Disclaimer: It's Marvel's. Not mine. Unfortunately. If it was mine, I wouldn't have allowed whatever on earth is going on in that Rogue mini-series- such as Remy being blind, for reasons unknown to me, and then suddenly unblind, and Rogue going off with dream-guy, after accidently being hit by blinded Gambit trying to hit the guy she was about to kiss, while he nearly gets himself killed running out into the street (and she doesn't go after him!)and chases after a different Rogue who appears out of nowhere and who he can see- and if anyone who happens to reading this can explain that, to a humble soul who has to wait for the graphic novels to come out and the library to get them unless I read everything on the shelves when in Walden Books, it'd be deeply appreciated. And if I just horribly confused you, none of that has anything to do with my story and just ignore my rantings and move on. Plus, I can't hate them too much 'cause they finally dropped Bobby and put Rogue with Gambit in Ultimate X-Men. So that's okay.

A/N: Well, hi. I'm not exactly new to fanfiction, as I've been on for about a year and a half, and do have a story published under a friend's name under Harry Potter because it was one I told to my brother and sister and when I wrote it down, it received a nice response, so there's that. And I think it's improved my writing a lot, but it's not done, so, shush, don't tell anyone I'm here. Especially not my mother, as I'm supposed to be studying for midterms. But I wanted to try my hand at this, sincethese charactersfascinate me and I love writing. I live and breathe by words, in books and anywhere else. I don't know what anyone who reads this will think of it, maybe you'll hate it, maybe you'll like it, I'd like to know either way. I had an idea I thought was fun and decided I'll write it, and I'll continue to write it, except if I get absolutely no response I probably just won't bother to post it. But any reviews would be very, very nice. Though I'm not one to talk, as I'm now going around desperately trying to review all the stories I read while stuck after school all fall (which I shortly will be again, for even longer, with the musical at the guy's school down the street) and can't review because they can track anything outgoing even faintly resembling an e-mail, or an attachment, or saving a story to a computer, because we have a crazy computer teacher evil lady who stalks the schools. And when I'm all alone at my school, nearly an hour's drive from home and waiting for a bus, breaking into classrooms is so easy when I really want to read something. So if you're reading this, there's an even chance I've read your story and a review from me (now that I have the Internet! And a shiny computer all for me!) will be showing up with apologies sooner or later.

Anyway, this is pretty much an AU, though not by too far, as you'll probably figure out within a chapter or two. The factor that changed things a lot won't be too hard to figure out once it get going. I hope I'm not overly confusing, or too subtle or unsubtle, but it was fun to write and my next chapter is this close to being done. So, maybe, with any luck, you'll enjoy this. Or not, but be honest, please. Though not bitingly cruel, just honest. What you like, don't like, flat out. So, read, and review, if you don't mind.

Oh- secondary disclaimer: I did something I never, ever do, but I did. This one Ultimate issue I read in Walden Books while flipping through one of the graphic novels really highly influenced this chapter. Not that Ultimate's my favorite, or that I've read enough of it to know much about it- just #1,7,8 (not the comics, the collections) and the recent ones I managed to skim. Completely from my memory, I half reconstructed a scene from one or another, since I really liked it and wanted to use it, as it kind of gave me the idea. The first one about Gambit, 'you never forget your first love' or something like that. Just a bit of it, since I really liked a few of the lines. And I paraphrased a few lines from the novel Scaramouche, since my father says it's got the best opening line in all of literature and that George Lucas stole it's ending for Empire Strikes Back (which, if he ever read it, he completely did). I'll never, ever do it again. Swear. Just don't kill me for stealing it. If you've never read that issue, ignore everything I just said, since I didn't take that much, anyhow.

Okay- here it goes:

He was born with a gift of laughter, and a sense that the world was mad. And that was all his patrimony, excepting only the strange witchery that made his eyes burn like flames against a starless night. His very paternity was obscure, although his neighbors in the city of his upbringing had long since dispelled the cloud of mystery that hung about it. When a man of considerable wealth and reputation, for no apparent reason, announces himself the appointed guardian of a boy fetched no man knew whence, and thereafter cares for the lad's rearing and education, the most unsophisticated of the neighbors - and it must be granted, in this particular region, such were very few- perfectly understood the situation. It was only, surely, for the sake of his wife, God rest her soul, that the boy had not been brought forth sooner. His skill was such that it could not be doubted he was truly the son of the so-called King of Thieves. As the cleverest could grasp, he was the son of Jean-Luc LeBeau- in every sense except the biological.

