Author's Note: So, this occured to me recently and I started writing. However, since it is AU, some of the backstory is slightly changed, mostly to make it fit into the time period. I fully intend for this to go the ROMY route (because Gambit and Rogue are awesome), with maybe just a smidge of JOTT (because I can't help it, I love those two). Any feedback would be greatlly appreciated, because I'm not really sure how I feel about this, so please let me know.

"Let me outta here! Yah can't just throw a woman in jail!" the young woman shouted. "Ah didn't do anything!" Well, actually, she didn't do anything on purpose, but that was just a technicality to these people. If they even believed her, which they probably didn't.

"You're probably safer in here than you are out there," the guard growled as he locked the door behind her.

"Please, Ah didn't…Please, Ah'm innocent!" she continued shouting over the sounds of the mob outside the prison. Of course, her protests meant nothing to the guards that had just thrown her into her cell. They didn't mean anything to the angry but frightened mob outside, either, and she was damn sure that they weren't going to mean anything to a judge. Apparently, from the groans she was hearing from next door, they didn't mean anything to her fellow prisoners, either.

"Please! Ah'm sorr-"

"Hush, before you say something you're going to regret," a voice hissed.

"Who—Who's there?"

"Just be quiet and listen," the voice continued. "Back here, in the corner."

For the first time, she took a moment to take in her new surroundings. The cell was small, with hay covering the stone floors in a half-hearted attempt to make it less uncomfortable. Of course, she was quite sure that they didn't actually care about the comfort of a criminal, but hay was better than the cold stones beneath it. The walls were wooden, and quite thin, except the outside wall, which was thick stone. Her door had a tiny, barred window, as did the wall to the outside. Since it was well into the early hours of the morning, the only light available was that from the torches in the hallway, which really was not much at all.

She began to feel the wall, looking for some sort of opening or crack. Her small, gloved hands slid easily through a whole in the splintering wood. In the faint light, she could see the faint outline of another woman on the other side. Unfortunately, she couldn't see her face or anything else about her. "Who are you?" she asked again, her voice a bit sharper this time.

"The official title would be Lady Jean Summers, but that isn't important right now. You have to calm down and stop yelling. If you don't, you're going to reveal more than you want to."

"What do yah mean?"

"If you say that you didn't do anything on purpose, the guards will hear your confession, and you're as a good as gone," the other woman said, her voice low and urgent.

"How do yah know all…how did yah know Ah didn't do it on purpose? Ah never said anything out loud—"

"But you were thinking it, and when you're having a fit of hysterics, everything just slips out. And keep your voice down. The guard has really good hearing."

"Stop snapping at meh. Ah don't know about yah, but this is a lot for meh tah take in. And how do yah know what Ah'm thinkin'?"

The Lady Jean sighed in frustration, then was silent for a long time, and her companion felt every moment of it. Her heart was racing, her breathing labored. She could still hear the sounds of the mob outside the prison walls, calling for her blood. A chill ran down her spine, and she knew that there really was no hope for her. Not after what she had done to her husband. Even if it was an accident.

"I don't have any idea what you're talking about," the Lady Jean finally replied.

"Yah just told meh exactly what Ah was—"

"Hush! From the sounds of the mob outside, you're in here for the very same reason I am—"
"Murder?"

"No, though I'm sure they'll try to blame me for that, too. They're calling for Matthew Hopkins to inspect you. That means they think that you are a witch."

The newcomer was quiet for a long time, taking in what she had just heard. It had not really gotten through to her that she was going to prison for witchcraft. Not that she practiced magic, she had been raised a devout Baptist, though her new husband had not been. He was a proud member of the Church of England. At this point, she didn't think that any of that mattered. Not when there was a crowd outside determined to metaphorically have her head on a platter…at least she hoped it was metaphorical. Not that hanging would be any more pleasant.

"Ah'm not a witch. Ah didn't m—"

"It doesn't matter. Public opinion is what matters. The guard wasn't wrong when he said that you're safer in here than you are out there. At least in here you'll get a trial. That buys you some time."

"Buys meh some time? What do yah mean?"

"You and I both know what happens to witches. At least they can't get to us in here. Given that we're both nobi—" She cut herself off before she screwed up and let something slip that she didn't mean to say. "Tell me about yourself," she whispered, trying to correct her near-mistake.

