue is somewhat of an empath.  Testing may reveal her to be anywhere on the spectrum, but most likely no higher than a class one or two, if that.  Second, not only can she sense the emotions of others, but she can also project what she herself is feeling.  Not strongly enough that those around her will interpret her emotions as their own, but rather, more geared to a general overall feeling of whatever emotion is most prevalent.  Potentially, she could calm a room of agitated people were her gift ever exercised to its full potential.  However, just as easily she could incite a calm individual should she ever learn how to control this ability. 

At the moment she seemingly is unaware of these abilities, performing them on a subconscious and an extrememely minute level, intensified only by those she has a close bond with, be it emotional or physical, or both.  And she may never progress further than that, yet the talent and potential are definitely viable and possibly could be developed and made stronger over time.  I dare say this gift is one of the reasons she is so easily and immediately well liked, aside from her own genuine personality.  And I would go even further to hypothisise that this ability is possibly at the root of why she, and seemingly only she, can calm Logan when he's in a rage.  Then again, I won't know for certain until I've tested her more thoroughly. 

This latent talent is something upon which I plan to work with her as soon as she can build and maintain her barriers herself.  Having an empath on the team, even a lower level one as she most likely may turn out be, would be a huge benefit, and thusly reducing her liability level due to her skin mutation. 

It was in direct correlation of this last observance that led me to a revelation that stunned me.  Rogue was in love with Scott.  The depth of the emotion shocked me most of all, one far too deep and mature for a young girl of only seventeen.  However, given what she'd experienced with Eric at the Statue of Liberty, as well as draining Logan near to the point of death, not once but twice, I think it's safe to say that Rogue is not your average seventeen year old.  Through them, she has seen more of life, both its light and darker sides, than most people see in several lifetimes.  Yet she acquired it all in only a matter of hours. 

I think she's loved Scott since the day she first came here.  The day she first met him.  Most all the women fall for him at one point or another.  It's like they can't seem to help themselves.  Even my stand-offish Ororo fancied him at one point, long before Jean and he became an item.  If they're not falling for him, then it's one of the others.  But as soon as quickly as they come, they go just as fast.

Except for her.  Hers wasn't a crush.  She really loved him.  Still does.  Even though he's lost to us.

Her love for him radiated off her, in her eyes, her smile, her laugh.  It was even evident in the way she tilted her head when she talked to him.  Prior to their beginning a relationship, I always wondered if he knew how she felt about him or if he was truly blind to her.  Anyone with a working set of eyes could see it.  She lit up the whole room with one of her smiles whenever he was in her presence.

Her light started fading the longer he grieved for Jean.  Every day I watched her dim just a bit more as he fell deeper and deeper into his depression over losing the woman he loved.  Never knowing his pain was killing a young woman I have grown close to, enough so that I feel for her as I do for some of the others.  My children.  We all saw it.  But he didn't.  He was too mired in his misery to see anything.

Yet, unexpectedly something changed there between them.  They didn't make me privy to it, nor did I pry.  I was just so elated that they seemed to have found each other.  Slowly, over the course of their relationship, I watched Scott return to the man he'd once been, and beyond.  And I enjoyed observing Rogue as she blossomed from a somewhat shy young lady into the vibrant woman she's become.  They two of them are good for each other.

Or were, until Scott died.

She doesn't light up anymore.  She gave most of it to Scott trying to reach him.  Trying to get him to live again and not drown in his grief.  She regained some of it once they became involved.  And for quite some time, I sincerely believed that everything was going to be all right.  But then he left and her light began to dim.  Her light just faded slowly away and there wasn't a thing any of us could do to make it stop.  His death took the last of it.

She's an empty shell now.  Just as vacant and purposeless as he was before he left.  Before my Jean came back and killed him…

-x-

Snapping back to the present with a deeply indrawn breath, her eyes scoured the saturated grounds outside of the French doors in front of which she stood.  The ground was sodden and getting that marshy look achieved only after hours of rain.  But they'd not had hours.  They'd had days of it. 

