The once great and magnetic, tropical city laid in rumble from the day long battle. A few hours was all it lasted and everything in sight was destroyed. Two towers remained standing in the middle of the city, chunks slowly crumbing off of them from the blazing fire that engulfed the remaining structures.

He tried to take over the world, starting with this meaningless small island. He hadn’t considered the humans that populated it would ever be desperate enough to call out to mutants for help. He thought they would surely rather die. But they did, they betrayed their kind out of fear and begged the ones they shunned for deliverance. And they came, because they always did.

In the end it was enough; they were enough. The short-lived, mangled battle left his forces dead under the ruins of concrete and tropical teak. The humans cheered for their luck and the luck of the world, safe once again. But luck did not extend to the mutants, some of which will likely have paid the ultimate price to insure the world’s survival, and the survival of those who would not weep for them.

Within the minuscule time that had they managed to set up a make-shift M.A.S.H. unit three blocks away from the city. Three blocks was all that separated the already dead from others whom hoped to not join their ranks. Doctors unloaded moaning humans from ambulances as quickly as they could, throwing the recently deceased off of cots before setting the new arrivals on them. They hoped the disaster was now settling. It appeared those that were going to die did, and those that had a chance to live made it out to better equipped facilities. The doctors could stop running. They could breathe air that was hopefully not tainted with bile and blood.

It was not to be so. The humans stopped dying, stopped coming in with various shrapnel wounds from the debris that made up the air they were all forced to breathe that afternoon. But the thin flap on the tent that served as the entrance to hope was not opened, no, but ripped off.

Two large men clenching bodies tightly in their arms filled the doorway, allowing no rays of sunlight into the already dismal dirt hospital. One man, much larger than the other, was unharmed, safely coated in thick metal that still glistened and shined, despite the dirt and blood smeared all over it. The other was favoring his right side, although they could not see him wince when he tried to get a better hold of the man in his arms because his eyes were covered in a thick visor.

Behind them entered a man the doctors recognized, helping a woman who, despite her appearance and limping, could only be a goddess. “Help them,” The man begged, “Hurry!” The doctors follow the man’s orders, for he was the ruler of this desolate hell-hole, the one who cracked and pleaded the deviants for help in the first place.

Colossus tenderly and slowly placed the girl in his arms into the remaining hospital bed and gently moved the formally white locks of hair that clung to her face, now tinted pink from absorbing blood. Several doctors ran towards her to tend to her wounds but their hands were weakly slapped away each time they advanced.

“Stop touchin’ me,” Rogue groaned out as loud as her chalk coated throat could manage. “Mah healin’ factor will kick in momentarily. Damnit, stop fussin’ wit me and help Gambit an’ Storm first.”

Several reactions played across the doctors and nurses’ faces. The general disgust that they felt toward mutants combined with the awe at the gifts they possessed. So they left the girl and turned toward the others. Nurses began running frantically over the unit as doctors called out orders and supplies from the other tables. Cyclops stood vigil by the foot of Storm’s bed and tried to tune out the discussions from the M.A.S.H.’ s personnel on reluctance to touch or treat them, no telling what infectious diseases mutants carried. He eyed his fallen comrades before him and prayed. Prayed for them and the others that he had no clue where they were, including his wife.

Rogue tried to funnel out the noise in the unit, hoping to catch some mention the doctors’ were making about the condition of her friends, but all she could make out was the snide comments of the nurses to the left of her cot and the own thumbing of her blood pressure inside her skull.

“Rogue,” Colossus’ pained voice called out to her and she turned her head to him at the feeling of his cool metal hand against her forearm. “You’re not healing,” he choked out.

“No, ah am.” She realized the voice that escaped past her lips probably did little to assure him, but she continued to rationalize, “It’s just takin’ a while. Give me a few more minutes an‘ah‘ll be good as new…”

“No,” His stern Russian voice vibrated right through her, “You’re bleeding worse then before. Please! We need help over here!” He yelled out to no one in particular. One of the doctor’s left Gambit’s bedside and made his way to her and she began to panic. She panicked because her heart wanted to speed up from the anxiety but it couldn’t. With no other choice but to lay there as they ran their hands over her and poked her, she concentrated on the pain in the rest of her body so as to take her mind of the strengthen throbbing inside her head.

