Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to X-Men, the movies, the comics, etc. etc. This is purely fanfiction to feed my own desire.

Warnings: Please note that this is a mature rated fanfiction. It is rated that way for use of language, suggestion of nonconsensual sex, and consensual sexual situations (in later chapters). That said, please realize I also try my best to keep the writing about sexual encounters as tasteful as possible.

Author's Note: There's just a few things that I need to let you guys know about: while I feel like I can spin an interesting plot and story, you must note that this is a fanfiction created for my personal take on the X-Men World and is completely AU [alternate universe]. I take most of what I write from the movies, some from what I know of the comic universe, and the rest from my head. Also note that this is a Gambit/OFC [own-female/fictional-character]. And it does revolve around this coupling. But – that said – please give Brinley a chance to get rounded out completely – I have tried my hardest to give her a complete past and full personality, complete with quirks, pros, and cons. Also, this piece was brought about by my own fruitful imagination and Vanessa Carlton's newest CD, where you will find the song "Heroes and Thieves".

What's the Timeline: I'm taking a LOT of liberties of mixing the movies (all 4) and (sometimes) comic universes. This is to help you situate yourself in what to expect in the story. "Heroes and Thieves" is set after X-Men 2. Kind of. I'm writing in a slightly different explanation of the flood – I don't want Jean to drown, and I don't need her to be (fully) psycho Phoenix that they portray in X3. So, that means that Jean, Scott, and the Professor are still alive. Ta-da! Here's where it gets screwy: I love X-Men Origins, and I like how they portrayed Gambit. :-/ Therefore, I take most of my Gambit from Taylor Kitsch's Gambit, seen in X-Men Origins. That makes him about the same age as he was in Origins in this story (mid-twenties, maybe? I haven't done the research). Other characters will (probably – unless at the last minute they get edited out) appear that were either in X3 or the comics, such as Belladonna (which I may have taken liberties with how I portray her, too) and Hank McCoy. Oh, and I love Live Schreiber's Creed/Sabretooth instead of Tyler Mane's Sabretooth (first X-Men Movie). To me,Schreiber plays a much more interesting & well-rounded character…so, um, if Sabretooth shows up, it's Schreiber's Creed/Sabretooth. I just confused everybody even more, didn't I? :( Sorry!

***

Heroes and Thieves

Chapter 1: Cell Breaks

Heroes and Thieves at my door
I can't seem to tell them apart anymore

-Vanessa Carlton, "Heroes and Thieves"

***

It was cold and dark in the cells; yellow sunlight sparkled in the silence, cut by the black bars that covered the high windows. The doors of the cells were solid iron, with bar-blocked peaking windows at eye level, and meal slots near the bottom.

It was late afternoon as a man, dressed in a general blue and black guard's outfit, making sure his pants were zipped up and settled just right, landed a quick, derogatory kick to the thigh of a girl on the floor, and left the damp cell, making sure it was completely locked behind him. Two other guards waited for the man outside the cell, and then quickly, without looking back, finished their rounds (chuckling and telling stories to each other).

The girl, on her hands and her knees by the wood piece that was deemed a "cot", held her stomach as she began heaving the contents of it in the pail that was used as a toilet. Thin scraps of what used to be a t-shirt and shorts hung to her thin body, remnants of the clothing she had when she was brought to the prison. A thin, metal-type collar ordained her throat, though she barely seemed to notice it. As soon as her stomach was empty, she curled on her side on the cold, stone floor hoping that the evening would bring fresh bread – instead of the molded, too old biscuits.

Somewhere further down the various lines of prison cells, the loud, thick click of the ward's door was closed and locked as the prison guards moved to the other sections of the prison. The closing door echoed across the cells; she was almost positive that this ward kept almost no one within its walls. In fact, since she had just been previously moved to her new cell that morning, she wasn't even sure there were any other inmates other than herself.

"Chere?" A whispered voice came through to her cell.

