Summary: Her grandmother used to say the best things in life happen when you're not looking for them. Maybe this place would be one of those good things. After the last few years it felt like she was due for something good. Rogue (with a little unexpected help) went on the run after Liberty Island and took up a completely unlikely (and unpredictable) profession. When someone from her past and his younger brother come along, her entire world shifts. But it could be wonderful. If she'll let it. Will she have to choose between them? Or will they make the choice for her? Unapologetically lemony.

Prologue

It was funny, she'd started out as a waitress, she'd worked her way across the country as a waitress and she didn't see how this city would be any different. The club was slightly seedy, but clean for all its dark edges, and the manager had a reputation for not putting up with any shit. Not from anyone. She'd managed to scrape together enough cash for a fake ID that showed she was twenty-one. Not that she was interested in incurring the extra expense of alcohol consumption but bar waitresses could make better tips so it would be good to have the option, especially in Nevada.

She knew she didn't look twenty-one. She barely looked the eighteen years she could legally claim. At least she hadn't missed any growth spurts although she knew she could look healthier. But with some makeup to disguise her pallor… and her eyes. Her eyes looked ancient even if the skin around them was unlined.

Louis, (pronounced Lewis) had taken one look at her and frowned. "You wanted for anything? Legally?"

"No." She knew she wasn't. The type of people after her weren't the type to use the law as their weapon. They had plenty of their own. "No, I'm… I…" She couldn't quite tell the lie she had prepared, of an abusive boyfriend, uncaring parents, portions of that lie were too close to the truth for comfort.

"You're running," Louis hadn't needed the lie. "It's a good ID. It'll fool a quick look from most cops." His dark blue eyes were far too knowing. "You want a job as a waitress… I'll hire you but most of the clientele here…they like to play grab ass with the serving staff. You gonna be okay with that?"

She'd taken a deep breath, "The uniform… all my skin is pretty much covered right?"

"Yeah," He'd nodded. "That the trigger? Hands on skin?"

She'd nodded in return. Control wasn't as elusive as it had been, constant practice (and an encounter with a telepath) had given her a good handle on it, but a rush of fear, adrenaline…it was better to be safe than sorry. She had improved but covering up still made her feel better.

"We can work with that," Louis had sized her up, gotten a uniform, told her what kind of shoes to buy, or boots if she preferred, and informed her that she could come in that night to start training. "We're not fancy, and we're definitely not nice. But if anybody really scares you, you tell me or Jimmy Joe, we'll take care of the problem. Rule number one is nobody is allowed to hurt my people. You work here, you're mine."

She'd had plenty of experience sizing people up herself by that time, and she'd nodded, a tenuous feeling of safety coiling through her stomach. Her grandmother used to say the best things in life happen when you're not looking for them. Maybe this place would be one of those good things. After the last few years, it felt like she was due for something good.

Two weeks as a waitress and she was ready to kill some of the patrons/customers. She'd managed to keep her cool and her control even with all the slaps on the ass, grabbing of her arms, waist or thighs. But tonight, someone had grabbed her hair and tried to pull her into his lap. Jimmy Joe had been on the guy in a second and he'd been thrown out, but she'd been a nervous wreck for the rest of the night.

"Aww…honey here, try some water and breathe a bit." A tall glass filled with ice and water was thrust in front of her face and she took it automatically. Looking up she saw Pam, a leggy blonde with a bust not entirely God-given, and dark hazel eyes smiling at her sympathetically.

"Thanks." She took a deep breath and a sip of the water and tried to calm down.

"I started out as a waitress too." Pam told her conversationally as she pushed off her heels and peeled off the blonde wig, unbraiding her sandy auburn hair from its coil around her head. "Couldn't stand all the groping. So, I got up on stage. Nobody can touch me there, I make more money and with the wig, nobody even knows who I am at the end of the night."

"How did you…" She took a deep breath and another sip of water. "Weren't you embarrassed to take off your clothes? In front of people?"

Pam grinned and shook her head, "Well yeah at first. But hey, it's my body. If I wanna fuck a donkey onstage I could, except I think it's against state laws."

Marie giggled and shook her head, "Back home, there was a fella got arrested for improper relations with a horse. Everybody went on about how perverted he was. I always felt bad for the horse."

Pam's face was a study in revulsion, "Ewwww…"

"Yeah I know." Marie shrugged. "So how did you get over it? Being embarrassed I mean? Because I'd think turning red would be a not so great kinda showstopper."

"Practice mostly," Pam smiled at her. "And a routine. Everything's choreographed you know? Just concentrate on that. And the stage lights are bright… plus, the pole we use… Louis set that far enough back that guys can't reach us."

"But I see 'em tucking bills into your clothes," The younger woman frowned.