“Holy shit, this girl’s been stabbed right through the heart.” She wanted to laugh at how shocked they all were. She wanted to tell them that she would heal, to leave her *alone*. But they didn’t, instead they hooked her up to an IV and gave her a shot of atropine. She screamed then, and was disgusted by the tiny whimper that escaped.

“Scott!” She called at, jerking her head frantically to try and spot him in the crowd.

Doctors and nurses were thrown to the ground as he forced his way over to her and pulled them away from her bedside. “I’m here, Rogue. I’m right here,” he tried to soothe her and hide the desperation in his voice.

“What’s going on?” she sobbed, her green eyes glistening with tears that would never slide down her cheeks. “They put needles in me, Scott. How’s that possible?!”

“Rogue,” he choked out, not meeting her eyes. When he was sure his voice would work again he continued, “Look at your hand…”

She stares blankly at him for a few seconds wanting to scream at him that her hand was not the problem. It was the god damn hole through her chest. But his face stopped her. His soft, loving face was now stone-cold and she followed his glaze. His hand was tightly clenching hers, torn and bloodied skin to torn and bloodied skin. He didn’t bother to stop the silent tears from escaping his eyes at the contact. Nothing was more painful than feeling of her skin against his without the pain that accompanied her touch. They stared at their locked hands, neither willing to verbally confirm the omen.

The cry of a stranger’s voice that someone was going into cardiac arrest brought their attention to the bed beside Rogue. Where Storm laid, five doctors around her frantically applying pressure to her body, giving her shots, and trying to sew wounds up. One of the doctors pushed the others’ hands away and leans over the goddess. He pressed hard onto her chest before attempting to force life into her body with his mouth. The action did not revive her, the heart monitor blared the flat line in all of their ears.

Charged shock pads were placed to her chest to restart her heart, but her body remained unresponsive to the artificial lightening. The only signal that it went through her at all was the faint twitch of her left index finger. The doctors yelled to each other to not loose hope, they hadn’t tried epinephrine yet and could someone find a damned bottle of it.

“No!” Rogue screamed. She watched in aguish as Storm’s glowing spirit raised up from her body. Evidently no one else could see the magnificant aberration; all eyes were firmly fixed on the now unknowingly empty body on the cot.

“Please don’t leave,” She desperately pleaded to her friend, but Storm just put her finger to her own lips, as if to quiet the distraught southerner as she ascended through the roof of the M.A.S.H. unit and did the one thing Rogue asked her not to: left.

“Storm!” Rogue cried again and managed to jump off her cot. Doctors and nurses moved hectically to her, trying to calm her down and get her back into her own bed.

Finally Scott grabbed her off the floor and managed to maneuver the shaking girl back onto her rightful bed. He kneeled beside her so that he was eye level with her and could only nod in appeasement as she mumbled on about what she saw, her speech slurred both by her accent and the heavy sobs racking her body.

He wiped the tears off from under his visor before he gently stroked her cheek, mixing his physical and liquid grief with her own.

“Strom’s gone, Rogue,” he admitted, his voice shaking as he tried to hold her jerking body down and continued the consent motion of his bare hand against her face.

“But you have to stay still. You can’t leave me too, Rogue. Please! I can’t loose you too!” He begged her and lowered his forehead to rest against hers. Colossus could only stand with his head bowed at the scene in front of him. He didn’t dare cheapen the moment with reassuring words they all knew wouldn’t mean anything.

Scott waited for her reply, her angry lash, but nothing came. He opened his eyes and searched her face. What he was looking for he had no clue.

“Rogue…” He hesitantly called her name. No response came; there was no movement in her body at all. “NO, Rogue!!” He screamed and desperately shook her, uncaring of the shearing pain in his side caused by the action.

“Somebody get the fuck over here and help me!!” He yelled over his shoulders. Mentally he cursed the vile human doctors that were costing him everyone he loved.

