Summary: Two X-Trees find themselves in Las Vegas with free time...

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On the Las Vegas Strip, a Blackjack Oak ambles down the crowded street. He fingers a playing card, passing it between branch-fingers as he sways in and out of excited tourists and less than thrilled locals. He wears a brown trench, his eyes a vibrant red. Two garment bags are slung over his shoulder. His three pet cats sleep soundly in his tangled canopy, their soft purrs a welcome sound among all the cacophony of Sin City.

All around, neon lights advertise debauchery: gambling, an endeavor of which the oak Tree was very well-acquainted with and adored much; liquor stores and pawn shops Log-an would have appreciated if not for the crowd; and dancing tree establishments of which the Tree had frequented as a sapling only to phase out as he aged, and fell further down the trappings of love for his fellow X-Tree.

The She-Tree who has forever captured Remy LeBeau's heart, doing what no other she-tree has done before, marches beside him. She is a beautiful birch Tree, long and feminine in shape. Her canopy consists mostly of dark brown leaves, save for a strip of silvery-white ones that frame her face. She walks carefully, keeping her branch-arms at her side, her hands never without their gloves.

For Rogue of the X-Trees, getting too close to anyone, spells disaster. The slightest graze of her skin against someone else's could put them in a coma; it'd happened before.

Gambit doesn't mind. If anything, he finds the space she constantly forces between them, maddening. He desires nothing more than to touch the Tree he loves. And he doesn't care if fulfilling that desire ends with him in a hospital bed for a couple of days. As long as Rogue was there when he awoke, that'd be all that mattered. But Gambit knows that his suffering would hurt her, and the last thing his love deserved was more pain.

In his canopy, a ginger tabby with a mangled stump of a tail stretches its front paws. Gambit can feel the light drag of Blackjack's claws against his bark. The others, a grey and white striped cat named Gambler, and an all-black one with a tuft of white fur between his eyes named Ace, remain comatose, dreaming of whatever it was cats dreamt of. Fish, he suspects.

"It's intoxicating, this atmosphere," he says in his thick Cajun accent as he lifts his branch-arms over his head. He steeples his fingers together at the base of his canopy, where his neck sticks out from his jacket. "Yah, mon ami?" Rogue seems less than impressed. Her brow is furrowed, her shoulders meeting the lowest branches of her canopy. "It's drainin' for you. These crowds, no?"

Rogue flashes him a passing smile, but it doesn't take Gambit's hawkish gaze to see the fragility beneath it. One wrong move, one false step or heavy wind, and Rogue's branches might touch another. The pain her powers caused others was temporary and slight compared to the scars it left behind on her psyche. She'd been the only student at the Grove who'd never come to accept her powers. To her, the inability to touch another, to foster real, tree connection, to shower affection upon those she loved, was a curse.

"I'm fine, sugar," she says, her southern drawl sweetly accenting her words.

"That ain't nothin' but honeyed lies." Gambit looks at her earnestly when he replies. She can't deny him the truth of his words so instead, she turns away, pretending to be momentarily spellbound by a glimmering marquee encased in white lights. It advertised Dazzler's show for later in the day.

The dry heat of the Nevada desert causes Gambit to cough. The heat he was used to, the lack of humidity, not so much. Rogue turns to face him, concern in her eyes. "You okay?"

Gambit flashes his love a sly grin which favors the right side of his face over his left. "Long as you are, chere."

"I'm—" She presses her palms together, her eyes focused on the horizon where the steeple of a white chapel stands out prominently beside billboards advertising Dazzler's concert. She's depicted in a sparkling, white jumpsuit, glitter around her eyes and smeared across her cheekbones. Light emanates from her body in all directions. She was truly electric, no matter what stage she performed on. No wonder Dazzler was adored, beloved. Meanwhile, Rogue was reviled. What other feeling could be expressed toward someone who put friends in a coma? Who nearly killed her first boyfriend, because of a simple curiosity to know what it felt like to be kissed?

