Chapter Six

Stark sat at Christensen's workstation listening quietly as Rogue described the flash of Logan's memories. "It was like I was behind the wheel driving straight to the cabin." She spread her photocopied maps on the desk in front of him and Stark took a moment to look them over. A single eyebrow arched as he tapped a manicured nail beside the creek called Wolverine. "Yes, I noticed that too, but it's not the reason I'm sure Logan's cabin is somewhere in this area," Rogue insisted.

Paul typed rapidly on his keyboard. At the moment, he seemed to be taking all this talk of voices in her head and memory flashes in stride. But if he hadn't suspected her of being a mutant before, he knew for certain now. Only time would tell what he'd do with that information--the Government was offering high rewards for tips on stray mutants and Paul did have a wedding to pay for.

On the large central wall screen, the map of Canada with its dots of red, yellow, and green appeared. With a few more keystrokes the yellow dots disappeared, then the red, leaving only the green. There were stray green dots here and there across the map--mistakes she'd made or other places Logan had visited. The rest, with a bit of imagination, formed a broken path between New York and Alberta previously hidden by the multitude of yellow dots.

Paul grabbed a computer tablet and shoved it in Rogue's direction, "Write it down: everything you saw, just like before."

"How long will it take to modify the program to search only this area?" Stark asked.

"Not long," he was already typing, "It'll cut down the number of photos considerably." Paul looked from Rogue to Tony Stark, "We're close. Real close."

* * *

Tony Stark cornered Rogue at the elevator after they'd left Paul's office. "Are you alright?" he asked, grasping her by the shoulders. Rogue visibly tensed and the Logan in her head began to snarl.

"I'm literally giddy," she admitted while forcing her shoulders to relax.

"And you're certain about all of this?"

"Definitely," Rogue nodded. "I feel like I could hop on the bike right now and drive straight there by instinct."

Stark's face paled and his eyebrows jumped up. "But you wouldn't attempt that, right?"

"Not tonight." Rogue, confused by the note of panic in Stark's voice, smiled and added, "So long as Paul doesn't drag his feet."

Stark returned her smile, but the edge of panic remained in his eyes, "That's unlikely."

The elevator car arrived and Stark gave their destinations to that over-sexed Star Trek computer voice. "I wish I could invite you to a celebratory dinner this evening, but I'm afraid I have a project that requires my attention. So, tomorrow?"

Rogue forced another smile, "That'd be great."

* * *

That night the memories triggered in the library replayed in her mind over and over--as though she were behind the wheel of a vehicle following the curves of a tree-lined highway straight to the door of Logan's cabin.

* * *

Paul Morrow knocked on her door late in the afternoon with a tablet computer tucked under his arm. "Sorry for not being here sooner," he apologized as she closed the door behind him, "It took longer to re-index the photos than it did to modify the software." Paul handed her the tablet which contained just shy of a thousand photos instead of the usual two or three hundred. The surprise must've shown on Rogue's face because Paul grinned and added, "That's all of them."

Rogue blew out a stunned breath. All of them. She could easily go through a thousand photos before the weekend was over. Rogue sat the tablet down on the coffee table before she dropped it--her hands were shaking.

Paul, also, was fidgeting: reflexively opening and closing his hands, his gaze flicking here and there around her suite.

"Something wrong?" Rogue inquired.

Paul jumped as though he'd been shocked. "No, no, nothing's wrong," he stammered. "I, uh," he ran a hand through his short hair, "I just want you to know that I realize what a risk you took revealing what you did to me yesterday."

Rogue froze. Had she been wrong about Paul? Was the other shoe about to drop? She tucked her hands behind her back and began surreptitiously tugging on the fingers of her right glove. If Paul said the wrong thing she'd drop him where he stood. Rogue wasn't concerned about a personality like Paul's in her mind; her inner Logan would eat him for breakfast.

Paul licked his lips compulsively and shifted from foot to foot, yet he looked her dead in the eyes when he said: "I just want you to know that I'm... honored that you trusted me that much. And I promise not to abuse that trust--your secret is safe with me."

