AN: I don't own X-Men.

AN2: This chapter focuses on the X-Men's reaction to Rogue's death, and her funeral with some unlikely attendants.

Grief infected everyone, seeping into their hearts. Everyone grieved her. The southern girl who sat at the back of every class; a gentle soul with an unfortunate gift. Rogue's seat remained empty in class, no-one opting to sit there out of respect. In the few days since her death, classes were halted and tears wiped.

They all mourned in their own ways. Logan mourned by drinking and fighting - spending three days in the Danger Room. Jean sobbed in the Medical Bay, blaming herself. Scott buried himself in his work, and Ororo read through the lost girl's work - thinking all the potential she had in writing. Professor Xavier locked himself in his office, reflecting on the short time Rogue had been at the Mansion.

She received a funeral on the mansion's grounds. A memorial was erected in Rogue's honour. White marble contrasted with the lush green grass. The sun shone brilliantly and the virescent colour of the spring day under it's glare was offensively bright and cheerful. It was as if the sun had conspired with the earth, to show how the world would go on without her. It was a cruel reality. Everything should be grey and foggy; it should be cold and damp with silent air.

Mutants gathered for her funeral. Students struggled to understand the events of Alkali Lake, they only knew that Rogue had a hidden strength that people drew on - she made people better. Kitty and Bobby tried explaining it, but tears prevented the ending to be shared. Younger mutants struggled to understand the loss. They didn't cry, naively insisting that she was playing hide-and-seek. Adults stood stoic, tears dried up, as silent pillars of strength. Logan stood off to the side, away from other mourners, tears on his cheeks.

Mourning wasn't restricted to just the X-Men. Truces were called. On the morn of the funeral, the sight of Magneto and his Brotherhood entering the grounds was met. Pyro was amongst them. Friends and foes grieved together. Magneto and Mystique each placed a hand on Xavier's shoulder. Pyro embracing Bobby as his tears fell. Sabretooth stood by his brother, no words or looks passing between them.

The funeral began with Ororo reciting a line from Rogue's favourite poem - Christina Rossetti's 'Up-hill Struggle'. "Does the road wind up-hill all the way? Yes, to the very end. Rogue understood this more than anyone her own age, and yet, she continued to thrive."

The weather witch moved back to her spot, and one by one, people shared their fondest memories of Rogue. There was a broad spectrum of memories. Kitty spoke of the pillow fights they had; a young student spoke of Rogue's help in teaching her to read. A few students spoke of her kindess, how she would give them ice cream and how she would teach them new games. Scott spoke of Rogue's insistance to help in any situation; while Mystique complimented toward her fighting style.

Pyro stood up by the empty casket, tears already running down his cheeks. "Rogue was my best friend. I guess you could say, she was my sister. We kept giving the kids all the ice cream in the summer before dinner," the pyromanic smiled slightly at the memory, "I can't imagine life without her, I was going to stay in contact with her - but I can't now. That's what hurts the most."

Silence fell. Everyone smiling tearfully at their memories. The smooth wood beckoned for Logan stepped forward. Placing his hand on the empty casket, he reminisced his favourite memories of Rogue.

"For a tiny kid, you were stubborn as hell. But we wouldn't have had you any other way. I'm gonna miss you, Little Marie," Logan whispered, using his secret nickname for her. He only used it when they had trained together, even though she hated the name. Pulling his dogtags from around his neck, he laid them on the casket - before trailing his hand down the smooth wood as he walked away. Logan didn't look back as he left the funeral.

Lasting long into the evening, Rogue's memorial came to a quiet end. Her white marble headstone had been swamped by pictures, flowers and small tokens. Lilac irises and yellow lilies glared at the mourners, the bright colours contrasted with the sorrowful atmosphere.

The mass of people separated, leaving the grounds and entering the mansion. Stories continued to be shared, drinks raised in toasts to honour her sacrifice. Slowly, children were tucked in for bed, people walked back to their rooms. Rogue's memory would live on at the mansion, forever etched in hearts, and on the landscape.

AN3: This is the last chapter for Having a Purpose. Hope you liked the edit, and will read the sequel - Bliss of Touch.