Steve Rogers (
on_ur_left) wrote in
rogue_america2016-12-16 09:22 pm
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Entry tags:
First Christmas
Glancing back to make sure Rogue was still in the bathroom around the corner, Steve stopped fiddling with his tie, and went over to his closet. Keeping one ear trained on the quiet sounds of Rogue moving around, he ducked down and pulled out his portfolio bag. Along with the shield he always stored in there, underneath the shield was a wide, fairly flat box that he pulled out. He flipped the lid open to make sure nothing was tangled, reaching out with a finger to delicately rearrange a few pieces, before snapping the lid shut.
Taking a deep breath, he repeated to himself that he could do this. Giving a gift had never been so nerve-wracking, honestly; he hoped Rogue liked it. She'd probably accuse him of spoiling her, especially once he explained that this wasn't his actual Christmas gift to her. But he'd seen it in the window of a little indie clothing store a few blocks away, and had immediately known it would look stunning on Rogue.
Right. Okay. Time to do this. Straightening up and shoving the bag back in the closet with one foot, he passed a hand over his suit and slacks to get rid of any wrinkles from crouching, before moving toward the bathroom.
Taking a deep breath, he repeated to himself that he could do this. Giving a gift had never been so nerve-wracking, honestly; he hoped Rogue liked it. She'd probably accuse him of spoiling her, especially once he explained that this wasn't his actual Christmas gift to her. But he'd seen it in the window of a little indie clothing store a few blocks away, and had immediately known it would look stunning on Rogue.
Right. Okay. Time to do this. Straightening up and shoving the bag back in the closet with one foot, he passed a hand over his suit and slacks to get rid of any wrinkles from crouching, before moving toward the bathroom.
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"Steve, I'm sorry, that's not what I meant," she said quickly, letting him guide her but still looking back at him. "I don't want-- We're not-- We're okay, sugar, we just need to talk about all of this. I promise, I'm not running." She couldn't deny that the the thought had crossed her mind earlier in that initial panic, but she had moved past that and there would be no running. Not now. Not this time.
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Taking a deep breath, Steve tilted his head to press a kiss to the crown of Rogue's head - because he wanted to, and to try and take at least some of the sting out of his next words. His face was gentle as he said "Yeah. I kinda think we do."
Part of this was his fault, he realized. He tiptoed around Rogue, trying not to hurt her, to be considerate, but he was doing it so much, they kept getting their wires crossed. Rogue didn't - or couldn't bring herself to - tell him things, how she was feeling about things, what she thought about things, and that-- that had to stop. They had to work on all of it. It wasn't gonna be easy for either of them, but they had to try, or this wonderful thing they had wouldn't have a solid enough foundation to last. And he wanted it to last.
"How 'bout you say your piece while you wash your hands. I still want to take a look; usually things like glass get pushed out when I cut myself, but sometimes they get healed over and stuck in there, and have to be cut back out again. Trust me, it's better to check it now than find out later, the painful way."
Huh. Not a bad metaphor for what was happening to them right now, too.
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Turning on the water, she waited a few seconds for it to warm up before holding a palm under the slow, steady stream. The dried blood would be easier to remove if she let it soak up the water first, and there was antibacterial hand soap there next to the faucet for when the water had washed away all but the most stubborn bits.
"I don't know that I know where to start, there's so many things that need saying," she admitted quietly, her voice just above the sound of the running water. "That comment about moving in caught me off guard, and I'm sorry for reacting the way I did. I've thought about it before, I actually like the idea, but I was so afraid in that moment of what it could mean that I let that fear get the better of me."
She started working on the other hand, fingers moving carefully in case there was a bit of embedded glass like Steve had mentioned. "I know you would never just toss me aside and abandon me, I know that, but I'm still so scared at the thought of it. And I just had this terrifying worry of what I would do when you got tired of me if I lived here, because I wouldn't have anywhere to go."
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He closed his eyes as he listened, relief a palpable, physical feeling in his sternum. He leaned his hip against the counter just to the side of her, watching her face; he had to make a conscious effort not to cross his arms, because he didn't know what to do with his hands, he didn't have any pockets to tuck them into politely, but he didn't want to look intimidating. Listening to Rogue, he felt it safe to place one hand on the small of her back again.
Steve tried to process what she was saying, and figure out a response. He took a deep breath, getting his thoughts in order. "You're right; of course I wouldn't. And I really didn't mean to say it like that. I... I've been thinking about it, for a while now." She'd been honest with him, and he knew it didn't come easily for her to share her insecurities, so the least he could do was explain himself, as well. "For a while, it was enough just that you spent so much time here. But then I wanted more, and-- I guess part of my 'old-fashioned charm' kicked in. But back in my day, I wouldn't've asked you to just move in with me-- and I'm not asking for anything else now, because neither of us is ready for anything else, and this is a whole different time."
