Disclaimer: Marvel's, not mine.

Thanks to Green Bird 2071, IvyZoe, Chica De Los Ojos Café, fudgebrowne, ishandahalf, Episodic, heartsyhawk for reviewing!

Well guys, here is a very, very, very fast update, but it's also the last chapter. It may not answer all your questions, and some characters may never be accounted for. But I left it open on purpose. For those who have read my other stories, well, you know how I write.

Thanks again for the reviews!


Rogue could watch the rain for hours. And the large windows before her provided such an excellent view.

She propped her feet up on the sill before her, leaning back into the black, plastic chair. Looking to her left, there were rows and rows of the uncomfortable things. But looking to her right-

That was a much more beautiful sight.

Remy LeBeau lounged next to her, somehow managing to make the seat look comfortable, as his hand warmed hers on the armrest.

Rogue looked forward again, her eyes compelled to search the empty space before them, as if awaiting a plane. Maybe someone she hadn't seen in awhile.

But planes no longer flew in this world. A tipped over luggage trolley and a few orange cones scattered across the runway. Further down several abandoned planes remained parked. They had been for a year now, and Rogue could not imagine a world where they would fly again.

She was surprised she was even alive.

"Four years ago Ah had such a boring life," Rogue stated, leaning her head on Remy's shoulder.

"Wish I could say de same petit." Rogue could feel his hand rummaging through his coat pocket, only to pull out a cigarette.

"Ah just don't think this should have happened. Something feels so wrong," Rogue continued, the toe of her sneaker kicking the window sill.

"Course it does, de world is over as we know it. But you have to move on chere. It happened, and we can't change dat."

"Ah know that Remy," Rogue replied quietly. "Ah just always thought o'myself as a normal girl, even with my powers. But maybe Ah just craved that."

Remy squeezed her hand in reply.

"Ah mean, no normal girl should ever understand murder."

"No Rogue, but even under extremely normal, boring circumstances, shit will happen." Remy blew out a line of smoke and Rogue felt her heart swell, because it was a reminder to all of her senses that he was there.

"Ah know. Ah lost meh parents when Ah was four. Or, Ah guess they lost me, on purpose. There ain't nothing human about abandoning your kid."

She knew she had hit a chord in Remy when she felt his body tense.

"Unfortunately chere, dere is. Because before Apocalypse it happened all de time." Remy turned in his seat, stubbing the cigarette out and concentrating on Rogue. "So you and I are both orphans den, huh Rogue."

It wasn't a question, it was an observation to their understanding of one another. He would never assume her sadness was something trivial.

Rogue lifted her head off his shoulder, a genuine smile dancing across her lips as she nodded in response.

"So who raised you den?"

She wasn't really prepared for that, but for once the personal part of it didn't really matter. She wanted him to know her.

"Well, you may o'been raised by the King o'Thieves monsieur LeBeau, but Ah was raised by the Queen of Mercenaries."

"I thought you said you were a normal girl?" Remy joked, elbowing her side lightly.

"Well, Ah never knew what she was. Not until Apocalypse."

"Chere, I've been wit' you since Apocalypse and you never said anythin' bout' a mercenary mother."

Rogue looked confused, replaying the moment where she had accidentally run into her mother, using the codename Mystique. She had been blue skinned with red hair. Rogue had never known her like that. And if the woman hadn't of said something to her, she never would have found out.

"Didn't Ah?" Rogue asked Remy, sure she had told him the story, sure he had even been right beside her when it had happened.



"Oh hell, not again."

The voice was gruff, and without sensitivity, something Remy would have implored. Rogue blinked hazily and sat up from the awkward plastic seat, her right cheek sore from the hard surface.

It was still raining outside.

Her hand ran across the armrest, pulling out a cigarette butt from the cup holder.

"You really need ta stop smokin' those darlin'," the man tried more politely, taking a seat beside her. The place Remy had sat in her dreams.

And that was all they were.

"Don't placate me Logan. You're the one who smokes those nasty cigars. Ah don't even know where you find them anymore."

He gave a small grunt of laughter.

"The same place you find those damn cigarettes Stripes."

Rogue pulled another cigarette from her coat pocket, lighting it, blowing out controlled smoke, eyes gazing out the window once again.

"Besides sugah, they'll never kill me."

"Why do I get the feelin' you ain't too happy bout that?"

Rogue swallowed, letting out a sad, but knowing sound from her throat, her mouth in a twisted smile. Her eyes looked down to her hand, the cigarette dangling loosely.

"Well, it's not like there's much left ta do in this world Logan."

"You've always got the search Rogue."

Rogue looked back up, the rain shooting down harder now. Her breath caught in her throat, her actions startled.

