I'm posting this a bit prematurely as I haven't really decided where I'm going with it. I just want to see if the idea has got legs really, so please let me know what you think (and if you have any ideas, please feel free to share).

It's AU, set in the Evolution universe. Basically everything is as we know it, except for Rogue's background and Remy doesn't work for Magneto (yet!). They will cross paths with the X-Men eventually, but for now it's just Rogue and Remy.

I expect you all know this but just in case, a mark (all lowercase) is what you call the person you intend to con, as opposed to Mark, which is a blokes name!

Chapter One

Remy watched with interest as the young woman across the bar hustled her third victim of the night. He had to say though, all her victims were willing.

"What do you say we make this game interesting?" the woman asked her companion as she rested her hands on the pool table and leaned forward, giving him and Remy a lovely view of her cleavage.

"Uh, what'd you have in mind?" the mark asked.

"I dunno, two hundred bucks?"

The mark hesitated for a moment, looking to his buddies for help. They simply jeered from their table, encouraging him.

"Okay, if you win, two hundred but if I win, I want something else."

The woman raised a haughty eyebrow.

Remy considered himself a connoisseur of women, but this one was hard to categorise. Her outfit was a classic tom-boy style, jeans, a purple tank top and a brown leather jacket. On her figure though, such simple dress only served to highlight her womanly assets, like her tight ass and ample chest. Unlike the average tomboy though, she wore heavy eye make-up, only saving herself from looking sluttish thanks to an almost nude shade of lipstick. Her auburn bobbed hair also had a weird dye job, with the front bleached a platinum blonde, almost white.

Remy couldn't help but wonder what she might smell like. Her clothing suggested that she'd smell of grass or engine oil or something similar, while her face suggested that she might prefer a perfume, perhaps a musky, sensual scent.

"If I win, you go on a date with me," the mark told her.

"Sorry, sugar, I ain't gonna be in town long enough."

"Then we'll go out tonight, after we finish."

Remy shook his head sadly; the boy was just too eager. He gave the impression that he'd be all over her the moment they left, and no woman wanted to be pawed at. They wanted to feel worshipped and adored, which is how Remy made them feel.

The woman seemed to hesitate for the first time, actually looking a little insecure for a second. In a blink though, that look was gone and Remy had to admire her poker face.

"Okay, as long as you're really sure you don't want my money."

The mark grinned in triumph, thinking that he had already won, then he returned to his friends at the table, trying to raise the funds for his bet, before slapping the $200 cash down on the table and picking up a cue.

"My break," the woman said, bending low over the table to shoot. No balls went in so the mark took his turn.

Unlike previous games, with the promise of a date (or at least the potential for one) the mark eyed his opponent more than he should have while he took his shot and missed. The game went back and forth for a while and they seemed pretty evenly matched. Suddenly though, despite the hustler doing everything she could to distract the mark, he pulled ahead.

Remy watched his next shot and although the alignment looked perfect to Remy, the ball veered wide of the pocket. The hustler took her turn and potted her remaining three balls, leaving only the black. The black ball looked to be aligned but she hadn't given the shot enough force and it slowed to a stop, just millimetres from the pocket. Then it seemed to regain some momentum and fell over the edge.

Remy smiled to himself, having figured out her trick. She was no great pool player, she was a mutant. Telekinetic if he wasn't very much mistaken. Much like her marks, he had been too busy watching her to pay too much attention to her technique.

"Sorry, bud." The redhead picked the cash up off the side of the table, quickly counted it and slipped it into her back pocket.

The mark wasn't too happy about losing, nor it seemed were his friends, though they were unhappy with their friend for losing their money, not Rogue.

"You cheated!" the mark accused her.

"You didn't tell me you were a sore loser," she replied, rolling her eyes.

"I don't know how you did it, but you cheated!" Her game wasn't good enough for him to claim that he'd been hustled and Remy doubted that he had noticed the small telekinetic bumps that Rogue had given the balls, so he was just a bad loser. As a gambler himself, Remy hated men like him. He'd learned early on to never bet more than you can afford to lose.