"Only if I let them sweetheart." The stripper grinned at her. "Most of the money gets put in the card readers or the jars at the edge of the stage. And private dances are all videoed so nobody gets grabby. Hell, even a lap dance, it's you controlling everything. The customers aren't allowed to touch or they're out on their ass."

Marie considered the idea while she sipped her water. "I took a lot of dance classes when I was younger. Ballet and jazz dancing along with ballroom. Mostly ballet even though I started to fill out and dancers are supposed to be slender." She'd taken ballet right up until she'd been thrown out of the house, despite developing curves. One more thing that had set her apart from the other kids at her high school, but she'd loved it even though it wasn't really something she could do as a career.

"Your mom raised you real proper huh," Pam sounded wistful.

"Yeah," Marie shook her head. "And she let my dad throw me out with almost nothing but the clothes on my back the minute I…" She knew her voice was bitter and couldn't seem to soften it. "I can set a table fit for a banquet, cook and run a house, dance and play the piano. Everything a southern lady should know. Even got mostly perfect grades in school. I was the ideal child. It didn't matter. He wouldn't have even let me have the duffle bag of my clothes and some shoes, but my mom had already told me to pack."

"You mind me askin'…what happened?" The older woman's voice was gentle. "Someone hurt you?"

Marie sighed and looked at Pam, really looked. "I… I manifested." She said softly.

"You're…a mutant," Pam's voice was equally soft but sympathetic at least. "Oh honey. And they threw you out for that?"

"Pretty much." Marie sighed. "I got it mostly in hand now, but used to be…when I touched someone, my skin would…take their energy. It could hurt people. I spent…a long time, covered up. Finally got some control of it after I got these, through sheer desperation mostly." She touched the white streaks that framed her face. "I still feel better if I'm covered, or out of reach."

"No wonder you get so scared when someone grabs you." Pam rubbed her shoulder gently and in that moment Marie adored the older woman for not being afraid to touch her. "I'm sorry honey."

Marie shrugged. "I don't have it any worse than anyone else who's been thrown out of their house. At least I've got a job, and a place to live." Even if she was living in a place barely a step above a roach motel, it was a roof over her head.

It took her another two weeks working with Pam, figuring out a routine, then another as a backup, and a third, which Pam said was a good idea just in case. And to practice. Pam got some of the other girls together and they played her audience. Once she could perform in front of the girls they recruited the bouncers so she could practice in front of men. It helped that she didn't have to strip bare, she could keep her gloves on if she wanted (though they weren't totally necessary anymore), heels, even stockings and garters, so long as she had a layer or two over them to take off. And bare breasts were a must.

Louis had nodded when she approached him, Pam backing her up, "Figured you'd either move on stage or you'd quit. You'll make more money on stage. I'll give you an advance, enough for a wig. Get yourself something wild, an electric blue blunt cut or green curls. We'll put you on the lunch crowd your first couple times, they're a lot more easy going. Helps that they can't get so drunk that they're unable to go back to work."

Marie had smiled slightly, "Sounds like it's a good idea. I've got some money saved. Pam said to invest in shoes, and wigs. Clothing, the cheaper the better because it gets messed up easy."

"Pam ain't wrong," Louis agreed. "We'll try it for a week. See how you do." He looked at the older dancer, "Pam you take her out, get her the wig and shoes she needs. Show her the places to find costumes."

Pam nodded, patting Marie's back gently. "We'll find something that suits you but hides who you are."

And they had. She'd invested in a couple of different wigs when she got more money, offering to trade with Pam if she wanted a change from the tumbled red curls or golden blonde ponytail that were the older dancer's trademark look. Different shoes and several pairs of stockings and lingerie. The stockings were something that made her feel safe, her legs were the part of her most likely to be grabbed onstage.

The bright electric blue blunt cut swung around her collarbone and the fuchsia was a high tight ponytail of curls that swayed over her ass when she walked. Pam had offered to split the cost of a platinum blonde wig that fell to her shoulder blades. Between her two wigs and the one she and Pam traded back and forth she could do two stage dances a night. More if she'd gotten a lot of rest during the day. But she could work a lunch shift and do two at night easily.

And that wasn't counting private dances on the floor or in one of the back rooms. She'd also gone out with Pam to a few of the other clubs, picking up the odd shift here and there but the clubs that would hire her also tended to encourage their dancers to have sex with the guests and Marie had decided a long time ago that there were lines she wouldn't cross until she was literally starving. Prostitution was one of them.

She did pretty well, making a decent living. It turned out that Laughlin was the perfect place to hide. The family-oriented spot was large enough to have a seamier side but not so large that organized crime had gotten a foothold yet (much, it seemed like organized crime really was everywhere). Casinos, hotels, RV parks and boating on the Colorado River made it a prime vacation spot for people who wanted some fun but didn't want the insanity of Vegas.

