Rogue strokes her fingers gently through her husband's hair, waiting for him to wake. She has thought often in the last long hours of the first time she realized he trusted her. She moved about his room and he did not wake, not until she brushed the hair back from his eyes and kissed him.

She dares not kiss him now.

She leans in close, breathes soft against his cheek, "Remy, please wake up." Her whisper is almost a prayer.

Those smoldering red and black eyes, like dark flames, open up to look at her. "Chère."

Rogue smiles weakly. "Hey."