Creasing her brow, she quickly questioned why – how – someone knew she was there. But she realized quickly that was an idiotic question. If this ward was genuinely as empty as she thought it was, it would be easy for anyone to hear the arrival of a new prisoner. And even though she had only been there for less than a day, she knew that after the visits from the guards, it was almost impossible to figure out the sex of the new inmate when sounds reverberated so easily against the stony walls.

"Chere? Ya there?"

Gently scrambling to her feet, she made her way to the small window in her door; she saw no one staring back at her from the three or four cells she could see.

"Where are you?" She tentatively responded, not stepping away from her door.

"They don' keep me too close t' both doors."

"Is there anyone else in here?"

"Ah, not dat I know of. I don' think dey want to keep too many of us in here."

The girl sighed and sat in the corner next to her door, leaning against the wall. A couple of minutes filled with silence before she heard his voice again. "What's yer name, chere?"

She gave the question a thought, then smiled a little bit. "Brinley. And your's?"

"Remy."

"A pleasure, then."

"Not exactly what I was thinkin', but alright."

Another silence crept through the prison cells.

"Remy?"

"Oui?"

"How long you been here?"

A snuffle-like sound (she guessed a sound in commentary on his stay in the cell blocks). "A month o' two, I guess. Hard to keep track."

"Yeah. I know. Hard to keep track."

A couple of clicks and the thick sound of the ward's main door rang through the stone walls again, and hard footsteps began walking down the hallways. Moments later, a guard smiled maliciously down at her through the bars and a plate of rough food clattered through the food slot. She paid little attention to him, used to the treatment, and grabbed the fresh bread, taking it to her little cot.

"Eat up, sweetheart," the guard growled through the bars. "Big day tom'ro."

The night crept in quickly as she finished her meal. And with the guards standing watch for a while longer in the nighttime, there was no more subdued conversation from her ward mate. Instead, she left her food plate near the entrance of her cell and fitfully slept through the night on her new bed.

***

"Wake up," a woman's voice hissed as Brinley's ankle was grabbed and she found herself pulled from the semi-soft cot to the hard floor.

"Ugh – what the –" Brinley mumbled before she realized what was happening. A slap in her face made her realize that she was close to angering the newcomers.

"You, eat. We come back in a half hour."

Brinley watched the guard and the tall, blonde woman leave her cell, and then noted the breakfast left on her cot where she had been. Even with the unexpected wakening, she found they left food that was no more desirable than normal. She ate, knowing it would be hell if she disobeyed. She figured, according to how much sun was making it into her cell, it was late morning – she was surprised she had been able to sleep so long.

It wasn't long before they returned. This time, she got a better look at the woman – she was almost certain she had seen her before; the woman was pretty, mid-thirties, wearing a business skirt-suit, and black heels that were probably a tad too high for modesty. A guard stooped to grab Brinley by the arm, earning her a disdainful look from the woman.

"I dun see why we even keep her cloths. They're almost gone anyways," the guard muttered.

"Shut up." The woman grabbed Brinley's face and looked at her up and down. The clothes were slowly been ripped away, showing more skin than they would otherwise. Pale skin was marked with bruises of varying intensity, but she seemed to meet the woman's expectations anyways. "She's not really meant for your enjoyment anyways. Now," she directed her conversation to Brinley. "You're going to be a good girl, and do what you've told, right?" Her hand tightened her grip as she felt Brinley's body try to flinch out of reach. "Right?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Now, bring her." The woman began to walk down the somewhat long aisle of cells, around a corner, to where another guard stood in front of a cell. As they came into view, the guard leered at Brinley before unlocking the cell and opening the door. The woman walked in, sizing up the brown-haired man sitting haphazardly on his cot.

"Mornin', chere!" He grinned, gaining a sniff of disinterest from the woman.

Crossing her arms, she watched him half-interested. "While I see no promise within you, and therefore no reason to keep you around, my superiors seem to disagree with me. So, now, Gambit, I'm here on behalf of them to prove that there is a reason to be most helpful to us. Besides the normal – room and board, money – we can make sure your life is –" she paused as she signaled the guard to bring the brunette girl into the cell – "much more, ah, appeasing." The woman's fingers grazed through the tangled mess of Brinley's hair, and her mouth turned up in a half-smile. "Now, my dear Gambit, I've been told to tell you that she's yours – if you like her, and choose to be most cooperative with us. Or, we can find another – although I think you should know that it's taking years to break her; we may not be able to bring you a suitable replacement quickly. I think you'll find this is a very enticing deal – one that we don't give out to many of our inmates."

