Skimbleshanks was rudely awakened a few hours later by the sharp glow of the bedside lamp opposite to his. He grunted, ears twitching at the sound of rustling bed covers.

"Munkustrap?" His voice was raspy; thick with sleep.

"Sorry, didn't mean... well, I would have eventually." Munkustrap sounded unusually chipper for... what time was it, anyway?

Skimbleshanks rubbed at his eyes, biting back an enormous yawn. "What... what are you doing?"

"Packing."

"Mm... what?" The ginger tom had to take a second to process the word. He blinked blearily at the flurry of blue and silver shapes currently yanking open the closet door. "Packing?"

"That's right. We're going to catch a train."

Oh Bhast, he must have had more champagne than I thought. Or I had more champagne than I thought.

"My love, it's..." Skimbleshanks clumsily stretched his arm over his head, patting about his bedside table for his alarm clock. He held it aloft and squinted at its face in the dim light, "... it's three in the morning."

Munkustrap stood in front of the closet, hand on hips. A cat on a mission. In one swift motion he snatched a large leather suitcase from its corner and hauled it onto the bed, popping the lid open with a startling sense of finality. "So what?"

"So... what?" Skimbleshanks parroted dumbly. I'm missing something here, I just know it. Something really important. Was marriage all it took for one to start going senile? The space between his eyes throbbed a little, and he squinted hard against the light and the sudden rush of pain.

"There are night trains." Munkustrap strode purposefully across the tiny room. He stuck his hand inside the top drawer of their shared dresser and yanked out a great fistful of socks. He chucked them in the open suitcase without a trace of his usual care. "You work one."

"Yes, but-"

"Where's your pocket schedule?" Munkustrap's voice was muffled from inside the closet as he sifted through the collection of pressed collared shirts.

Skimbleshanks gestured vaguely to the pair of navy work slacks draped neatly across the back of a nearby armchair, "In... in my trousers-"

"Pin it on the wall." Munkustrap wrapped a burgundy tie around his knuckles before burying that in the growing pile of clothes as well, "We'll throw a dart at it, or a pencil. Something sharp. Anything. Whatever it lands on, that's the train we'll take."

Skimbleshanks sat up a little straighter in bed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "Munkustrap, I don't understand. What... what's all this for?"

Munkustrap peered over the lid of the suitcase, his brow quirked to one side. Really? You don't know? "It's for our honeymoon, of course," he said, diving back into the task at hand.

"Honeym-" Skimbleshanks swung his legs over the edge of the mattress and nearly landed on his knees, such was his shock. "Darling, I thought we would... we haven't even... aren't you going to plan any of this?" He swished his tail uneasily.

Munkustrap promptly slammed the suitcase shut, ignoring the jingling of the twin locks. His paws were planted firmly on the lid as he leaned forwards, neck stretched out like an irate goose. His eyes sparkled in the light of his bedside lamp.

"I didn't!" He crowed triumphantly, "This is just as much of a surprise for me as it is for you!"

Skimbleshanks balked at him. "Then... what on earth-"

"I don't know!" There was bright laughter in Munkustrap's voice; he looked beyond ecstatic with himself. "I couldn't sleep, and I was thinking about the wedding, and what we were going to do after..." He trailed off, trying to collect his frantic thoughts. "And I thought, yes, we absolutely could plan something. A week in Cornwall, a fortnight in Sandringham. It would be perfect. It would be everything we ever dreamed of."

"But that's the thing!" The silver tabby grinned broadly from across the room, "What if, and that's the crazy part... what if nothing was planned? My entire existence was never planned. I never planned on losing my mother. I never planned on meeting you, or falling in love with you, or marrying you... why should this be any different?" Munkustrap lowered himself to his elbows, gazing up at Skimbleshanks with the giddyness of a small child. "Skimble, we could go anywhere. We could... hop on the back of a caboose, sneak into the boxcars, for all I care. I just want to go with you."

Skimbleshanks felt his jaw go slack. I have never been more in love with anyone in my entire life.

"I know this all sounds insane-"

"You're absolutely right." Skimbleshanks skirted 'round the bed, closing the distance between them and snatching Munkustrap's paws in his own, "This is truly, ruddy insane, and completely out of character, and I've never been more inclined to agree with you on anything. Ever."

"... really?" For the first time during his giddy monologue, Munkustrap actually looked apprehensive. "You aren't just saying that to pacify me, are you?"

Skimbleshank rolled his eyes towards the ceiling and asked Everlasting for a little more patience. "No, I'm doing this because I love you, you impossible creature."

They stood like that for a little while, Skimbleshanks clutching at Munkustrap's wrists and Munkustrap staring at his husband like he raised the moon each night.

"We'll have to tell someone," Munkustrap whispered, a little breathless.

Skimbleshanks shrugged lightly. "Tugger doesn't live far. We can slip a note through their mailbox, no problem."

"Gus will wonder-"

"Gus will understand."

"... but-"

"Everlasting Cat, Munkus, don't talk yourself out of this!" Skimbleshanks made a noise that was half a growl, half a bark of laughter. "You woke me up at three in the morning, and if you tell me that this was all a bad idea and that we should go back to sleep then you're sleeping on the settee for the next week!"

That seemed to snap Munkustrap out of his doubtfulness; his stormy blue eyes widened joyfully, and Skimbleshanks' cry of surprise was muffled against his husband's lips as he was kissed soundly.

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it," Skimbleshanks replied gruffly. "Now, get out the other suitcase. There's no telling where we'll be going at this rate, or how long our clothes will last us. Throwing pencils at a train timetable, honestly..."

It was all in good humor, of course. Skimbleshanks set to work re-folding the shirts that Munkustrap had so haphazardly thrown into the suitcase already on the bed while the silver tabby lugged out a second. Any lingering concern that Skimbleshanks might have had melted away the instant Munkustrap flashed him a bright, dizzy smile, and he silently figured that if marrying his dearest companion meant the occasional break in schedule, then he supposed he could get used to it.

A/N:

If this was a movie, this scene would be immediately followed by a shot of Munkustrap and Skimbleshanks standing side by side, shivering in Euston Station as they wait for the train they chose (they didn't, in fact, throw a sharp pencil at Skimble's pocket timetable, but instead did that thing where you close your eyes and wave a finger around and then go with whatever option it happens to land on). Munkus is grousing about how insane this all is, and how Skimble shouldn't be condoning this, while Skimble nods sagely and says that he knows.

This Universe is kind-of sort-of shared by me and Pseudonym677. Check out their profile for additional works centered around the aesthetic of 1920/30's Cat-London. I highly recommend "Tea in the Greenroom"!