He'd known.  He'd known long before any of them did that not only were Scott and Rogue involved, but that he'd died shortly after leaving.  That he'd died at Jean's hand.  Yet he said nothing.  Nothing.  And possibly worse, he'd let Rogue suffer through it alone.  That ate away at Ororo, and she just couldn't let it go.

At least she knew where the young woman was now.  Kitty and Piotr had unexpectedly run into her the last time they went into the city for some well-deserved time off.  She, as they also had been, was stunned to find out that Rogue had been working as a bartender in a mutant nightclub called Jacks or Better, under the employ of a mutant by the name of Remy LeBeau a.k.a Gambit.  But their chance encounter had been less than ideal. 

As Kitty had relayed to her, Rogue had changed.  She was caustic, bitter, hostile, and antagonistic.  More importantly, she was adamant that she had no desire to have any contact with any of them anymore.

So close…all this time.  No wonder Rogue didn't want to come home, she thought, thinking back on what it must have been like for her young friend.  She didn't blame her, Ororo decided.  She wouldn't want to come back to memories like those either.  Still, this was her home.  And Ororo needed to know she was all right. 

She contemplated sending Wolverine after her, but quickly decided against it.  Perhaps she herself should make the trip.  Only…if Rogue rejected her too, it would be more painful than she wanted to admit.  The downpour outside grew worse as Ororo wiped again at her cheek. 

She watched the rain come down in horizontal sheets as the wind picked up and turned the patio outside of the room where she stood into a small pond.  She'd tried not to let her emotions get the better of her, but she couldn't seem to stop grieving for their losses.  Normally she had a better handle on it, but today wasn't one of those days.  Finding the Professor's memoirs hadn't helped.  Her sadness ate away at her from the inside, and outside the rain continued to pour down, the volume of it beating on the roof and windows growing to near deafening levels. 

"And the world weeps with us…" she murmured into the quiet stillness of the office now her domain.

The door opened suddenly with no warning.  "Storm, knock it off.  You're about to drown us all here."

"Logan -" she began without turning, stopping as a low rumbling feral sounding growl met her ears.  "I'm sorry. Wolverine."  At his grunt she turned.

He stood in the doorway, looking the epitome of a water-logged lumberjack.  His layers of flannel shirts hung drenched on his muscular frame, his hair flattened down with water, even his jeans soaked to the skin.  A watery laugh escaped her as he continued to stand there and glower at her. 

"You could stay inside, you know."

His glare darkened.  "I was inside.  You're makin' it rain in the Danger Room.  I've got sixteen twelve year-old monsters havin' a damned water fight while I'm tryin' to teach 'em how to escape from a burnin' buildin'.  How in the hell am I supposed to teach that particular safety tip if you're gonna keep shortin' out the program and puttin' out my damn fires?"

Biting at her lips to keep from laughing, something she knew he wouldn't appreciate, she nodded.  "Again, I'm sorry.  I'll stop it right -"

His head came up suddenly, his eyes sharpening at a point over her shoulder and through the glass at the grounds beyond.  The low growl was back, accompanied by a trembling upper lip and the baring of teeth. 

"What is it?"

"Company's comin'."

She whirled to see who he was feeling so threatened by.  Sure enough, she could make out the form of a person slogging their way across the grounds from the direction of the stately oak on the corner of the gardens.  The oak that stood sentry over Scott's grave.  The figure moved towards the front door of the school.  They were too far away to tell if they were male or female.  Even from this distance though, the twin white stripes of hair gleamed like a beacon through the now slowing rain. 

"Rogue," she whispered, then turned back to Wolverine with a bright smile.  "Logan, it's Ro-"

But he was gone.

Grumbling under her breath at his stubborn ways, she left her office, crossed the hall and headed towards the front door.  Upon reaching it, she stopped, took a deep breath, and opened it.

Rogue stood on the top step, looking more like drowned rat than Ororo had ever seen her previously.  A pitiful drowned rat.  She had dark circles under each eye and was thin.  Painfully so, bordering on unhealthy.  Her hair hung in wet snarls down her face and dripped steadily onto the stones beneath her feet.  Her clothing was plastered to her skin and she was even shivering.

"Look who's back," Ororo greeted her with a tentative smile.

