Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men or GeNext. This story was once a completely different story, I have since then taken it down.

He can't explain it. Hell, he can't quite understand it. The whole event was mind boggling.

Olivier descended the staircase of the X-Mansion, gazing over at the mess appearing before his eyes. A banner spread across the span of the room, the words "Congratulations Gambit and Monet!" upon it. Peering into the next room, Olivier eyed the white streamers with distaste. Clucking his tongue, he escapes outside to his spot on the grounds. He was seething at the commotion, his temper barely under control. He knew he should be happy for his father. They had begun to make progress with each other, Ray's aid pushing them towards reconciliation. But when Gambit told him he intended to propose to Monet, Oli lost it.

Olivier spat at his father, "You honestly believe that woman can replace mama?"

Gambit gazed at him, his face neutral, impasse. The only indication he was angered by these words being the slight flare of red eyes. "You watch your tongue boy." He paused, "Monet is not replacing her."

Olivier felt his own red on black eyes burn back in response. Instead of getting into another argument, he turned on his feet and escaped out to the cliff.

Which is where he finds himself again.

"I can't be here." Olivier flew into the clouds, disappearing from the mansion and his obligation to his father.

Olivier rarely visited his old house in Valle Soleada, California. However, there were rare moments when the urge to be with her overpowered him and he found himself unable to resist the call of her presence.

He wanted to talk to her. He wanted her know what he really thought about Gambit, all the things Olivier could never say aloud to his father. If anything, Oli figured, his mother would understand.

But, there was also the possibility that she could explain to him, why his father made these decisions. He missed her terribly.

During instances of anger and aggression, Rogue would put a stop to their constant bickering. Her glare wilting the fight within them and she would briskly chide, "gentlemen oughtta know better than to argue amongst themselves."

It made sense that her death would alter the family dynamic, but it was doubtful that the current situation they were in was to be expected. Gambit had instantly become distant towards Oli. Barely functioning as person, failing completely as a parent. Gambit had refused to live for a period of time, instead choosing to lie catatonic in their bed. On an off day he would glare at their wedding photo on his bedside table as if somehow anger would trigger Rogue's reappearance.

Ray spent several of her nights crying, she was too young to understand the extent of their loss. It was also hard on her to see her only living parent act as he did. Olivier was older though. He knew what death was and how it had ripped apart his family. He would lean against the wall of the room that adjoined his sister, listening to her whimpers of sorrow, desperately wanting to join her. But Olivier could never bring himself to cry like Ray. He had tried on many occasions, willing his eyes to release his pain. Instead, he his emotions festered into anger for his father.

Eventually, Gambit decided it was time for him to leave their once family home and to not bask in something that once was. Ray chose to follow him, leaving Olivier alone. But at the time it was easier being away from his family. The space between them granted him the opportunity to heal and progress.

Olivier flew until his feet grazed the coast. The sand winking at him as he trekked to a familiar weathered staircase. He fixated on the empty abode, his home. The bittersweet memories swelling to the surface. It had been vacant for a decade now. Gambit never bringing himself to sell it as he recognized this place was part of her entity. She was what made this place their home. Amazingly, even after her death, it radiated Rogue.

He braced himself against the railing of the stairs and his heart began to race. His breathing rapidly becoming uneven due to the overwhelming emotions that triggered him at the mere sight of this place. He stopped right outside the glass of the house, looking in. Olivier looked down, pulling out his picks from his pocket. He began to maneuver them with his nimble fingers. The lock popped. It amazed him that even after all this time some things just never went away.

Oli let a memory wash over him, smiling to himself as he closed the door. His father made the mistake of throwing away the house keys once.

Gambit smiled adoringly at Rogue. "You know you'll get over it. You love me too much to be mad for long." He grabbed her body, pulling it against his.

She smirked at him, her bright green eyes flashing, peering from beneath her lashes. "Maybe, but it won't stop me from doing this," she stated and proceeded to dump a bottle of 100 year old bourbon down the drain.

Luckily with Rogue gone, the consequences of Gambit repeating his actions were nil.

Emotions consumed him as he padded towards his parents' bedroom. This place was the heart of it all. Rogue had painted the room a soft, warm yellow and when the sun came through the glass, everything seemed to glow. White curtains framed the sliding doors that led out onto a balcony with a picturesque view of the beach. The king size four poster bed and white comforter with grey details occupied a majority of the space, begging visitors of the room to jump on its lushness.

He remembered crawling into that bed on Saturday mornings, all of them sleeping in until noon. Upon waking up and making his way to their bed, Rogue would peer at him from beneath the sheets. A slow smile spreading across her lips and her hooded eyes would light up. She would curl him in closer to her body and Oli held onto her as if she would slip through his embrace. Gambit would eventually wake up and realize they were not alone. It was one of the few moments he really felt his father's love.

Olivier made his way to her side of the bed, the one closest to the glass doors. The bed long ago had been made, her scent no longer residing in the sheets. However, this did not stop him from picking up her pillow and plastering it to his face. He swore he could smell her as if she were just here.

Finally, he could feel them forming. The stinging in his eyes that for so long would not come and a lone tear rolled onto the fabric of the pillow. He was so sure that he could smell her, that she was here.

Unable to contain himself, Olivier collapsed against the bed and he began to cry. He had finally come home.