Chapter Eight
When Paul shoved the preliminary satellite image into her hands—a grainy, low-resolution affair showing what could have been a cabin, or just any old house in a wooded clearing, with a smaller building, perhaps a shed, behind and a bit to the right—Rogue's heart sank. She'd expected a flashing burst of memories like she'd experienced that day in the library. Instead, she felt nothing; not the slightest hint of recognition.
And the Logan in her head was no help either. Maybe, maybe not. Can't tell much of anything from a picture like that, was his non-committal reply.
Still, Rogue held on to that grainy printout as though, if she wasn't careful, it would vanish into thin air while she waited for the high-resolution images to resolve.
"Adjust camera position 20° southeast," Stark ordered, "Zoom and enhance."
Paul typed the directions on the keyboard in front of him.
They hadn't gone to the Computer Technician's "Bat Cave" as Rogue had expected. Instead, Stark had led her and Paul to a much larger basement lab far more deserving of the moniker. The entire lab: floor, ceiling, and walls, was a deep, charcoal gray. A floor to ceiling bank of monitors covered the farthest wall, while a vaguely boomerang shaped table featuring three computer workstations sat a few feet back. The other end of the lab was set up as a sort of workshop with stainless steel tables cluttered with tools and bits of metal and wire. Next to the door was a pair of lighted glass cases displaying Stark's Iron Man armor. Rogue assumed they must be spares as she couldn't imagine Stark schlepping all the way to a sub-basement lab to suit up.
Franks and Christensen had joined them a few minutes later and the Stark Industries satellite was brought online.
Rogue found the lag between Paul's typed commands and the satellite's response maddening. With every second that passed her fingers dug deeper into the back of Paul's chair back; noisily crushing the low-res satellite image printout she'd been holding so dear.
Finally, the new image resolved on the bank of monitors. It was an extreme wide-angle shot of the area where they suspected Logan's cabin to be located. On the far left of the image a river ran in a roughly North-South direction. A sort of tan smudge to the right of that river was evidently a town—Rogue could make out nebulous shapes that could be buildings.
"Grande Cache," Franks, noticing her attention on his set of monitors, supplied the town's name. He'd been looking up information about the area while they waited for the satellite image to resolve. "Smoky River," he named the aforementioned river to the left of the town. "And Highway 40," his finger traced the outline of a winding path barely visible in the smaller version of the satellite image on his computer monitor.
A quick glance at Christensen's monitor showed a topographic survey and current weather conditions.
An especially large mountain dominated the satellite image and Franks again supplied a name: Grande Mountain.
"Adjust camera. Zoom and enhance."
The satellite tightened in on a flattish area about a quarter of the way up Grande Mountain.
The new image resolved: trees, lots of green. Stark rattled off a set of coordinates from his printout of the low-resolution image and ordered, "Center there and zoom to maximum."
Paul typed the commands, "Maximum zoom reached."
Pixel by pixel—agonizingly slow to Rogue's frayed nerves—the zoomed image resolved across the wall screen. Her toes curled inside her combat boots and her hands were now a mass of cramps around the back of Paul's chair.
The smaller building she'd took for a shed resolved first followed by the house. It consisted of a single level with some sort of extension off the left side and was definitely cabin-like in appearance.
"Logan?"
Can't say I've ever seen it from this particular angle, but I know home when I see it, her inner-Logan confirmed.
Stark was watching her expectantly, as were the trio of Computer Techs. "What's the verdict?" Stark asked.
"That's it," Rogue breathed, too overwhelmed and too relieved to say more.
A satisfied smile broke across Stark's face. Paul grinned at Rogue over his shoulder and Franks reached over to pat her arm. Even Christensen looked a tad less sullen.
Rogue watched as Stark spoke the cabin's coordinates into a watch-like device on his wrist, which she knew linked directly to his Iron Man armor. When finished, he ordered the techs to delete everything and overwrite the drives, "Seven pass minimum and don't forget the tablet computers."
From the sidelong glances Paul, Franks, and Christensen shot each other, Rogue knew this wasn't Standard Operating Procedure. So, she shot Stark a questioning glance of her own.
Stark led her back to the pair of glass display cases—and out of earshot. "It's only a precaution," Stark explained. "No computer is unhackable and, if someone ever does crack my security, they'd certainly be looking for far more interesting things than the location of a cabin. That being said, I'd rather not be the reason a squad of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents come knocking on Logan's door."
* * *
Rogue returned to her suite in a stunned, but happy, daze to pack her things. She couldn't quite wrap her mind around the fact that, this time tomorrow, she'd be at Logan's cabin. And it had taken Stark's people less than a month to locate it. She had no clue where she'd be right now if she hadn't confided in Tony Stark. Certainly nowhere near Alberta.
