A feeling of apprehension churns in his gut until he finally sees her, flushed and tired, but triumphant, snuggling a soft, squirming bundle in her arms. Remy wraps an arm around her gently and stares down into his daughter's face.

She is perfect: ten tiny fingers, ten tiny toes, a button nose, happy noises, and kicking feet. He cannot help but lean over and nuzzle the top of her downy head. She scrunches her face and blinks at him.

"What shall we call her?" Rogue whispers in his ear.

He shivers at the contact.

"Amanda Kayla," he answers softly. Beloved.