Song is Evanescence's "Call Me When You're Sober".

It had been three months since she left the institute, three months since she'd first touched another person, and three months since she'd left Remy.

…Remy…

That name always caused a little pain in her chest. Not the cant-breathe kind of pain she sometimes got, but the tight, don't want to breathe pain.

She couldn't think about that now… She'd left, thinking she didn't care for him, only to find out that it hurt to be alone now. She couldn't think of him now… not now, not when she had to go out there and sing about him in a moment. That's what she did… She helped behind the bar here, and sang every now and again, to keep the customers coming in. This place was almost like home… The bouncer on the doors reminded her of Logan in his gruff ways, always calling her kid… the couple that owned this place were so much like the Professor and Ororo… and their son, so much like Scott and Kurt in his way. A sort of cute, annoying little brother, that she'd never wanted, nor asked for.

"Marie… You're on sweetheart." She looked up from her mirror, to the door.

"Thank y' Mister Janes. Ah'll be out in a second." She smiled at the older man as he left to go and announce her, as he always did. Running a final hand through her hair, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair had started to grow out, and she hadn't bothered to have it cut back into the short bob she'd always sported, liking the feel of it on the back of her neck. She was almost tempted to dye the white streaks out… almost. Her gothic clothing was still folded in her suitcase, along with her make up. Her skin was still pale, but with the bright green of her eyes and the natural red of her lips, it didn't look too bad. Smoothing down the white army-style shirt, and her black skirt, she stepped out onto the stage.

"Good luck Marie." Mr. Janes whispered into her ear as he passed her the microphone. It was almost a tradition… she'd been here nearly two months now, and he said the same thing everytime.

"Thanks." She smiled, turning to the audience, unable to see past the lights. She knew it'd be full anyway, Graham had told her earlier as he arrived, that the place was already full as he hung up his leather jacket and went to 'police' the masses.

"Good evenin' everyone. Its nice ta see y'all here t'night. Ah want to start off with a new song t'night, somethin' Ah've been workin' on. Its called, Call Meh When Ya Sober."

The melody started, haunting, gothic, reminiscent of the girl who'd come here and changed into the woman on the stage now.

"Don't cry to me.

If you loved me,

You would be here with me.

You want me,

Come find me.

Make up your mind."

Her voice was strong, clear and astounding. As always, her audience was blown into speechlessness by the sheer talent and beauty of the woman before them, all except for one man, sat in the back corner, his hands curled around a glass of bourbon. He could hear the pain in her voice, and little else as she sang. He noticed the slight tears in the corners of her eyes, the sheen over them.

"Should I let you fall?

Lose it all?

So maybe you can remember yourself.

Can't keep believing,

We're only deceiving ourselves .

And I'm sick of the lie,

And you're too late."

Was he too late, really? It had taken him this long to find her… well, it had taken him two months to find her… the extra time to work up the courage to come here. He didn't know what he was so afraid of seeing… her happy, or her broken.

"Don't cry to me.

If you loved me,

You would be here with me.

You want me,

Come find me.

Make up your mind."

Had it taken him too long to see that he needed her more than bourbon or sex or cigarettes… More than life itself? Was it possible that she'd moved on while he was stuck on her? That wasn't possible, that never happened to him. Never. He was Prince Charming afterall…

"Couldn't take the blame.

Sick with shame.

Must be exhausting to lose your own game.

Selfishly hated,

No wonder you're jaded.

You can't play the victim this time,

And you're too late."

He was the victim this time…a victim of himself. He'd caused that mess, forced her into it… He didn't realise how much he'd put her through because of him.

"Don't cry to me.

If you loved me,

You would be here with me.

You want me,

Come find me.

Make up your mind."

He had made up his mind though… He wanted her. He needed her, and he wasn't going to take no for an answer. It might just kill him to leave here without speaking to her… but it might just kill him to find out she didn't want, love or need him.

"You never call me when you're sober.

You only want it cause it's over,

It's over."

It was all true… every word of it… He would swear that she was singing about him, them. Did she still think about him? This was a new song, afterall, she'd said it herself. Was she over him?

"How could I have burned paradise?

How could I - you were never mine.

So don't cry to me.

If you loved me,

You would be here with me.

Don't lie to me,

Just get your things.

I've made up your mind."

The words felt as though they were burning into him, etching on his heart to remind him how much he'd hurt her.

She finished the song, looking out into the audience with the typical smile on her face as they applauded. She tried to scan them for familiar faces, severely hampered by the lights. There, over by the door… she could have sworn she caught a flash of red. She didn't realise she'd dropped the microphone until Alice Janes stepped up on stage and lead her off.

"Marie, You look as though you've seen a ghost." She handed her a glass of ice water, encouraging her to drink it silently. Rogue could hear Darren announcing that she'd be taking a short break. He sounded so much like Kurt when he spoke of her, that brotherly fond-ness in his voice.

"Ah think Ah did." She smiled. "Ah… maybe Ah need some air…" Without waiting for an answer, she dashed out of the door, glancing around for a moment before looking up on the roof.

"Ah thought Ah saw ya."

"Bonsoir, Rogue."

"Mah name's Marie now."

"Y' name was al'as Marie, Rogue." He sounded tired, exhausted, just sat on the middle of the roof, not looking at her, until she landed on the roof next to him, sitting.

"What are ya doin' here Remy?" He winced slightly. Remy, she'd said. Not Swamp rat or any of those other little pet names she reserved for him.

"Came t' see y' Chere." He smiled weakly, "See how y' were. T'ought maybe y'd want t' see me.." He finished in a whisper. "Y' look tres belle, chere."

"Thanks Remy, but… Ah got a new life here… Ah don't get abuse in th' streets here… Ah got…"

"Dat punk who w' droolin' over y' while y' were onstage?" He interrupted.

"No, Remy." She sighed. "Why did ya really come swamp-rat?"

"Missed y' Chere." He choked out. "But y' don' need Remy."

"Ah never needed ya Remy." She corrected him. "Ah wanted ya… Until Ah left, an came here." He stood, turning away from her and walking down to the edge of the roof.

"S' long Chere."

"Remy…"

"Y' look bien…"

"Remy!" She moved quickly, grabbing hold of his coat and yanking him back onto the middle of the roof. "Will y' listen to meh? Stupid swamp rat al'as goin' off on what he thinks he knows!" She shook her head. "Ah got a new life here… Ah don't get abuse in th' streets here… Ah got what Ah al'as wanted here… 'Cept ya. Ah don't know why, but lately, Ah've been gettin' a bit of a longin' for th' institute…"

He looked up at her, smiling.

"Come 'ome wit' me Chere.."

She took his hand, and nodded.

"One condition Cajun… Y' keep these Russain Hands, an Roman fingers t' yaself, while Ah get mah things." She laughed, pulling his wandering hands off her already, as she kissed him, hard.