Author's Note: Hey guys. I know this is not an update of Stranger. But I realized that I've neglected this fic for far too long. I do have the conclusion in mind now, so look out for it I guess. There's only one more chapter to go. Enjoy!

She sighs a little as she places a thin, shaky, gloved hand on the doorknob, ready to turn it. Then, as an indecisive afterthought, thinks better of it and just leans forward to rest her forehead on the wooden surface before her with her eyes shut tight. She wonders for a brief moment if she's doing all of this right. All of this. On the other side of the door – this thin barrier she's up against right now – she knows she's got a life, everything she's ever genuinely wished for. But she knows it's still missing something. She doesn't know what, exactly. But she feels some kind of indistinguishable emptiness – like she realises with bleak despondency that there should be something more than just… this.

Minutes drag by and she finally detaches herself from the smooth, varnished surface of the door, pulling her form upright and straightening her thick black overcoat. She opens the door slowly with a light creak and enters her tiny abode without much more thought, expecting the apartment to be empty and devoid of life. Her fiancé of two and a half months would still be at work, she tells herself knowingly. He always works his late shifts on weekdays and she understands this more than perfectly. Therefore, she's more than just a little surprised when she finds him – the boyfriend whom she's been engaged to for so very long – sitting at the dilapidated couch in front of the mini television, slumped against the armrest of his seat, caught up in a peaceful sleep. The mindless drone of the television had no doubt placed the man in his current state.

He is startled out of his slumber when she clicks the door shut. The sound is quiet and subtle compared to the noise from the tube just feet away from him, but it's enough to wake him up and cause him to involuntarily sit up painfully straight on the couch. He glances around the relatively small apartment with a split-second look of disorientation before he finds her standing by the door. Breaking out into a charming smile, he stands and rubs his eyes with a certain tiredness. "Hey," he murmurs lowly and approaches his partner with arms outstretched.

"Hey there, darling," Rogue returns softly, placing her arms around the man gently.

He pulls her into a warm embrace. "Y' okay dere, cherie? Y' be lookin' a bit under de weat'er."

Rogue smiles a little and shakes her head dismissively, wondering how he's always able to tell when she isn't feeling up to scratch. "I'll be fine," she reassures him and pulls away after awhile. "What're you doing back home so early?" she whispers and places a hand flat on his chest, her small smile melting away and a frown taking its place.

He fidgets a little, takes a step back, and turns on his heel, going over to the television remote and muting the small black box with the push of a button, before turning back to his girlfriend with a sheepish expression on his face.

"Well, y're probably not goin' t' like it."

Rogue sighs. "Lemme' guess. You got fired?"

He shrugs in return. "Y' were always great at guessing."

"Remy! What did you do?" she admonishes, and suddenly her eyes narrow in suspicion. "Remy… if you tried –"

"Non, non! I didn't try t' blow anyt'ing up dis time! I promise!" he shakes his head hastily. "I didn't do not'ing bad! Really!"

Rogue crosses her arms. "Yeah. Sure," she mutters, unconvinced.

"Besides," her boyfriend continues, "I have anot'er job dat starts tomorrow anyways, so don't worry, okay cherie?" he smiles winsomely at her.

Rogue doesn't answer, only sighs and finally shrugs off her jacket, draping it over the coat hanger by the door. She moves further into the apartment interior and towards the kitchen. As she prepares a hot cup of chamomile tea, the television is unmuted once more.

Moments after, Remy's voice pipes up once more.

"Y' got mail, by de way. In de form of a letter. Y' friend dropped it off dis afternoon while y' weren't here."

Rogue frowns and tilts her head to one side, the cup of steaming tea pausing against her lips.

"Friend?" she repeats, confusion evident in her voice.

"Oui. From de academy. I b'lieve de monsieur's name is Logan?"

Her eyebrows shoot up. "Logan was here?" she exclaims, and she isn't sure if she's happy about the fact that her old acquaintance had come by for a visit, or if she's disappointed in him that he did not bother to stay.

