Author's Note: Thanks to Kori for breaking this fortunately short-lived writer's block, especially since it's her fault I'm still writing. Also, thanks for Heath for loaning me her Anne Rice books and apologies to Anne Rice for anything I may have stolen, borrowed, or misused.
Rogue sat in disconsolate silence, absorbing the stillness of the night around her. The sky was perfectly clear, and the setting moon, two nights past full, hung low over the tops of the trees behind her. Its mysterious glow threw her shadow out before her and highlighted every detail of the carved marble angel before her. It was a beautiful statue, a slightly larger-than-life woman standing silhouetted on a simple cross. Her bird-like wings were spread halfway, forming a backdrop for her delicate form. Her hands were overlapped just above her waist, cradling a carefully carved dove. Her face was upturned, casting towards the dark heavens with an expression of ultimate peace and the contentment that comes from complete acceptance of one's fate. Her eyes were closed, whether in rapture or submission Rogue wasn't sure. A single red rose, fresh and glistening with the early morning dew, had been carefully placed across the gravestone at the angel's feet, testament to the devoted love borne by someone for the one buried there. Rogue wasn't sure if it was darkly morbid or terribly appropriate that she should feel drawn here, to a graveyard. Perhaps it was where she belonged, here among the dead. But it wasn't the morbid rows of tombstones that held her to commune with those past life. It was this particular plot, a poignant expression of lovers separated by the unbreakable barrier between those living and those who no longer are. She could relate all too well.
She registered the sound of a footstep behind her, light and smooth, so faint a mortal wouldn't have detected it at all. Motion that carefully controlled could not be managed by a human, so it must be another immortal, the one who had come to her two nights ago. She would simply sit and wait for him to do whatever he intended; he had been alive for centuries and was beyond even her heightened immortal comprehension. He would act as he chose to, and her response should follow his lead. She felt him sit on the bench beside her. Her gaze didn't move from its contemplation of the angel statue. She waited with him in silence for a long moment, knowing he would speak when he was ready.
After this pause, her companion did speak, hesitantly, with an air of forced nervousness. "Come here often?"
She knew that voice, even altered as it was. Eyes wide, she whipped her head around to see an all too familiar face looking at her with a self-satisfied grin. For all that she was furious, she had to admit that the change suited him. He was gorgeous as an immortal. His skin was paled by the moonglow, not resembling a deathly pallor so much as enhancing the air of mystery that had always hung about him. His features, always slightly rough, were softened to the perfect blend of male strength and sensitivity. His untidy hair, mostly pulled back, managed to escape in a few places, drawing lines of reddish-brown against his pale cheeks, strands she ached to brush back just to feel his face under her hand. His eyes, demon eyes when alive, were even more entangling now. The black was startling against his paled skin, and the red centers blazed brightly while holding immeasurable depths that she longed to sink into and explore. He was gorgeous, he was incredible, and beyond all of that he was no longer alive.
"How dare you?" she snapped angrily, fury raising in her to be directed at this too-perfect answer that was all wrong. "I told you not to do this. I wanted you to live. You can't listen, can you? You run off and go over my head, doing exactly what you want regardless. How dare you give up your life like this? I'm not worth that kind of sacrifice. You should have stayed alive and moved on. I told you you didn't know what you were asking for. I told you it was just me projecting desires onto you."
"And I've been telling you for years that I can make my own decisions and I know what I want," he interrupted her smoothly, deeply blazing red eyes turning on her with complete conviction and sincerity. "What I want is to be with you."
"It's not worth dying," she persisted, less sure of herself under the force of that loving gaze.
"Without, it wasn't worth living."
He was heart-stoppingly incredible, he was completely in earnest, and he was here just for the chance to be with her. Any further arguments she had flew completely out of her head as she traced the lines of his face with her eyes. "And you didn't even know," she whispered in soft amazement.
"Know what, chere?"
"That my powers don't affect our kind," she replied softly, waiting for him to realize the implications. "You did this just to be with me, not even knowing that we could really be together this way." Without another word or waiting for his response, she leaned over and kissed him.
A soft wistful smile crossed his face as he watched them. They were his children, in a strange way, and he was greatly happy for them. He hadn't bothered to explain that his hopes about mutant blood had been wrong when the second one had surprisingly sought him out. The woman's essence had done nothing for him except provide a satisfying meal. The boy had been eagerly willing to give up his life to be with her, and he couldn't refuse them this chance. He had agreed, letting the boy think they were both benefiting. And perhaps it was more true than he had known; he did feel as if he had gained something by reuniting them. He watched them embrace, then slowly part and remain sitting next to each other, simply holding hands, both of their inhuman faces radiant with joy. He watched as the girl's free hand stole up to gently brush the boy's hair back from his eyes. They were so young, had so very much to learn. But they would have him to teach and guide them. His mind unusually contented, he watched as his fledglings stood and walked from the cemetery, beginning new lives together.