She didn't remember how long she had wandered aimlessly before ending up on a bench in south Central Park, watching the swans from the depths of her bulky, dark gray hoodie. Once the police had finally left and the yelling match died down, she'd grabbed the first change of clothes she could find and rabbited out the back door before the team leader could forbid her to leave the Mansion. Not that any of them were capable of actually enforcing house arrest if she didn't agree to it, but for once she had no desire to cause more conflict with her angry 'coworkers'. The level of tension and mistrust in that damned house was stifling enough already without picking yet another fight.

Sighing disgustedly, she focused instead on the way the summer sunlight rippled around the large white birds as they gracefully maneuvered between paddle boats filled with smiling tourists. Willow trees lazily dipped their branches in the water, reaching for hidden mysteries amongst the pond scum. A painting came to mind as she studied the idyllic scene before her: Ophelia, by John Everett Millais. The serene expression on the young woman's pale face as she floated into the sweet black water of oblivion, finally freed from her madness, seemed like an awfully tempting way to flip fate the metaphorical finger.

Must be nice not to deal with love and loss anymore, the lone woman thought morosely. A handsome blond man parked himself next to her, uninvited. She spared only the briefest of glances at the interloper—and immediately tensed up.

After a minute of silence he casually remarked, "For somebody who doesn't want to be found, you're doing a lousy job of hiding."

"I ain't hiding, leave me alone. Don't want to talk to you," she growled.

"Most people don't, unless it's to tell me I'm doing everything wrong," said the fellow, with a self-depreciating ring to his voice. "Although I'm sure most of the time I probably am."

"Today you're definitely calling the wrong shots." Rogue hissed, staring angrily at an imaginary point in the distance. "One day you're telling Cap he's wrong to want me out of the public eye 'cause of my ancient rap sheet, then the next day you're saying I need to lay low because I stopped a terrorist on national TV! And of course there's the icing on the cake: You get the brilliant idea to tell me to spy on my ex in front of his batshit crazy daughter! That ain't just low, that's hateful. Thought we were friends, Havok."

He leaned in front of her, deliberately breaching her personal space as he twisted around to peek under her hood. Eyes as blue as Alaskan ice bored into hers, concern etched in lines around his frown. Right now he wasn't Havok, leader of X-Men and Avengers: He was just Alex Summers, concerned fellow mutant and old comrade in arms.

"We are friends! I just thought that since you seem to know Mags the best, you would be okay with finding out what he's up to. You guys were a thing for a while there and haven't really talked since then—I figured I was giving you an excuse to catch up."

Rogue ripped off her shades and stared at him in furious disbelief, errant strands of long white hair falling across her forehead.

"And say what? 'Oh hey, how ya been since we broke up? By the way, are ya plottin' anything evil at the moment you wanna tell me about?' What the HELL are you thinkin,' ya dummy?!"

Alex flinched at the intensity of her glare. He quickly leaned back against the bench and edged out of harm's way.

"Well I…I…it's just…" His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water as he struggled to think of calming words.

She was absolutely terrifying when she was this pissed, and he wasn't about to end up in a month long coma. He gulped and took a deep breath, his chest puffing out to ridiculous proportions.

"It's just that you're being such a miserable jerk lately that I thought maybe sending you to see someone who used to 'comfort' you might put you in a better mood and the Avengers might forget your attitude if you were gone for a while and you'd come back and be your happy old self plus we need Intel and I'm not too sure what the best way to get it is and with what happened with the Professor and now Simon's brother... and..." He exhaled it all in one shot, wheezing when he ran out of breath.

Havok felt guilty. He had talked the X-Men's spunky southern powerhouse into joining the Unity Squad by convincing her that they were going to be the epitome of Xavier's dream, a mixed species team to rally humans and mutants into learning peaceful coexistence. Rogue hadn't fit well from the start. So used to being a strong, independent leader of teammates that she could trust not to judge her, it had been a considerable blow to her ego to be reduced to a barely tolerated pariah in a unit of overbearing super heroes. Xavier's many students were a close (if dysfunctional) family, a trait missing from the drama filled high school known as the Unity Squad. Unlike the genuine article, they were overflowing with divas—all of whom seemed to be at each other's throats during any given moment of the day. At this rate, their ragtag bunch would never aspire to the worldwide respect of the Avengers. For the younger Summers brother, trying to force everyone to get along was like trying to herd cats; it was beginning to look like more of an impossibility with every fight and botched mission.

Her snarl had lessened to a grimace, appreciating his honesty if not accepting it. "Number one, I don't need any hugs or pats on the back. Even if I did need some 'comforting', as ya seem to think, Erik ain't even on mah list of potential cuddle bunnies. Two, I don't give a rat's ass what those pretentious losers think a' me. I'm here 'cause I want to make Charles' dream to work, and to make sure Scarlet psycho doesn't pull off another mutant genocide."