"Not permanently, no," she answered haltingly like she had plenty to say, but couldn't get the words out.

Ororo's smile faded.  She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the doorjamb.  "Then why come back at all?"

"Because people other than me seem to think I needed to," she sniffed, rubbing a gloved hand over her face, wiping away the rainwater running down her cheeks, and blinking as more took its place dripping down from the wet strands of hair plastered to her forehead.  "I'll only stay the night.  Maybe two.  Just long enough to - just a little while before I move on."

"And where will you go then, Rogue?" she asked gently.

Ororo watched as she fidgeted on the steps, gloved fingers squeezing a handful of hair, the water splashing onto her soaked shoes.  "I don't know.  I…probably back to the city."

"What about home?"

"I have no home," she answered lowly, but with a defiant look in her eyes that Ororo knew she'd seen before…only not on Rogue.

"Yes.  You do.  Mutants are always welcome here."

"Yeah.  Right."  She gripped her bag, preparing to turn and go back out into the rain.  "You know what?  Just forget it.  I never should have come back."

Ororo's answer was to reach out and place her hand over Rogue's where it gripped the handle of her bag. 

Hesitantly, Rogue pulled her hand away.  "I'm not the same as I was before."

"I know," Ororo smiled, reaching out to wrap an arm around the young woman's shoulders and pull her inside the house.  She shut the door behind them, and once again reached for Rogue's bag.  "You took the cure."

This time Rogue let her take the bag from her and shook her head.  "No.  I didn't."

Ororo looked up in surprise.  Given what she'd been told by Hank, she'd have bet money that Rogue had gone for the cure.  "No?"

"No." 

"I'm confused," Ororo began.  "From what I understood, that's where you were headed when you left us."

Gritting her teeth over the mild censure she thought heard in the other woman's voice, but decided to give her the benefit of the doubt.  Things were different now.  Rogue shook her head.  "I thought about it.  Even made it to the clinic.  But…I ah…changed my mind."

She looked away as Ororo helped the younger woman with her soaked coat, hanging it on the stand to dry just inside the foyer.  She wasn't sure why she didn't want to tell her former friend that she couldn't remember anything after getting in line at the clinic that day.  Nothing after a bright flash and then waking up sore from head to toe, bleeding from her nose and ear.  Some how she'd stumbled into Remy's club and had told him she'd been conked over the head and robbed.  The fact that she had no money on her when she knew she'd had some before helped support her theory.

Of course, she kept her increased strength, seeming invulnerability, and more recently discovered ability to fly to herself.  She couldn't explain how she could do those things and she didn't really want to try, given she didn't plan on sticking around that long.  None of their business anyway, she told herself.  It wasn't like she was planning on going back to work with them.

"I see," Ororo nodded, her brows furrowing, now more concerned over her young friend than ever.  "We're all different now, Rouge.  The battle on Alcatraz Island changed everything for mutants everywhere.  And we some of us here have changed quite a bit since you left us."

"I can imagine." Rogue nodded as Ororo led her slowly down the hallway towards the staircase that would take them to the living quarters upstairs. 

"And…your head?  The people in there?  How are they?"  The older woman asked somewhat hesitantly, the entire subject now making her very nervous, given her more recent dealings with Jean and the Phoenix in the same body.

Rogue gave what sounded like to Ororo, a sad sigh.  She tapped her temple with a gloved index finger.  "All quiet."

"Really?"  Ororo questioned, as they walked slowly up the stairs.

She nodded.  "Really.  If they're still there, they're definitely not talking to me.  And haven't for a while now."  Months, if she thought about it.  Since the same night she left.  She never thought she'd miss that, but she did.  It made her feel very alone.  More so now than ever before.  Hell, she even missed Eric and his smarmy, superior attitude.

"And the nightmares?"

Rogue hesitated, but decided to go with the full truth.  Or as full as she was willing to divulge.  "Worse than before."

Ororo nodded, like she'd expected that answer.  And in truth she had.  Considering what Rogue had gone through in the past year or more, it really wasn't that surprising.  But she could also tell there was more that Rogue wasn't saying. 

