"I can't do this anymore."

Rogue was watching his defeated shoulders, still not facing her. He could turn his back on her, she mused; she didn't trust him enough to do the same. She didn't trust anyone enough -at least anyone who cared enough to stay around- to do the same. Being constantly regarded as the team's ace-in-the-hole during missions would do that for you.

"It's not working anymore. For the both of us."

They've had this conversation numerous times before. But this time, they both knew it was the last. Their last rescuing mission had shattered whatever was left between them.

"In fact, I wonder if there's ever…"

A broken whisper. "Don't say this."

"Don't say what?" The softness was now completely gone from her face. Not that he could have seen the change. He didn't need to: he could hear the icy edge that would leech all the natural honey warmth from her voice. It had appeared more and more often of late. "Don't say that we've been staying together out of comfort? Don't say that we were both thinking of somebody else while we were fucking? Don't say there's nothing between us now but the ghost of love, if the damn thing was ever there in the first place?"

A humourless laugh.

"It's eating us both from the inside. I don't want to do this anymore. I don't have the strength left. Especially not after today." A long pause, then a voice that conveyed only weariness: "I'm sorry. I have to go."

He had dreaded that day. He had imagined it would be like a knife piercing his heart. Maybe it was so, but after the last 48 hours, he was too numb to feel the pain.

It was no wonder to him that she would break off on such a day, this last part only fitting within the disastrous chain of events. But what little was left in him to fight the inevitable had him finally turn around.

"Rogue…."

She was gone. He hadn't even heard her close the door behind.

|That there|

She had exited his Lower East Side's building at last. The hands in her duffle-coat's pockets, she started to walk to her place.

|that's not me|

The late night streets were abuzz with people's joys and sorrows.

So many people.

Hadn't she absorbed Logan's healing long ago, she would have gone and fetch some alcohol down the way. But she had, and the sweet slumber of drunkenness wasn't an option anymore.

She walked faster, in a haste to make it to her room where she could be all alone, with no other sound than the bombilation in her head.

The angry horn of a car made her almost jump out of her skin but she didn't stop. The hiss of breaks and drunk swearing quickly followed.

Too many people.

Friday night. It figures.

|I go where I please|

Concentrate on creating a protecting blanket of nothingness, in a futile attempt to block the inescapable sounds of life around her, she did not notice the tall, burly man until he blocked her way and tried to grip her arm. She eluded him easily, the guy somewhat clumsy, hypnotized by his own words speaking of Apocalypse, sin and redemption, spilling from his mouth in a seemingly endless flow following her retreating back.

|I walk through walls|

She started rooming madly through her things in her shoulder bag, like a desperate junkie would search around for his fix. She knew she had her walkman somewhere. Anything that would stop the noise that seemed to try and lure her out of her shell despite herself.

Finally she got her trembling hands on it. She adjusted the headphones to her ears, and pushed play.

|I float down the Liffey|

Slowly, the soft tune started to hug her in a lazy embrace.

|I'm not here This isn't happening I'm not here|

The lights of the city now blurred as if through a fog, the noises locked away from her long ago.

She wasn't feeling anything now in her safety bubble. That was as good as it could get.

|I'm not here|

---

|In a little while|

She was standing there, seemingly at lost with what to do next with her body.

She didn't remember when she had stopped functioning.

48 hours ago. That must be it.

|I'll be gone|

They had come and rescue her in their leather glory, among the fire, the ashes and the blood.

The blood.

Now every picture that came to her mind was tainted red, as if she was looking through glasses splashed with it.

~Scott, calm down!~

~You said she would be here.~

~She is around here, I'm sure of it.~

~Then why can't you locate her with more precision?~

~I can't explain, it's as if her mind was….~

~What?~

~….on and off. I'm sorry, I don't find the words, I wish I could, but with all this….~

~I know.~

|The moment's already passed|

She looked down at her body, as if she was discovering it for the first time.

Hadn't it be for it, she could have flown away from their prying hands opening her thighs, from the needles prinking her skin following a long-studied pattern, from the laughter ever ringing in her ears. Had it been for her mind only, she would have watch it like all those people eating in front of the telly while the news would show dying children in war or famine: that was ok, because they where far away.

She could have watched the violation of this body from afar.

Somewhere along the line, while they took her back to the mansion, she had stopped referring to it as hers.

She already knew it had always been useless, a weird ensemble of ungainly-moving limbs. Despite hours and hours of training, she never did compare with Scott's efficiency, Jean's classy poise, Logan's feline stance, or Ororo's ethereal grace.

Now on top of that, it was stained. She had stayed long hours under the shower to scrub every single inch of skin until it burned.

But it wasn't enough.

She had to get ride of it.

|Yeah, it's gone|

She looked up, and a quivering smile made its way to her lips. Her first in 48 hours.

For the first time since the last three days, she didn't feel helpless anymore. There was something she could do about it.

~Scott, I've picked on her mind again! She is in a hotel, second building on your right, 4th floor. I'll join you as soon as I can.~

~Scott?~

~What?~

~Please, hurry.~

---

The doors of the lift finally let her out.

|I'm not here|

She couldn't get to her room quick enough, the memories, images of gore and sounds of explosions mingled with fear and distress, making her dizzy; yet her legs seemed to move from a will of their own.