"Ah'm Anna Marie Robbinson…Ah guess now it's the Lady Anna Marie Robbinson. That's mah married name. Ah was a Darkholme before," she said. "Ah was married earlier tahday—"

"Your accent…where are you from?" Jean asked, despite already knowing the answer. Most of society had been taken aback when they had heard that Lord Coty Robbinson was going to marry a colonist. She was the daughter of a rich plantation owner, yes, and her dowry was enough to keep him in business for the rest of his life, but she was still a colonist. Most of them thought she was not fit for English high society, but the arrangement suited Coty: he had a shipping business, the Darkholmes needed someone to ship their goods. It seemed like a mutually beneficial deal.

"Ah was born in the colonies…Carolina. Mah father needed someone tah ship his goods, and Coty owned a shippin' company. He did—does good business, and we were the wealthiest family in Carolina…the match made sense. O' course, mah dowry wasn't small, so that was beneficial, too…what's gonna happen tah us?"

Of course she had heard what happened to witches: they confessed and died in prison, or they didn't confess and were hanged for their honesty. Neither situation was really sitting right with Anna Marie. In fact, despite the recent and…interesting developments in her life, she still wanted to live it. There were still so many things that she wanted to do, and the thought that she might not ever get to do them…well, to say that it pained her was the understatement of the seventeenth century. It left her feeling completely overwhelmed and disoriented.

"Calm down, you're giving me a headache," Jean whispered. "I'll explain shortly."

"Well Ah wanna know now," she snapped.

"Look, I'll explain in due time, but not right now. Give me a few minutes."

Realizing that she wasn't going to say anything until she deemed it the right time, Anna Marie quieted and tried to focus on her calming herself. This eventually turned into pacing until the guard banged on the door to quiet her.

"Stop pacing and sit down," he growled. Jean had been right, his hearing was quite amazing. She hadn't been making any noise other than the rustling of her skirts against the hay on the floor. Not wanting to anger him any further, she settled in the corner other back corner.

"If 'y could calm down, 'dat would be great," a male voice whispered. Her heart jumped into her throat. "Right here, chere." A large, male, gloved hand slid through a large crack in the wall. She could also hear the sound of shackles clanking as the hand moved.

"Who are yah?" she asked, surprised but also delighted at discovering a new companion, even if they were separated by a wall.

"'Dat's not importan'. What's importan' is 'dat—"

"Hush, you two! I'm not deaf," the guard barked, banging on Anna Marie's door once again. "You're pushing your luck, Lady Robbinson. I'd keep my mouth shut if I were you."

"Do what he says. His shift ends soon," he said. Knowing that the guard was over hearing them, he addressed him directly. "Don' it, mon ami?" Anna Marie could have sworn that she heard him growl in response. But animals growl, not people. Sure enough, several minutes later, someone came to relieve the guard on duty. Even the guy taking his place sounded a bit afraid of him.

"Why is everyone so afraid of him?" she whispered once the guard was gone.

"'Y should ask Jean. She's been in here longer 'dan Remy."

"Remy?"

"'Dat's meh. Remy LeBeau, at 'y service, ma'am."

"How do yah know about Jean?" she asked, noticing that they wouldn't be able to speak because of her cell. Remy was silent for a long time before he answered.

"'Y should ask Jean," he answered. "She knew 'im better 'dan Remy."

"Well Jean don't wanna talk."

"'Da man 'dat was in 'dis cell before 'y was her husband. 'Dey took him away yesterday," Remy said quietly. She was completely mesmerized by his strange accent and velvet voice. She meant to ask him where he was from but she was distracted by the faint sounds of someone crying. Knowing that it was coming from the other side of her cell, she left her new companion and went to check on Jean. She couldn't see her, but she could hear the sobs that Jean was trying to muffle. Concerned for her new friend, she asked, "What's goin' on, Jean?"

"You want to know what's going on? What's going on is that all of us: you, me, Scott—my husband—and Remy are all suspected of witchcraft. Sometime soon, the Witch-Finder General is going to come calling with his crew of followers to examine us, and I'm sure they are going to find plenty of evidence that we're witches, despite the fact that nothing we do is our fault."

"The Witch-Finder General?"

