Disclaimer: Marvel's, not mine

Timeline/Plotline; Mutants are common knowledge, and for the most part accepted around the world. Forget what you know from the comics and TV shows. This is just an ordinary story about everything you and I face everyday. Sort of.

Writing in Italics represents the past.

……………………………………..

Rogue fiddled with the ring on her hand. Twisting it round, slipping it on and off. Laughter came faintly from downstairs.

She walked stoically to her bedroom door, laying rest to the ring on her right hand. Pressing her ear to the door she heard her roommate Betsy laugh. She was throwing a party.

Rogue looked down at the tiny black dress she was wearing. Giving a long sigh, she opened her door.

The living room was crowded. Betsy always knew how to attract a crowd. She reminded Rogue of Catherine Zeta-Jone's character in High Fidelity. The life of the party, so incredibly eccentric, nearing on ridiculous.

Avoiding eye contact with everyone else, Rogue slipped into the kitchen, pulling a bottle of whiskey from the cupboard. She took one sip from the glass she poured, her eyes rolling to the side. She could feel the woman's presence behind her.

"Wouldn't you rather drink that with everyone else?"

Jean. Her other roommate. Jean and Betsy had been friends since high school. Rogue often felt a loner in their midst.

"Course I would sugah." Slowly, Rogue inched around, resting an elbow on the counter. "Tonight just ain't my night."

Betsy, Jean and Rogue attended a university designed for mutants. They didn't save the world or help people. They just wanted to live like everybody else.

Jean nodded, eyes roaming out the window.

"Well, Scott brought a friend. His name's Bobby. He's funny," Jean said tapping her fingernails on the kitchen's island. "You'd like him Rogue."

Rogue gave a faulty laugh.

"Honey, what'd I say bout' tryin' to set me up?" She took another sip of her whiskey, awaiting Jean's answer.

"I know Rogue, its just, well, it's been over two months since you got control of your power, and I want to see you happy."

"I'm fine on my own Jean."

Jean nodded again and moved to exit the kitchen.

"But thanks Jean."

Jean stopped and smiled before leaving the room. A few unknowns roamed into the kitchen, and Rogue moved closer to the kitchen's sliding door.

What Rogue had never told Jean or Betsy was that she did have a past. Ignoring the clinking of glass and the couple's whispering, Rogue watched the rain blow haphazardly back and forth, without direction.

Today would be a good day to start smoking.

…………………………..

Rogue placed the flowers on the wet cement of the grave. She hadn't cried yet because her heart and mind were still frozen.

She had known he was sick. But she had had to figure that out for herself. He never spoke about it. He had been able to read her every emotion just by watching her eyes.

Yet he had always been a mystery.

Today she would breathe and walk away. It had been a month now. There was a warm trickle down her cheek as she looked up at the sun trying to break through the clouds.

Maybe he was smiling for her one more time.

She would have to cover up the lines of her past now. This story was only for her.

………………………………………

Rogue opened the glass door and with a brief shiver stepped out onto the small backyard patio. Rain pounded loudly on the small stretch of roof that sheltered her.

She sat down on the seat closest to the door.

The whoosh of the door and Betsy's swift movements startled her from a memory best forgotten.

With a strange sense of grace, Betsy lit the cigarette hanging from her lips and blew out a puff of smoke. The purple satin against her skin barely covered her thin frame.

"Wonderful party I see Betsy."

Betsy wasn't startled by Rogue. She was a telepath. She had sensed her seconds ago.

Uncaring, Betsy waved a hand in the air.

"Same old, same old." Her eyes moved sideways in Rogue's direction. "But why aren't you in there? I haven't seen you once this evening."

"It's still early Betsy."

The woman smiled, and took a step towards Rogue, her heels clicking on the cement. "There are some gorgeous men in there Rogue. I suggest you try out that new control."

Rogue gave a coy look that Betsy judged as a seductive understanding. What Rogue was really smiling about was how little Betsy knew.

"Uh!" Betsy moaned dramatically, changing the subject with ease. "Speaking of gorgeous," she slipped into the seat next to Rogue and paused to puff on her cigarette. "I met the most beautiful man in that café down the street today. So flirtatious and smooth."

Rogue smiled. She had known a man like that once.

"So completely my type," Betsy continued. "I was sitting outside smoking and he asked if he could bum a light."

Betsy was always falling for a different man every week. And every week Rogue would hear about it. But she enjoyed the way Betsy dramatized it, often using wild hand gestures.

