Disclaimer: All the characters are owned by Marvel and are not used to make me a profit. Naturally, I would like money for my work very much, but comments are legal and equally gratefully received at brucepat@iafrica.com. This is in response to Keri Wilson's Winter Romance Challenge. As she has created a website for this event, I decided it was only fair to give her exclusive posting rights. Please, therefore, do not put this story on your webpage, even if I have given you carte blanche for all my other works. I'm sorry, but I think that you will agree that it is the right thing to do in this situation.
La nuit vient. Venus brille.
- Victor Hugo, 'Le Bord de la Mer.' (1)
Night falls like a blanket of snow over Salem Center. Snowflake-stars glimmer in the sky, broken by the frosty band of the Milky Way. Over the horizon, the brightest object in the sky, Venus, twinkles. Named for the Goddess of Love, this planet acts as a beacon, beckoning humankind into
space, promising them the conquest of a million-million worlds as well as the adoration of their own.
As one of the few who have experienced space's majesty up close, Rogue has never been fond of keeping her feet on terra firma. The skies call to her as surely as Venus does, vowing that freedom lies in their indigo depths. At the moment, she glides miles above earth; the stars above, the town below;
looking down at the silver landscape. The tiny lights of Salem Center scintillate in their nest of white powder, silver, red and gold by turn. Minuscule trees dot the snow in clusters of green and brown. The road is a black stripe that seethes with tiny, multicolored cars. Houses, fit only for
dolls at this altitude, are spaced evenly along the road, soon giving way to the larger Westchester estates. Reflected in Spuytin Dyvil cove, the stars are pinpricks of light that shift prismatically in the dark water. She has seen this scene before and will see it again, but it never fails to leave her breathless. This panorama is the one thing that is hers alone; the one thing that she thought that she would never share. Rogue exhales, watching her breath form a cloud in front of her mouth. In some ways, today is the saddest day of her life. Today, she gives this vista away.
Gambit brings the ax down with a thud, neatly slicing the log in two. Humming tunelessly to himself, he repositions the bisected wood before splitting it in half again. He has been chopping word for over an hour now, lost in the burn of his muscles; the rhythm of his swing; the piny scent of the kindling.

"Remy?"

He pauses when he hears Rogue, leaning his weight on the ax, wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. He smiles as he sees her rounding the corner. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes sparkle. Her tousled hair, damp with snow, indicates that she has been flying.

"De femme wears her secrets well," Gambit thinks, noting her air of half-suppressed excitement.

"Hey, hon," she greets him affectionately, "Ya busy?"

"Jus' finished, chere," he tells her, "Been choppin' wood f'r de fire."

"Really?" she pretends amazement, "An' here Ah thought ya was makin' gumbo."
Gambit laughs and hands her a pile of kindling, taking one himself. They walk to the Mansion in silence; comfortable enough with each other not to need words. Their home seems quiet, but light, spilling from the upstairs windows, indicates that the other inhabitants are still awake.

"Uh, Remy," begins Rogue as she throws the wood into the woodbox by the door.

He turns to look at her, curious about her ill-concealed secret. Her head, cocked to one side, gives her the air of an impatient sparrow.

"Oui, belle?"

"There's somethin' Ah wanta show ya . . . ." She tells him earnestly.

"Where is it?" He asks, as he dusts his hands off on his heavy jeans.

Rogue grins mischievously, pointing in the direction of Venus.

"Up there . . . ."



Rogue tightens her grip around Remy's waist as they rise into the air. The same, wild exhilaration as before courses through her veins as the air becomes cooler and the trees shrink to bonsais. The shimmering landscape stretches below, touching the horizon where the moon is whitely hovering.
Venus shines nearby in silver brilliance, still beckoning to would-be explorers and star-travellers alike.

"C'est . . ." Gambit's voice trails to a halt and she knows that he cannot find words to describe it.

"Ah know."

Her hand finds his and their fingers interlace. The ring, that he wears on his third finger, feels warm against her skin. She knows its inscription intimately: Not hand in hand, yet heart in heart. (2)
Even when they were unable to touch, she had known that they shared a connection. That it would always tie them together, no matter the physical or emotional distance between them. Rogue spontaneously presses her lips against those of her husband, knowing that her gift of her vista has renewed their vows of love. It was difficult to give her solitary pleasure away, but she realizes that she has gained even more - a shared memory to hoard for darker days.

When she breaks free, she whispers: "Happy Anniversary."

Notes:

1. The Translation of the passage is literally - 'Night comes. Venus shines'. It's from 'the Edge of the Sea' by Hugo.

2. The inscription is from Christina Rosetti's 'An Echo From Willow Wood.' Guess where the title is taken from?