The only fly in the ointment was Logan's missing arm. Franks had compressed his lips and shook his head sadly when she'd asked if there were any leads. The fact that it may never be found weighed heavily on Rogue's heart.
Don't even go there! We've been through this already! her inner-Logan scolded.
Even so, Rogue had little time to wallow in guilt and self-loathing as Paul and Franks arrived to take her out to dinner. Christensen, Franks later explained, didn't "do" meals with colleagues. The men insisted she choose what they ate so she decided on taco pizza as she doubted, even with Grande Cache so close, that neither pizza nor tacos would be on the menu at a mountain cabin. That was another thing Rogue couldn't wrap her mind around: Logan's cabin being so close to a decent sized town.
Her inner-Logan snorted, I was there first; the town came well after.
As they waited for their pizza, Rogue took the time to thank them for everything they'd done on her behalf and made both Paul and Franks promise to extend those thanks to Christensen as well. Franks seemed reluctant to accept her gratitude, "Seeing how our search was unsuccessful," he frowned down at his empty plate. "But we'll keep the search running until Mr. Stark orders us to stop."
After their meal, Rogue said a last goodbye to Franks as he was headed home and most likely wouldn't arrive at Stark Towers tomorrow morning before she left. Paul, however, had to check on the progress of the drive overwrites and return to his job as Stark's Personal Assistant, so he walked Rogue back to her suite. "I'm sure I'll see you for at least a few minutes in the morning before you take off," Paul said, "but, if for some reason I don't, I want you to know that I really enjoyed working with you and I hope you find everything you're looking for at that cabin."
Rogue did something then that surprised even herself: she wrapped her arms around Paul's middle in a tight hug. Paul returned her hug with a single tight squeeze. When Rogue released him and stepped back she found Paul Morrow blushing to the tips of his ears.
Paul ran a hand through his short hair, shuffled his feet a bit, and finally wished her a good night.
Rogue was still giggling over his discomfiture when she slipped into bed.
* * *
Stark's private jet set down at the small, yet functional, Grande Cache Airport just before ten A.M. A pair of white SUV's and a small moving truck were waiting for them just off the runway. Rogue paced impatiently as the half-dozen Stark Industries technicians Stark brought with them transferred box after box of supplies from the plane into the moving truck. Though, when it came time to load Logan's motorcycle onto the truck, she was right on point, insuring the techs treated it with the proper care and respect.
There was hardly room in the truck amongst all those boxes for the bike. Stark had gone completely overboard with the supplies and that wasn't the only thing he'd gone overboard with. After the jet had taken off in New York, Stark had handed Rogue an envelope containing the credit card she'd used during her shopping expedition and $30,000 in Canadian dollars. Rogue shoved the envelope firmly back into Stark's hands. "Nu-uh, not happening, Stark."
Stark frowned, but removed half the cash from the envelope. Still, Rogue refused to accept it. "Rogue, I cannot leave you at that cabin without knowing you have the means necessary to take care of yourself or return to New York should you choose to do so."
It was nearly the same speech Stark had given her before their departure from Stark Towers when Rogue refused his offer of a Stark Industries satellite phone. In that instance, it had been: "Rogue, I can't leave you at that cabin without knowing you have the means to contact the outside world." At Paul Morrow's suggestion, they'd settled on the compromise of a Stark Industries USB mobile broadband device for her laptop. In the end, they compromised once again regarding the cash with Rogue reluctantly accepting the credit card and $5,000 Canadian—the absolute lowest amount Stark would agree to.
As soon as the moving truck's doors were shut tight one of Stark's techs had the bright idea that they should all head into Grande Cache for a bite to eat before heading to the cabin. The other five technicians agreed whole-heartedly—until they got a load of the death glare Rogue was shooting their way. If they're so hungry, they can sample some of the Just Add Water goodies they just finished loading. While we're moving! was Rogue's opinion of the matter.
And Tony Stark, at least in part, seemed to agree. "After we reach the cabin and begin unloading the truck, I'll send one of you into town for take-out."
Rogue received some death glares of her own which she steadily ignored as she shoved her duffel into the back of one of the SUV's before climbing into the passenger seat beside Stark.
The ride from the airport to the gravel turn-off which lead to Logan's cabin took less than fifteen minutes. The drive up the side of the mountain, however, was bumpy and slow going. The road was overgrown with weeds and deeply rutted from rain and snow melt-off and well in need of a new layer of gravel. Rogue was leaning so far forward that her seatbelt was biting deeply into her shoulder and the side of her neck.