There was nothing around her, no objects to touch or even a ground to collapse on. There was only the whiteness. She knew she was dying, if not already dead. What else could such a cold place mean? But there was no shining light to guide her, only the coldness. Silently she swore under her breath that her years with the X-Men had not made up for all her evil deeds. That she had just died to save humanity and it didn’t matter because she was still going to hell.

She began to float around in the empty abyss, slightly annoyed that no one had come to her yet and at least have the decency to point to her the way. As if by cue she felt the familiar prick on the back of her neck, the undeniable signal that someone was behind her. Quickly she turned around and instead of Satan himself found Jean, the outline of the Phoenix proud and strong glowing around her.

“Phoenix!” Rogue yelled and quickly moved to her and embraced her tightly, fighting back the tears. The other woman smiled and warmly returned the embrace.

Rogue pulled back and searched the Phoenix’s memorizing eyes for a minute before speaking up. “Are… are you dead?”

Phoenix gave what she hoped was a reassuring smile and took one of her hands in her own and gently squeezed it, “No, Rogue. I’m not dead.”

She nodded and then asked the question she was not sure she actually wanted an answer to, “Am ah dead?”

“No, you’re not dead,” the smile left her face but she kept a firm grip on the younger girl’s hand, “But you *are* pushing the envelope, honey. That’s why I’m here to help.”

Rogue nodded her thanks and looked around once again to the bleak colorless void that surrounded them. She wanted to laugh at it, mock it, because now she had the Phoenix on her side, the most powerful mutant in the world. She almost dared the bleakness to take her now.

“Storm,” Rogue suddenly realized. Phoenix had found her; surely she could find Storm too. “Ah saw her spirit leave her body, too. We have ta find her before its too late!”

Phoenix squeezed her hand again, now an instant calming effect on her, “*I* will worry about Storm. You have someone else to worry about.”

All the color flooded from her face, making her almost blend in with the hopeless surroundings. In all of the pain and dying she had not had one thought toward him. And now Phoenix had all but confirmed that he was here too, in the nothingness. Her heart ached as she clenched her eyes tightly shut and whispered his name, “Gambit.”




***************(Back in the Real World)*******************



The doctors finally were forced to hook the remaining X-Man to a breathing machine, although they all knew he wasn’t going to make it. They had not been able to stop the bleeding in his side and a few minutes more and he would quietly bleed to death.

Everyone stopped their attempts to save his life, however, to watch the slow materialization of four people in a puff of smoke into the middle of the unit, knocking one nurse into a tray full of blood-soaked rags. Two of the men were blue, one extremely large and ferocious looking, one much more elfin. A woman with flaming hair and another man stood beside them, none looking too worse for ware.

“Jean! Oh thank God!” Scott cried out at the sight of his wife and tightly embraced her, burying his face in her hair.

“Hey, this isn’t mutie central in here!” One of the doctors sneers at them, “Would someone please call the fucking MPs?”

Claws from the third man in the group came out, stopping just at the doctor’s throat. “Hey, bub,” the man snarled, “I got a real problem with the word *mutie*.”

The doctor nervously swallowed, although the look of distain never left his wrinkled brow line. The governor pulled the doctor away by his shoulder and told him that he vouch for them to be there.

“If anyone is going to save their lives, it will be probably be them,” he added solemnly.

Beast nodded at him before pulling out his bifocals from his breast pocket. He studied them to assure they were not damaged in the fight before sliding them onto his face and into the lush blue hair. “I do believe Gambit is in need of my help the most,” He instructed the others and makes his way over to the far end of the tent.

Logan studied the couple to his right for a few minutes. He watched as they desperately ran their hands along the other checking for anything and just assuring that life was indeed intact in the one they needed most. When he felt he could no longer handle the pain he was inflicting upon himself he mumbled that he was going to go check on Storm. Scott was too distracted to warn him of what happened just a few moments ago. His mistake became obvious to all when the enraged roar shook the shaky structure of the tent.



******************(The Land of Souls)********************



Phoenix hummed softly as she floated into the rose colored spirit world she felt she knew so well. A slow grin spread to her face at the sight just in front of her. Ororo sat in the grass in front of a beautiful cottage in a long flowing pink satin gown. A snow white dove rested on both her hands as two white tigers lay contently at her feet.

