Oh my GOD, I'm SO sorry for the long wait, dear readers. I've had a hell of a month going back to school. Everything was going wrong for a while there. But it's getting better, so that's good. Anyway, here is the next chapter about everyone's favourite couple!

Enjoy!

-Forbala-

CHAPTER SEVEN: AIRPORT

The next day they made it to Charleston and to Gambit's safe house, in a shady part of town, where he called his European contact again. Rogue tuned out the conversation. She was going to Europe. Gambit would keep her safe. She didn't care about much else at the moment. Instead, she spent the day working on their car, checking the condition, improving its run, and adding a few special modifications. Some of which weren't entirely legal, but not especially dangerous, so Rogue didn't care.

They only spent two days in the safe house in Charleston. When Rogue—Marielle—had come in from working on the car, covered in engine grease, Gambit—Raoul—had nearly jumped her. The little black oil spots on her arms and hands and face and neck, on her shirt, smears on her jeans from where she'd wiped her hands to get the grease off, totally uselessly. Her hair was mussed and some strands were stiff from dry grease.

"Y' awful dirty, chere," Gambit commented, looking up from his magazine.

"Shut up," was all she said. She went into the tiny bathroom and washed up as well as she could, scrubbing at her hands for a good two minutes, and brushing through her hair with much difficulty and many grunts of effort. At last, when she had determined she was tolerable, she came back into the living room/kitchen/bedroom and sat on the desk.

"So," she said, immediately getting Gambit's full attention—she didn't know, but she'd already had it. "Where exactly are we going? And when?"

"We leave on Tuesday. As for where, allow a poor thief his secrets, chere. Y'll find out soon enough."

"I want to know now," she said, just barely restraining herself from whining like a sleepy child.

Remy cocked one eyebrow. He thought he would rather have liked to hear her whine. Or plead. Or beg. Beg for him, beg for him to take her.

"Yo, Swamp Rat," she said, snapping her fingers in his face. "Stop leering and tell me where we're going."

"Mm, non, don' t'ink so."

Rogue was growing annoyed, but she didn't let it show on her face. Instead, she leaned close to Gambit—Raoul, she corrected—and said softly, "Won't you tell me, sugar? I'd really love to know."

Remy gulped hard. She was so close he could almost taste her, but he knew what she was up to. That didn't mean he wouldn't play along, of course.

"What does Remy get if he tells y'?" he asked, just as softly.

"I think you know."

"Mm, Remy thinks he does." He concentrated very hard and, focusing almost all of his kinetic energy on his lips, leaned in.

As he expected, Rogue pulled back, a slight flash of fear in her eyes—fear that she would like it, he knew. "Not until you tell me where we're going," she said breathlessly, her voice quavering just a bit.

Gambit stood. "Oh, well. Remy can wait. He's very patient, chere."

Rogue stood as well, anger lighting her beautiful face. God, but she was so gorgeous when she was angry or annoyed with him. "Dammit, Remy! Where are we going? Paris? Versailles? Marseille?"

"Y'll get not a word out a dis thief," he teased with a wink and a crooked grin. Rogue made a noise of annoyance and disappeared into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

Gambit smiled and collapsed back into his chair. He had just about pulled her to him and held her and kissed her breathless, not to mention spoiled the surprise for her. That wouldn't do. She would find out in two days anyway.

The next day, they ventured into town and bought simple gold wedding bands. Remy almost snogged his "wife" right there in the jewelry store, he was so happy. Even if it was a fake marriage, it was a fake marriage to Rogue.

The girl had taken on a strange look when she'd slipped on the ring. Remy hoped it was happy, whatever the expression meant. He was almost sure it was—he was pretty damned confident in himself, a truly cocky son of a bitch—but with Rogue he always had doubts. She was his exception. She was his exception and he loved it. He wanted to be with her forever. She may not believe him, but it was true. And one day, he would have her.

Rogue tried again over those two days to get their new location from him, but with no success. He had nearly crumbled; she had tried seduction and demands and threats, and all drove him mad with love and lust for her. She didn't seem to notice, luckily or not.

And at last, the day arrived when they took a cab to the airport (the Aston Martin was being ferried across the Atlantic and had shipped out the day before). Rogue was nearly bouncing with excitement. Gambit refused to show her the tickets, but she could hardly worry about where. She was just happy they were going.

Only one thing was hindering her excitement.

