Steve exhaled a gust of air, closing his eyes at her words. Maybe this would be okay. He listened to her explain how she'd gotten the picture, and couldn't help but smile. "I'm not surprised at all. Tony loves being in on a secret, especially if it involves knowing something I don't."
Clearing his throat, he pulled away just enough to set the framed picture on top of the books, then reached out and cupped Rogue's face in his hands, giving her a gentle kiss. He pulled back and had to sniff a little, which made him laugh. "Okay. Now that you made me cry," he teased - although he hadn't really cried, despite what his nose seemed to think, "it's your turn."
He pushed himself off the ground, resisting the urge to groan at the change in position. He knew the aches of sitting too long were just in his head, put there by the ever-present knowledge that it was snowing and freezing outside, but he still felt a little like an old man with arthritis.
Retrieving the large present from against the wall, he moved back over to sit beside Rogue, placing the gift down in front of her before reaching out and wrapping the blanket around himself, and picking up his rapidly cooling cocoa for a quick slug. It wasn't liquid courage, but it did wet his throat.
Before she opened it, Steve said softly, "I know you don't have anything with your family, and can't. But... Maybe this will help."
He'd kept coming back to this while brainstorming gift ideas. Slowly, as they'd gotten to know each other, she'd started reminiscing more, explaining who her friends were, describing what they looked like. Still not a lot, but he was always visibly interested, which seemed to encourage her, and he always paid attention to her words. Finally, he'd come up with an idea, and after an initial sketch to block out what he wanted, he'd started painting.
Steve had never been very good at impressionism, and he still wasn't. But as he himself didn't know exactly what her friends had looked like, he'd had to make do with a dreamy, swishing quality that was really just sections of color to denote figures. The picture had a looming figure in maroon in the background, with a helmet of the same color covering the peach tones of a blank face - he'd left all the faces completely blank, without any features at all, because even shading for a nose or lips would ruin the illusion if he guessed wrong. In front of that was a figure in a silver, somewhat futuristic-looking wheelchair, wearing shadows of dark grey to denote a suit Rogue had mentioned her Professor habitually wore.
There was a shorter figure wearing blue pants he'd tried to approximate to look like jeans, one hand stuffed into the pocket of a brown leather bike jacket, the other hand down by his side with three thin slashes of silver extending from the fist, and black hair and sideburns in the distinctive style she'd described. Another, even shorter figure leaned against him, wearing an 80's style jacket in bright yellow (and Steve had had to Google 80s fashion and hope he'd picked the right one that most closely matched Rogue's description of Jubilee's signature jacket), shorts and a bright pink top with pink wraparound glasses sitting on her featureless face. Hers was the only really dynamic pose of the group, leaning with her arm propped up on Logan, the other angled to rest a hand on her hip, one leg crossed casually behind the other, her head cocked to the side.
The Professor and Erik were in the middle of the picture, with Logan and Jubilee to the left, while just beside them to the right was Rogue, the only one who's face he'd drawn in. Even doing impressionism, where everything was a little blurry and surreal, it had been harder than he'd expected, since he was so used to drawing her with a smile; he'd tried it, but it hadn't looked right, for some reason. So he'd painted her with a serious, business-like expression, in the black catsuit and white gloves she'd described to him as being her X-Men uniform.
And last, and most nerve-wracking of all: to her right, just behind her shoulder, a figure in a calf-length brown duster, with shoulder-length brown hair that fell against his featureless face, partially obscuring his non-existent eyes. Held in his fingerless glove-covered hands, a playing card, while the other hand had a staff standing tall against the floor, partially obscured by Rogue's shoulder.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2017-01-06 05:30 am (UTC)Clearing his throat, he pulled away just enough to set the framed picture on top of the books, then reached out and cupped Rogue's face in his hands, giving her a gentle kiss. He pulled back and had to sniff a little, which made him laugh. "Okay. Now that you made me cry," he teased - although he hadn't really cried, despite what his nose seemed to think, "it's your turn."
He pushed himself off the ground, resisting the urge to groan at the change in position. He knew the aches of sitting too long were just in his head, put there by the ever-present knowledge that it was snowing and freezing outside, but he still felt a little like an old man with arthritis.
Retrieving the large present from against the wall, he moved back over to sit beside Rogue, placing the gift down in front of her before reaching out and wrapping the blanket around himself, and picking up his rapidly cooling cocoa for a quick slug. It wasn't liquid courage, but it did wet his throat.
Before she opened it, Steve said softly, "I know you don't have anything with your family, and can't. But... Maybe this will help."
He'd kept coming back to this while brainstorming gift ideas. Slowly, as they'd gotten to know each other, she'd started reminiscing more, explaining who her friends were, describing what they looked like. Still not a lot, but he was always visibly interested, which seemed to encourage her, and he always paid attention to her words. Finally, he'd come up with an idea, and after an initial sketch to block out what he wanted, he'd started painting.
Steve had never been very good at impressionism, and he still wasn't. But as he himself didn't know exactly what her friends had looked like, he'd had to make do with a dreamy, swishing quality that was really just sections of color to denote figures. The picture had a looming figure in maroon in the background, with a helmet of the same color covering the peach tones of a blank face - he'd left all the faces completely blank, without any features at all, because even shading for a nose or lips would ruin the illusion if he guessed wrong. In front of that was a figure in a silver, somewhat futuristic-looking wheelchair, wearing shadows of dark grey to denote a suit Rogue had mentioned her Professor habitually wore.
There was a shorter figure wearing blue pants he'd tried to approximate to look like jeans, one hand stuffed into the pocket of a brown leather bike jacket, the other hand down by his side with three thin slashes of silver extending from the fist, and black hair and sideburns in the distinctive style she'd described. Another, even shorter figure leaned against him, wearing an 80's style jacket in bright yellow (and Steve had had to Google 80s fashion and hope he'd picked the right one that most closely matched Rogue's description of Jubilee's signature jacket), shorts and a bright pink top with pink wraparound glasses sitting on her featureless face. Hers was the only really dynamic pose of the group, leaning with her arm propped up on Logan, the other angled to rest a hand on her hip, one leg crossed casually behind the other, her head cocked to the side.
The Professor and Erik were in the middle of the picture, with Logan and Jubilee to the left, while just beside them to the right was Rogue, the only one who's face he'd drawn in. Even doing impressionism, where everything was a little blurry and surreal, it had been harder than he'd expected, since he was so used to drawing her with a smile; he'd tried it, but it hadn't looked right, for some reason. So he'd painted her with a serious, business-like expression, in the black catsuit and white gloves she'd described to him as being her X-Men uniform.
And last, and most nerve-wracking of all: to her right, just behind her shoulder, a figure in a calf-length brown duster, with shoulder-length brown hair that fell against his featureless face, partially obscuring his non-existent eyes. Held in his fingerless glove-covered hands, a playing card, while the other hand had a staff standing tall against the floor, partially obscured by Rogue's shoulder.