As the mark continued to accuse her, becoming more and more aggressive, Remy began to make his way over to make his way over to them, but she had apparently had enough of his insults and decked him. He hit the floor and the woman quickly left while attention was focused on the mark, but not before swiping a wallet from someone she passed on her way out. Remy changed direction and followed her outside. The crush by the door slowed her down a little and Remy finally got close, then as she made her way outside, he fell back, following her around the corner at a safe distance.

She walked two blocks before heading into an alley way and taking out the wallet she stole.

"You often lift wallets?" Remy asked from the alley entrance, where he was casually leaning against the wall.

She stiffened and turned to him, relaxing only slightly when she realised that he wasn't the man she had stolen this wallet from. His smirk annoyed her though.

"What's it to you?" she demanded.

"Nothin' I guess, but that sloppy technique is gonna get you caught one of these days."

The woman scoffed and turned back to her wallet.

"You missin' something, chère?" Remy taunted. Her gaze narrowed as she looked over at him. "Like this?" He pulled out the cash that he'd lifted from her back pocket.

Her hand went to her pocket and she glared when she found it empty.

"Give it back!" she said, stalking over to him.

Remy held the cash towards her, holding it between his index and middle fingers. "Relax, chère, I don't need your money."

"Then what do you want?" she asked as she snatched it back.

"I don't know," he answered honestly, one hand rubbing the back of his neck in a surprisingly disarming move. "Guess I just wanted to touch base with a fellow thief, or somethin'."

She could hear his loneliness in that statement, though she hardened her heart to it.

"You ain't with any guild, are you?" he asked.

"Guild?"

"Theive's Guild. They got chapters all over America, but they wouldn't let a rookie like you lose without supervision."

"And I suppose you are, Mr-High-And-Mighty-Thief."

"That's Master Thief, and no, I'm not with the guild. Not any more."

Though she knew she shouldn't, his words intrigued her. "Why not?"

He looked up but it took a moment for his flash, superficial smile to return. "'S a long story, chère."

She wanted to say 'I've got time,' but she knew she shouldn't. Besides, he was far too annoying and full of himself. This lonesome puppy act was probably just that anyway, an act. She was used to men trying to get into her pants, this was probably just some chat up method that she wasn't used to.

"So why the hell are you wearing sunglasses at night?" she asked instead of asking what she really wanted to.

"That depends," he answered carefully.

"Depends on what?"

"Of if I'm right about you being a mutant."

She stiffened again. "And what if I am?"

"Then I'll tell you the truth about why I wear these glasses."

She knew she could easily escape if this was a trap and besides, now she really did want to know why he wore those stupid glasses.

"I am." she confirmed.

He grinned and removed his sunglasses, revealing two ruby red irises, swimming on a jet black sclera.

"Oh wow!" she breathed, taking an unconscious step towards him.

Uncomfortable with the scrutiny, Remy went to put his glasses back on but her hand stopped him.

"Don't, I like 'em."

"You ain't scared?" he sounded uncertain.

"Why? You shoot lasers out of 'em or somethin'?"

"No."

"Then what's there to be scared of?"

He hesitated, then finally put the glasses away in his pocket.

"So, chère, you uh, I dunno, maybe wanna get a coffee or somethin'?"

Rogue knew that she should say no but he was a mutant thief, meaning he had no more desire to draw attention to them than she did, so he was probably safe. Besides, it had been so long since she'd just had a nice conversation with someone, without the intent to use, rob or hustle them.

"Sure," she finally smiled slightly. "But you're buying."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," he assured her, slipping his sunglasses back on as they headed out of the alley. "So, I can't keep calling you chère, what's your name?"

"Rogue," she answered. "You?"

"Gambit." If he wasn't getting her real name, she wasn't getting his.

"Well, I guess it's nice to meet you, Gambit."

"And I guess it's nice to meet you too, Rogue."

They found an all night diner five blocks away and seated themselves in the farthest booth, to allow a little privacy while they chatted. Thankfully there was a jukebox in the background churning out songs, so they didn't have to speak in hushed whispers.