Rogue released the breath she'd been holding, "Thank you." She wasn't 100% convinced; nothing he could say would convince her completely--actions speak louder than words. She'd watch him closely but, for now, they could go back to where they were.

* * *

Rogue went through photos on the tablet until time came to join Tony Stark for dinner. And Stark had gone all out. The lighting in his penthouse was dimmed and candles flickered along the windowsills and the dining room table. A pink and white water lily floating in a glass bowl acted as a centerpiece.

Rogue felt out of place in her jeans and combat boots.

And the Logan in her head was none too pleased--growling ever louder as she took in the romantic atmosphere.

Stark greeted her with a nod and escorted her to the table where a meal of New York strip awaited them. He pulled out her chair and poured her a glass of champagne, unconcerned that she was a year and a half shy of the legal drinking age.

They ate in relative silence. Stark, wearing a pinched expression, paid more attention to his champagne glass than the perfectly prepared steak on his plate. Rogue nursed her own glass of champagne; she had every intention of going through more photos as soon as dinner ended.

"I apologize for leaving you to your own devices this past week or so," Stark finally spoke as the dinner plates were cleared and replaced with a platter of chocolate-covered strawberries, "I had a project of my own to complete." He removed a small, hinged box from an inside jacket pocket and sat in on the table. "I finished it today." He slid the box in her direction, "Open it."

Rogue put down the strawberry she'd been nibbling on and tentatively picked up the box. Inside was a ring of silver colored metal--Platinum?--with thin gold and reddish-gold interlacing traceries, like the twisting of a pair of curly vines. It was lovely and she told him so.

"I'm glad you think so: it's for you."

Rogue's stomach clenched and that princess in a tower feeling returned tenfold. The Logan in her head issued a low, threatening growl. "Excuse me?"

Stark grinned, "Try it on."

"Why? Are we getting married?" Rogue quipped as she tugged on the fingers of her right-hand glove. When it doubt, go with humor, or sarcasm, or both.

Stark shook his head, "Vegas is a bit crowded this time of year."

Rogue smiled tightly and slid the ring onto her right ring finger. "What the fuck!?" a warm, creeping sensation--like a colony of ants crawling just beneath her skin--traveled through her hand and up her arm to exit through the soles of her feet, leaving a trail of goose flesh and raised hairs in its wake.

"Ah," Stark smiled, "I see it's working."

Rogue's eyes snapped to his, "Working? Stark, seriously, what the Hell is this?"

"Give me your hand."

"Why?"

Stark slid his own hand halfway across the table, "Just give me your hand."

Rogue pressed her lips together and hesitantly slid her gloved left hand towards Stark's outstretched one.

"No," he shook his head, "your other hand."

"What?" Rogue clutched her bare hand against her chest, "Are you insane?"

"Just trust me."

Don't! Logan in her head rumbled.

If she refused would Stark withdraw his help? She'd told Stark earlier she felt she could drive straight to Logan's cabin on instinct, but could she really?

Stark caught her eyes then, "Rogue, please, you've trusted me this far; don't stop now."

Rogue glared at him across the table. She didn't want to do this, but she couldn't risk Stark getting pissed and withdrawing his help when they were so close. She laid her bare palm on the edge of the table, "Just remember, when you're a writhing mass on the floor, that you asked for this. And I'm not calling 911!"

"Fair enough," Stark had the audacity to grin at her.

Rogue resisted the urge to growl--her inner Logan was sitting very close to the surface--and began sliding her palm across the table. Stark reached out and grabbed it as soon as it was within reach. Rogue, eyes clenched tight, braced for the inevitable pull of her mutation. One second passed, then another, then another--no pull.

Rogue opened her eyes and locked-on to the sight of her bare palm held tight in Stark's equally bare hand, "What the Hell?"

Stark leaned forward and pressed a kiss on her knuckles, "Mutation suppression." He laid his free hand atop of hers, sandwiching her hand between both of his.