One who had been raised in the heart of New Orleans, who had been taught to evade and destroy even the most formidable of security systems, who had proved his worth time and time again, would not be expected to be standing in his present position, or what it had been a week ago. Yet, there he stood, on a corner in the Bronx, doing card tricks for chump change. He wasn't even wearing sunglasses. Besides, he was clearly getting sloppy, as he'd failed to notice that he was being filmed.

Annoyed, the young woman tapped her foot as she watched the scene play out, glancing to the woman showing her the video tape. Of course, she'd never thought to look there. The hotels of New York, sure, but certainly not the streets. It only went to show how little she knew him.

His voice suddenly emerged, startling her, as obnoxiously arrogant and positively charming as he always managed to be. He'd stepped just slightly in front of a pretty young thing in a business suit who'd been about to pass by, shuffling a deck of cards, ignoring momentarily the small crowd gathered around him. He smiled as she looked up, bothered at finding this young man in her line of vision. "Spare a moment fo' a trick, chère?" he questioned mildly.

The woman watching the tape glanced to the one who had taken it, wondering how on earth she had managed to get the sound, despite the apparent distance. He looked good, she had to admit, even in the plain white shirt and black slacks he was wearing. He looked younger on camera than in person, less devilish in the blinding light of day, and she wondered absently where he'd hidden his trenchcoat. Unless he'd blown it up like he had the last one.

The dark-haired woman he was speaking to paused, hesitating at the crowd around him. He'd always picked his targets well. He'd gotten her interested. From her body language, she seemed immediately hooked, though her tone was skeptical. "You're intending to, what, find the card I draw?"

His smile broadened, not quite reaching his shadowed eyes. With a flick of his index finger, he sent the top card off of the deck, floating up into the air and twirling absently towards the ground. The viewer wondered what card it was, certain it was purposeful, as the woman on screen got a very plain look at which card it was. Directly in front of her eyes, it shimmered with a glow appearing pink on screen and rippled with a slow, burning flame which traveled up the card. It dissolved softly into ash, sprinkling onto the ground. A few enthusiastic tourists applauded.

The snappily dressed young woman looked impressed. The woman watching the small screen was as well, though she wouldn't admit it. He'd improved his control measurably in the past year, if he was able to do that. Normally charging a card resulted in large blasts.

The young man held up a finger, signaling one thing more. Handing the young woman the deck, he held out his arms, plainly demonstrating he had no sleeves, then in a flash reached behind her ear and produced the card in one smooth motion. He turned it around, examining it obviously, "accidentally" allowing the crowd to get a very good look at it, and handed it to her as he took back the deck. "Dat yo' card, chère?"

She blinked at it, then looked up. "Very impressive," she said, her voice subtly shifted. The woman watching flicked her hair unconsciously, bothered by the other woman's obvious interest. "Got any other tricks?"

"'Ave an endless supply," he said, looking at her slyly. "Fo' one dat asks nicely." He lowered his voice, not very subtly. "Some ain't meant fo' de public, eit'er."

"Is dis all?" the woman watching demanded, eyes flaring as she looked sideways with narrowed eyes. "I'd expected more out o' you than seein' him flirtin'-"

"There is one more bit that you may find interesting," the other woman responded smoothly, flicking a button on the remote she held.

The figures fizzled out of view for a moment, hidden behind static as the image leaped forward in time, then reappeared at once, the woman in the middle of speaking, the crowd from around them dispersed. "-9-3-4. You got it?" she asked the man in a tone she clearly hoped was appealing.

Scribbling on a card with a shiny gold pen that plainly was his, he looked up, eyes flashing. "I'd be careful to get da number of a fille like y'self right, non?"

The woman toyed with her attractive, long dark hair that looked like it belonged on a shampoo commercial. She had to know he'd never call. Maybe he didn't have a phone. "On second thought…" she said slowly, taking the pen and card from him and probably batting her eyelashes, "maybe you could meet me at this address in fifteen minutes."

"Dat's enough," the young woman said sharply, but the older woman gestured at the screen, signaling her to be patient.

Face not betraying a smirk, he took the card and glanced at it. Shrugging his shoulders, he tilted his head at her and said, "Or I could walk y' over dere right now…"

"That's alright," she said swiftly, turning with a swish of her hair and looking back at him. "I'll wait for you there."

