He's restless.

Years have driven him, restless wanderer, exile, from place to place, family to family since his failed wedding and subsequent trial. Remy was only a teenager when they cast him out from New Orleans and his dreams of finally having a family that was his. He wonders vaguely if he's forgotten how to dream it.

He hears Rogue behind him, padding out onto the porch, tightening her robe against the evening's chill. Her warm arms slide up around him, and she presses her head against his back.

He lets her hold him, knowing she won't let him go.