((Takes place the summer after Apocalypse))

My eyes peered slowly over the rim of my magazine, staring intently at the display table at the center of the store. They had just come out that week: Talga 1983 Headphones. And there they were, placed perfectly on a pedestal amongst boxes and boxes of them. New product releases were always like this—throwing their latest thing in their consumers' faces. I liked it when they threw things at me because I'd always bite. But maybe not in the way they thought I would.

It was 6 am, only 30 minutes after the music store had opened, so not many people were around. Good; fewer witnesses. The clerk at the checkout was reading the morning paper, though he would occasionally glance up to check on the odd customer. Ideally, he would have been removed by some distraction, but I could work with this…probably. Casually, I closed the magazine and set it back on the shelf. I moved in on the display table, but made sure only to browse a shelf next to it. Glancing behind me, I could see the shiny silver headphones, just waiting to be taken.

And then, like fate was going my way, the clerk stood up and went into the backroom. It was now or never, so I whirled around and nabbed the headphones, jamming them into my satchel. It was the sample one on display, so I'd have to get out of there quick before someone noticed they were—

"Hey!"

My head jerked up to see that the clerk had reappeared at the front desk, his stare set dead on me. I paled and froze on the spot, like a deer in the headlights with a string of curse words flying through my head. I wasn't often caught shoplifting, so my techniques of escape were a little rusty. Should I say I was just looking? No, they're already in my bag, he won't buy it. Drop them and run? No, he'd catch me! As I processed another list of possibilities, the world suddenly became one massive blur, and the next thing I knew I was in the local park…at least 45 minutes from the music store. I was still stuck in the same position I had been caught in—wide, auburn eyes and a dumbstruck look. Eventually, a voice broke me out of my shock.

"Not bad, but you could use some work on your subtlety."

I gasped and turned to see a guy with short silver hair and biker goggles. He wore a black and white striped shirt with a silver bomber jacket and old, worn jeans.

"Uuh…" I tried to say something, but I found myself a little speechless.

"Should have noticed the clerk was only going in back for a sec to get his heart medication," he spoke quickly, "Nothing that would take long enough to give you an opening. Sorry, I forget it's harder for normal people to steal stuff."

"I-I…" I stuttered, blinking a few times, "What?! What do you mean? Where are we?"

"The park, where's it look like?" he shrugged.

"I know that!"

"So why'd you ask?"

"But how did we get here?!"

"I dunno, it's all a blur," he smirked, stroking his chin mockingly, "But I believe it started when you tried to steal headphones sitting in the middle of a store on a display table. That's shoddy shoplifting work if I ever saw it."

Okay, screw a plausible explanation. Nobody insulted my thieving skills! I flipped my long, black hair haughtily and crossed my arms.

"My shoplifting isn't shoddy!" I snapped.

"Sure it isn't. That's why we're here and not at the music store while the owner calls the police and puts a warrant out for your arrest."

This guy's overly fast sassing was starting to get on my nerves. And he still hadn't answered my question!

"Ugh! Look, how did I get out here? Just a second ago I was—"

"Less than a second, but go on."

"—I was in the music store. Why am I out here?" I finished.

"Easy. I brought you out here," he answered simply.

"H-How? It takes almost an hour to get to here from the store?"

The kid just gave me a big, shit-eating grin because he knew he didn't even have to explain. My expression dropped and I took a few steps back.

"You're…a mutant." I breathed, "But why did you help me?"

"Couldn't leave a fellow klepto out to dry."

"Klepto…" I rolled my eyes.

That was what my older brother called me. It practically felt like a brand of its own, similar to the term "mutant." Kleptomaniac definitely wasn't a word that made feel one welcome in society.

"You're saying you steal things, too?" I gave him a curious look, "I suppose it would be easier with powers like that."

He only shook his head with that same smirk, "You have no idea."

Then he darted his hand into my bag and pulled out the headphones I had just stolen, feeling the cushioning around the earphones.

"H-Hey!" I protested, trying to snatch them back, but he only pulled them away again.

"But it doesn't take a mutant with super speed to know a bad shoplifter," he sighed.

"Again, I'm not a bad thief!" I growled, this time taking back my headphones, "I've been doing this since I was a kid."

Jamming the headphones back into my bag, I narrowed my eyes at him and tapped my foot impatiently.

"I wanted those headphones bad, and not many places sell them. And what was I supposed to do, take one of the boxed ones? Yeah, good luck trying to sneak one of those bulky things out! I just got unlucky is all."

I crossed my arms defensively and looked away from him with a scowl. It had happened all very quickly and it was a bit much to process, but I was still pissed that this mutant was criticizing my life's work. Meanwhile, the boy only gave a nonchalant shrug, probably holding back another wisecrack.

"Why are you so open about your powers anyway?" I asked out of the blue.

Surprisingly, his face remained blank and unchanged. He looked almost bored.

"I mean, I don't see many mutants use their powers if they can hide them," I shrugged, "Aren't you afraid I'll tell someone?"