Finally, after what seemed to Rogue an endless, bumpy ride, Logan's cabin came into view. And brought with it an overwhelming sense of déjà vu.
Suddenly, Rogue was seeing the cabin not through her own eyes, but through Logan's. She could feel the shape of each and every stone as the foundation was stacked. She could recall every tree as it was hewn and left to dry. She felt the nearly overwhelming satisfaction of standing back and looking upon your own handiwork and a job well done.
Rogue blinked heavily several times and was back in the here and now. She had her seatbelt undone and door open before Stark brought the SUV to a complete stop.
Even with the flashes of Logan's memories and Stark's satellite images, the cabin was actually a bit bigger than she'd anticipated. For some odd reason, Rogue had pictured a single room, 'Little House on the Prairie', barely big enough for a bed and a chair, type of cabin. The foundation was of the aforementioned stacked stone. The roof was pitched and extended forward to cover the front porch. There was an open lean-to carport type structure attached to the left side of the cabin with a massive stack of firewood and a blue and white Ford pick-up parked underneath.
Rogue's heart momentarily kicked-up a notch at the sight of the pick-up, her mind naturally equating a parked vehicle with someone being at home. But, now that she was at the cabin, many of Logan's memories had shaken loose and Rogue knew that Logan had bought that truck five years ago after its predecessor ended its life in a ditch after an unfortunate encounter with a moose on an icy road.
Rogue crunched her way through gravel and dry, overgrown fall grass to the trio of porch steps that led to the front door. Thankfully, Stark and his technicians hung back by the parked vehicles, allowing her to have this moment to herself. Though she could tell by his stiff posture Stark that wasn't exactly pleased and would have preferred either himself or one of his techs take point just in case the Boogie Man had taken up residence in Logan's absence.
Rogue reached into the pocket of Logan's leather jacket and retrieved his bottle-opener keychain; two of the keys fit perfectly into the doorknob- and deadbolt locks. The door opened inward with only the slightest squeaking of hinges. That overwhelming feeling of déjà vu again returned as Rogue took in the cabin with wide, happy eyes.
There was an obvious layer of dust across the floor that crunched beneath the soles of her Doc Marten's and the air had that musty smell of long closed-up rooms everywhere. Otherwise, Rogue found the cabin a wonderfully cozy place.
The floors consisted of wide pine planks while pine tongue-and-groove covered the walls and ceiling. The cabin was longer than it was wide with two rooms in front and two rooms in back with a railed-in loft area above.
The kitchen/dining area was to the left as Rogue entered the cabin. There was a small, two-person pine table with matching chairs beneath the front window. The kitchen itself was small but functional with a sink, stove, and refrigerator. The countertops were the standard Formica in a mottled midnight blue color. Upper and lower pine cabinets framed the appliances. Rogue smiled at the above-stove microwave but crinkled her nose at the lack of a dishwasher—she'd had her fill of washing dishes at that diner in Tennessee.
To the right was the small living room. A beautiful stacked stone fireplace with a split log mantelpiece dominated the space. The standard bachelor suite of a brown leather armchair—this angled towards the fireplace—and leather sofa—this facing an older 26" television set on its stand—along with a coffee table and a pair of end tables with lamps made up the furnishings. Against the wall next to the short hallway leading to the back rooms stood a wooden ladder that led to the loft area.
Just inside the hallway was a narrow linen closet and a bi-fold door which hid a stacked washer and dryer. The bathroom was just big enough for the tub/shower combo, toilet, single sink, and the hot water tank behind its own slated door.
When it came to Logan's bedroom, Rogue was hesitant to cross the threshold. It was the same feeling she'd experienced when she'd gone into Logan's room back at Xavier's just before they'd buried their dead and Bobby destroyed the mansion. It felt wrong to invade such an intimate personal space without Logan there to give his go ahead. The Logan in her head snorted, Darlin', you're already in the cabin, what difference does the bedroom make?
With that dubious stamp of approval, Rogue swallowed her hesitation and entered Logan's bedroom. Again, the room was small; just big enough for the bed, a small nightstand, a tall, slim chest of drawers, and another stacked stone fireplace that shared a chimney with its twin in the living room. A door on the inside wall opened to a closet containing a few pairs of faded blue jeans and a half-dozen or so flannel shirts. Knowing that Stark was champing at the bit to get inside, Rogue didn't allow herself to linger. The last thing she wanted was for him to walk in and discover her rifling through Logan's drawers.