The other woman did not look up at her as she approached, merely continued to ‘coo’ at her doves. “You should not have known where I was, Jean. This is my soul, not yours.” Her voice was soft and teasing and an elegant smile graced her face.

Phoenix crossed her arms over her chest and studied the surrounds a bit closer. She marveled at the deep blue hue of the grass and the gentle flowing of orange and pink in the sky. “Mine should look…this wonderful,” she answered her. She moved to sit beside her on the soft grass and tenderly petted one of the elegant tigers, who purred in thanks.

“I’m sorry I have not invited you sooner, my friend,” the goddess apologized.

Phoenix shook it off though, “It is your sanctuary. But I am afraid I am not here for pleasure. I came to bring you back.”

Storm nodded and stood on her feet then helped pull Phoenix up too. The telepath asked her if she was sure she was really okay before they headed back and Storm assured her that she was fine.

“I’m just worried about Gambit,” she added, looking off into the distance, her eyes focusing far beyond her realm of tranquility.

Rogue raced through the air on a motorcycle of her conscience’s own making into Gambit’s soul. She could not see him, as hard as she looked, but she knew he had to be there so she kept talking.

“All you got in here is that big ol’ ancestral house, sugah?” She yelled out into the grey sky of oblivion. A large plantation mansion filled the entire landscape, fortified behind menacing rod-iron fence.


“That big ugly crypt don’t impress me none either!” She tried to keep her voice light and witty but the sight was making her sick. The elaborate tomb stood grotesquely behind the fence, right in front of the house, blocking most of it from her sight as she drove up to the fence. She pulled hard on the lock but it did not budge and she swore loudly before going back to her bike.

“If you think a locked gate is gonna keep me out, you got another think coming, LeBeau!” She rived the bike up again and circled around till she was far enough away. Rogue hit the gas and charged the fence, pulling the bike up just it time to sail over it.

She managed to clear the grim metallic points of the fence but could not hold the bike straight. She was not prepared for the pain that shot through her body when she hit the ground, assuming that one could not feel anything in the astral plane. Seconds after, the bike followed and she screamed in agony as it landed across her legs.

“You’ve been keeping me, chere,” Gambit’s calm voice floated over to her and she jerked her head around to face him. He stood with his hands in the pockets of his trench coat, leaning relaxed against the dull marble of the crypt, his long hair hanging in his face. “I’ve been waiting for you, Rogue. I want us to ascend to the afterlife together.”

She struggled with the knot of metal that pinned her to the ethereal ground. “Were goin’ somewhere, alright,” she answered him, managing to kick the beast. “But it ain’t the afterlife, sugah. Were goin’ back home. Back to livin’ life.”

He shook his head at her and removed his hands from their resting place. “You got brass, Rogue, but it is outta your hands.” He turned away from her and began walking toward the blindingly bright light just above the crypt.


**

Logan desperately tried to hold the thrashing Rogue still on her bed. Her painful screams and sobs torn at his heart and he wanted to hold her. To soothe her. But anything less than his three-hundred pound metal frame pinning her still and her jerking movements caused more of her ever precious blood to escape from the deep cavity in her chest. He all but trashed the medical unit when he saw her only moments ago, his heart stopped beating at the sight of her lying there, bloody and all but dead. The doctors, Cyclops, Jean, and Kurt all tried to assure him that she wasn’t dead. She could still make it. But with each jerk of her body that seemed less and less.

“You had better not leave me, Gambit!” She yelled to the nothingness about her, her eyes still hid behind their lids. He took her outburst as a sign that she had gained some measure of consciousness and he used the opportunity to frantically plead to her.

“Stop that, Rogue! Beast is helping the rat.” He yelled, his voice harsh and scratchy from the lump that refused to release its hold on his throat. But her thrashing continued and a mix between a strangled growl and a whimper tore out of his throat.