I remembered one kid who used to live down the street from me. She could control plants and could pretty much turn any room into a greenhouse. But it got to the point where she was so frightened of showing her powers, that she wouldn't even touch a tree unless she wore a pair of gloves. Eventually too many people in the neighborhood found out about her, so she had to move away.

"Nothing anyone would believe if you told 'em," he snickered.

I slowly looked down at the Talga Headphones in my hands, running the fingers along the metal that held the two ear pieces together.

"Well, I can't imagine why I'd want to tell anybody…" I mumbled pensively.

With someone like him, I could get away with a lot more heists. Imagine all the shit I could steal with a friend like that; maybe I could finally steal a motorcycle, too! As the idea formed in my head, a mischievous smile grew on my face.

"Hey, do you—" I looked up, but he was gone.

The park around me was totally empty, I was left there with a pair of stolen headphones and a million unanswered questions. Part of me wanted to believe I had made it all up in my head, but if I did that, I wouldn't have gotten a pair of kickass headphones. I was sure that at some point in my life I had met a mutant, but none that made themselves known to me. But this guy just flaunted his abilities like they were nothing! Although he was right, nobody would believe that a strange, silver-haired mutie rescued me from being caught shoplifting. I didn't even know his name.

I trudged home, using my new headphones with my pocket cassette player (which was also stolen) playing some Ramones music. My house was fairly small with only a ground floor and a small crawlspace above the backroom. It was all two people needed to live in, though. My older brother, Jordan, was 29 years old and my legal guardian. My mother died in a car accident when I was younger and my dad worked out of state to bring money home for my brother and I. It made for an awkward childhood and even more of an awkward home life. Most of my meals were eaten solo and the house was always a mess. Despite having to look after me, Jordan basically had one rule: just don't get him involved in my issues. So as long as I stole stuff, I just wasn't supposed to get caught.

When I got home, I saw him in the living room, watching the news and sipping a cheap beer. Even though I opened the door as slowly as I could and tiptoed past, he still heard me. That was the second time I gotten caught that day. Maybe I was losing my touch?

"Robin?" he spoke up, switching the TV off, "Where have you been?"

I cringed as he called my name, knowing he'd give me a full interrogation. With an exasperated sigh, I walked back to the living room defeated.

"I told you, the music store," I shrugged.

"The music store shouldn't take that long, it's only ten minutes from here," he gave me a suspicious look, "You were supposed to be back a long time ago, remember? You promised to help me clean out the backroom this morning."

"I, uh…" I shifted my feet uncomfortably and ran a hand through my raven hair, "Got a little sidetracked."

The park was a lot longer of a walk than the store. All that got was even more narrowed eyes from my brother until he beckoned for me to come closer.

"Alright, you klepto," he groaned, "Let's see it."

"See what?"

"You're bag. Let me see it."

"W-What? Are you accusing me of something?"

"Robin," he said forebodingly.

I knew he had enough bullshit, so I gave in and dropped my bag on the coffee table with a curt expression and waited for the examination to begin. Jordan sat up from his armchair and ripped open my satchel, taking everything out one by one. Gum, pads, my pocket cassette player, pens, a notepad, my empty wallet, and a handful of unused coupons were thrown out on the coffee table from my satchel. At the bottom, he found the headphones, and he cast me a dubious glance.

"What are these?"

"The new Talga Headphones," I shrugged, "They just came out a few days ago, so it was a miracle our music store had them."

"How much were they?"

"50 dollars,"

Jordon only scoffed at me and rolled his eyes, "You expect me to believe you spent 50 real dollars on a pair of headphones?"

"Hey, who's gonna be able to steal prized headphones like these? They're practically under guard in every store! You'd need super powers or something to get away with it," I retorted, "Is it so hard to believe that I bought them?"

"Yeah, where'd you get the money?"

"I saved up the allowance you gave me," I said simply.

"So you saved up three months' worth of money?"

"Mhm." I nodded.

Then an awkward stare down ensued between the two of us, him waiting for me to crack and me waiting for him to end the interrogation. After a few seconds of silence, he tossed the headphones on the table with the rest of my things and fell back into the plush armchair. I quickly gathered up my belongings and crammed them into my satchel again, thankful he had let me go on this one. These "bag examinations" were nothing new to me, and I had slowly learned how to get around them.

"Put your stuff away and help me with the backroom," he called as I retreated from the living room.

My room itself was pretty small, but every inch of my walls were covered in movie and music posters. All the way from Ramones to Blade Runner and even The Troggs. My record player sat in the middle of the room with vinyls laying all around it. I was supposed to keep it on my dresser, but I rarely did—its home was pretty much my wooden floorboards. On the wall across from my bed sat an old TV with a few small cracks in the screen. Sitting just under that was an Atari 2600 with a few game cartridges along with a dusty VHS player and a few VHS tapes. And everything in my room from Pac-Man to my pillow was stolen. Jordan was seldom in my room, but when he was, I would remind of the "summer job" I had last year to pay for all of this or the "friends" I had to who lent me the money.

