A/N: This is painfully short, I know, but this post is letting you all know that yes, I am still alive and working on this story. I apologize five - six - seven million times over for the long time you've had to wait for this. Thanks to you all for the reviews; they've been keeping me going. And to blot out your image of me being an evil, sabre carrying author-demon, I will be posting another chapter extremely soon.... Promise.

The sound of retching filled the air, contrasting harshly with the dry whispering wind of the Southern California deserts. The rancid stench of acid and blood filled the air, while whisps of dust rolled over the terrain.

She was close, but it still seemed too far away.

Rogue wiped her mouth, the beads of sweat dripping from her forehead down to her chin, leaving trails of salt in its path. Her throat burned, revolting against the humid, dry air, yet her mind buzzed with activity and thought, the majority of it not being of her own.

"That bastard," she spit, wincing slightly as her chapped lips split open, blood dotting the sandy colored skin.

To her left was the dirt covered Subaru in which she'd so naively accepted a ride. But, she'd been desperate. After she'd been dropped off in Nevada, her legs had almost collapsed from the amount of walking she did, and her thumb had just about fallen off from its numerous juts into the air. No one had wanted to pick her up; then again, very few people are known to willingly take wild-eyed women - who shrieked every time a car slowed down beside her, watching in surreal horror as glistening syringe needles peaked out at her in herds in the backseat - as a passenger.

And during her few moments of lucidity, she had managed to secure a ride with a pervert whose slime was as infinite as the oil on his dark, flaky hair.

Then she'd taken his life.

Somewhere along the road, her powers had come back, slightly dulled (it had taken more than a minute before the man stopped breathing, whereas a few years ago, it had taken less than 15 seconds), but still alive nonetheless. Even now, she wasn't sure whether or not she welcomed its return. At least now, she had a weapon.

Rogue shuddered, fear pounding in her heart as she tried to shut out every horrible memory, every terrifying moment when she faced impossible images - hallucinations. She knew exactly what they were, had been warned by Jean days before her flight about the danger she was in. The only thought that had kept her moving along was this: she had to save Logan.

If she was going to die, which was an inevitable event that seemed to get closer and closer to the present, she at least wanted to see him, if not at least save him. She couldn't leave this world without his eyes, - the image of his face - being burned upon her eyelids as she closed them, sinking into a perpetual darkness. The hopes of seeing him once more before she died was the only thought that kept her feet plodding, her lungs pumping, and her eyes glued forward.

The only benefit of being attacked, if this could even measure close to one, and absorbing the driver, was that she had been able to reclaim some lucidity and energy, adding to her motivation to move on. His memories she forced into the back of her mind, not yet ready to cope with any intrusion of thought other than her own, and he seemed complacent - or scared out of his mind - enough to sit back and be silent.

The joints of her fingers cracked ominously as she flexed them before delving her hand into her back pocket, retrieving the creased map she had managed to
"take" from a gas station. Once more, she opened it, tracing her fingers along the route she'd been traveling for what seemed like years.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Four miles. Four miles until she reached the facility, and only four miles until she could see Logan.

Excitement built up in her like a rolling waterfall, and she couldn't help but crack a smile - though it hurt - as she refolded the map and stuck it back into her pocket.

She was almost there. Almost with him. Almost.

Almost.

Without a glance back at the limp body hidden indiscreetly behind a cactus, its limbs blended in with the sun-bleached sand, Rogue lifted her feet again, trudging through the sand, ignoring the sensation of burning in the sole of her shoes. The driver door was still ajar, so she only had to slide in, closing it as she gripped the steering wheel tightly with her hand. She relished its tangibility and the strong sense of reality it created around her. Rogue inhaled deeply, letting the oxygen fill her lungs before letting it out slowly.

The smile that was on her lips now could possibly be described as slightly delirious; the corners of her mouth twitched slightly, and the red blood lined the crevices in her lips. But it was a smile, nonetheless, the first real smile she had made in more than a year.

Four miles.

Four miles.