Chapter Two

Anna Marie turned her music up another notch. She didn't know who her parents thought they were kidding, as if sending her to her room made the slightest bit of difference as to whether she heard them or not. 'Parents'. Yeah, right. She'd been with them for almost as long as she could remember, but they'd always made her aware that she wasn't actually their daughter. They hadn't even properly adopted her. Fifteen years and she was still just the poor little foster kid they'd saved from the streets.

"She isn't even our fucking daughter!" her darling father bellowed, as if only to reinforce her thoughts.

Her mother would reply with something along the lines of how Anna Marie wasn't not their daughter, then he'd get a vaguely confused expression on his face for a moment before…

"I don't know why I agreed to your stupid wish in the first place!"

Anna Marie knew exactly why he'd caved. Her mother - and she did try hard to be a mother - had always wanted children. Not just one, oh no. As many as biology would allow before her body got too tired or their bank account too small. Instead, she had married what, for all appearances, seemed to be the only man in their entire neighbourhood incapable of siring any children at all. And, in spite of all their fighting, her parents did love one another. Or, rather, she supposed they did.

She wasn't sure if it counted as love if it was used as blackmail to get what you wanted out of the other person. "If you love me you'll take out the trash." "If you love me, you'll take the overtime." "If you love me you'll let me adopt some poor baby from the orphanage."

It was always a vague sort of surprise when she got home from school and they weren't sat at the table with a social worker, preparing to tell her that it had been a lovely experience, it really had, but it had been a bit of a failed experiment, all in all, and would she be so kind as to leave them alone now? Anna Marie did not know what they'd been expecting in a child, but she did know that she had never made the mark.

She had relatively good grades, her teachers always thought highly of her, she had a small group of respectable friends and a sweet boyfriend who, whilst a little handsy, was very considerate. She did everything to try and make her parents approve of her. Even her room was decorated to their tastes - pale pink walls, cream carpet, and goddamned lace everywhere.

The whole thing was, frankly, disgusting. From the empty conversation with people who thought loving someone of the same sex was on the same level of sinning as killing someone, to having to stop her boyfriend from anything more than a chaste peck of a kiss. Anna Marie wanted real drama and scandal. She wanted to wear skin tight shirts and short skirts, to flunk a test and make out with her boyfriend in public. She wanted to learn how to ride a motorcycle.

The yelling continued downstairs, but she didn't focus on the words anymore, letting them blur into the background as white noise, drifting into one of her favourite daydreams. She had several, where she was a pop star or a model, where her real parents tracked her down and loved her unconditionally. But the best, the most realistic, was the one she was hoping to actually carry out.

As soon as she finished High School she was going to leave. She'd stay in contact, of course, but she couldn't live under her foster-parents' roof any longer. She'd travel up across the states, visiting city after tourist attraction after city, winding her way to the college she'd have applied to and been accepted into that was as close to Canada as you could get without being in Canada. Hell, maybe she'd cross that border too. Anywhere that had telephone access, to call her parents, but was far enough away that they'd never even think of visiting.

She was cut out of her fantasy by a tentative knock at the door. Anna Marie turned down her music and called to her mother to enter.

"Darling," she said, wringing her wrists anxiously. "I hope you didn't hear too much of that."

"No, Mom, I couldn't hear much anyway, and I turned up my music a bit so I wouldn't hear the rest," Anna Marie lied through her teeth.

"Oh good," her mother replied. "That's good. We - you know I love you, don't you?"

Anna Marie looked her straight in the eye and nodded. "Yes Mom. I know you love me."

Her mother glanced behind her and sighed. She obviously wanted to tell her that her father loved her too, but was incapable of telling such a bare faced lie. "I'm sorry, darling, you know how things can be."

She agreed again, a little monotonously, then smiled humourlessly. "I'm sure it was all just a misunderstanding," Anna Marie told her. Her mother might prefer not to lie, but she was perfectly happy to do so.

"Yes. A - ah - a misunderstanding." Her mother's smile was brittle and tired.

She turned to leave, but Anna Marie stopped her. "Hey, Mom, would it be ok if David come over for dinner?"

"David? Mrs. Geoffrey's son? I suppose so. Does he like chicken?"

"Everyone likes chicken," Anna Marie replied dryly, holding in the temptation to roll her eyes. "And, yeah, David Geoffrey. We're, um, dating now." They had been for several months, actually, and everyone knew it. Except, apparently her parents. Funny how if Sandra, two doors down, had kissed a new boy they'd know about it before the day was up and would be speculating on the likelihood of her ending up as a prostitute, but if their own daughter had a steady boyfriend they remained clueless.