"It's not like they haven't tried to be friendly with you, though!" Alex argued unhappily, rubbing the back of his neck. "Wasp is mouthy but she means well. You'd probably like her ideas on progressive fashion designs if you'd give her half a chance. Thor is really fun to be around—have you seen how much that guy loves to party?! Hell, even Wanda tried to save your life at Xavier's funeral. Look, we all know she's trying to make up for something that can't be forgiven. But what's her alternative, just give up and stop working towards fixing the shit she caused? I understand why you don't trust her but come on, Rogue! I...I've never seen you so withdrawn and hostile like this. You always used to find a way to bring everyone together. You had such a love of life, no matter how bad things got."

Instead of sarcastically snapping at him she grumpily folded her arms over her chest. Her history with Alex went way, way back; there was almost a decade's worth of fighting beside and against each other. She knew him well enough to tell when he was genuinely concerned and when he was blowing smoke up someone's ass. Right now he was truly worried.

"Look here, sugar, I'm not gonna go spy on Erik. Find someone else to get you that kinda dirt. It might not seem like it but I really do feel terrible about killing Simon's brother, and even though he forgave me, I just don't want to be around that place right now and see him so sad. But I ain't gonna sit on the sidelines when there are so many maniacs trying to kill us."

Havok frowned, yet didn't argue.

Rogue sighed. "Just give me a night to myself and I promise I'll come back tomorrow and try to play nice, okay?"

The beatific smile that lit up his thin face reminded her of a school boy who had just heard the last class bell of the day. She favored him with half a smile in return, thinking this emotional display was just one more thing to set him apart from his infamous brother; Scott was never this joyful. Without hesitation Alex reached out and put his bare hand over Rogue's gloved fingers, an act which would terrify more than a few people.

"I promise to try harder and make them understand what it's like to be us, pal," he said warmly, referring broadly to the animosity that mutants faced on a daily basis.

"Good luck with that," she drawled, patting his knuckles with her free hand.

She felt a little better just cheering him up. He was nervous taking on so much responsibility, trying to be the hero that his brother used to be. Once upon a time, Scott Summers had been the X-Men's golden child and they had all considered him the epitome of Charles Xavier's bright legacy to the world. But that was before he absorbed the deadly Phoenix force that had consumed his late wife. In succumbing to the horrible galactic temptation, all he had left behind was a shattered, disheartened mutant family, and irreparable damage to human/mutant relations. Determined to right the wrongs caused by his sibling, his brave little brother was trying his damnedest to show humanity that tolerance and compassion was still a viable option.

Glancing beyond Alex, Rogue spied a group of teenagers throwing a softball around in the field by the edge of the pond. Her expression softened.

"Remember how we used to play baseball alla time in the Outback? Man, I miss those days."

He turned to follow her gaze and whistled as a hotshot young black teen leapt up unnaturally high to catch the ball. The kid was probably X-gene positive, though his friends either didn't notice or didn't care. They were just being children and enjoying a summer day.

"Bet we could take 'em..." Havok speculated with obvious amusement, wiggling his blond eyebrows expectantly.

"Pfff, I'm done pickin' on children, I did it long enough at the institute," she said jokingly as the bridge of her slightly upturned nose crinkled in amusement; she was referring to her stint as a teacher at the Jean Grey Academy. "Y'all go right on ahead though, I think I'd enjoy watching you git your butt handed to you by a thirteen year old with braces."

"I beat your ass plenty of times!" He huffed indignantly. "But you have a good point. Maybe I'll suggest we play some b-ball or something with the whole squad, blow off some steam."

Now she was glaring at him again with genuine malice in her eyes. He started at the sudden change in her demeanor, frantically wondering what he'd said to deserve such a heated look.

"I don't like basketball and you know it."

Havok slapped his hand to his forehead and grinned cheekily.

"Oh yeahhhh, I forgot. You haven't played since that 'incident' ages ago—the one where you guys broke the no powers rule. You got totally owned!"

"Boy, you are really steppin' on my last nerve today, ain't ya?" Shoving his shoulder hard, she pushed him off the iron bench and he fell into a sniggering, crumpled heap. She hated being reminded of that damned game. "If I still had Carol's powers, you'd be flying first class to Jersey City for that one. WithOUT a plane."

"Okay, okay, I can take a hint," he chuckled.

He stood up and dusted himself off. Noticing the bright white circular pattern on the chest of his black uniform was peeping out of his jacket, he hurriedly zipped up the leather bomber.

Looking down at his teammate as he smoothed his tawny locks back into place, he said, "So I'll see you tomorrow, then? Call me if you need me, and keep an eye out for Skull's goons. One of the reporters mentioned that there had been sightings in Queens this morning. Promise me you'll stay safe, Anna."

Rogue gave her word and fist bumped him in a sisterly way. She watched as he stuffed his hands into his pockets and wandered down the shady path towards Avengers Mansion, then settled back into her spot and contemplated the conversation. Being a petty, vindictive bitch really wasn't her style. However, the hopelessness she'd been feeling was hardly conducive to building healthy work relationships.

