Chapter Three

For over two months Rogue had kept her belief in Logan's survival close to her chest and now, in the space of a day, she'd confided in not one, but two people. But any reluctance she'd had in telling Tony Stark faded away with his reaction. His entire demeanor altered: his eyes brightened, he stood straighter--no longer the guilt-riddled man bent over a grave.

"How long have you known?" he'd asked after she'd confided in him. There was none of Kitty Pryde's condescending pity. No drawn-out questions and explanations about her mutation and Logan's voice in her head--but, Tony Stark being Tony Stark, Rogue had no illusions that he didn't already know everything about her down to her birth weight and every nuance of her mutation. Tony Stark took her belief as gospel.

Now she was packing her things while Stark made some phone calls.

Rogue looked around the Med Lab that had served as her temporary home: she had very little to pack.

Rogue had returned to the mansion with the intention of living in the small attic area of the boathouse. It was only a whim which led her to investigate the concealed entrance to the sub basements.

Her first surprise was the soft glow of emergency lighting that filled the corridor beyond the concealing panel. Not the harsh red common to emergency lights, but a soft white glow like that of a 60 watt bulb. The emergency generator--fueled by solar panels on the boathouse roof--must've kicked-in when the mansion above was destroyed four months prior.

The sub basements were dusty yet, otherwise, pristine; so much so she half expected the locker room door to open and Cyclops exit with a towel draped around his neck. It was the same with each room she passed: magazines, books, and clothing left waiting for owners that would never return. The only sound the electric hum of equipment.

Rogue had settled on living in the Med Lab since it had everything she required: a bed, albeit a hard, uncomfortable one; the attached office had a microwave and its own full bathroom. Her second surprise was that water still flowed through the pipes.

Charles Xavier had designed these basements to support the X-Men through a small siege so, located in the lounge was a compact kitchen and a deep pantry filled with cases of bottled water and non-perishable foods. Food wouldn't be an issue.

Her final surprise was finding that the Wi-Fi still worked. She had no idea why it worked, just happy for the internet access it provided.

Rogue had gone through the sub basements turning off and unplugging whatever she could to lessen the strain on the generator. She left the large banks of computers in the War Room alone, unsure of what exactly they controlled.

Now she stood over the bed she'd claimed in the Med Lab stuffing her few possessions into her duffel. Her clothes went in first, followed by the novels she'd found scattered about, then her portable DVD player and small collection of DVD's, and finally her laptop.

Tony Stark appeared in the doorway just as she closed the zipper on her duffel. "The grounds crew will be here first thing to fix Logan's grave," Stark assured her as he looked around her makeshift home.

"Thank you," Rogue said.

"So," Stark clapped his hands together, "ready to go?"

Rogue took one last look around the Med Lab, sucked in a deep breath, and slung her duffel over her shoulder. "I'm ready."

* * *

Stark Towers consisted of a trio of buildings: a skyscraper flanked on either side by a building 2/3 its size. The building to the left of skyscraper was cordoned off, still in the midst of flood repairs.

On Logan's motorcycle, Rogue followed Tony Stark's limo down a ramp to a private parking area beneath the largest of the buildings. In the time it took her to kill the engine and kick down the stand, Stark was already standing next to his limo; his chauffeur a step behind and to the side with her duffel over his shoulder. When Rogue went to take the bag from him, the chauffeur gripped the strap tighter and took a hasty step back. She looked to Tony Stark; his lips were pressed firmly together and his eyes glittered. Whether from residual alcohol in his system or suppressed mirth, she couldn't tell.

Rogue shrugged. If the guy was so bent on carrying her bag, so be it.

Stark chuckled quietly and led Rogue to a bank of elevators where a tall, sandy-haired young man stood waiting with a tablet computer clasped in his hands. "Welcome home, Mr. Stark," the young man said as their trio approached.

"Thank you, Mr. Morrow," Stark replied with a brisk nod. "Mr. Morrow, I'd like you to meet Rogue. Rogue, Mr. Morrow."

"Paul, please," Mr. Morrow offered her his hand to shake.

Rogue tried not to let her eyes boggle at the proffered bare flesh. People--people that knew her and what her mutation can do--did not voluntarily offer their bare skin for her to touch. She grasped his hand in her gloved one, thankful that she'd put on clean gloves when she returned to the Med Lab to pack; her jeans were still grass-stained and muddy from knee to ankle. Paul Morrow smiled and shook her hand firmly. She hoped her surprise and hesitation hadn't been too obvious.

Still, Rogue wondered if Paul Morrow suspected her of being a mutant.

Paul released her hand, his smile still in place, "Nice to meet you, Rogue."

Rogue replied with a closed-lipped smile.