Then the lazy grin crept back over his face, as he stood by himself, watching her strut away. He turned at last to a small pile at the wall behind him. He slung a long coat, and some other junk the woman watching couldn't recognize, over his shoulder. "So," he mused quietly to himself on the screen, and the woman looked closely for a microphone, wondering where on earth it could be to pick this up so well, "da girl wants da boy, but she don't want to be seen wit' da boy." He paused briefly and shrugged to himself, features not at all displeased. "Okay. S'cool."

Whistling the beginnings of a tune that nearly made the young woman watching cry out, wanting to either slap him, kill him or kiss him, he turned into the front of an alley, the camera following, only suddenly to be halted by a looming figure. For someone to loom over the young man was not an everyday occurrence, as he was considerably taller than most men and hardly shorter than most others. Yet this man dwarfed him.

"LeBeau," the large figure snarled, at first appearing to be a homeless fellow with his long mane of yellow hair, contorted features, and ragged clothes.

Remy LeBeau reeled back slightly, presumably from the stench, but retained an impassive expression, if stepping into a fighting stance. "D' I know y', mon ami?" he wondered mildly.

The bestial man didn't respond, merely glowered.

The woman watching knew that would get to him. Remy didn't like silences. As much as he was a loner, he wasn't a man very adept at handling being alone. It was why he was always drawing companionship, mingling in bars. He shifted, not enjoying a staring match. Withdrawing his cards back from his pocket, he flipped them back and forth between each hand. Looking at the cards, as opposed to the man, he said in a sneaky, unkind tone, gesturing to himself, "Y' 'spect Remy t' take dat fo' a yes? See, dat worries him a bit. Mos' folk he don' 'member but should are pretty femmes." A humorous note entered his tone as he backed up, ever so slightly, just out of the man's reach. "But, see, if Remy mayhaps was a bit tipsy, as 'e's been known to be, an' wit' y' hair an' all… he supposes 'e might 'ave made a mistake. Don't t'ink he's made dat kind o' mistake before," he commented, backing up even further as a faint light began to dawn on the almost creature's face. "'Ticularly wit' a homme o' yo', ahm, stature." A slight growl rose from his throat as the young man continued, purposely provoking him. "T'ough, Remy could perhaps 'ave stolen the ugly one's femme, non? Couldn't say I'd blame her," he added, ducking as the snarling man swiped at him. He failed miserably, Remy darting easily out of his reach. His sudden movement led his trenchcoat and the other tiny bundle to tumble off his shoulder, though.

He charged a card almost at once, the brightness and depth of the reddish glow suggesting he'd been building kinetic energy in his hand for a while before transferring it to the card. He tossed it expertly, but the lion-like man dodged with shocking agility. The card hit a garbage can, which shuddered briefly as the card's pink light enveloped it, then exploded, the force of it setting the monstrous man off balance. The bystanders, walking into the frame of the camera, glanced over quickly at the burning garbage can, but shrugged their shoulders and continued on their way. One or two, paying more attention, were pulling out their cell phones, and the watcher guessed that Remy would not be returning to this particular corner anytime soon.

LeBeau had taken advantage of the explosion to step into a roundhouse kick, sending the man back far enough for him to charge several cards at once, though from their glow they were not charged powerfully enough to kill the man. He threw two with his left, three with his right, most of which the thrown-off man managed to avoid, but one card shot forward to impact against the fur coat of the large man, exploding at once, as another hit the man directly in the face and acted likewise. The thoroughly staggered creature, clothes smoking and aflame, face covered with his hands, slammed back against the wall. LeBeau swept up his trenchcoat and sack in one smooth motion, flicking a dismissive, two-fingered salute in the other fellow's direction.

Sprinting away, he headed directly towards the camera, glancing about at the passerbys, who were mostly ignoring him. His trenchcoat billowed as he pulled it on, flapping in the wind. He came suddenly, remarkably close to the camera, only inches away, but showed no notice of it. Remy turned towards the right, departing swiftly, and the screen was suddenly frozen on his face.

"This is the correct young man, is it not?" The smooth, deep-throated purr came from the cloaked figure holding the remote.

Belladonna Boudreaux sat down, smoothing her sleek blond hair, for no real purpose, as not a strand was out of place. She intently studied his face in profile, insuring herself this was no hoax. Even with the slightly distorted picture, his hair was the same rich brown she recalled, glinting brightly with the distinctly reddish tint he'd always had. Straight, but tousled from its constant battle with the wind, it was blown to the side, looping up to flop gracefully down on the left side, a few strands blowing into his eyes. It was shaggier and less well kept than she recalled. His brows, with their slight, perpetual quirk, were furrowed with something between confusion, anger, and concern. There was stubble dotted across his jaw, covering his angular chin which squared away ever so slightly directly under his mouth. Belladonna knew she didn't seem very professional, gazing at the screen so intensely, but she couldn't tear her blue eyes away from his lips, unable to bring herself to meet his eyes. Those firm, smirking lips, which she'd thought had been made solely for kissing her and murmuring sweet nothings into her ear, were set into a frown.