Her mother hesitated by her door a little longer, looking at Anna Marie, but giving the distinct impression that she wasn't really seeing. "He's a nice boy," she said, somewhat distractedly, and left.

Anna Marie sighed and wondered how bad the 'talking to' would be when her father found out. Reaching for her phone she called David to invite him over before the permission was retracted. As awkward as dinner with him and her parents would be, it beat having to sit at a table with just her parents after the row they'd just had.

-xXx-

When dinner was over it was, frankly, a relief. Anna Marie's mother had fluttered her hands over everything, hesitated and worried, and said little more than offering people second helpings. Her father had been worse; a solid bulk of silence at the head of the table, glowering at them all, especially Anna Marie and David, and had said nothing at all. Anna Marie had tried to help the conversation, but wasn't helped by David's petrified silence.

Eventually, they'd all finished eating and her mother had cleared away the dishes. Anna Marie escaped up to her room with David hot on her heels. Once in her room, the door shut quietly behind them, she burst into quiet, hysterical laughter.

"I don't think that could have gone worse if we'd tried!" she exclaimed softly, collapsing on to her bed.

David grinned a bit nervously still. "They seem like nice people," he attempted to placate.

"They're awful," Anna Marie corrected, patting the bed beside her to encourage him to sit down. "You don't have to lie about it. My mother tries, but I'll always be the poor foster kid they took in, not their daughter."

David reached out and tucked a loose strand of Anna Marie's hair behind her ear. "Could be worse."

"Yeah," she agreed, leaning into the touch and smiling. He cupped her cheek briefly, before ducking his head away.

He coughed a little awkwardly, glancing up at the pin board above her bed for something to look at, but intrigued by it nonetheless. "What is all this?" he asked.

"Plans," she replied. "For college. Places up north, far away from here. I - they're still my parents, but sometimes it's just too much, you know?"

David nodded in an understanding way, but she knew he didn't get it. That was ok. He was the second child of five, all of them cherished by their parents. He, in turn, adored his parents and his brothers and sisters. "Have you already made a decision?" he asked.

"No. A few ideas, but nothing firm. I have to get the grades first," Anna Marie replied.

"You will," he said, leaning towards her again and kissing her cheek. One of his arms slipped around her, his warm weight settling across her waist. A thrum of nervous excitement spun through Anna Marie.

"David," she whispered, leaning against him.

He didn't say anything, just turned curious eyes to her, his arm lifting a bit, as though for a moment he thought he was about to be scolded for touching her so much. It was too little. Anna Marie wanted - she didn't know, exactly, what she wanted. She knew the mechanics of sex, how it was supposed to work, what you were supposed to do. What it meant on your undying soul if it occurred before marriage.

She wasn't sure she wanted to have sex. The idea of such a private part of him being in such a private part of her was - well, sort of disgusting. But she knew that when David touched her it felt good, hot tingles and an unnamed excitement that she didn't really understand. Maybe they could just - touch, a bit?

Uncertain how to phrase what she wanted, Anna Marie moved her hand to his shoulder, slipping her thumb under his collar a little and leaning close. "The door's shut. They'll stay downstairs for a while now." Sure enough, as she said that, the stolid tinkle of a well-practiced, but ill-performed piece of piano music started. She smiled a little ruefully.

"What do you want?" David asked, brushing their noses together, breathing the words across her lips but not kissing her properly. It made her want to lick her lips, thrilled when his eyes followed her tongue's movement.

"I don't know," she confessed. "Just, touch me?"

"I don't really know either," he warned her, although Anna Marie wasn't sure whether she believed that. Oh, she believed that David didn't have any personal experience, but she knew full well what kind of magazines teen boys read - what they used the internet for when there was no chance of their parents walking in.

They stared at each other for a long moment, each as nervous as the other, a swift tide of excitement growing between them. Then he leant forward and kissed her. The arm he had around her waist tightened and he knelt up on the bed, tugging her up with him so they were pressed together from knees to chest.

Anna Marie's eyes grew wide as she realised what the hardness pressed against her stomach was. David didn't see the reaction, eyes shut as he kissed her again, longer and deeper this time, his teeth clicking against hers a little painfully. His hands were on her hips, fingers running along the seam of her pants and her top, tugging her t-shirt up a bit, and placing warm hands flat across her bare skin.