Fuckin' Hell! Logan-in-her-head roared. I told you he was up to something! Look at this place: he's trying to seduce you and he just took away the one physical barrier keeping him at bay! Ask him, Rogue, ask him why he's doing all of this!

Inner-Logan had a point. Part of Rogue wanted to wrench her hand away from Tony Stark. The other part, however, was busy basking in the feeling of bare skin-on-skin; something she hadn't felt since the Banshee drug wore off. It felt nice, addictive.

Which side would win out if Stark began touching her in other ways?

"Why, though," Rogue asked him, "Why make this and why give it to me?"

Stark slackened his grip on her hand and Rogue pulled it back while she was still able. Stark poured the last of the champagne into his glass and settled back into his seat, "While I was in Paris, I received a report from my set of eyes in D.C. that the word "Sentinel" was being tossed about with increased frequency."

Rogue's stomach dropped. Sentinels--giant, mutant hunting (and killing) robots--were the literal stuff of nightmares.

"My contact," Stark continued, "was adamant that the Sentinel program would be re-opened within the next six months."

Six months! "Thanks a lot, Magneto," Rogue murmured.

"That's the reason for the ring. S.H.I.E.L.D. captured a mutant called Forge and forced him to create tech for their use; the basic mutation suppression tech was his creation. I perfected and modified it into the ring you're now wearing."

Rogue narrowed her eyes, confused, "I thought you and S.H.I.E.L.D. decided to see other people."

The corner of Stark's mouth inched up, "We did, but I kept myself well informed while under their umbrella."

Of course he did. And, Rogue figured, probably still had someone on the inside feeding him information. "But, wait, suppressing my mutation isn't going to stop a Sentinel from detecting me: they scan for the X-Gene."

Good girl! her inner-Logan purred.

"Smart girl," Stark grinned at the same moment. "But, as I said, I modified and perfected the tech. That ring not only suppresses mutation, it will also shield your X-Gene from anything short of a DNA test. To a Sentinel's scanners, you'd be just another human."

While her inner-Logan approved of her being invisible to hunting Sentinels, he wasn't convinced that Stark's motives were completely altruistic; reminding Rogue of all those mornings she awoke to find Stark in her suite.

Rogue recalled the way Stark had caressed her bare hand between his and couldn't bring herself to argue.

"If S.H.I.E.L.D. had this technology, why didn't they use it against Magneto?" Rogue asked.

Stark shrugged and drained his glass, "I'm sure they would have liked to but lacked either the time or the ability to create something without a single metal component."

Rogue glanced down at the ring adorning her right ring finger. To the outside observer it was just that--a ring. Beautiful to look at, but just jewelry. Would anyone look at it and suspect its unique attributes?

"Why are you doing all of this--helping me, making this ring?" In the beginning Rogue had believed Stark's guilt over his role in Logan's "death" had fueled his motivation. Now, she wasn't sure.

Stark, who was rolling the stem of his empty glass between his fingers, smiled sadly at Rogue across the table. "Because if I had someone who cared for me as much as you obviously do Logan, I'd want someone looking out for them."

* * *

Despite her intentions of going through more photos, Rogue went straight to bed as soon as she returned to her suite; wishing she'd partaken in more of Stark's expensive champagne. She tossed and turned for hours, thinking of the ring resting in its box on the bedside table; of giant mutant killing robots; of Kitty Pryde, and Bobby Drake, of Storm, and even Jean. Why should she be protected while all the others were hunted down?

Rogue pushed herself out of bed and rode the elevator to the penthouse where a bleary-eyed, yet sympathetic, Tony Stark explained that the more examples of the modified tech there were, the greater the chance the Government would get a hold of it and modify the Sentinels accordingly.

"I assure you, large donations are being paid to the senators opposed to the Sentinel project as well as those still on the fence. The best way to protect our mutant friends is to stop the Sentinel bill in its tracks."

Crestfallen, Rogue returned to her suite but not to bed. She grabbed the tablet and went through photos until her eyes burned and refused to focus. Only then did she return to her bed--too tired now to think about killer robots.