For a moment, Ororo considered pressing the issue, not entirely trusting of the young woman standing before her.  But she knew this child.  Had known her for years.  It wasn't in her nature to endanger the lives of the inhabitants of the school.  Innocent children.  Her former friends.  Teammates.  Or was it, a small voice inside asked. 

No, no.  She told herself.  The Professor trusted her, she reminded herself, his voice from his memoirs still ringing clearly in her mind.  Even knowing about the Phoenix, and what she was capable of, the Professor had trusted Rogue enough to know that she was one of the two upon whom he could call to take the other woman down.  He just never got the chance.  But all of a sudden, that knowledge wasn't comforting to Ororo as she unconsciously came to a stop at a closed door.

"No, please," Rogue rounded on her, fresh tears welling in her eyes.  They'd stopped in front of the room she'd shared with Scott.  "I can't…I can't…"

Ororo didn't comment, but instead merely continued walking down the hallway, the look of anguish in Rogue's eyes giving her hope that it was merely her own unfounded suspicions that cried out not to let Rogue stay. 

If she still loved Scott enough that the thought of staying in their room would bring tears to her eyes, then there had to be a lot more of the old Rogue underneath the new deadly mutation, and horribly aggressive attitude Kitty had told her about.   You felt the same way about Jean, and look what she accomplished.  The three tombstones outside standing sentry over three graves, two of them empty, serve as a testament of that.

Frowning, she stopped this time in front of Rogue's old room.  Turning the knob, she opened the door and Rogue was surprised to see it vacant.  Matter of fact, it looked very much the same as it had before she'd moved out of it to live with Scott.  Empty of all personal effects, but still just as clean and vacant as the day she'd left it.

"What?  Storm, I don't understand…I thought you'd need the room for other students…"

She smiled at the younger woman, deciding to trust her until she had a reason not to.  "Wolverine.  He insisted we leave it for you.  That you'd be back when you were ready.  Looks like he was right.  He did the same with yours and Scott's room.  Nothing's been touched in there."

But instead of the smile she expected, Rogue's face hardened.  The smile on her face was frozen and brittle.  "Thank you for keeping it for me, Storm."

Blinking in surprise, Ororo tried to explain.  "Rogue, I was going to reissue your room.  It was Wolverine -"

"I don't want to talk about Logan.  Not now.  Not ever."

"All right," she said cautiously.  "But you should know, he's team leader now.  And he teaches all training sessions and physical education classes.  The training sessions are mandatory to be a part of the team.  You know that.  If you're going to stay with us, then you're going to have to deal with him sometimes."

"I understand." Rogue tilted her chin up in cold determination.  "In that case, I'll -" she swallowed hard, "I'll go through Scott's things, pack what I want, and be gone by tomorrow evening.  You can dispose of anything I leave behind."

Her tone brooked no argument, none at the moment at least, and Ororo watched her walk into her room, her shoulders held stiffly like she'd break if anyone touched her.  And perhaps she would. 

Grasping the door in her hand, Rogue turned her gaze back on her former teacher and friend.  That dark brown gaze softened somewhat.  "Thank you again, Storm.  For everything."

And with that, she closed the door with a soft click.  A quiet sound that resonated loudly in the ears of the woman standing on the opposite side of it, wondering how she was going to fix this.  She knew that she couldn't leave Rogue this badly damaged and broken.  She had to help somehow.  It's what Charles would have wanted.  No, it was what he would have expected her to do. 

Deep in her heart, she knew the answer lay in Wolverine's claws, so to speak.  Yet, given how he responded when just her name was mentioned, she was slightly afraid of how he'd respond when they actually came face to face.  But she was positive that's what had to happen.  Logan was the only one who had ever been able to heal Rogue.  Mentally and physically.  And Rogue was the only one who could reach whatever was left of Logan in Wolverine now. 

So how did she make that happen when neither of them wanted anything to do with the other? 

Ororo shook her head as she made her way back down towards her office.  She pushed that thought aside.  Her first hurdle was to somehow keep Rogue from leaving tomorrow.  She had to figure out a way to make Rogue stay with them for a while.  For her own good.  And for Wolverine's.  Her instincts told her that neither of them would survive it if she didn't.   

~fin~

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