A/N: I in no way condone or recommend self-mutilation; this is simply an exploration of where Rogue could have gone after Jean's death.

Discovery

"It's your fault. It's your fault she died." The words echoed through her head as she sat in the dark, her hands wrapped around her knees. She rocked unknowingly and tears stained her face. She wanted to deny those words, to refute them with fact, but they were true. It had been her fault though she'd only been trying to help. Yet another way she was less than useless.

She wanted to scream, she wanted to do violence, anything to make the near overwhelming pain of truth ease. Instead she rolled onto her side and rested her cheek on the cool wood of the floor. She didn't deserve a bed, she didn't deserve the clothes she wore or the food she ate. She didn't deserve the space she took up, she didn't deserve the friends she had, she didn't deserve to live.

Morning came and her face was the same as it always was, tinged with the sadness of loss but no more or less than anyone else's. She tried not to avoid Bobby and she didn't have to avoid Logan. She did her schoolwork and attended Danger Room sessions; she even sat in the TV room with the other students. Once in a while she was able to forget, if only for a moment, that she hadn't killed Jean and nearly killed them all.

But when the truth came crashing back down on her she was swept under again. She could usually keep it together until she was safely in her room where the tears let vent to her agony. Recently she had stepped on something sharp, a small piece of the glass she had knocked off her night table. For the brief moment the pain and shock had eclipsed her other pain.

She watched her foot bleed in the bathroom, watched the blood drip slowly to the floor and puddle there. As the pain in her foot subsided her real pain crept back in. The next day she felt the pain as she walked, then in class she found herself repeatedly pressing her foot to the floor to feel the pain flare and ache. She was unexpectedly soothed.

That night she stole a knife from the kitchen. Alone in her room, the tears fresh in her eyes, she slid the blade across her thigh. She hissed with the burning pain then focused on it as the cut slowly bloomed red. She did it again, then a third time. She put the knife reverently into her night table drawer. When the blood started to clot she pulled at her skin to re-open the wound.

She focused so intently on her leg that she was surprised to see it was almost midnight when she could no longer draw blood by her bare hands. She brushed her teeth and carefully bandaged her leg before falling exhausted into bed. In the morning she touched the knife before leaving for class.

During the day she would press on her thigh whenever she felt her guilt and pain start to overwhelm her and she would calm. At dinner she was talking to Bobby when Logan walked into the room, she wasn't the only one to notice him pointedly ignore her. She felt her face flush and she excused herself and bolted to her room.

She wanted to take her knife out right then but she had homework to attend to. Must fit in, was her mantra, she wouldn't be a further burden by making them worry about her grades. She finished her homework and got into the shower where memories invaded in trickles until she was completely lost in them.

It was just after Jean's funeral, she was walking aimlessly through the grounds and found herself in the garden. She must have been walking quietly and downwind because Logan and Storm never noticed her presence.

"She never should have gone outside." Storm was saying.

"She had to, she had to buy us time to get the jet off the ground." Logan told her.

"She shouldn't have had to save us." Storm was talking quietly, almost to herself. Rogue felt bad for eavesdropping but she also felt rooted to the spot.

"What do you mean?"

"The jet was damaged, that's why she had to go outside, I couldn't get the jet started."

"That wasn't your fault Storm." Logan's voice was firm.

"No, it wasn't my fault. But it was someone's fault." The silence was heavy and Rogue was suddenly dizzy with precognition. "It's Rogue's fault, she was the one who tried to fly the jet, she was the one that crashed it. It's her fault Logan, and I hate her for it." Storm began to cry and Rogue had to sit down on a bench in order to avoid passing out.

She was right! Her mind screamed at her, Storm was right, it was her fault. What ego had ever made her think she could fly? You were just trying to be helpful. Another part of her said. But it didn't matter, she had screwed up, again, but this time it had cost someone their life. Someone everyone at the mansion loved, someone Logan had loved. Then Logan spoke and her whole body went cold.

"Yeah, maybe you're right. She could have taken Jean's powers and sacrificed herself instead, but she didn't." Rogue stood on numb legs and fled, she ran blindly and encountered no one as she plunged into the woods. She ran until her lungs felt as though they would explode, then she dropped to her knees and wailed. Her grief became guilt in the hours she spent in the woods and then in her room. When she emerged the next day Rogue was changed, though no one noticed it.

She got out of the shower and dried off, then put her pyjamas on and sat on her bed, then she took out her knife. She stroked the wooden handle before resting the blade on her leg; she studied the glint on the cold steel before she drew it across her pale skin like a bow. The music it made was silent but no less beautiful.

Three weeks later she had to move onto her arms since her legs were full of the small cuts she had come to treasure. She tried cutting her lower legs but it felt wrong somehow so she tried her left forearm instead. It seemed right and her gloves would hide the damage. When she was forced to cut her right arm with her left she got sloppy and cut deeper than she had planned.

She started to get worried when the blood flow was enough to force her into the bathroom and hold her arm above the sink as the tiny crimson waterfall threatened discovery. She was mostly afraid that she'd need stitches, and with stitches came questions. And with questions came accusations. Eventually the blood flow slowed and she had to rinse her knife and clean the sink. She put her knife away, determined to not use it again unless she really needed to.