As it was, Rogue had just enough time to climb the ladder and poke her head into the loft—which housed only the furnace and a couple of dusty boxes—before Stark and his men stormed the cabin. Noticeably absent, however, was Mr. Mommy-Are-We-There-Yet-I'm Hungry. Stark must've made good on his promise and sent him into Grande Cache for food.
The remaining technician's split-up, each one taking a different area of the cabin. One shooed Rogue off the loft ladder and climbed it himself. He disappeared into the darkness and after a few bumps, cusses, and the obvious sound of a breaker switch being flipped, the hum of the refrigerator kicking on filled the air. Stark, standing next to the entry door, tried the nearest light switch and the living room hanging light—a foyer pendant that resembled an old lantern—illuminated. The cabin had electricity! Rogue was actually surprised; she'd assumed the power would have been supplied by a generator. And she wasn't entirely wrong in that assumption. There was a small generator behind the cabin, one of Stark's techs informed her, but it was a back-up unit only.
The techs continued to poke and prod everywhere they could poke and prod. The furnace was checked as was the hot water tank and all the kitchen appliances. Rogue saw one technician filling little vials with water from the tap to check its quality. Both fireplaces were checked for blockages and then deposit-removing logs were set to light in both. Though it was in the mid-40's outside and cold, Rogue went through the cabin opening all the windows to air the unlived-in smell out of the space.
Mr. Mommy-Are-We-There-Yet-I'm-Hungry returned and, after the techs ate their lunch, they began unloading the truck. Rogue watched like a hawk as Logan's motorcycle was wheeled off the back and a new home found for it under the lean-to next to the pick-up truck. After Rogue had directed the men to store all the supplies they possibly could in the loft area and the overflow in the living room, she went to find Stark who had slipped away while she'd supervised the off-loading of the bike.
She found him behind the cabin leaning against the shed door talking on his cell phone. She'd caught enough of his side of the conversation to know he'd worked his own brand of Tony Stark magic and had found out Logan's utilities were paid through automatic payments from a local bank account. Rogue had caught him setting up a transfer of twenty-five thousand Canadian dollars into Logan's account—his own sneaky way of giving Rogue the money she'd refused to take earlier.
Stark noticed her watching him with a deep frown and hurriedly finished his call. Rogue said nothing, just folded her arms across her chest and raised an eyebrow. But Stark was unruffled. "I owe Logan quite a bit for the pain and suffering caused by Magneto's use of my weapons. This is just a small down payment towards that debt."
Pretty boy can keep his damn money! the Logan in her head spat.
Rogue heartily agreed.
Stark avoided any further discussion of the matter by insisting they give Logan's truck a thorough going-over to ensure it would start. Rogue rolled her eyes but retrieved the truck keys from a cup hook by the front door. The truck did start on the third attempt thanks to a little fresh gasoline from the red can Stark's techs had the foresight to pack.
Rogue was sure Stark would've insisted on taking a test drive had not his head technician tapped on the passenger side window. Rogue took the opportunity to cut the ignition and exit the vehicle. Stark followed suit and began quizzing the man, "So, what's the verdict?"
"If there was cable or satellite, I'd move in myself."
Rogue felt a puffed up sense of pride from her inner-Logan at this appraisal of the home he'd built with his own two hands.
Even with his technician's seal of approval, Stark seemed to be dragging his feet about leaving. He set his men to packing firewood from the stack in the carport to the holders beside both fireplaces and probably would've ordered a full round of lawn maintenance next if Rogue hadn't insisted the high grass was fine as it was.
When she turned down his dinner invitation Stark finally got the hint and sent his technicians to their vehicles. Rogue walked with Stark to the SUV they arrived in. "How long will you wait for Logan?" Stark asked, fumbling with a pair of sunglasses that weren't necessary on this fairly gray afternoon.
"As long as it takes," was her quick and honest reply.
Stark's jaw clenched at this, "Promise you'll contact me if you need anything. Anything at all. Or if you change your mind and decide to return to New York."
Rogue gave a terse nod. It was the closest thing to a promise she could offer on something she had no intention of doing. Stark had been kind to her and beyond helpful—to the point of excess. Someday she'd find a way to thank him properly but, come what may, it was time to stand on her own two feet again.
Just as with Paul Morrow, Rogue went against her norm, stood on her tiptoes and kissed Stark on the cheek. "Thank you. For everything."
"I see the ring is still working just fine," he smirked. "You're more than welcome. Stark Towers won't be the same without you there making sure I know when I'm being an ass."
Rogue laughed.
"Take care of yourself, Rogue, and tell Logan—," there Stark faltered.
Rogue squeezed his hand, "Someday the opportunity will present itself and Logan will kick your ass and call it even."
The smirk returned to Stark's face, "I'll look forward to it."