The three of them entered the waiting elevator followed by Stark's chauffeur with her duffel. As he switched the heavy bag to his other shoulder his eyes seemed to bore into Rogue, daring her to offer to take it off his hands. Rogue had no intention of doing so.

"Destination?" a sultry, feminine computerized voice--better suited for a porn version of 'Star Trek'--asked. Rogue rolled her eyes.

"89th floor," Stark announced. The elevator doors slid closed and began its ascent. Stark clasped his hands behind his back, his gaze fixed on the digital display showing the current floor. "What's the word, Paul?"

"The initial search of the usual channels came up empty. But it may be too soon for anything to show; you said the item was just stolen tonight. I've assigned Franks and Christensen to keep tabs on it."

So, Paul Morrow is one of Stark's highly caffeinated technicians, Rogue thought. Her hackles had risen at hearing Logan's arm referred to as 'the item'. But she choked down her anger; these people were only trying to help and Paul wouldn't have known her emotional attachment to 'the item'.

"Very good, Mr. Morrow," Stark nodded, still watching the numbers on the digital display rise. "Keep me informed."

The elevator pinged their arrival and the doors slid open to reveal light gray walls and Nero Marquina marble floors. Niches along the walls held modern art representations of the Iron Man armor--some shockingly beautiful; others twisted and grotesque.

Thinking back on that cordoned-off building next door, Rogue wondered how much of what she was seeing was brand new; if the floodwaters had reached this height.

In front of one of those art niches stood a stunning woman attired in what could be best described as Sexy Librarian Chic. Her glossy, jet black hair was pulled back into a low, tight knot; the pencil skirt of her royal blue suit barely touched the tops of her thighs--Rogue wondered how she sat without displaying her attributes to the world. Logan's voice in her head chuckled, Darlin', that's the whole point. Designer rectangular-framed glasses in that same royal blue graced her heart-shaped face. Blood red lips and nails and ultra-high royal blue heels completed the ensemble.

Sexy Librarian sashayed over to them using her best runway model walk; the biggest, brightest smile Rogue had seen this side of a toothpaste ad plastered on her face. "Mr. Stark, the room has been prepared per your instructions."

"Thank you, Bonnie," Stark replied as Sexy Librarian--Bonnie--stopped in front of them. "This is Rogue, she'll be our guest while we complete a project. Bonnie is my Personal Assistant," he added, turning to Rogue.

"Hi," Rogue said to Bonnie with a slight wave of her fingers.

Bonnie's assessing gaze was like a physical thing, taking in Rogue's worn and muddy combat boots, filthy jeans, and oversized jacket. That toothpaste smile took on a condescending edge. "Oh," she began, "and how long will Rogue be your guest?" Stark lifted a brow at either her question or the tone she'd used as Bonnie quickly amended, "The housekeeping staff will need to be informed."

"That's unknown at the moment," Stark replied with a sidelong glance at Rogue. Bonnie's own eyes cut from Tony Stark to Rogue and back again; that toothpaste smile drooping to non-existence.

"I'll let the staff know," she mumbled, cleared her throat, then turned to Rogue, "Let me show you to your room."

Bonnie led the group down the marble hallway past widely spaced doorways and more creepy Iron Man art pieces. She stopped in front of the door marked 8909 and ran a keycard through the lock. "Here we are," she said and opened the door.

The suite was spacious, the decor rich yet... stark--like the man himself. The black marble floors and light gray walls continued into the space, but thick, plush light gray rugs in the sitting and bedroom areas softened the effect. The wall opposite the door was lined with great oversized windows set about two feet apart with blinds that responded to the touch of a button. Which Bonnie now demonstrated, exposing to them the twinkling New York skyline. Rogue knew she was expected to 'ooh' and 'aah' at the stunning view, but, tired and emotionally-drained, she just didn't have it in her at the moment. She'd 'ooh' and 'aah' tomorrow.

The bed was a wide, low platform affair with thick white bedding and a mountain of accent pillows in white, black, and gray. A single red pillow provided a pop of color. A white padded bench sat at the foot of the bed and low nightstands of the darkest wood flanked the bed on either side. A rectangular framed mirror and low, dark wood dresser finished the bedroom area.

The sitting area consisted of a white loveseat, overstuffed armchair, and a coffee table in that same dark wood. A large flat-screen TV was mounted to the wall, easily viewable from both the bed and the sitting area. A low media cabinet sat beneath the television. Low dark wood bookcases stacked with leather bound classics and recent bestsellers lined the near wall.

The door to the bathroom stood just to Rogue's left beyond the bedroom area, but she'd investigate it later when there was less of an audience.

