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
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Author's Chapter Notes:
This is sort of an epilogue. I hope it is at least a little bit of a happy ending.