"Miss Boudreaux?" the other woman prompted, voice dryly amused.

"It's him," Belladonna said, looking away. The sight of him filled her with equal longing and loathing. It was the former she hadn't anticipated.

"As I assured you," the figure said smugly, adjusting her hood. "Now, if you would allow me to speak to your father as I first requested…"

Belladonna looked up sharply. "No," she said firmly. "Mon père is not to be troubled with such… trivial mat'ers." Her accent was somewhat more diluted than that of LeBeau.

The figure made a soft noise that might have been the beginnings of a laugh. "I am well acquainted with Marius… in ways even you are not. I know quite well what his desires on this matter are. And I am equally aware of the offered reward on the young man's whereabouts. It isn't everyday someone kills Marius' only son. Unless your brother's death would be a matter you consider trivial, Belladonna-"

"Y' dare to speak of Julian in dis fashion?" the young woman challenged in a deadly voice, and the knife she drew slowly was not unseen. The pair in her sleeves, however, was relatively unnoticeable.

"I merely remarked that your father would be eager to see this tape… and rapid to act on the information," the deep, almost watery voice responded.

Belladonna grimly re-sheathed her knife, face smoothly impassive. "I'll pay y' double what my fat'er has offered if y' stay silent on dis matter," she said calmly, sitting and reaching for a pen as she withdrew a small leather book from a nearby drawer.

Now, the woman definitely laughed, and the young woman tensed, wanting to drive a knife into her heart. "My dear," she said condescendingly, "your father and I have had an understanding when it comes to our respective businesses for many years. He would not appreciate such a betrayal… and my employer would not appreciate the loss of the goodwill of Boudreaux and his kin. It isn't money I'm after."

Belladonna jabbed the pen furiously into her checkbook, eyes blazing. "Den why go t'rough me like any common bargainer, if y' and mon père have such an… understanding?" she demanded.

The woman paused, drawing back her hood, and Belladonna, even having met her before, could not help but step back slightly. "There is… something else that you could offer me."

"And dat would be?" the young woman said suspiciously, crossing her perfectly shaped, long legs.

The woman paced slightly, her fluid motions rapid. She was not enjoying this. "I have been advised by an.. associate of invaluable… instinct and insight that- it might be in my best interest to have your services on retainer."

Belladonna nodded, clicking her heels together as she fiddled with her skirt. "Y're demandin' a favor, den. To be called in when y' see fit." She narrowed her eyes. "I don't like it."

The woman shrugged, reaching for the remote to eject the tape. "In which case, I'll just take-"

"No!" Belladonna said sharply, gripping the woman's hand tightly. Smoothly, the older woman slid it out of her grip, glaring dangerously. "He's mine," she snarled. "Mine to kill, to deal wit' as I see fit."

The woman looked bemused. "Nevertheless-"

"I'll do as y' ask," Belladonna said furiously. "He knows nothin' of dis exchange, non? Tell my fat'er a word, an' the deal be off. Comprenez-vous?"

The woman nodded smoothly, and smiled rather smugly. "I suppose you'll wish to keep the tape?"

Belladonna glared at her. "Y' get out o' my sight."

"I'll take that as a yes," she said, tilting her head at her. The woman gathered the items she had brought with her. Nodding, she turned to leave, and then paused. Confidently, she turned ever so slightly. "I don't suppose you wish to know why Victor Creed is after your young paramour?"

The daughter of Marius Boudreaux objected to her terminology, but her astute ears caught onto something else. "The beast, 'e was Creed? De Sabretooth?"

The woman flashed her teeth in a dark, cruel, smile. "Kills more men in a month than your father will in a lifetime. But I wouldn't worry… he's not intending to kill the young man."

"What d'y' know?" Belladonna said in a commanding voice, leaping up and placing her hands firmly on the table.

The woman looked at her scoldingly, pulling up her hood. Mockingly, she said as she turned away, "You wouldn't wish to be in debt to me twice over, Miss Boudreaux. You'll hear from me sooner or later. Don't forget. And I will continue to be aware of the whereabouts of Mr. LeBeau… as aware as I am certain you will be, now that you know his location. Refuse to fulfill your debt, and your father will know not only of your betrayal, but exactly where he may be found. Do have a nice day." She swept off, shutting the door behind her with a resounding clang.