Stark's chauffeur brushed passed them to set her duffel on the bench at the foot of the bed. Then, with a slight tip of his hat to Tony Stark, he was gone just as brusquely. Stark's lips curled into a grin and his eyes danced with that same mirth as earlier in the parking garage.

"Well," Stark clapped his hands together, "the kitchen is staffed 24/7; use the phone by the bed to order whatever you'd like. If there's anything else you need, call the Concierge or just give me a yell--the floors above are mine. Your keycard should be cleared for penthouse access." He looked to Bonnie for confirmation. She nodded, frowning.

"I've assigned Mr. Morrow here," Stark continued, "to head our project. And since I'm sure he's eager as a little beaver to get started, and I'm eager for a bottle of aspirin--or a hair of the dog that bit me," he rubbed at his temple, "I'll bid you adieu."

With a smile and a nod to Rogue, Tony Stark exited the suite and Bonnie's heels clip-clopped across the marble floors to follow him. Just as she reached Rogue and Paul and the open doorway, she brought one of those ultra-high heels down on Rogue's toe. Rogue yelped and jerked her foot back, more out of surprise than pain--her boots had steel toes.

Bonnie gasped theatrically, "Oh my God! How clumsy of me!" she apologized with a hint of a sneer on her lips. Then she was out the door, jogging after Stark as best she could in those heels, calling "Tony! Tony!"

Rogue blew out a breath and closed the door. "Gee, I get the feeling dear ol' Bonnie doesn't like me so much."

Paul chuckled, "Could be because her name is actually Brenda."

"But Stark called her--," Rogue stuttered, "--how long has she worked here?"

Paul did a quick mental calculation. "Six weeks. Two months, maybe."

"And he still doesn't know her name?"

"Well, to be fair," Paul shrugged, "the turnover rate for his Personal Assistants is pretty high. None before Bonnie/Brenda have lasted longer than three weeks."

"Is he that hard to work for?"

"Nah, just a short attention span when it comes to attractive women. Bonnie/Brenda must possess super special skills to keep his interest this long."

"And I have a pretty good idea what those 'skills' are," Rogue murmured as she collapsed into the overstuffed armchair. She caught Paul stifling a yawn as he sat himself down on the loveseat. Rogue glanced around the suite for a clock and found one atop one of the nightstands. She read the luminous blue numbers, blinked her eyes a few times then read them again, "Is it really 4:20 AM?"

Paul glanced at the watch on his left wrist, "Sure is."

"Are you usually here at just past four in the morning?" she asked, thrown by his peppy tone of voice; in utter contrast to the yawn she'd just witnessed.

"Not usually," he answered, "but we're still trying to fix or replace equipment lost in the flood. I just happened to be working on that when the call from Mr. Stark came in."

Again, Rogue remembered the cordoned-off building below. And it explained why he was dressed in worn blue jeans and a Stark Industries T-shirt, Rogue mused, instead of business attire like Bonnie/Brenda.

"And speaking of the flood," Paul began fiddling with the tablet computer on his lap, "I understand that we're attempting to locate a remote cabin belonging to a friend of yours who went missing after the flood."

"Yes, that's right," Rogue replied, silently thanking Tony Stark for his revised version of events. While Paul Morrow seemed a perfectly decent guy, you never knew who could be a closet mutant-hater--especially after Magneto.

Paul nodded in sympathy and offered her a sad smile. After Magneto's wave crashed through New York, the news had been filled with stories of loved ones lost or missing in the aftermath so, Rogue knew Paul would accept that explanation at face value and wouldn't dig any further.

"Mr. Stark explained that you've only seen photos of the area where the cabin is located so, that's where we'll start," Paul handed her the tablet along with a stylus. The curser blinked at her on a document blank except for Paul Morrow's name and contact information. "Write down everything you remember with as much detail as possible. We'll feed it into the computers and they'll grab pictures from various sources that match the descriptions. It'll be up to you then to go through those pictures and mark the ones that match what you remember. With enough pictures the computer should be able to determine a location. We'll send a satellite then to scan that area and, hopefully, we'll find your cabin."

Rogue's hands were beginning to shake. She laid the tablet and stylus on the edge of the coffee table and tucked her hands beneath her thighs. "How long will it take?" Her voice shook, too.

Paul spread his palms, "I wish I could say for certain, but there's really no way of knowing," again he smiled sadly, "Canada's a big place."

Rogue closed her eyes and drew in a deep, stuttering breath. Paul pushed off the loveseat, "I'll leave you to get started."

Rogue waited for the door to close behind him before grabbing the tablet and stylus off the table. She drew in another deep breath, pulled Logan's memories to the front of her mind, and began to write.

To Be Continued...