No one paid attention to a stripper, exotic dancer, (stage name Magnolia) Pam had rolled her eyes when she'd corrected Marie, but it was a fine distinction. A dancer had to be more than bump and grind, slightly more than a stripper, even if no one off stage would ever care about the difference. Louis was a man of discriminating tastes and if you couldn't dance and look better than good doing it he wouldn't have you on the stage.

Pam was showing her some of the finer points of stage makeup, highlighting her cheekbones, giving her a cat's eye look to go with the blunt electric blue wig, grinning over what she said was a very roaring twenties look. "So how'd you end up with these streaks honey?" She touched one of the white stripes in Marie's hair. "You're a little young to be going white."

"I was on the road," Marie held still while Pam did her eyes. "And I ran into another mutant. He'd… He had heard about me somehow. Wanted to use what I could do. Make me borrow his power and use me to run a machine. Make people mutate. It would have killed me."

"You got away?" Pam continued working, sweeping shadow in a tawny gold over Marie's lids.

"One of the other mutants he had working for him, he acted like an animal, kinda looked like one…but he wasn't." Marie explained, not really sure how to explain the mutant called Sabretooth. The huge mutant had looked like a sasquatch to her or a feral Persian cat with a grooming problem. "Some of the main guy's thugs had beat me up, to teach me a lesson or soften me up for the boss…I didn't know. But this animal mutant… he said nobody should beat on kids." She lifted one shoulder in a careful shrug, "I was only fifteen. Skinny since I'd been on the road a good six months, so I looked younger than I was. He touched my skin and got me a decent meal: he had a healing mutation, part of what he was I guess, and it healed me."

"And that helped you get away?" Pam finished with the eyeshadow and began to get the wig ready while Marie wrapped her long locks up tightly to fit under the fake hair.

"In a way," Marie frowned and took a minute to get the end of her braid tucked away, taking the wig and getting it settled and pinned to her braids. "When I take in a mutation, I keep it. Sometimes they'll come out as protection, sometimes just because… There was another group of mutants, they tried to stop the guy who had me. They blasted the machine apart, with me in it. And I fell… I fell really far, it should have killed me, the blast burned me too." She added and shook her head to test the pins. "It didn't, because of the healing mutation. But the machine, the stress of it, my hair streaked white, while I was in it I guess."

"People thought you were dead, that's why you got away," Pam realized. "Otherwise, someone would have put you in jail, or a facility."

She nodded, "Exactly. I washed up on the New Jersey side of the Hudson, coughed up half a river of water and started walking." She gave the blonde a sardonic grin, "Few years later, here I am."

"You'll knock 'em dead, just like always," Pam grinned and began to braid her own hair. Marie turned and offered her pins to hold her curly red wig on.

"Well, here's hoping," She grinned. "Louis said if I wanted I could do lap dances. An' almost 'gentleman's club', means the men aren't allowed to do anything but let me move. So, I should be safe enough."

"You sure you want to honey?" Pam looked at her, not dubious, but a bit concerned. "You get that close, there's always a chance someone'll try to grab."

"The money's good," Marie nodded. "And I can handle being grabbed when I'm half expecting it. It's being taken by surprise that sets me off."

"Lap dances aren't like…being onstage," Pam seemed to be trying to explain without getting graphic. Marie could appreciate her tact, but she'd been on the road for more than three years and she'd lost her innocence a long time ago.

"Louis explained, the point is to get the guys worked up, but not get them off and what they do after I leave is on them. I shouldn't encourage them to…finish while I'm there and if someone does ignore it and just leave when the dance is over," The younger girl shrugged. "So long as I'm not…expected to do anything sexual it's okay. I've got…echoes of all the people I've touched. Including some really… interesting individuals. You wouldn't believe the shit I have in my head. Nobody would ever guess I was inexperienced with the knowledge I've got. Even if one of them grabs me I'll be fine. I've gotten a lot better with keeping my skin off even when I get spooked."

"If you're sure," Pam was still looking at her, slightly worried, but didn't push.

"I'm sure," Marie smiled at her. "It'll be fine."

Author's Note: So, this is something I started a few years back and when I got a few other things finished I picked it up again. Like a lot of my stories the idea for this one popped into my head when I heard one of my favorite songs on the radio. I wanted a Rogue who could stand on her own two feet, who didn't really need to be rescued. Someone tough but still kind.

I did a lot of research on 'gentlemen's clubs' as I was writing this but I'm sure there are errors. This is a work of fiction and not a treatise on how exotic dancers make a living. I will say that there is nothing romantic or exotic about dancing for a living. It's incredibly difficult, dangerous at times and set up so that the clubs have the advantage over the dancers.

That being said I hope you enjoy the story.