"He sat down across from me, and I swear he never faltered once. Not with words, and especially not with his movements." Betsy gave a sideways wink and a small sigh.

"He asked for my number of course."

"Of course he did Bets'," Rogue added encouragingly, even though Betsy obviously didn't need it.

"The only downfall was I didn't get to see his eyes."

"Sunglasses?" Rogue asked, the image of this man causing a twinge of pain from her past.

"Yeah. He had a southern accent like you though Rogue."

Rogue sat up a little straighter.

She had loved a man exactly like this once.

Betsy stood up, crushing her cigarette butt with the toe of her shoe.

"So, if a guy named Remy calls, just let me know. Ok?"

Betsy turned to head back inside, not awaiting Rogue's answer, not even noticing the fear laced around Rogue's eyes.

He had always been able to read her emotions through her eyes. But, maybe he had been the only one.

Rogue didn't understand what was going on. She felt a wave of vertigo wash over her as she remembered that day, this day, nearly five years ago.

…………………………………………….

No one is prepared for a moment like this.

Rogue sat stiffly against the plastic chair in the hospital. Her friend Kitty was saying something, kneeled at her feet.

But all Rogue could remember was the last time she saw him. A month ago.

Kitty tugged hard at her forearms, and Rogue snapped her eyes forward.

"He said he wasn't sure if he loved me."

Kitty looked bewildered at first, but then pursed her mouth tightly, obviously trying not to cry.

"Rogue this isn't your fault. It was his choice."

"He said he didn't love me," Rogue repeated.

"He would never say a thing like that Rogue. He adored you."

Rogue stood up and walked a few steps forward

"No, I remember Kitty." Rogue spun around. "He said it was all my fault. He said- Rogue paused, as if that memory had stopped.

"What Rogue? What did he say?"

Rogue looked Kitty straight in the eye.

"I have t'go talk to him."

Rogue whirled around and sped down the hospital hall. Kitty only had time to reach out one hand as she stood up, screaming.

"NO ROGUE, WAIT!"

Kitty slumped in her seat, not sure what to do.

"He's dead Rogue. Remy's dead."

………………………………………………..

Rogue drank slowly from her glass of orange juice the next morning. She had sat outside in the rain the entire night. She stared at the phone now, unsure what to do or say to anybody.

She jumped when its shrill ring rang across the kitchen. Swallowing a couple of times, she remained grounded in her spot.

The message machine picked up. A minute of Jean's responsible voice. Beep.

"Hey guys, its Amara. I think I left my sweater at your place last night. It's a dark blue v-neck. Give me a call if you find it. Thanks."

Click. Not him.

Her throat was choking up and her nose was starting to run. It had been cold outside last night.

It had been cold outside then. She slipped down onto the kitchen tile, orange juice slopping over her bare arm.

She had felt too much back then. Now everything was resurfacing, and she realized, that maybe, she had been numb for all these years.

……………………………………..

Rogue laughed. And it was nervous, And it was verging on crazy.

"It's really not that funny chere." His last words were muffled as he put a cigarette in his mouth.

"Have you always been this much o'a coward?"

Remy scoffed. And he looked handsome. He always did when he was angry.

"Tell me something chere, you always been so high maintenance?"

"It's just like you, taking the easy way out, neveh facing up to the challenges!" Rogue inched closer, wondering if her body heat would remind him how stupid this all was. How often it happened. How everything was clearly dying.

He threw his cigarette down on the wet ground.

"You were a challenge!"

Rogue gritted her teeth. Her heart was beating fast. She knew what was about to happen.

"Fuck chere, I don't even know if I love you anymore."

Everything sorta spun around after that. Maybe they were both crazy. She leaned forward and kissed him one more time.

Sucking away his memories.

He would never talk to her again after an action like this.

And an hour later she sat on a bench, in the snow and lit up a cigarette she had stolen from his pocket, with a power she had stolen from his very soul.

There were these beautiful times in the morning. It was when they woke up side by side, and forgot everything.

The smoke rose from the cigarette and from her lips.

He would call her a couple of more times over the next month.

He couldn't seem to let her go. She wouldn't answer. She couldn't live with his voice still by her side. They thought their history had created them, made them stronger, their connection unbreakable.

Rogue laughed and watched the snow hit and dissolve against her jeans.

She supposed life was meant for days like these.

There was nothing more left to save.

Thirty-five more days before she would be left numb, in a church, eyes frozen, no longer easy to read.