“You have to stop, kid! You’re killing yourself!” He no longer cared how many around him heard the pathetic quake in his voice.
“Please, darlin’,” he continued, quieter this time, murmuring against the thick hair at the top of her head. “Please...You gotta rest. You gotta let the doctors take care of you.”



**


Running to him she was able to grab his trench coat before he took anymore steps away from her. “Damn it, Remy, don’t just turn your back on me,” she snarled.

He didn’t turn around to meet her though, just continued to stare up, letting the gentle warmth of the light spread throughout him. “It’s so beautiful,” he mumbled. “It feels so much like home...”

She swore again and this time gripped his shoulders and forcefully spun his body around, trying to snap his attention away from the phantom beacon. “Ah’m not gonna let you go,” she sternly warned him, her grip digging into his shoulder blades.

“Don’t be foolish, chere. I know it’s my time.”. His peaceful, platonic tone made her shake in furry. She wanted to slap that lackadaisical attitude right out of him.

“Ah will not let you die, Remy. Ah will not *help* you die! Ah love you, you bastard! Doesn’t that mean anything?!”

He smiled sweetly at her, his hand came up to gently stroke her arm. “I love you too, Rogue, mon doux. But what better way to go then as I save the world?”



**

He couldn’t take it anymore. Each beep from the machine to her left rang louder and louder in his ear as the space between them decreased. He was a desperate, howling man when he took her face in his hands, pushing down into her plump cheeks to increase impact and lifting her head off the bed to bring it within millimeters of his.

“Rogue!” he called out again. “Don’t you run out on me, girl, not like this, not without a *fight*!” His snarling was so intense drops of his salvia shot from his mouth onto her face. Her eyelids opened just enough that he could see her eyes roll back into her head as he shook her hard again.

“Our skin touches, you take my healing powers. It’s *automatic*. You don’t even have to be awake!”

He didn’t care that he was doing the one thing she hated most, forcing his mutation on her. “So take it, Rogue,” he yelled, begging, “take it ALL!”

No pain came yet, just another twitch of her eyelid. He pushed his hand even further onto her face and brought her head the rest of the way so that their foreheads, noses, and chins all touched. “LIVE!” was his passionate command.



**

He slowly began to lift off his feet and ascend toward the beautiful light that called to him. Rogue, however, unwilling to relinquish her hold on him, screamed when she too began rising up.

“We haven’t even had a chance to live our life together yet, Remy! You can’t just leave me!” She yelled at him, trying to reason with her lover. As they moved past one of the angel statues on the crypt she grabbed one of its wings in a death grip, refusing to allow either of them to go any farther.

“You may think it’s your time to die,” she continued now that she bought more time, “ But were god damned X-Men! We make are own destines; our own miracles! You should fucking know that by now!”



**

Logan checked her face for any signs that the connection had opened, not feeling the pull himself. He moved one of his hands further down onto her neck to force some kind of interaction, but again nothing happened.

“Jean!” Logan screamed, tears beginning to water in his eyes as he clutched the limp body tightly to his chest, making sure the side of his face was still touching hers.

“What is it?” Jean cautiously stepped over. Everyone in the small unit was forced to witness the scene that played out in front of them, all except for Beast who was still furiously working on Gambit.

“Her powers have stopped fucking working!” He yelled at the red head, his face clearly showed the shock that they weren’t more surprised by the knowledge; they only looked at him in pity.

She bowed her head and laid her hand on his shoulder, “She’s on her own.”

“And fucking dying,” he hissed.




**

He moved his hand away from her arm and placed it over the hand that was curled tightly into his coat. Gently he tried to pry her fingers away from it, but they remained as stubborn as their owner.

“Assez, Rogue,” he begged, “You have to let me go. I may never be in such a state of grace again.”

Sweat began to form across her brow as she struggled to keep her hold on both him and the statue. The pull got stronger and stronger and she could feel the tension it was causing in her shoulder blades.

“No,” she groaned, fighting off the pressure, “Our story isn’t done yet.”

“Don’t you see, chere? It is. This is the happy ending,” he smiled wide at her.

“Well, fuck then, ah’m selfish! Ah want better! And so should you!”