"You thinkin' them bad thoughts again." Gambit frowns before shuffling the card in his hand back into the deck. He places it in his coat, next to identical ring boxes before speaking again. "You aren't plannin' on running away again, are you pitite? Cuz you know ol' Remy, he'll find you. Always will."

"I'm just not so sure about the place," her gaze roams over the crowd which continues to amble by, unable to discern to famous Variant Trees walked among them. Without their trademark outfits and extraordinary abilities on display, they were just like everyone else living life quietly and trying to get from one place to the next. "We should have gone somewhere more private."

Gambit scoffs, his lush canopy of brown leaves surprisingly lively despite the unrelenting sun boring down on them. "And what, keep hidin'? No, chere. We do too much of dat anyway. Besides--" He leans in, his face encompassing most of her view. He's a handsome tree, his features seemingly carved by artisan hands. Sharp cheekbones, square jaw, intelligent and observant eyes. A smile that lilts awkwardly to the right. His gaze swims with such honest affection, it hurts. "--you deserve so much better than dat. Why not have yourself the dress and chapel?" His smile broadens. At the same time, a familiar mischief glints in his eyes. "You already have a dashing bridegroom at your disposal, no? What you say? Sounds perfect, ya?"

He reaches out for her. Rogue means to pull away, but Gambit's too quick, and is too good at throwing her off her rhythm; he strokes her cheek with a bare finger. The touch is infinitesimal and fleeting but his warmth is incendiary. Her powers go to work, the curse inside her leeching the life force out of her beloved Remi. Slivers of his memories force their way inside her head, painting a vivid picture of a sapling in pain. A sapling abandoned, forsaken. A sapling confused by the power he possesses. Angered. Outraged. Bogged down by unquenchable loneliness. Then, hope. A throng of people promising to accept him as he was. A life of petty crime and theft thereafter and the overwhelming sense of belonging.

Next, the betrayal, one so great, it cuts him to his core, uproots the world he thought he knew, plummeting him into darkness. The agony of Gambit's pain steals the breath from Rogue's lungs. She jerks away before any more of Remi's past can meld with her present. She doesn't want to lose herself again. Not when she finally has a grasp on just what that self looks like.

Gambit is pale, water slicking his forehead. The edges of his leaves have curled inward. His branches weighed down by an unseen force. But he smiles still; he always remains smiling if it is for her.

"Why you gotta do that, huh?" Rogue snaps. She clenches her hands into fists as she fights back the tears inflicted by Gambit's memories. "You wanna die or what? Always so reckless—"

"Can't help it, Mon Amie," he says, his leaves slowly unfurling. "I always be wantin' to touch the Tree I love."

"You—" Heat floods her cheeks. She is angry. Gambit is reckless. She is happy. Gambit's touch leaves her craving more. She is confused, saddened, conflicted. She is so many things, and yet, she can only focus on the Tree before her, and the chapel in the distance. "— you are an idiot."

"Remi an idiot?" Mischief shades his features. "No, never."

Rogue takes Gambit's hand in her own, secure in the knowledge her glove acts as a barrier, hindering her power. With eyes as big as the noonday sun, Remi can't hide his surprise. He hasn't expected her to take the lead. Hell, she wasn't expecting it. But before her fears can eat away the last of her resolve, she wants to commit herself to the Tree she loves. Reckless. Finally, she was being as reckless as him.

"I've always wanted a wedding at sunset," she says, remembering fondly of her days when she thought a normal life was something attainable.

A house with a white picket fence. A couple of saplings out back on the tire swing. Taking evening tea on the back porch alongside the Tree she loved, kissing under the stars. She could still have those things–the love of a good Tree, the saplings, the white picket fence, and cozy home, tea-drinking and star gazing. And maybe Gambit was right; maybe she deserved some of her dreams becoming realities.

Gambit squeezes her hand. "Well then, what are we waitin' for, chere?" He picks up the pace. Now they are both sprinting toward the chapel in the distance. "Let's make that dream of yours come true."