The woman gave Brinley a slight push forward, the guard releasing her arm. "Now, you two have fun, won't you? Oh, and you should probably know that Ralphie and John are guarding you two. So don't think about trying some funny trick to get out. And it would, well, be really disheartening for me to find out from them that you didn't want to try out our gift to you. I don't think that any of us really want to go down that road."

A false smile and she left the cell, followed by the guards who finished locking it up and settled into the posts by the door.

Inside, the two watched each other tentatively. The man, although dirty, was still well-dressed; a button-up deep purple shirt and black pants adorned him. A dark coat lay, discarded and empty, in the corner of the room where he had thrown it earlier that week.

"Why do they call you Gambit?"

"Because. Remy don't make too many people happy when he plays the cards and wins. And he always wins."

Brinley jumped slightly as a heavy bang came from the outside of the door and Ralphie called in. "Ya better hurry up there, or we'll have to be tellin' Miss Murrey that you ain't worth shit, missy." The two guards laughed at the threat, but Brinley took the tentative steps until she stood in front of the watchful Cajun.

Leaning forward, she whispered pleadingly. "Look – normally, I wouldn't ever do this. But they don't like me enough as it is. And I don't want to think about – well, I guess –" She fumbled with the buttons that were left on her shorts. "You don't have to like me. But can we just do this? I don't know what they'll do to me if she comes back and we're only sittin' here, having a conversation."

"Well, I s'pose I can't just let a femme get abused because I don't like the circumstances," the slight joke in his voice was lost in the bulky feeling the situation left in the cell. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he pulled her closer until she was forced onto the cot against his body. And as her lips found his neck, she noticed he smelled, not unkindly, of wafting cigarette smoke and spice; she breathed in deeply, her senses overwhelmed with the first new scents she had smelled in years.

***

Brinley drew her knees up to her chest and hugged her now-clothed body, resting her cheek on her knee.

"Where are you from?"

"N'Orleans."

"New Orleans?" She cocked an eyebrow, slightly interested.

"Louisiana."

"I know where –" But she was cut off as the cell door suddenly unlocked and was wrenched open, and Miss Murrey and the two guards entered. John, the bulkier of the guards, grabbed Brinley from her seat on the cot, and with a nod from the Miss Murrey, she was lead out of the cell and onto her own.

"Well? Have you rethought anything?" The woman asked Gambit.

"Yer kind, but I don' think I want to help ya. Or your friends," he grinned back at her.

"We'll see about that," she huffed, leaving him to the silence.

***

Days began to pass, and slowly a new routine began to replace Brinley's old schedule from her last cell. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, sleep – that was all the same. And she did get to skip the more frequent beatings and the random white-coated doctors (or, at least that's what they said they were) observing her, making notes in their notebooks. These events were changed out, instead, with every two or three days Miss Murrey showing up to her cell, yanking on her metal neckpiece (collar?) to make sure it was still in acceptable condition. And then she would take Brinley, with the help of a guard or two, to Gambit's cell in hopes of convincing him.

But, even with her body being used, beaten, and generally uncared for – she began to think she still got the better end of the deal. Because as she was lead back to her cell, if she listened hard enough she could hear the exchange between Murrey and the Cajun. And Murrey seemed to have run out of patience after that first day. Brinley could hear the thick thumps of physical beating – and that's where she normally tried to stop listening. The next time she was brought to Gambit's cell, she noticed the bruises on his skin, but it was something she never mentioned to the man. Instead, she did what was expected of her by the guards and let the whole experience start over again.