Furious, Belladonna threw her knife into the closed wooden door, where it stuck and bobbed up and down before coming to a rest. At least confident in the knowledge her father would know nothing of went on this room, she now had the difficult task of making sure no one else found out where he was. Or… she could just kill him at once herself.

She glanced to the screen, fuming at the man who had killed her brother. She hated him with as much passion as she had once felt for him, and it didn't help he was still so damnably good-looking. Remy was gorgeous, to the extent that Belle, absolutely confident in her own looks, had at times wondered what a man like him was doing with her. She didn't like that feeling.

Maybe it was his eyes that made him beautiful. His height and form, the shape of his nose and face, insured there was nothing remotely feminine about him, and yet he was undoubtedly beautiful. Belladonna, sipping from a glass of water she'd grabbed off the table, flung it to the floor, watching it shatter and wishing every little piece of glass was embedded into that beautiful face, making it bleed the very color of his glinting eyes.

Her brother had no chance against him, she argued to herself, despite the fact that he was clearly the better fighter. There wasn't a single shifty, lousy thief under the thumb of Jean-Luc LeBeau that could best a son of the finest assassin in all of New Orleans- and though few would believe it, the city was quite the hotbed for assassins, partly responsible for the high crime rate. But Remy- with his ruby on onyx eyes which at times seemed to glow- he was a mutant. One of them you read about in the papers, that made little kids pulls the covers over their heads at night. Sure, he hadn't blown anything up, but he never could have beat Julian if it had been a fair fight. Never. His skill was all due to his power, she decided firmly. There was a little voice in the back of her head, though, which reminded her of how long Remy had worked when he was younger to master all the skills of combat, how desperate he had been to prove himself to his adopted father, how hard he had pushed himself. She angrily dismissed this traitorous part.

She glared at the screen, wondrous as she forced herself to meet the frozen image of his eyes. He was still stunningly breathtaking. "Problem bein', he knows it," she hissed to herself, thinking of how his eyes laughed, knowing all the women wanted him, couldn't help it, how they laughed when she'd told him other men envied him. How they'd laughed at her, knowing she couldn't resist him.

She still couldn't, she knew. He should die and she wanted him to suffer, painfully, for him to look at her eyes and see them laugh. She wondered if he still wanted her- he'd told her he loved her. Grabbing her sleek leather coat, she let out a laugh at the screen. She hadn't loved him. Wanted him, yes, wanted him to want her, oh, yes, but loved him? No. She'd let him believe she had, though.

Belladonna Boudreaux looked at his eyes once more, noticing something strange, then turned it off silently and pocketed the small disc the image had been taped on. A night on the town would do her some good, she decided to herself. It wouldn't do to mull over any favor. She'd probably just have to kill someone, anyway. She grinned. Belle decided she'd have to find someone to kill tonight. Someone who reminded her of him. She could have a roaring good time, if she played her cards right. Belladonna frowned at the thought of cards.

She headed out the door, fingering the disk as she checked with her other hand to make sure her favored flat daggers were all sheathed, leather loops under the fabric holding them in places suited for quick access. When she didn't want him anymore, she would go and kill him. Make him suffer first. It was her right, and only hers. For tonight, she'd take a step towards ridding her mind of all desire for him.

She dismissed all the thoughts about his eyes, which he wasn't even bothering to hide. Remy had always enjoyed fights. He'd practically glowed after a proper scrap. But after fighting with Sabretooth, though he clearly knew not who he fought….

His eyes hadn't been laughing. They'd been full of pain. Not fear, or the pain of an injury, but heartbreak. She'd seen, over the years, his eyes become harder, darker, after arguments with his father and especially when he had returned from Paris shortly before Julian's death, but always they'd danced with derision. It'd been a year- but his eyes had looked that way, for the first time, when she'd stabbed his shoulder, narrowly missing his heart, when she'd seen what he had done. They hadn't changed in that time. Even as his mouth was smiling, as he was speaking to the girl who he'd probably never gone to meet after his encounter with Sabretooth, she thought his eyes would still be full of that pain, even when false, hard laughter came from his lips.

Good. She took pleasure in the thought it may have been because of her. She'd forgiven him the stabs of jealousy he'd caused her when he stole the hearts of other women- after a while, of course. She would never forgive him for stealing her brother away.

It was delightful to think she had stolen the laughter from Remy LeBeau.