The diner had brighter lighting compared to both the bar and the alley and in this light, Remy realised that Rogue was younger than he had originally thought. Perhaps 19, maybe 20, tops, but probably more like 16 to 18.

"So, what's a young thing like you doing all alone in the big city?" he asked once they had their coffees.

"I'm 21!" she said indignantly.

"You got I.D. to prove that?"

Her cheeks flushed slightly.

"Didn't think so. So how old are you?"

She glared at the table for a moment, then tried meeting his gaze but looked away again.

"I'm 17, all right?"

Remy nodded. "You know, if you really want to be left alone, you're gonna need some fake I.D."

"Right. I'll just pick some up at the 7-Eleven."

Remy chuckled at her sarcasm; he liked women with spirit. "I can get you fake I.D. if you want some."

She eyed him suspiciously. "And how much will that cost me?"

"Depends how much and how good you want it. If you just want a drivers licence with your picture, 500 bucks. If you want a license, passport, bank accounts in your new name, then you're talking five grand. If you want a proper I.D. one that can stand up to police and FBI checks, then that's a cool thirty grand."

Rogue couldn't even afford the 500 dollar option.

"I'll pass, thanks." She stared into the depths of her coffee mug and wrapped her hands around it, suddenly feeling a little chill.

Remy watched the girl opposite him as he signalled the waitress for refills. She was so odd. So confident and brash one moment, then so withdrawn the next. She could go from kitten to sex kitten in the blink of an eye. He wanted to know more about her, why she seemed like such a mass of contradictions, but he knew that way lie madness.

He waited until the waitress had topped up their cups and left before speaking, berating himself even as he spoke the words that he knew would lead to his downfall.

"You know, chère, in the guild we used to have training programs, where an older thief sponsored a new thief; trained them until they were ready to take the tilling-"

"The what?"

"The test to see if you're good enough to be allowed into the guild."

"So what, you're offering to sponsor me?"

"I guess I am."

"How long does the training take?"

"Well in the guild, five to seven years but with us, I'm just thinking I'll teach you what I can until we get sick of each other."

"Why?" Rogue thought that his offer sounded too good to be true, so she was naturally suspicious.

"I don't know," Remy sighed. "I guess... It's been almost three years since I was kicked out of the guild, chère, and in all that time I haven't stayed anywhere longer than a month."

She didn't need him to say any more, he was alone and lonely. She had only been on her own for a few months, but she had been lonely for years before that.

"There's something that you should know before you make that offer," she said, wondering if she was crazy to be telling him this. After all, she made it a habit to never reveal personal information and here she was, breaking her own rule.

"What?" he asked when she didn't continue.

"My mutation," she said softly, wrapping her gloved hands around her coffee mug, as though for warmth, then staring into the depths of her mug, as if it was the most interesting thing she had ever seen. "It's in the skin. You can't touch me skin to skin, not even a thoughtless gesture."

"I thought you were telekinetic?" he said. Rogue just shrugged and shook her head. "Okay, so why can't I touch you, what happens?"

"You pass out, meanwhile I'm left with your memories and powers."

He had thought her gloves had been just a fashion statement, now he knew better.

"Rogue, that's the best news I've heard all year!"

She looked up, her confusion at his happiness evident.

"Do you have any idea how I usually treat women?" he asked. "Like dirt! I use 'em like they're disposable tissues or somethin', and even the few I do care about get hurt in the end."

Rogue's nose crinkled up in distaste.

"With you though, I can't fuck things up, if you'll pardon the pun!"

He was grinning like a maniac, while Rogue was eyeing him like some kind if rabid animal or something.

"Don't you see?" he demanded. "We can be friends, Rogue. Real, honest to god, friends! And no messing it up with sex!"

Finally he noticed her sad expression and made an effort to calm down, reigning his emotions in.

"I'm sorry, Rogue, that was insensitive of me. It must be hard to live without touch."

Rogue shrugged as if to say, 'No big deal'.

Remy didn't push it.

"Anyway, if you still want anything to do with this lowly Cajun, why don't you follow me home and we can get you settled in."