***

Brinley was tired – sleep clouded her eyes, and she stared up at the blank ceiling, trying to understand how it was possible she would just wake up in the middle of the night. She hadn't had nightmares since the first year she was boarded up – so figured that couldn't have been the issue. Winter was just beginning to set in, and her breath rose in mist above her, white in the starlight.

A huge crash, unlike any that she had heard since being in the prison, resounded across the air, earning shouts from the guards.

"Well, hell. There goes trying to be subtle," a gruff voice came through the darkness.

"You're really one to talk, Wolverine. Do you ever do anything subtle?" Another man's voice answered the complaint.

"Well – here we go – " and as the man said those words, Brinley heard the shink of metal being withdrawn, followed by (what she assumed to be) bloody gurgles.

Scared of what she could only assume to be an invasion, Brinley scuffled off her cot and tried desperately to fit under the small space under the cot, in the farthest corner of her cell.

As quickly as there was a commotion, a silence – broken only by muffled running footsteps down the aisles – claimed the ward once again. She flinched again as she heard a thick piece of metal fall to the ground somewhere deeper into the cell blocks.

"Alright, let's go, Cajun," she heard someone mutter further away in the darkness. "You're more trouble than yer worth, sometimes – you know that?"

And again, she heard footsteps pass her cell as some of the invaders began to work towards leaving the prison with (she assumed, once again) the other prisoner, Gambit.

"Wait, mon ami! There's another in here –" She heard Gambit's voice a few cells down from her own. "Chere?"

She watched, wide-eyed, at her cell door. But, unbidden, her fear of retribution from her captors kept her from calling out. Plus, just because one set of captors treats you horribly, doesn't mean their invaders are going to be any better.

"Really, Cajun? Now's the time you're going to go all heroic?"

"It will take but a minute – I know she's in one of these –" And then Brinley could hear the fiddling of metal in metal, and then a huff from the other man.

"Hey, One-Eye, if we're ever gonna get out of here, do you think you can help us start opening up some of these cells?"

And after an angry mumble, she heard the metal padlocks quickly start falling to the ground, through methods of lock-picking, shearing, and smoldering. It was not, in fact, a very comforting sound as some might think it was – instead, it was a much more frightening. And then, suddenly, she heard the padlock to her cell door fall to the ground and her door swing open.

"This who you're looking for?" The gruff-speaking man asked, with a cigar in his mouth.

She stared at the man, stunned at the night's turn of events, and barely moved as she saw Gambit come into view. "Ah! Chere! How much more simple ya could have made this!" Walking into her cell and throwing his thigh-length coat that had been piled in the corner of his room over her shoulders, he helped her to her feet and began leading her out of the cell.

"Jean and Storm are in the plane just a little bit away – it's quick to get there, as long as those guards didn't raise too much of an alarm," a man that kept a visor-looking thing over his eyes briefed Gambit as they made their way to the exit.

Brinley, her system slowly going into shock, watched curiously as they passed the two dead guards and walked over the ward's door that had been burned off its hinges. As they hurried along the corridors and hallways, they found out that the alarm had, indeed, been raised. But, as fate would have it that night, they were able to skirt around the guards as they heard them coming – the dark hallways that lacked electricity helped in the hiding of the escapers. They made quick time to a make-shift exit, through some surrounding trees, and onto a small, grassy meadow that had begun to frost over. And there, hidden by the shadows of the old trees, a large, silver jet sat waiting for them. And as they approached, the bottom hatch opened, awaiting their entrance.

Brinley, unquestioning and in shock, made her place to a back part of the jet after she was – almost literally – pulled aboard by the man called Wolverine. In a matter of seconds, they were all aboard and she could feel the jet lift off of the ground and begin making its travel.

"Who's - ?" A woman with white hair whispered to Wolverine.

"Apparently one of Gambit's new friends –" the man gruffly responded.

"Mon ami! Do ya think we should 'ave jus' left 'er?"

But the rest of the conversation began to drown out as the lost sleep began to overwhelm Brinley. She gave up trying to listen to the whispered argument – or conversation – and found herself curling up in the warmth of the smoke-scented coat and falling asleep to the almost imperceptible hum of the jet's engine.