She found it secretly obscene, in a wonderful way, the things they were doing, with her parents just downstairs. Her mother was at the piano, winding out the same old tunes with the same old, tired, run down patience. Her father would be in the living room, feet up on the coffee table and the TV showing some sports channel or another. Just metres away, their nightly routine, and not a clue what Anna Marie was doing. It made her smile and push back more against David.

She found his top button and took longer than normal opening it, shaking fingers making the simple task difficult. She moved down to the next button and closed her eyes too, kissing back eagerly now that she had decided totally this was what she wanted to do. Just by feel, Anna Marie worked her way down his shirt, one button at a time until it was hanging loosely from his shoulders.

Then, she leant away from the kiss to look at him. There wasn't much to see, he was all pale skin and teenage lankiness of a boy who had not quite grown into his height yet. She ran a finger across his chest, alarmed then amused by the gasp she got when she touched his nipples.

"Marie," he groaned quietly, ducking his head to her shoulder and hips jerking forward, apparently of their own accord. "Can - can I?" were the only words he could get out, eyes blown wide and his hand trembling as much as hers as he tugged anxiously at the hem of her top. Anna Marie nodded, a little fast to be entirely certain, but he didn't stop to double check.

After a moment, she wriggled back from him, away from hands that were still tugging a bit uselessly at her clothing, so she could pull her t-shirt off herself. Once she'd thrown it clear of the bed, and pushed his shirt entirely off his shoulders too, for good measure, Anna Marie hesitated a moment, watching David for any signs that he might not want to do this. He was staring, a little slack jawed, at her breasts.

Crushed briefly by a wave of self-consciousness, Anna Marie pulled one hand up to her throat, effectively half-covering her chest.

"No," David said, taking the hand that had moved in one of his and pulling it away again. "You're beautiful," he told her earnestly, looking briefly into her eyes, before back at breasts. It made her wonder how he'd react if she was wearing one of her fancy bras, or no bra at all. The thought caused a ridiculous giggle to crawl up her throat.

She was too scared by the potential of everything happening to manage to squeak out any more than a vague agreement, so Anna Marie just leaned in for another kiss. Her heart was in her throat as his hands came up to cup her breasts, pulling the material away a little so that his fingers slipped down and twirled around one of her nipples.

But then he went still. Very still. His fingers - his whole body - went cold and stiff and he wasn't kissing any more either. David gasped and collapsed back on to the bed, his veins sticking out prominently through skin that had gone deadly pale. Anna Marie didn't even think to pull on her top before she opened her mouth and started screaming.

Her foster father was the first to crash into the room, but his movements faltered when he saw their state of undress. He started moving again when he caught sight of how David was collapsed on the bed, calling out for someone to phone an ambulance.

Anna Marie's mother was in her room moments later, startled by seeing Anna Marie half-dressed too, but already moving to comfort her.

"Don't touch me," Anna Marie pleaded with her.

"Forget the slut, phone an ambulance," her father hissed furiously, hands groping for a pulse at David's wrist.

Uncertain, her mother hesitated a moment longer, before she reaching a hand towards Anna Marie to lead her from the room.

"Don't touch me!" Anna Marie screamed, collapsing back into a corner, pulling her knees tight to her chest and trying to hide all the bared skin she could.

The next few hours were a confused chaos that Anna Marie didn't even begin to attempt to keep track of. There was her foster mother, spinning around trying to be useful, and really just getting in everyone's way. There were the ambulance crew, rushing in and out of the house and totally confused by David's condition. Then there was her foster father, an ever-present shadow burning her with accusing eyes.

Anna Marie had pulled her top back on at some point, returning to the far corner of her room that was out of everyone's way and where no one could accidentally touch her. Her skin was on fire, and everywhere that she had been touching David when he'd collapsed tingled like it was being gently pricked by pins. And he was in her mind, in her body, trying to make her run home to his parents and his siblings. He was scared and aroused and God he wanted Anna Marie so bad. But she was Anna Marie and she didn't want herself. Except she did, and she still didn't know what that meant. Except she did.

Confused images, mixed memories, of clips of pornos, and dirty pictures, hidden under the bed, internet history deleted, and slipping a hand in his pants to tug on - but she wasn't him. She had his thoughts in her head and it didn't make any sense. None of it did, and she curled up tighter in her corner, with David in her head and her foster father's burning eyes boring into her back.