"What search?"

Wolverine snorted. "Don't play dumb with me darlin'. I know you go out searching for him every week. Always back to Muir Island. I smell it on ya when you get back."

Rogue took a long drag. She hated cigarettes, but she blew the smoke out anyway.

"And what does Muir Island smell like?" Her voice was bitter, taunting.

Logan stood up, moving forward to the window, hoping to grab her attention, but her eyes wouldn't budge.

"It smells like death."

Her posture stayed the same, but her eyes rolled sideways, glancing at Logan, the cigarette now ignored in her hand, smoke shading her features.

Finally he turned around and walked away, not saying another word, just leaving her to contemplate everything. She knew what he was trying to say. Get over it. Move on. She hated those lines.

She jabbed the cigarette out, moving to the window and pressing up against it. The rain pelted against the glass, threatening to break through. Rain had become darker, seemingly more dangerous over the year of Apocalypse's rein. But then again, everything had.

Rogue clawed at the drops that stuck to the other side of the window with her fingertips. She had always had a fascination with the weather, and sometimes she had envied Storm, Ororo, for it.

Her, Logan, and Ororo had been the only X-Men to survive Muir Island.

It had been one long year since she had last seen Remy, disappearing into the smoke.


Rogue had pulled herself up from the ground that day, still coughing from the smoke of the explosion, still confused, and scared.

As she stood up she teetered a little, falling against Wanda's side. The girl caught her, helping her to balance again.

"Come on, we have to get out of here," the girl persisted.

Rogue pulled away, leaning on a rock and gathering her strength.

"What are you doing here Wanda?"

"Oh, so you do remember me?" She tried grabbing Rogue's arm, dragging her further from the smoke. "It doesn't matter why I'm here, I'm the only one saving your sorry ass, so just be thankful and move!"

Rogue sunk her feet into the dirt and gravel, her super strength stopping Wanda from moving further. Frustrated the girl turned around, the red hair framing her face almost on fire with anger.

"I don't have to help you! I could let you die, that seems to be what you want!"

Rogue stood still, because she was thinking about the girl's words. And because she was afraid.

A blue bubble, similar to Jean's pink telekinesis hit Rogue, and she felt a strange sensation roll across her body. Wanda grasped her by the forearm again, and this time, Rogue couldn't stop her. She couldn't even use her powers.

"What just happened?"

"Nothing I can explain," the girl spat, continuing forward.

"You're a mutant?"

The girl didn't respond, she just kept moving forward. Rogue yanked her wrist away and finally walked alongside her.

"Look, Ah know you're just trying ta help, but Ah have ta go back."

"For that man with the red eyes?"

Rogue squeezed her hands together, as if wringing out a wet cloth.


"Maybe you should look behind you first then."

Rogue felt the terror run up her spine, like a spider or a ghost.

She turned around. They had walked far enough away from the facility and up a rocky hill, that Rogue could see clearly now.

Everything was on fire. Smoke. And nothing moved. She could see retreating forms in the distance. It was over.


Her voice was quiet, not yet sure of itself.
"Did you love him?"

Rogue whipped around, shocked, but she stammered in her answer.

"Ah-ah barely knew him, only a couple weeks. But he understood me, stood beside me."

"My father and brother were down there. You lost a man you knew a few days. I lost a family who never really loved me in the first place. I suppose that makes us even." Wanda's words were harsh, devoid of emotion, mechanic, and worst of all accepting.

"Ah," Rogue swallowed, confused, "Who?"

"Erik Lehnsherr and Pietro Maximoff." She spoke their names as if they were replaceable objects.

Rogue opened her mouth. She wanted to tell Wanda who she was. Explain her connection, cry and scream and complain.

"I never wanted to come here. My loving father dragged me here. He was a terrible man. I imagine this was all meant to be, just this way."

Rogue stopped, her mouth closing, her head nodding. This girl had lost all hope, she was beyond helping, more dead than Rogue had ever perpetuated. Wanda thought this world was meant to be. Rogue did not.

She saw something else in store for her. And every turn she had made had felt wrong, always this nagging feeling she was missing something.

Remy had been the only right in her wrong world.

"He's not dead."

Wanda looked at her critically.

"Excuse me?"

"Remy. He's down there. He has to be."

He had to be because Rogue had survived. He had to be because she already missed him.

Rogue began to take off down the hill, running, then jumping in the air, flying.

"You're delusional! You'll only be killed!" Wanda screamed behind her.

She kept going, moving back towards the smoke and the fire, instead of forward like she was always urged.

She would never see Wanda again.

But she would not find Remy that day either. Or the next.

But she would never stop looking.