Yeah, I really pulled out all my creativity with the title, didn't I? This might not actually parallel Dark Phoenix very much at all, except for a moment of . . . well, I guess you're supposed to read it for that information.

What happened was, I was trying to draw my dream comic book cover, which spiraled into me drawing out a hypothetical issue of a comic, which spiraled into this. I've edited some things so I can cram it into the movie-verse.

No rights to Marvel.

Part of Rogue wishes she'd never found the X-Men in the first place, that she'd never stumbled from her home, eased into a dive bar, and marveled at the burly man with the metal bones; but the logical part of her knows better. It's not the X-Men she wishes had never come into her life.

It's the cure.

Maybe living with the X-men as one of the Cured would've been bearable. If not for the critical looks she'd get from mutants who considered themselves twice as brave she'd turned out to be. If not for the fact that Logan was gone most of the time, not there to support her like he'd been when she'd resolved to leave the mansion. If not for Bobby, but more specifically, if not for Kitty.

Rogue hadn't been in many relationships, but somehow, she now felt like a seasoned pro in knowing the signs that one was tanking. She liked to think that she'd gotten the cure for herself, and not for some cute mutant boy, but then again, if she hadn't watched Bobby freeze a fountain over for Kitty and laugh on the surface of it like he hadn't laughed with her in a long time, would she have gone?

She doesn't like to dwell on it.

Instead of dwelling, she ran.

Again.

She thought back dryly to the time when Logan had come to find her when she fled the mansion first time. He'd offered no judgment, just options, and a shoulder for her to (pathetically) cry on. And on her first venture as a runaway, fleeing Cody's comatose body, it was Logan she'd stumbled across. Part of her half expects to run into Logan again. It wouldn't be hard for him to find her with Cerebro.

Wait, she thinks, of course it would. Professor X is dead. Jean is dead. All the telepaths littering the school weren't nearly powerful enough to use it. There was this new telepath that Storm and Bobby had dragged in a little while ago. Emily? Emma? Something like that. She'd run some other mutant school that had gotten destroyed. Pity, because maybe Rogue could've gone there instead.

Rogue shakes her train of thought straight. Point being, there aren't that many telepaths around, so Cerebro is more or less out of commission.

It seems she wouldn't run into Logan this time. The thought either encourages or discourages her. Maybe both. Either way, she keeps walking, and duffel swung over her shoulder and a green hood draped over her head.

Just like old times.

Remy, or Gambit, as he's known when he's on the job, waits beside an oak tree, mostly hidden by the shadows it cast. His shoulder tense, alert to the figure moving across the mansion's lawn. He frowns at stranger, unable to make out any distinct features due to the hood obscuring her face. He gathers that it's a girl, but that's about it.

Remy has memorized the school's schedule by now. There are no outdoor activities at this particular time, nor is this a slot during which the students switch classes or have lunch or break.

Yet, at Tuesday, at 10:17 in the morning, some girl cuts across the well-manicured lawn, threatening to throw a wrench in his nefarious plans. This is either a ne'er-do-well student, or a hooded authority figure on secretive errands.

It becomes clear, a few seconds later, that she's headed for the woods skirting the mansion, right in his direction. He groans. Quietly as possible, he backs himself into thicker cover, preparing to wait the girl out.

Turns out, he doesn't have to wait long. The girl is determined, resolved, with a severity in her stride that suggests she's either markedly sure about her choice of destination or fiercely averse to reconsidering it. She tromps right by Gambit, and he thinks that if he'd been posed dramatically, stripped to his underwear, and painted green, she probably still wouldn't have noticed him there.

Remy waits until the sound of her footfalls leaves earshot, and then continues sliding through the trees towards the so-called School For Gifted Youngsters.

Bobby has not developed any sort of liking toward Emma Frost. She's awfully bossy for someone who isn't even part of the team. She keeps acting like a leader when she's only just gotten here. Scott would've liked her, Bobby ponders.

Which kind of doesn't matter, considering he's dead.

"Could you stop thinking so loudly, dear?" Emma asks, rubbing her temple.

Bobby scowls. He still isn't used to that. Jean and the professor had the decency to not point out what someone was thinking out loud.

"I guess that makes me indecent," Emma taunts. Bobby's frown deepens.

"Emma, please," Storm cuts in. "If you want to stay here, try and show our students some respect."

"Oh, believe me, I don't want to stay here," Emma assures her, leaning against her hands, which are pressed against the infirmary bed. No matter how many times she tells the blue one—Beast, according to Iceman's thoughts—that she's fine, he keeps on checking her vitals. "If you'll notice, however, my own school was destroyed."

"We know," Storm says, "and Professor X would've wanted us to offer you a place here, but he also would've wanted you to respect those who already have one."

"Kindness and respect," Emma mocks. "Look where that got him."

"Look where the lack of it has gotten you," Bobby says. "All your students are dead."

"Bobby!" Storm snaps. So much for leading by example.

Emma's jaw clenches. She tilts her chin up confidently, looking the overconfident boy in the eyes. "You're right, Iceman," Emma concedes. "They are. More victims of the war on mutants our world is so obsessed with. Your school has felt this war almost as much as I have. Your school has been attacked and your leader has been slaughtered. As far as I'm concerned, I don't have a place here, because this place is likely to meet that the same my former school did. It all likelihood, my dear boy, you are going to be a casualty of this war."

Bobby winces. He hopes Emma doesn't notice.

But of course she does. She reads minds, after all.

"You're wrong," Storm tells her firmly. "In the X-Men, we take care of our own."

Emma raises a doubtful eyebrow. "Is that so? You take care of your students?"

"Yes," she holds firm.

"Then, you do know that one of your girls has just vacated the premises?" Emma teases.

Storm pivots toward the infirmary's window, as if she'll just see some student skipping by in her line of vision.

"And you'll also know," Emma presses on, "that a thief has just set foot on campus?"