Hours later, and David'd faded from her head. He was still there, and something told Anna Marie that she'd always have an imprint of David in her head. His knowledge wasn't hers, but there were edges of thoughts that had been at the forefront of his mind when he'd collapsed that were now hers, too.

"Back with us?" someone growled threateningly when Anna Marie stopped shivering and looked up.

"Don't touch me," Anna Marie said, repeating her words from early.

Her foster father grunted. "Oh, I'm not touching filth like you. Get your slut ass down to the lounge, your mother wants an explanation before we throw you out. And mark my words, you will be gone before this time tomorrow."

Anna Marie nodded mutely, tugging on her sleeves so they covered most of her hands, and following him sullenly from what was no longer her bedroom, down to the living room.

The room looked a little trampled, and there were five empty coffee mugs scattered around the room, as well as a plate which had a pile of crumbs and a sole remaining biscuit. The paramedics had, apparently, stayed longer than just carting David off to the hospital. That made Anna Marie wonder at what it was that had persuaded them to stay longer. They would have taken David straight to the hospital, there was no doubt about that, but there was also no doubt that her foster parents had hosted someone for long enough for them to drink tea or coffee, nibble a few cookies and leave.

Her mother was looking drawn out and pale, now. She sat on the very edge of the sofa, curled half around the arm and her hands clutching her knees. She looked up when Anna Marie walked in, and her eyes were glazed and a bit panicked. Maybe she'd been given pain killers, although what for, Anna Marie couldn't imagine.

"Are you hurt?" her mother asked eventually, when it was clear no one was going to move or speak.

"No," Anna Marie replied honestly. There was nothing wrong with her physically. The pins-and-needles feeling of touching someone, sucking in part of their soul, had faded to almost non-existence. But, like David's presence in the back of her mind, it lingered. She wondered if either would ever fade totally.

Her mother hesitated for another long, painful moment. "The doctors said - well, suggested - that David had maybe been trying… trying to force himself on you. Is - is that true?" she asked haltingly.

Anna Marie would pride herself, later, in not hesitating in answering that question. If she'd just said 'yes' she might have been able to stay with her parents, wouldn't face the uncertainty of the foster system again. But her staying was still only a 'might', and saying David had been forcing himself on her would ruin his life, too. He had loving parents, a loving family, a bright future. No one would condemn a teenage boy for taking what was freely offered to him and, Anna Marie knew, she had freely offered herself.

"No," she said again. "It was my idea."

A shudder ran through her mother, a muted whimper escaping her lips.

"A whore. The fucking system sent us a whore," Anna Marie's foster father grumbled from behind her, shoving roughly past her to collapse on the sofa.

"And - and David? What happened to him?" her mother asked, clearly not really wanting to know the answer.

Anna Marie looked away, staring resolutely out the window into the warm darkness of the late summer evening. "I don't know. I just - I can feel him in my head." She looked at her mother, searching desperately for any kind of softness there. "I'm scared," she admitted on a whisper.

"He's in your head?" her foster mother repeated disbelievingly.

"Bits of memories, like I read his mind and now it won't go away," Anna Marie confessed.

Her mother gaped, fresh tears flowing. "You stole his soul?" she asked, then as though the words broke the spell she'd been under, she gave a great wail of despair and ran from the room. Moments later, Anna Marie heard thundering footsteps up the stairs behind her and knew that, not only could her mother no longer look at her, she couldn't stand to be anywhere near her, either. She'd run through the kitchen and round to the hall, rather than just brushing past her foster daughter.

"A freak and a whore," Anna Marie's foster father hissed. "You're a witch, is what you and all of your kind are. If I were a better man I'd kill you, put you out of your misery. But I can't harm no living thing, even a Satan follower like you. I'm phoning the foster system first thing in the morning. I hope you'll be gone by then and save me the hassle."

Then he, too, stood up and left the room. Unlike her mother, he had no problem walking past her, although she suspected he did so only so that he could barge into her and send her crashing back against the wall. Anna Marie stayed were she'd fallen until the sounds of her foster parents moving around in their bedroom stilled.

Then she pulled herself slowly, stiffly, on to the closest armchair. Raising a hand to her cheeks she realised they were wet with tears she didn't remember shedding. Funny how she had all these memories that weren't hers, but she couldn't remember something that had happened to her. Anna Marie looked at her shaking hands, turning them over so her palms were up. They looked just like they always had - just like anyone else's hands. There was nothing on them to indicate that she had been touching someone inappropriately. There was nothing on them to indicate that she could steal your soul with just one touch.