To be honest, he probably didn't buy any of it, but figured my story sounded believable enough for a police officer. Neither of those stories were true: I never had a job and I didn't have any friends. I was the tall, dark, and scary girl in college, and the few friends that I did have were scared off by my need to shoplift. My brother called it "kelptomania," but I had read up on the subject, and the psychosis seemed too serious for what I had. To me, I was more of an adrenaline junky who couldn't wait for something like money to come along, so she'd just take whatever she wanted. Jordan would also say I'd be different if Mom or Dad were here, and I'm sure it would. Wouldn't have to fill that gaping hole of parental love with material things anymore. But until that ever happened (if it did), I was content with nabbing chips and sodas from the gas station.

As I helped my brother clean out the pigsty that was the backroom, I casually mentioned my run-in with the mutant kid. Of course, I didn't mention his powers or how he helped me steal those headphones, but it wasn't like he'd believe me anyways. I described his silver hair and quick manner of speaking, and after a few moments, Jordan seemed to know who I was talking about. His name was Peter Maximoff, and as my brother said, he was a "total jackass." Apparently, he was around my brother's age, and midway through college, he dropped out to live in his mom's basement. He didn't look Jordan's age to me, though that might have been because Jordan smoked. According to him, Peter was always a cocky little shit who everyone loathed at school. My brother seemed worried about the fact that I had met him and asked me all sorts of questions. He warned me that Peter was also a known klepto and to stay away from him.

"I just met him at the music store," I shrugged, "No big deal."

"Bet he was looking for something to steal," Jordan sneered, "He'd always take our school supplies and test answers when we weren't looking. And I swear, the rate that he could steal at was incredible. Some kids even thought he could be one of those weirdo mutants."

I had remembered what Peter had said earlier that day about not letting fellow kleptos out to dry. He had saved my ass, so it only seemed right that I defend his. Not to mention, the person Jordan described didn't seem like the type to save a clueless 19-year-old from arrest.

"He didn't seem that bad," I mumbled as I continued to sweep the backroom floor.

Jordan looked up from the pile of junk he was sorting through, "He's a jerk, Robin, and is only gonna make your kleptomania worse."

"For the last time, I don't have kleptomania," I groaned.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say," he said dismissively.

"Well, you said he dropped out midway through college, so it's been a while since you've last seen him," I pointed out, "You don't know if he's still a jackass."

"Oh yeah? You talked to him for a few minutes, how can you claim to know that much about him?" Jordan shot back, "For all you know, he had a stolen vinyl under his coat."

He probably did which made me like him all the more. If I could just befriend this guy, I could finally have someone who isn't deterred by my need to steal. I waited until my brother's friends came over later that night to watch the game, then I emerged from my room. They all seemed pretty absorbed in whatever two football teams were knocking heads this time, but I managed to catch one of them raiding our fridge in the kitchen.

"Hey Thomas," I said, leaning up against the counter.

I'm guessing I startled him by the way he yelped and hit his head on the roof of the fridge. Thomas gave me a bewildered look before smoothing his hair back and regaining his composure.

"Oh. Hey, Robin," he gave a nervous smile, "You're—uh—out of Cool Whip."

I smiled and rolled my eyes. Thomas was always the one to eat all of our sweets. He seemed surprised to see me outside of my room since I would usually hide when he and the others came over.

"Do you know a guy named Peter Maximoff?" I cut right to the chase.

For a moment, he scratched his head, trying to think up where he had heard that name before. Then he snapped his fingers as a look of realization came to him.

"Yeah! He was that dick in our high school class! Didn't last more than two years in college," he chuckled, "Still think he has my slinky…"

"Do you know where I could find him?" I asked.

That got me a confused look.

"Why?"

Time for my poker face to come in handy.

"I ran into him at the music store today and the asshole stole my wallet," I complained.

"Just go to the police about it," Thomas shrugged.

"I would, but Jordan told me he's really slippery and hard to catch. I doubt the police would do me any good, so I'd rather go after him myself."

Thomas smirked, "Heheh. Takes a klepto to know a klepto. I didn't know you guys stole from one another, though."

"I'm not a klepto," I droned in an irritated tone.

"Oh yeah? Where's my bottle opener?" Thomas put his hands on his hips.

"I didn't take your—"

But Thomas held out a hand, expectantly waiting for it to be returned. Giving a growl, I reached into my hoodie pocket and dropped the bottle opener in his hand. Sometimes these guys knew me too well.

"I don't know where he lives, but he always liked the arcade," Thomas said as he pocketed his bottle opener, "And since he's living with his mom, I doubt that's changed."

"Thanks," I grunted and headed back for my room.

AN: So tell me what you think! Did you enjoy it? This is my first attempt at an X-Men fic, but hopefully I'll do well~ Reviews are greatly appreciated.