As in a dream, the world around her spinning somewhat out of time on its axis, the door before her opened, her coat thrown carelessly on the sofa, never stopping before reaching the bathroom.

|This isn't happening|

The taps turned until the water rushed into the bathtub, her back already to it as she went back into the living room, dying for the fresh air of the night, her lungs suddenly burning with all the screams and sobs constricted inside her for all this time.


|I'm not here|

She jerked the windows open, flinging herself on the small balcony, the sudden gesture scaring a dove resting there into fleeing away. She looked at it in its graceful flight, as it disappeared into the cloudless night, the moon casting the same silver on its feather than was reflected in her hair.

|I'm not here|

She followed it into the dark, far beyond what she knew human eyes could see.

Yet another reminder. As if she needed them.

She wondered if one day she could fly carefree. From her body. From her skin.

---

|Strobe lights|

She slipped silently into the water. When she looked at herself through it, it had this strange aura, as if belonging to another world.

|and blown speakers|

Her head lulled back, her eyes wide open. She felt content.

---

She was there in front of her fogged mirror, her eyes as hollow as she felt.

|Fireworks|

Her hand caressed the polished surface, barely a whisper away from it. It gently rippled, like a lake under a soft wind.

Great.

Another power, another personality, other memories.

She lowered her head, her hands gripping the counter, her knuckles turned white.

|and hurricanes|

Another life taken. But she hadn't had a choice.

How could mutants help do that to others of their kin?

How could anyone stand there and watch this happening without intervening?

She looked up at her reflection, disgusted at herself.

They had saved her from the labs. They were losing her to darkness.

And there was nothing they could do about it. She didn't want to be saved.

|I'm not here|

She spotted its shiny, out-of-place form on her right.

---

|This isn't happening|

She extended her arm to grip it, surprised at how steady she felt.

---

|I'm not here|

She started to play with it, practised moves made safe by hours of training.

Dragging her eyes away from her hands, she looked at herself again.

|I'm not here|

She absently continued, pocking at the inner side of her palm from time to time, almost breaking the tender skin there.

Her heartbeat was eerily calm.

---

Then all went still.

---

She took a deep breath.

Her eyes closed.

---

For the last time.

~Scott!!~

~Jean? Jean, I'm almost at her floor. Can you tell me where's her door?~

~…~

~Jean?~

The knife dropped to the floor.

~Oh God!~

---

Blood dripped down her wrist.

Drops started to fall on the floor, the size of the pool it created increasing all too quickly.

Outside her door, in the middle of the stairs, he suddenly came to a halt.

This metallic smell. He would recognize it among thousands. He was far too acquainted with it.

He had been walking fast. He started to run.

---

She knew that, had she been looking, she could have watch her crimson life seeping out of her, engulfing her treacherous body in its scarlet cloud amidst the water.

But she didn't want to, oblivion welcoming her with opened arms.

---

The pain started to register, startling her out of her haze. Her eyes shot wide open.

---

At the back of her mind, she could feel a disturbed presence approaching, fast.

Scott. Maybe Ororo.

Her only regret would be the sorrow she knew she would cause them. If she'd known the words, she would have explained.

But she was as lousy with words as she was with a weapon. And she didn't know words that could convey the horror, and now the deliverance. And she hadn't wanted them to think they were to blame. They had tried so hard to me her smile, to make the pain recede.

They couldn't have saved her, no matter how hard they'd try. And this is why she ran away from the mansion.

She knew inside she had already jumped off the cliff. She had been too far gone to be rescued from above. And she hadn't forged a connection strong enough for someone to willingly jump with her.

She knew they existed. She had been a witness to it, at least once.

She knew that, of all of them, she had been the one who had take it the hardest, who was blaming herself the most for not finding her before.

She hoped he would be there for her, in a way no one could be here for herself.

Anyway, words were beyond her now. She was floating in a world were she could just feel.

Even that was slowly eluding her.

---

She was swearing, angry at her tears -of pain or weakness or both, she didn't know-, exiting the bathroom, cradling her bloody hand while holding a towel in the other.

She couldn't believe she had just cut herself. That was a testimony of how shaken she was from the last events, her usually faultless coordination shot to hell.

---

Scott irrupted in the bathroom of the room 424, Jean closely on his heels. They both stood there, feeling suddenly cold down to the marrow of their bones.

They didn't need to take her pulse or anything. They knew: they had been to late. It was as Jean had feared.

Scott solemnly lowered himself on his knees by the tube now empty of life. He cradled her face gently, the only sound the heavy sobs escaping his constricted throat. And her name, a plea on his lips. If only, if only….

"Kitty…."

---

Trying to stop the blood, she slowly came to realise that something was amiss. This is when his presence a few feet away at her side registered.

She turned to face him, stunned, her lips a "o" of surprise before she uttered: "You?"

The buzz in her head was nowhere to be heard.

---

Jean watched, her arms dangling uselessly at her side. She didn't remember the last time she couldn't find the words to make it better.

---

Stepping out of the shadows, he took the few steps he needed to bring his face a few inches away from hers. Taking her mangled hand in his, he brought her bloodied palm to his lips, and kissed it reverently, parting reluctantly from it only when the pull started.

He then turned her around, cradling her exhausted body tightly to him, enfolding her in his arms. He said no word. He didn't need to.

She had her back to him.

And it was alright.