Anna Marie shuddered again, hunching her shoulders and burying her face in her palms. She breathed deeply, the scent of her foster mother's ridiculously overpriced hand soap, the smell of detergent, the smell of home, and the faint whiff of David's deodorant. Steady breaths in and out, cataloguing the smells and what they meant to her. What they used to mean to her. No longer. Her parents were her foster parents no longer. She had no mother, no father, no family. It was just her and the world.

Reaching a decision, Anna Marie straightened her back and squared her shoulders, hands falling to her knees. If it was just her and the world, she was going to do this properly. She couldn't afford to wimp out now. Yes, her whole life had turned on its head, but she was alive. Never able to touch anyone ever again, very probably, and alone, but alive. She would not give up and she would not return to the foster system.

Suddenly, the fear she felt earlier when David had been touching her was nothing. This, what she was feeling now, was ten times worse. But behind it, she was fuelled by grim determination. She would find her way. Somehow, she would. She had a little bit of money saved up, and she had a plan how to get as far from this town as she could, so she'd follow through with that. A few years earlier and with no clear destination in mind, but it would have to do.

As she trod quietly upstairs and around her room, gathering only the things she needed, Anna Marie's skin started to tingle all over, an all encompassing burn that had followed (or preceded?) her accidental attack on David. She knew that if anyone touched her like this, she would hurt them too. And the way she was feeling right now? She didn't care, she hoped if anyone touched her they hurt. David had been one good thing, one bright spot in a dull, mediocre life.

Clothing - long sleeves and pants only, no shorts or skirts or strappy tops for her anymore - filled most of the bag. She grabbed a towel, a bar of soap and some shampoo too. There was little else that she could take with her that she wanted or needed. As an after thought, Anna Marie grabbed her phone as well as her purse. It was a vague, brittle hope, but if she kept it switched off, maybe the battery would last long enough for her to work out whether David lived or not.

Once she had everything, she spent a moment looking at the room that had been hers, the room that she'd hated. Once she got a chance, made her own way and able to afford it, she'd design a room for herself the way she wanted it to look. Dark, earthy colours and not a spot of lace to be seen. Unless they looked in her underwear drawer, she thought to herself with a self-indulgent smile. The reaction on David's face had been wonderful and, well, even if she never could have sex now, it didn't hurt to look pretty.

Knowing that if she didn't leave as quickly as she could, that she might well end up staying until the people from the foster system came, Anna Marie snuck down the stairs and unlocked the front door. Locking it behind her, she contemplated taking the house key with her, but reasoned that her foster parents would just change the locks anyway, so she posted it back through the letter box.

By the time she'd bought her first coach ticket and settled into her seat for the long ride, the sun was already rising on the horizon.

-xXx-

It took Anna Marie a little over a week to reach the Canadian border, and a lot less money than she'd feared. There seemed to always be someone willing to give a friendly-looking girl like her a lift for a couple of miles or more and the coach journeys she did take were always long enough for her to catch a few hours sleep. By the time she reached Lotham city, however, she was exhausted and longing for a proper bed. The town itself was not exactly encouraging.

She'd chosen it as her final destination because it was the closest city to the end of her pre-planned route. Her reasoning had been that it would no doubt be easier for her to find work and a cheap place to rent in a big city with lots of opportunities, rather than a smaller town. It also made it more likely to limit the gossip. What was one more strange face in a city?

But when she asked the lorry driver that had given her the last lift into the city, he had reassured her that the sprawling mess of warehouses and a couple of bars was Lotham city. Anna Marie couldn't believe her poor luck. Not only was the universe screwing her over by giving her a useless, ridiculous talent that had left her dreaming memories that weren't her own for over a week, kicked out of her house and a comatose ex-boyfriend, now it was going to refuse her a chance to try and rebuild her life?

She shook her head. No point thinking like that, it wouldn't get her anywhere. The inside of her left elbow was rubbed raw from the number of times she'd had to pinch herself to keep from breaking down over the past week. But she hadn't yet, so she had resolved not to give in.

The one advantage to the week's worth of travel was that it had given her more than enough time to think, and to reconsider her life and where it was leading. Finishing school was, obviously, out of the question. There was no way that she could afford to rent somewhere to live, and pay her bills whilst also attending high school. That was alright, though. She'd never been the cleverest of people. And while she had been smart enough to get relatively decent grades, school was never something that she'd taken much interest in.