Relationships, ha. More trouble than they're worth. She grouched. The moxy on that boy! Suggestin' that getting' laid is the answer to mah problems. There's a typical man answer for ya: Bad day at the office? Go get you some lovin'! Car broke down? Hell, maybe the mechanic will give you a 'ride'! Just accidentally killed the brother of a team mate who you can't stand? Hunt down your ex and do the dance with no pants! Feh. Morons, all of 'em.

Fuming, she tried to focus on the other aspects of what Alex had said, but her distracted mind wandered back to that fateful basketball game years ago. It had been her and Wolverine versus Jubilee and a cocky newcomer on the court behind the stately, old Westchester manor they'd called home. Even though no one trusted him as far as they could spit, the scruffy Cajun loner was a friend of Storm's, so they tolerated him for the weather Goddess' sake. Rogue had been secretly grateful to hear another southern accent around the house despite the fact his particular dialect made him sound like Pepe LePew with a mouthful of marbles. Up until they played together she hadn't any real reason to dislike the guy. But that was before he had the balls to taunt her and Logan and flagrantly disregard the "No Powers" stipulation of their game. Her temper had flared and she'd called him out on being a cheater. The only thing burning more brightly then her anger had been an explosion from the kinetically charged basketball as she went crashing through a huge bay window in the upstairs library. Such underhanded retaliation wasn't enough for the jerk; he'd scooped her out of the rubble, gloating, and bent her over his knee as if he were some kind of twisted Rhett Butler. It wasn't until he was so up close and in her face, all sultry promise and thinly veiled innuendo, she'd realized just how handsome he was. Torn between homicidal rage and being truly aroused for the first time in her young life, she'd made the mistake of hesitating. Then the jackass tried to steal a kiss— and the urge to deck him won out over her raging hormones. She'd tempered the blow, though, cracking her fist across his jaw just hard enough to rattle his teeth. And he had STILL asked her out! (1)

Ahhh, Remy. Ah shoulda hit ya harder, ya rotten snake. Passersby glanced in her direction with alarm as she hunched over and held a hand to her mouth, concealing a chuckle.

Gambit had texted her after the disastrous P.R. statement went horrifically awry, asking if she was okay. While she was grateful he still cared, she hadn't replied to him. Or to Kitty, Rachel, and everyone else who had tried to contact her. It was too upsetting to talk to anyone after accidentally breaking the neck of Wonder Man's sick and twisted brother, the Grim Reaper, during Alex's controversial speech. The psychopath had been trying to kill the Scarlet Witch on national TV!

Rogue kicked herself for even trying to stop him. Of course the national media had a field day with the footage, playing it non-stop on all the major channels. Remembering the look on Simon's face as his brother died dampened her spirits once more. She wondered what the Professor would have thought of her.

Almost instantly, she felt like retching as a familiar image flashed across her mind's eye. It was the same memory causing her to wake in a cold sweat every single night since she'd been kidnapped from Xavier's funeral. The last time she had seen the man who ultimately taught her control of her cursed power, his desecrated corpse was lying on a cold morgue slab, the peaceful expression of his death mask marred by his flayed open skull. Rogue fought to control the stinging in her eyes and willed herself not to cry in public. (2)

Maybe Alex was kinda right. Ah could definitely use a distraction at least.

The phone was in her hand before she even realized what she was doing. Looking down at it, she entered the lock code and fired off a text message before she could doubt herself.

I admit I only picked up Uncanny Avengers because Rogue has been my hero since I was 12. The first few issues were intriguing enough to hold my interest, even though it pained me to see the other characters continuously referring to her as 'white trash' and treating her like she was below them. Fast forward to Thanksgiving of 2013, when UA #15 came out: Rick Remender, the writer of UA, admitted in March of 2014 that Rogue was just a plot device and he had no intention of better explaining her motives. I wish I could 'thank' him for darkening my holiday with a swift kick to the ass. I was so upset over his OOC portrayal of Rogue that I felt the need to justify her actions in my own way...and throw in some good ol' fashioned romance to boot. Gambit has been treated far better in the comics for the last year, but I've never been happy with all the on-again, off-again crap that the editors put them through. Every now and then an artist and/or a writer slips a 'Romy' moment under the radar, and it gives me hope. *Salutes Mr. Asmus and Mr. Mann for the tender moments in Gambit #11, 12 and 17, which brought me back to the X-Men fold after 6 years of not picking up a single issue, and Mr. Chris Claremont for his bittersweet alternate universe tale of a married Rogue & Gambit in 'X-Men: The End'.* So anyway! Here's what I wish had happened before Rogue kicked the bucket. I hope you enjoy. Constructive criticism is always welcome, and thank you for reading!

1) If you have never read X-Men #4, you should probably stop reading this fanfic right now and go find it. For the record, I never thought Gambit was cheating. Rogue was just being pissy because her team was losing to a teenage brat and a devilishly handsome jackass.

2) Uncanny Avengers #2. Poor Professor X :(