"I was a single mother for a week," she says, as she rolls over. "I'm allowed to take up as many sides of the bed as I damn well please. Too busy to settle for just one."

With the help of the hand on his leg, Plourr tiredly levers herself up, winding up with a broad hand on his opposite shoulder and letting it remain there. The other hand comes to rest on his neck. "If you ever use the word 'loins' in a communication between us ever again," she murmurs, her face close to his, "I'll kill you."

She kisses him, slow and sleepy and warm, because he's weird and a little crazy but he's her weird and a little crazy, and this is the longest they've been apart since -- well, since she flew with the Rogues. Since long before Ianna was born. Since long enough.