It was also clear that if she didn't want the foster system attempting to track her down she would have to lie about her name and her age. Technically she was old enough to live on her own, but there was no way that her school wouldn't notice she was missing and try and get to the bottom of it. Luckily, it was still relatively early in the summer vacation, so she had about a month left before anyone would notice her absence from class. She wondered what her parents would say about why she was no longer living with them.

Not that they were her parents anymore anyway. They'd taken her in when she was five. Old enough to remember the abuse she'd received at the hands of previous foster parents, but young enough to accept them as parents of her heart, if only they had tried. But there had constantly been that warning, that she mustn't step a toe out of line because she wasn't really theirs, and they'd quite happily send her back into the system.

She couldn't settle on a name, not a real one anyway. She was Anna Marie, or just Marie to her friends. It was the name she'd always had, and she'd pinned a tendril of belief to it that her real parents had been the ones to name her such. The lack of a surname suggested not, but it was a hope that she'd had for as long as she remembered, and she was not willing - not able, at this point in time - to give that up. But she knew she needed a new name.

The one thing that had stuck with her was the second person who'd stopped and let her hitchhike along with him. He'd been another truck driver, he looked about eighty and his dashboard was covered in photos of his wife, kids and grandkids. "You're a little rogue then," he'd said teasingly, when she'd explained that she'd run away from home. It wasn't the truth, but he was looking for an explanation, and it was the closest she was willing to tell.

But the name 'Rogue' had stuck in her head and would not be shaken loose. It felt a little silly to introduce herself as that, but comfortable too. It was a name that she'd chosen for herself, a name that couldn't be linked to little Anna Marie, and she liked its connotations. She didn't like to consider herself a dishonest person, but she had to lie about being a mutant to get by, and she was solitary and dangerous to get too close to.

Looking again at Lotham city, maybe it would be alright. It was clear that it was a trucker town; built as a half way point between suppliers and consumers, a few people living and working there, but most just passing through. If she could get a job at one of the bars, maybe everything would work out alright. Like when she'd been hitchhiking across the country - people talked a lot, shared a lot of stories, but they weren't really interested in you personally, just in the tales you could spin, be they true or fantasy.

The truck driver took pity on her, pointing her towards one of the busier bars. "Mack runs it. Not technically a motel, but there are rooms round back for the drunkards not fit for driving. He'll put you up for a night."

"Thanks," she replied with a smile that was as close to genuine as she could persuade it to be. Then she said goodbye to the driver and walked over to the bar he'd indicated. There was no clear signage as to what the place was called, but the flashing signs in the windows advertised cheap beer and local ale, as well as something called 'cage fights' that Rogue decided she could probably live without knowing the details of.

Walking in, she was surprised to find it thronging with people. The room she'd walked into had a long open space, with a relatively low ceiling and lots of wooden columns propping it up. There was a bar along one side that looked well stocked, although not very well manned if the way the single bartender was rushing from one order to the next was any indication. Behind him the TV flashed a hockey game rerun mutely, no one paying it the least bit of attention.

She hesitated in the doorway for a long moment, posture lopsided from the weight of the bag she was carrying and trying to squash the inner voice of her former foster mother telling her not to slouch. After several long minutes the bartender spotted her and waved her in.

"Don't stand there letting the wind in. Shut the door," he ordered and momentarily ignored all of the rest of his customers in favour of turning his attention entirely on her. "What can I do you for?" he asked briskly in a no nonsense manner that indicated he was willing to serve, but not to waste time on idle chitchat.

"Are you Mack?" Rogue asked, hoping that knowing the name of the manager might be in her favour.

"I am," the bartender confirmed. He had a well-weathered face lined with deep wrinkles, that gave away nothing. In spite of his age he still stood with a straight back and looked well enough built to take on most of the men crowded into his bar. There was also an air of authority to him, though whether that was just because he controlled the flow of liquor or not, Rogue didn't know.

"I heard that you have rooms in the back, that I might be able to rent one for a night?" she said.

Mack looked her up and down assessing and inclined his head. "Alright," he agreed readily enough. "I let enough of the damn fools around here borrow my floor often enough."

He started to turn away and back to the rest of his customers but she stopped him short before he could.

"I was also hoping-" she cut herself off at the stern raised eyebrow he shot her, that made her stumble over her words. "Maybe you need a new employee?" she questioned tentatively. "Doesn't have to be permanent, or anything, just for as long as you might need help."

Mack took a lot longer this time to look Rogue up and down, and she straightened under his gaze. No need for reminders from mothers when you have a prospective employer trying to judge your worth. "How old are you?" he asked.