She missed her dad, that is, Logan. He was the only dad she had really ever know, and she felt like the most awful person leaving him to go gallivanting off in Europe. She knew he was worried sick and probably tearing up the northeast, the South, and anyone he could get to in an attempt to find her. Perhaps he soon would. She didn't know. She didn't know if she wanted him to.

No, don't think about it, she told herself. This was for the best. Perhaps, someday soon, she could return to him and the other X-Men. Not now, but soon.

They went into the airport and checked in at the computers. They had no luggage to check—only two backpacks and a medium-sized duffel between the two of them—so they needn't go to the counter. Gambit made sure to hide the tickets from his belle fille's prying eyes while he checked in. If he could help it, she wouldn't find out their location until they landed. He knew that was impossible, put he was going to push it as far as he could.

They went to stand in the security line, passports in hand. Gambit was not comfortable going through security—he avoided airports whenever possible for that reason—but there was little other way to get to his destination. This was most assuredly the easiest and quickest way.

Remy handed his passport and ticket to the security guard, who check both and nodded him to continue.

"My wife and I," he said, gesturing to Rogue, "are on honeymoon, and I want it t' be a surprise. Can I hand you her ticket and you not show it to her?" He smiled pleasantly, and Rogue could see he was using his mutant charm on the poor woman. Predictably, the woman complied and took the ticket from Gambit and Rogue's passport from his "wife," examined both, then passed the couple on.

They arrived at their gate and sat down to wait until they were called to board.

"Rem—er, Raoul," Rogue said.

He hoped she wouldn't ask where they were going again. "Oui, chere?"

"Where are we—?"

"Non. Don' finish dat. If y' ask me one more time where we goin', Raoul will leave y' here."

Rogue slumped down in her seat. Moments later, she recovered, straightened up, and addressed him again.

"Y' better not ask where we goin," he warned.

"Do you think…do you think I'm right to do this?" she asked, her voice so soft he could barely hear.

"T' do what, chere?" he asked, leaning forward to see her downcast face.

"To leave. Leave Logan, the X-Men, America. The X-Men are the only family I've ever known, and as obnoxious and dysfunctional as they are…I love them. Logan will be so mad when we come back. I wonder if he'll ever forgive me?"

"Don' talk like dat, ma fille douce. Remember Magneto? Wants t' kidnap y'? It's only safe to get far away from him and his influence."

"But…couldn't we stay at the X-Mansion and fight, like we always do?"

"He won't stop chasin' y' even if y' fight." Gambit hated, hated to see her so down, so…scared. Despite all her brave façades and words, despite her aggression and badass attitude, she was scared. Terrified. And he could barely stand it. He just wanted to hold her and kiss her and make it all better. He looked at her hands clasped in her lap and longed to reach out and grab them, kiss each little fingertip, stroke the pale, soft skin there.

But he couldn't. Besides passing out in the middle of a busy airport, it would scare her away from him. He couldn't stand it if she were afraid of him.

And so he wisely kept his hands to himself.

"I just…." Rogue sniffled and Gambit realized she was crying. After a moment of internal war, he put his hand on her shoulder, gently.

"Fille douce, look at me." When she didn't, he knelt on the ground before her and held her chin. "Look at me, chere. You will be safe. You will be happy. You will return t' the X-Men as soon as possible. I swear. I swear by anything you want me to swear by. Everything will work out."

Rogue sniffled again and croaked through the tears clogging her throat and slipping quietly down her cheeks, "You're not speaking in the third person."

"Non. Whatever you need, I will give you. After all, chere, isn't that what it says on our marriage certificate?" he teased, squeezing her gloved hand. That made her smile ruefully and scoff. Good.

"Whatever, dumbass," she retorted, wiping at her face and pushing him away.

She was back to insulting him. She would be okay. Merci Deu.

"We are now boarding zones two and three," a woman's voice announced over a localized speaker. "Zones two and three for flight 5698 to Paris, France, now boarding."

Mierde. Rogue was one step closer to guessing his surprise. Although she thought the surprise was Paris, so at least that threw her off.

"Paris!" Rogue gasped. She leaped from her seat, wiped at her face again, grabbed up her backpack, and trotted to get in the boarding line. Gambit smiled, grabbed his bags, and sidled up beside her.

Look! Look how gloriously long it is! I didn't even notice it was going on so long! Wow!

Until next time, readers! I promise it won't be another month (don't hurt me).