"It's not passion and obsession and fire anymore, but it's still there,
like a dear old friend I can't imagine my life without." ~ Natalie Whipple
The third year was a haven. It was good to give up and give in and just start living, and both of them could admit that it was just blessed, aching relief to stop expecting and let themselves love. Remy had not courted anything like the steady way they fell in together, her head on his shoulder, his arm 'round her waist. Rogue had never wanted this, hearts beating gently as they just were together, not talking, not doing, just were. But she wanted it now.
They stopped forcing it along. They stopped forcing it apart. For once, they took everything in stride.
Rogue wasn't the kind of woman that knew how to open up and trust, and Remy wasn't the kind of man that wanted her to. She wasn't the woman that gave in and surrendered without pitching a battle, fierce and loud enough for the entire world to hear. She stood her ground. She fought for what she wanted. And Remy was just stubborn and fierce and strong enough to fight her right back.
It wasn't stable. It was in and out, trust and don't trust, silence... It wasn't healthy. It wasn't right. But it was theirs and they cherished it.
It didn't flicker, didn't flame, but it burned.