Rogue looked a little shell shocked but after taking a moment to consider his offer, simply nodded and followed him out of the diner.

Remy's place was in a converted warehouse, so it had lots of exposed brickwork and a large open plan. In fact the only thing separating the bedrooms from the main living area was a wall of glass bricks.

"You live here?" she gasped, for this place had to cost a small fortune.

"Just renting for a month. The one on the right is your room, there should be bedding in the closet. The bathroom's over there." He pointed, and Rogue was relieved to see that it had an actual brick wall and a solid wooden door. "Make yourself at home and I'll see you in the morning," he said, heading into the other bedroom.

Rogue quickly made up her bed but she didn't bother unpacking. All she had in her bag was a spare pair of jeans, two changes of underwear and three tank tops, so it wasn't worth unpacking. It had been a while since she had slept in a proper bed, cheap motels being the best she could afford in recent months, and she was looking forward to the experience of sleeping on something comfortable. She undressed and climbed under the covers, almost purring with pleasure.

She slept better than she had in weeks and was awoken to the lovely scent of a good, southern breakfast. She threw her clothes on and almost ran out of the bedroom, only to stop as she felt something crunch beneath her boots.

Remy looked up from the kitchen, smiling smugly. Rogue looked around to see that the whole floor had been covered in potato chips.

"Thief test number one, chère, you got to make it to the kitchen without making a sound, or no breakfast."

Rogue smirked and levitated into the air, easily gliding over the floor. She was feeling very pleased with herself until suddenly her powers gave out and she crashed to the floor.

"What the-!"

"Power inhibitor, chère. A lot of places use them now, so you need to learn how to steal without the use of your powers."

"I don't want to rob the kind of places that use power inhibitors," she said, standing up and brushing bits of potato chips from her clothes."

"Sure, you say that now, but the fact is you're on the run form something, and you don't know what kinds of places you might have to get into, or break out of in the future."

Rogue pictured her little room, six foot by six, grey walls, grey bed and just one small, barred window, set too high to look out of. She hadn't stood a chance of escaping, so she had bided her time until she finally saw her chance. His idea of learning the skills to escape from such a place didn't sound nearly so pedantic after reliving that memory.

"Okay," she said. She walked two paces away and when she felt her powers come back, she flew the rest of the way back to the door to her room. She looked at the chips for a few moments, then around the apartment, and finally decided on her best choice. She took her boots off then to Remy's great surprise, she went en pointe and slowly made her way through the chips, putting her toes only where there were small gaps in the snack.

It had been a while since she had done this, and thankfully she didn't have to worry about breaking her toes these days, but it still hurt like a mother to be on the tips of her toes for so long, especially without ballet shoes.

After what felt like an eternity, she made it to the breakfast bar and hauled herself onto one of the stools. She rubbed her sore toes while Remy began to serve two plates of something delicious.

"You a ballet dancer?" he asked.

"Not really, but I took lessons when I was a kid," she answered as she tucked into the sausage. "Oh my god, this is so good!"

"Thank you. And I have to give you points for creativity, never seen anyone do it like that before."

"So how would you have done it?" she asked.

"On the furniture probably. There's some big jumps in there but I'm pretty athletic. The other way is to get a rope and throw it over the beams up there," he pointed up to the high ceiling. "Then you can either climb up and cross on the beam, or swing across. If you had enough time and the right equipment, you could string rope across the apartment and use that to cross."

"So this test wasn't just about being quiet, was it, the chips are a metaphor for floor sensors, aren't they?"

"Yes and no. No matter how many ways you find around it, eventually you have to actually walk across the floor in perfect silence. You just happened to pick the hardest way first." He grinned at her, clearly impressed.

"So how did you make it over the chips?" she asked.

"On my hands," he said. "Did a handstand and walked that way over the floor, clearing a space with each hand before I put it down."

"Wow. I guess you really must be athletic." Now she sounded impressed.

"Got to keep in shape to stay one step ahead of the game," he said with a wink and smug smile. Rogue just rolled her eyes, but couldn't help smiling at his bravado.