She lasted a whole week before she had a dream. In it she did what Logan had said, she'd taken Jean's power and taken her place outside the jet, and just as the water crashed over her she woke. Rogue fell to the floor in the bathroom as she retched into the toilet. Her rational brain told her she would have had no way of knowing Jean's plans so therefore no way to change the outcome. But it didn't help.

She rinsed her mouth before going back to bed. But she couldn't sleep. She ached to take the knife in the drawer and slice away her pain but she was completely unable to move. Instead she swished thoughts around in her head as tears stained her pillow. At some point she fell asleep.

She started to pull away from Bobby and her friends. She should have been hurt that Bobby and Kitty seemed to be getting closer but instead she found herself happy. If they had each other then her absence wouldn't be as noticeable. Rogue was now disappearing into her room right after dinner and simply lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling. Sometimes crying, sometimes not.

She hadn't taken her knife out again since she had cut herself so badly but she couldn't keep her mind off of it. It would be so much better to not feel the pain she was in, for a distraction from the truth that would be real enough to focus on. Slowly her resolve broke down and after seeing Logan in the hallway she opened her drawer.

He usually pretended not to see her but they had turned corner to find themselves only feet apart and facing each other. Neither had spoke but she clearly saw the pain and accusation in his face. She tried to beg forgiveness with her eyes but they must have betrayed her because Logan had grunted and turned away.

She drew out the knife in a ritualistic fashion and sat with it on her hand for half an hour before she took her jeans off. She sat in her panties and t-shirt, her hair in her face and slowly lowered the knife to her flesh. She again felt the sting and ache from the blade and she was struck with an idea.

She got temporary relief from her small cuts, why not go for permanent relief? Do everyone a favor and just disappear? She could stop being the freak among freaks, the untouchable danger. She could stop sucking up the resources of the school, she could make things better, if not right. She could never make them right, but maybe she could redeem herself.

Rogue suddenly felt lighter, she had made a decision on what to do, but when? She put her knife away and as she brushed her teeth she made the second decision, Thursday. The last decision was the easiest; it had really been made a month ago.

She took the next two days composing her letter; she would address some of it to The Professor, some to Scott, part to Storm but most of it to Logan. Thursday afternoon she thought was best, they would discover her letter that afternoon, possibly after classes, then Friday things would be dealt with and things could go back to some sort of normal by Monday.

Dear Professor,

Firstly thank you for all you tried to do with me, I really appreciated the way you tried to help me. I am very sorry that I wasn't worth it in the end. I hope that by my leaving someone more deserving can come to the school and be able to give back in ways I never could.

Dear Scott,

I know now what should have happened on the jet at Alkali Lake, and I have no real words to describe how sorry I am that Jean's gone. I just hope that someday you can forgive me for causing her the need to sacrifice herself for the rest of us. Her loss was one the whole world should be grieving for.

Dear Storm,

You were right and all I can say is that I'm sorry. It should have been me who died, not Jean, I should have never tried to fly the jet, it's just another in the long list of things I screwed up. I won't be in the way anymore and I hope that not seeing my face will help you get past your grief.

Dear Bobby,

I hope you find all the happiness you deserve with someone you can have a real relationship with. Maybe Kitty will be her, who knows? Don't waste your time worrying about me, I'll be okay now.

Dear Logan,

I know no words will make things all right again, but I guess I have to try. I'm sorry I was worse than useless yet again. I've caused you and everyone else so much trouble just by being around, I hope that once I'm gone that you and everyone else can maybe heal and move on. I know no one will ever forget Jean, how could they? She was perfect; she was everything I never was even though I tried really hard. I really did try did you know? I'm just not cut out for this hero thing, hell, I'm not even cut out for this stay-out-of-the-way-and-don't-cause-trouble thing.

I know my being around will only cause more problems so I've decided to stop taking up valuable space here. My mutation doesn't help anyone, you of all people should know the horror of it. Even if it was gone though I'm clearly no help so it doesn't make sense for me to stick around. I hope you can forgive me but I just can't keep going on as if I'm just another student. Goodbye.

She was satisfied with her work and she put it in her drawer with her knife, all ready for the next day.

Rogue attended her morning classes but feigned illness for her afternoon classes and Danger Room session. She passed Logan in the hallway as she went towards her room for the final time. She was suddenly struck by a new kind of pain, the one where you know you're seeing someone for the last time.

She didn't say anything or move differently but he must have sensed something was different because he met her eye for the first time in months. Neither gaze gave anything away but it was as intimate as they'd ever been with each other. In a moment it was over and they were both moving on.

Rogue closed the door and locked it; she didn't want anyone to interrupt her tasks. She readied the room and then her things before changing her clothes. She opened the windows and took a moment to breathe in the fresh air before sitting on her bed for her final farewell. She took the note out of her drawer and put it under a book on her night table. Then she took out her knife.

Rogue went into her bathroom and locked the door. She sat on the floor of her shower and said goodbye. Her first cut was deep, the second deeper and by the third cut she was starting to feel dizzy. She put her faithless friend on the floor next to her and closed her eyes as the floor of the shower started to fill with her shame.

Just as her pain started to slip down the rain with her blood Rogue heard a voice inside her head. NO!

A/N: So readers? What happens next? Does Rogue live or does she die?

Also: I in no way condone or recommend suicide, I think it's the worst possible solution to any problem, no matter how awful the situation.