He tried again at her fingers but she still refused to release her anchor on him and the earth. “I’ve had a hard life and I’m tired. I’ve *earned* this reward.”

“So you’re just gonna give up on us? Because it’s too hard?” She accused him.

“No, mon amour,” the pitch of his voice raised slightly, “I want us to be together. I want us to share this together, pour l'éternité.”

~~You gotta fight, kid. You can’t give up on me.~~

Her heart nearly stopped at the phantom voice that seemed so weak in her ear. “Did you hear that?” she asked breathless.

“Hear what?” Gambit raised his eyebrow at her.

~~Please, darlin’, I need you.~~

“That!” she shouted at him.

“No, Rogue. I don’t hear anything. Come on,” He squeezed her hand, “It’s time to go.”

She studied his face, the relaxed determination set on his brow. Tears welled up slowly in her eyes as she thought back to all they’d done together, all the fun they had, how much his touch meant to her. He was right, they did deserve a peaceful rest. And there was no guarantee she would live anyway. At least if she went with him now they could be together forever, basking in all the love and glory heaven had to offer. There was no guarantee that if she died in the end of all this that she’d get this chance again, maybe without him she was destined for someplace far worse.

As the tears streaked down her face she wanted to wipe them away, they only intensified the feeling of dread that loomed over this whole situation, but she could not remove them from her ashen face. She could not bring herself to release either hold on him or the angel holding her to earth.

“Please don’t go, Remy. Don't do this. Don't leave *me*,” her voice was low and weak. If he would just stay, just fight for *them* she wouldn’t have to make the choice. They could fight for life together.

“I’m not, chere. Remy’s just tired of the fight. Aren’t you? Aren’t you tried of struggling? Of scrapping tooth and nail and still getting nowhere?”

He was right, she admitted to herself. Never being able to touch the ones she loved, fighting both her own kind and humans, it would be so easy just to end it all. Just to finally be in peace.

But her grip on the angel did not relax. The phantom voice was still whispering in her ear. Still telling her not to let go. To stay. The longer the voice spoke it went from encouraging fight words to desperate and haunting ‘darlin’, please’ over and over again.

A choked sob escaped her throat when she realized who it was. Logan. *He* was begging her not to leave him. Not to give up. He didn’t say how much the X-Men needed her. Or how much mutant kind needed her. Nor how much humanity needed her. Only that he needed her. He promised her more. More life, better life. Anything she wanted, but the only way to get it was she couldn’t give up.

His pleas matched those she cried to Remy. The pain Remy’s defeat gave her made the decision for her. “Ah can’t, Remy,” she whispered. She could feel her heart ripping inside her chest at the words, knowing exactly what the they meant. But she couldn’t bring herself to doing to someone else what he was doing to her, especially not Logan.

Everyone blamed themselves for Gambit’s death. The governor of that pathetic, desolate little island for calling them in the first place. Scott for not getting to him faster. Storm for being the one he was trying to protection when he was dealt what ended up being his final death blow. Beast for not being able to save him, even with his nano-probe technology. They all could find the link that to them indisputably lead to his end. All except Rogue. She refused to take the blame for a man who would not fight.

For her it was just the opposite. She blamed him for not loving her enough that he would leave her so easily. For not helping her through the wounds and the pain that accompanied her from being alive. Instead he only added to it. But most of all she blamed him for not being with her now that she could touch. The lost of her powers meant their life together, their actually physical life, could have begun. But he didn’t let the story go that far. He accepted the bare minimum of a happy ending when she could not.

At his funeral Logan held her, touching whatever skin she was willing to show. She wanted to feel guilty for letting him, especially at her lover’s funeral, but she couldn’t. She needed him and his strong, warm, rough hands. They were the anchor that held her there. He wouldn’t let her struggle for grasp on angel wings, he held her tight enough that she wouldn’t have to. He told her that she had done her part, just fighting for life and that she could rest for now. He would fight enough for the both of them. And she let him, because she had never had anyone fight for her before. But it wouldn’t last, when she was strong again she’d shoulder her half of the weight of their little world and continue to fight as long as he needed her to.



(end)

**


Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

-Dylan Thomas