When they were done eating, Remy gave Rogue the task of going back to her room to get ready, silently once again and using another method. As a reward, he would buy her some new clothes and other necessities.

First she asked to see his method of getting across the floor, so he leaped into a hand stand and began making his way across the floor, carefully balancing on one hand as he cleared space with his other, then repeating the manoeuvre until he flipped back onto his feet at his bedroom door. He grinned triumphantly at her from across the apartment.

"Your turn," he called.

Rogue got up on the breakfast bar and jumped onto the nearest couch. Thankfully gymnastics had also been among the skills she had learned as a child. Unfortunately, when she got to the dining room table, there was nothing close that she could jump to and her bedroom door was easily ten feet away.

Still, she saw little other option. She backed up to the far edge of the table, took a running jump and spun in the air to land on her hands, three feet shy of her door, chips cracking under her as she forward rolled out of her jump.

"Are you insane!" Remy was suddenly standing over her, yelling at her. "A move like that could have got you killed! Rule one of being a thief, chère, be safe! Ain't no prize worth your life!"

Rogue got to her feet, kind of liking that he was so worried about her.

"Relax, I'm invulnerable," she said as she got to her feet, dusting herself off once again.

"I don't give a shit! What if the inhibitor reached this far, did you think of that? No, because you're used to leaping before you look! You can't go around acting like some gun toting Terminator, thinking nothing can hurt you, you got to be careful! Think, chère, please just... think," his anger tapered off towards the end of his rant and Rogue could see that he had been genuinely frightened for her.

"I'm sorry," she said sincerely. "Won't happen again."

Remy nodded and went into his own room to get dressed for the day.

Remy was pleased with her limited of mix and match wardrobe but he insisted that she needed a little more variety, and a proper back pack that she could carry her clothes in, rather than her oversized purse. Then he took her to buy a new trench coat. Rogue wasn't sure what he was looking for, and she kinda liked her brown bomber jacket, but she let him have his way. It seemed like he could teach her a lot, so she was willing to listen, for now at least.

Finally he found a black trench coat that seemed to fit the bill then bought it a size too large for her. Finally he explained that the cut and quality would allow them to sew additional pockets on the inside of the coat, without affecting the look of the garment as she wore it.

Next came a nondescript baseball cap and a black beanie.

"That hair is too distinctive," he said. "You need to be able to hide it sometimes."

Once he had bought the clothes, he led her to a passport photo machine.

She sat as it took her picture then went to join Remy outside the booth. To her surprise, he handed her a comb.

"Try to part your hair on the side and hide the streak behind your ear or something."

"Why?"

"I told you, the white is too distinctive."

Using the small mirror provided, Rogue eventually managed to disguise her white hair under the rest of her hair, though she thought that she looked like she had a bad comb-over.

When the photos had developed Remy tucked them away in a pocket and handed her the morning's purchases.

"Now, go back to the apartment and wait for me there."

"Where are you going?"

"To get you some fake I.D."

"Remy, I can't afford that," she said softly.

"You don't have to. You're my apprentice now, so you get fake I.D."

"Why?"

"Why you always asking 'why'?" he snapped, then shook his head and tried to calm down. "If you do a job with me, I don't want you getting caught. If you're picked up by the cops, then nothing will give them your real identity, plus sometimes we might have to take a plane or rent cars and whatnot as part of the job, which you need I.D. for. Please, chère, every apprentice gets this."

Rogue nodded her understanding. "Can I come?"

"Maybe next time, but these guys are top notch, they won't trust a new face, which means they might not help if you're with me."

"Okay." She sounded so young again.

"Here," he handed her the two keys to the apartment. "Make yourself at home, I won't be too long and I'll bring back some lunch, okay?"

She nodded and walked away with the bags. Remy watched her walk away until she was out of sight, then he turned and headed in the opposite direction.

He knew that he was getting in over his head. Poisonous skin or not, he already had feelings for this girl and he knew that they would only deepen with time. Still, he had started this and maybe by the time he had to leave her, he could at least have taught her a few skills to help her survive.