"Logan was here, oui," Remy confirmed. "T' drop off de letter. He said someone sent it t' Xavier's. Has y' name on it an' everyt'ing. Whoever sent it pr'bly don't know y've been livin' here wit' me for a couple mont's now."

Silence falls for a second between the two.

"I put it on y' dresser in our room, cherie," he mutters, sensing what she wants to know.

Her appreciation goes unheard and Rogue grabs her steaming cup of tea and walks quickly into the only bedroom in the flat.

The letter – a single, brown, nondescript envelope – lies there peacefully, almost innocently. She picks it up off her dressing table and stares at it for awhile like it's a kind of puzzle that baffled and mystified her. It looks perfectly normal – no one's opened it as of yet.

She suddenly smells something new. Something like ash and cinder and fading embers through the simple wafting aroma of chamomile and the other familiar scents she's acknowledged for the past few months. And she's reminded briefly of a flurry of dying amber flames.

She places her mug down gently, rips the letter open without another moment's hesitation, removes the two thin pieces of paper from within, walks over to her bed and collapses onto it.

And then, she reads.

--

Hey Roguey. Guess who? No, I'm not going to sign this or anything. If anyone at Xavier's gets their hands on this and reads it (besides you), they'd probably be able to tell it's me. But still, it's fun to keep you guessing…

Alright, fine. It's me, Pyro. Or whatever. I don't really care what people call me nowadays. I hardly get to talk to anyone anyway, unless I'm threatening someone for some much-needed cash along a deserted street. Hopefully this letter thing finds you in good health. Or finds you AT ALL really, cuz I kinda figured you weren't living at the institute anymore. You ARE engaged (or maybe even MARRIED) now, after all. With any luck, someone'll pass it on to you or something (without opening the goddamn envelope).

It's been awhile since we last talked, huh? Dunno if you found out (probably not, since authorities at the mutant DC don't like to make it known that they screwed up) – I've finally broken out of the detention centre. Without any difficulty, too. Liberation at last! Oh god, you have no idea how long it's been since I last saw blue skies and inhaled fresh air… And, it's all thanks to, well, you know… Some genius gave me some ammunition to use and I broke out. I ain't telling you WHO it was. Some asshole might intercept this damn letter and go after my accomplice/partner in crime. Wouldn't want that to happen. Really. I wouldn't.

I really wonder why I broke out anyway. Now I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing. But that's nothing for you to concern yourself over. You probably have other things to worry about. Soooo, just letting you know that I AM alive and well and not quite living the high life, but hey, I'm surviving. Thanks anyways. For everything you've done in the past – being there for me and all that shit that you really didn't have to do… and whatever. Thanks. Always knew you were a great friend, despite the ups and downs that have fucked us up before. Friends – they're kinda hard to come by for me nowadays. But I DO understand that you probably don't even WANT to remotely associate yourself with a wanted criminal such as myself. I mean, you're a sensible girl, Roguey. But then again… THE ZIPPO? Girl, if I didn't know any better, I'm guessing that you pretty much don't consider me an adversary, huh? Such a sweetheart. Hey, who knows? We could've really hit off, you and I – if it weren't for me being the idiot I was and joining those 'evil' bastards. Not that I regret it.

Whatever.

Well, see ya around, Marie. Can't guarantee we'll ever catch up with each other in the near future, but I have a good feeling in my gut that we probably will. If anything, maybe I owe you a drink somewhere inconspicuous.

Good luck with the new guy. And stuff.

Yours,
Johnny Boy.

PS. If this letter doesn't reach Rogue, and you (whoever you are) have read the whole thing, SCREW YOU, SONUVABITCH.

--

She laughs when she finally reaches the last line. Her mind is now oddly blank. She then shakes her head, her dark hair falling into her bright, unseeing eyes. And she just laughs again. Her fingers start to tremble uncontrollably, rustling the letter in her slackening grip. The indistinguishable emptiness she's been feeling as of late overcomes her once more, this time in full force.

Her laughing morphs into something like a sob.

And she's unable to stop the torrent of tears that follow.