"Matthew Hopkins. He goes around in the area looking for witches, and when he thinks—excuse me, knows, because that man is never uncertain—he has found one, he examines them and does all sorts of ridiculous things to them to prove that they're a witch. Then they either confess or don't. Either way, we're probably going to die if we don't find some way out of here."

"Is that why we're all bein' held separately?"

"Yes. They don't want us all together because our so-called powers might overwhelm them.

"So…why are yah here? Ah mean, other than the obvious."

"Scott and I were married six months ago. We've known each other for ages, though. We grew up on neighboring estates. Ever since we were little, I've always been able to…hear what other people are thinking. I can also move small objects with my mind. When Scott turned fourteen, he started having…well, let's just say that the expression "if looks could kill" definitely applies. One day some peddler—claiming to be a scholar—turns up around the estates and tells Scott that he has something to help him keep things under control. Glasses made of ruby quartz. They did just the trick, and Scott hasn't had a problem since then. Until a few nights ago…I didn't mean to, but…I've been having nightmares lately, and one night, I made the entire bedroom shake. They shook the glasses off his face, burned a hole through half the house, in full view of all the help, who promptly called the police and had us dragged here. They took Scott yesterday…

"It's hard…your cell used to be my husband's. They suspected things... and they thought we were consorting with Satan together. He's still here, but…I used to have him close, and I could slip my hand through the wall, and he would hold it, and I would just know that somehow, everything is going to be okay. Now he's gone, and I just want him back," Jean whispered, trying to hide the tears in her voice. "I keep trying to think of something else, to take my mind off things, but nothing works. If it weren't for our link, I think I'd been insane."

"Link?"

"We hear each other's thoughts, if we project them strongly enough."

"Oh…so yah can talk tah him…rahght now?"

"Yes. I am, actually," she replied sadly.

"Ah guess Ah'll leave yah tah that, then." Anna Marie moved away from the wall she shared with Jean and back to the side she shared with this strange Remy LeBeau. It was odd. She was still afraid—definitely afraid of dying and the apparent tests to come, but now her curiosity about this mysterious, velvet-voiced stranger was enough to help push the fear from her mind. She pressed her cheek against the wall between them, peeking through the crack, only to find a red eye staring back at her. She didn't pull away. Instead, she pressed herself closer to the wall, determined to get closer. There was something magnetic about this man, and she wanted to be closer to him, if only to figure out what it was.

"Ah, 'y flatterin' meh, chere," Remy whispered through the crack.

"How did yah know what ah was thinkin'?" she asked, fascinated at the new discoveries this night had brought her. She was thankful for them all—except that they had come in a prison—but mostly for this one, though she had no idea why. He was making her feel all sorts of things, at least, his voice was, and none of them were very appropriate for a young widow.

"'Dat's Remy's t'ing. He can feel what 'y feel. 'Y're…curious, an' charmed, an'…well, 'y're not havin' very ladylike feelin's," he said, his voice sending shivers down her spine.

"Is that all yah can do?"

"Non. Remy ain't no one trick pony. Ah…we'll say "charge" t'ings. Ah can…make normal t'ings inta explosives."

"Then what are yah still doin' in here?" she asked, wondering if he might be her ticket out of here.

"'Dere's gloves strapped on mah hands. Ah'm not gonna blow mah hands off tah get outta here."

"Oh…rahght…Where are yah from? Yah have an accent…"

As she spoke, she slid her gloved fingers through the slot in the wall, and felt his warm fingers wrap around her own. A little shiver of pleasure shot through her at the tiny touch. She heard him gasp on the other side.

"Remy's from all ovah, chere. Let me tell yah 'bout it…"

The problem was, not matter how much she wanted to stay awake to hear Remy's story, or to tell him hers, the excitement and terror of the night had taken it's toll. She finally stopped to comprehend what was going on around her, and it hit her like a ton of bricks. Before Remy could tell her anything about himself, she was already asleep, her hand still entwined with his. Hours after she had fallen asleep, he still hadn't let go.

Author's Note: So, there it is. I hope you enjoyed. Whatever your feelings, please just let me know, because I'm super nervous about this thing. Also, Matthew Hopkins is a real historical figure, but I am taking some liberties (obviously, since I didn't know the man.) Anyway, feedback, please, because y'all are super awesome like that.