Rogue debated with herself as to how to answer this question. The automatic response of 'eighteen' dying before it reached her lips. Eighteen was a pretty safe bet. Only two years more than her actual age, and old enough for most people to take you seriously. However, this was a bar. If she wanted to work here, she had to be of legal drinking age to sell the alcohol. And the problem was that she had no idea what the legalities were for this area. For most of the US it was 21, but she was pretty certain that she'd crossed the border into Canada, although she wasn't entirely sure what province she was in.

"How old do I need to be to legally drink here?" she settled on asking.

Another sharp eyed look, although perhaps there was a measure of respect there that hadn't been before. Then again, maybe it was a trick of the light. "Nineteen," Mack informed her.

"Then I'm nineteen," Rogue replied, glad that she had waited to find out. Unless he asked for proof of her age, and - in a town like this - that was unlikely, no one ever had to know any better. It was clear from his face that Mack didn't believe a word of it, but so long as he didn't push for an honest answer, and she didn't tell him the truth herself, they could both ignore it.

"Your name?" he prompted.

"Rogue - just, Rogue."

Mack snorted a disbelieving sound and shook his head. "Of course it is," he muttered, mostly to himself. "I don't have time to teach you the system around here right now, and you look like you're about to drop dead from exhaustion any a minute anyway. You head round to the back and I'll be through shortly to point you to a bed," he told her, gesturing to a door on the far side of the room that she wouldn't have noticed at all, had it not been pointed out to her.

Before Rogue could express her gratitude, Mack had returned to his work and was moving quickly and efficiently to fill the orders that had piled up in the few short minutes of their conversation. She was surprised, actually, how easy that had been. There was no doubt in her mind that if she did not do the job well enough, Mack would turn her out on her ass faster than her foster parents had, but there still remained the fact that he had given her a chance.

He had not questioned the long sleeves in the middle of summer, nor the conclusion he'd drawn that she was younger than she'd said. He hadn't even questioned the ridiculous name she'd picked out for herself - which sounded even more stupid now that she'd actually introduced herself as that. But as Rogue picked her way across the bar, past the strangers who all looked perfectly at home here, she started to think that maybe Mack didn't want to question.

There were all sorts hanging around. From fat to thin, muscled to muscle-less, men and women; all of them with something that made them different from everyone else in the crowd, and all of them fitting in perfectly. It took a moment for Rogue to realise that the reason for that was not the way they dressed, or spoke, but because they all looked as thought they knew they had the right to be there. It was something completely intangible that she recognised she would have to try and emulate if she wanted to fit in.

She slouched again a bit, as she walked across the crowded room, settling into a casual walk that she tried to keep loose and relaxed. She kept her breathing steady, not too fast, nor too slow; either suggesting an unease at the surroundings. And Rogue very carefully kept her eyes up. It would be her natural inclination to keep her head down and shuffle through the crowd, but she knew almost instinctively that, in a crowd like this, such an action would garner more attention.

As it was, no one looked twice at her. There were a few lingering eyes, some merely curious, some appraising, but all turning away before long when it became clear that she didn't care about them at all. Rogue did care, of course, any attention from anyone was uncomfortable at the moment for her. As though their eyes might be followed by hands, and she might end up hurting some one else. That someone might find out her secret and she'd have to work out where to go, again, but this time with significantly less money.

But Rogue kept her head up and her eyes from lingering anywhere for too long. She opened the door with a purpose, and tried to step through it as though she deserved to be there. She closed it as quickly as she could behind her without causing it to slam, then dropped her bag and leant against the wood, breathing in deeply. She'd never been afraid of crowds before, but now… that had been the most terrifying experience of her life, with the exception of the evening of David's… accident.

So many people pressing in around, so much revealed skin. It would have been so easy for someone to accidentally touch her, and then - then nothing, she supposed. More travelling, maybe. She'd travelled the length of the country, perhaps now she should try the breadth of it, too. Rogue propped her hands on her knees and let her head hang loose for a moment, breathing deeply to control the irrational fear she now, apparently, had of crowds.

Perhaps barkeeping was going to be a bad idea, if something as simple as crossing a room had freaked her out so much. Not that she had much of a choice, though. Best just to bite the bullet, Rogue supposed, breathe through the fear and keep going. After all, the hitchhiking and Mack's allowing her to stay and work were probably the only kindnesses a stranger would offer her.

Rogue moved away from the door just before Mack opened it, striding through with all the confidence she had only pretended to have.

"This way," he grunted, leading the way down the thin corridor, not stopping to see if she'd follow. "First stock room, cleaning closet, second stock room, bathroom," he began listing as they walked passed the doors. "Three bedrooms. You'll have the one on the end, since the smaller the distance we have to haul some idiot's ass, the better," he remarked, with a wave at the door at the end. "If you're awake, I'll be having breakfast at eight," he added, with a brief explanation on how to get to his house. (East alley entrance, down to the road, second left, three houses down on the right).

"Thanks," Rogue said.

Mack didn't say anything, just grunted wordlessly in reply, and moved past her and back down the corridor. Rogue watched him leave for a moment, hoping that this would turn out alright. It was pretty miraculous that, the first place she tried, she got a job. She knew that full well how unlikely that was from previous attempts at trying to get weekend work, so it seemed almost too good to be true. Especially considering she might be able to rent the room on a more permanent basis.

Rogue bit her cheek. Best not to get ahead of herself. She might hate it here. Mack might turn out to be a pervert, or the crowd might be just that little bit too unfriendly. She couldn't afford to be picky, but she knew herself well enough to know that if she felt at risk - proper risk, not the baseless fear of crowds she had developed - she would not stick around. Rogue would not risk her health for the desire not to travel again.

She opened the door to what was to be her room for the night, at least. It was simple, but she didn't need much. Anything beat sleeping in a truck cabin or on a coach. There was a wardrobe against one wall, and rather saggy looking bed pressed against another. There was nothing else in the way of furniture, and a bare light bulb was hanging from the ceiling. If she ended up staying for any length of time she might have to upgrade the bed, but it would do.

Not that it mattered, in the coming weeks, what her bed was like. It turned out, in the end, that breakfast with Mack wasn't really an option. When she hadn't turned up the first morning, he'd shoved some toast in her direction when he'd opened up the bar and told her that she better damn well be there the following morning. For a while Rogue suspected that there might be an element of misplaced protectiveness involved, but it soon became clear that it had a lot more to do with not wanting her to faint from low blood sugar levels.

Rogue was not used to any sort of manual labour. Sure, she'd done her fair share of chores around the house, but that wasn't much to mention. A bit of cleaning, taking out the trash - it was nothing compared to the havoc that was cleaning and running the bar. Which wasn't to mention the added work load of the cage fight nights. The first month or so were incredibly hard on Rogue, and it was only for lack of any time to do so that she didn't break her promise to herself to break down and cry.

She went from bed to work, and straight back to bed again. The only pit stops in the routine were half an hour for lunch and dinner, and the near leisurely hour for breakfast. Mornings were spent cleaning away the mess left over from the night before, afternoons were a quieter crowd, so she often spent the time repairing or redecorating parts of the bar. Then from about 5 o'clock onwards, she was almost permanently behind the bar as the crowd went from small to huge within an hour or two.

By two, when the last people left, Rogue was exhausted and had about enough energy to mutter a goodbye to Mack before collapsing into bed to grab a precious six hour's sleep before the whole thing started all over again. When, after two months of working for him, Rogue still hadn't collapsed from exhaustion and was actually starting to flourish under the constant pressure, Mack admitted that he'd been pushing her harder than he ought in a half-hearted attempt to scare her off.

"I can't have no layabouts wasting my time and money. Needed to know you weren't going to run off again at the first sight of hard work."

"It wasn't hard work that made me run away from home," she'd replied as tonelessly as she could, to keep the anger from rising. Eighteen hour days, seven days a week for nine weeks. All to check that she wouldn't wimp out. Wonderful. It was only later, when she was collapsed on her bumpy little bed several hours earlier than she normally got there that she realised what it meant, that she now got Mondays and several afternoons a week off. It wasn't a temporary thing anymore.

She'd got the job. It seemed ridiculous, but all that hard work had been Mack's version of a job interview that he'd never given her. He didn't care about her name or her age so long as she got the job done. And she had. Not just the first day, but continuously for two months. With barely a single complaint (because, no, she wasn't a saint, and she'd grumbled more than once about how exhausting it was). The job was hers, now. She could have it for as long as she wanted. And damn, if that didn't feel good to know.

Rogue stared up at the ceiling and laughed slightly hysterically at herself. She was an orphan, lost in the world, and with a mutation that would probably stop her from ever touching skin-to-skin with anyone ever again. But in just that moment, in a poorly lit, grungy little room, she felt good.