He took another deep breath. Even more than obliquely admitting he would've proposed to her by now in other circumstances, this was the hard part for him. Explaining his thoughts and feelings over the last few weeks. "I didn't know-- yeah, it's acceptable for couples to live together, but I didn't know if I should make kind of a big deal about it, or just casually bring it up, or-- well," he gave a humorless huff of laughter, "clearly I know now that I shouldn't have tried for casual. But it kept popping up in my head, more and more, and-- everything was happening, and I wasn't thinking, and it just came out, because even if you didn't want to now, in my head I'd built it up as inevitable, eventually. I just kinda... skipped the part where I actually asked you."
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"I completely understand all of that, sugar, really I do," she assured him, glancing over at him for brief moments while she carefully dried her hands. "And now that I'm thinking a bit more clearly, it's not so bad, but I still... I want to be with you, all the time. I want this to be my home so badly it hurts, because it's been an awfully long time since I had one that really felt like it. But I'm all sorts of broken when it comes to these things, sugar, and I'm so sorry for that."
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Instead, he took a deep breath, and sighed. "This is always-- whether you live here or not, no matter how you feel about it, this is always your home, to me. I mean--" he gestured around the bathroom and out the door into the hallway to encompass the rest of the apartment, with the lights lining the walls, all the little touches everywhere that spoke of her time there. "If nothing else, that kitchen is 100% yours," he teased, because at this point, he needed a little levity.
"But this is all your choice. I'm not gonna go over to your apartment some night and steal all your stuff and put it here and force you into anything - kinda the exact opposite of what I want. But I... I want you to choose me." He couldn't quite hide the longing and lingering hurt from before in his voice. "As for whether we get sick of each other - trust me, we will. I may have never lived with a romantic partner before, but I've lived with someone my entire life. You get comfortable with someone, the shine wears off, things get on your nerves, you fight." He shrugged insouciantly. "I've got my studio, you've got your kitchen. We go cool off, or I go for a jog, or-- whatever. That's how relationships are supposed to work. I don't give up on things I want, and like it or not, Marie LeBeau, I want you, and I'm not gonna stop. You're stuck with me." His lips quirked in an endearing smile, remembering saying those words so often when they first started their unlikely relationship.
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"I'm glad I'm stuck with you," she assured him with a faint smile in return. "Because I am choosing you. If you still want me to live here with you after all this, then I want that too. I just... I need you to understand why I'm so exasperating when it comes to these things." Oh yes, she'd noticed his reaction.
Holding her hands out to him palm-up, she instructed, "Have a look, then I want to go sit down. I need to tell you about my Mama Raven." It was a name she'd never spoken to him and had never planned to. Even now, the words were laced with pain.
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To take his mind of that, at least for a few moments, he began inspecting her hands, running his thumb in lines up and down her palm, glancing up through his lashes to judge her reaction, to see if he hit any tender or painful spots. He couldn't even see any new pink scars anymore, just unblemished skin.
With a sickening clarity, Steve realized that this was how Rogue had gotten her scars. Not like this - as long as there had been a healing 'donor' she wouldn't have gotten any scars. But at some point, there hadn't been one available, and the bastard scientist butchers hadn't cared, had stripped bits of flesh off her back anyway.
It was a good thing he'd already made fairly sure that nothing was left under her skin, because it took every ounce of Steve's self-control not to instinctively clench his hands into fists; which, while he was holding Rogue's hands, would've hurt her, not to mention sent entirely the wrong message. Instead, he pulled her hands up slightly, bent his head, and kissed first one, then the other palm, right in the center.
"Right as rain," he murmured. "Okay. Let's go sit. Bedroom, or living room?"
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"The bedroom," she replied just as softly, her nerves settling slightly at those sweet, tender kisses to her palms. "I don't wanna see the tree right now." They had lovely memories in that room with those decorations, she didn't want to taint them with the pain she was about to relive through sharing her past with him. Eventually one of them would need to clean up the kitchen, but it would keep. For now, they needed to talk about these things so they could move forward.
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Steve only let go of Rogue's hands once they were near the bed. He left her to get settled, while he moved toward the windows. He sidled up to the large windows almost as if he were approaching a wounded animal. He really didn't want to open the blinds, but the natural light would be good, and Rogue enjoyed the view. Steve could get over himself.
Overnight, the city had been covered in white powder, and the windows were coated in frost and ice along the edges. Steve made himself look at the frost and ice for a moment, letting memories of a frozen tundra rushing toward him swim through his brain, before deliberately turning back toward the bed, and Rogue. He wasn't going to get over his dislike of cold and snow and ice if he avoided it, and this way, maybe he'd start associating it with nicer things. At the very least, he had reminders that he wasn't frozen anymore, and the cold could touch him, but it couldn't consume him anymore.
Settling on the bed, Steve wasn't sure if he should hold Rogue, or if she'd want to hold herself apart while she told her story. Generally she liked the former, but he'd learned that during emotional talks, it was best to let Rogue lead. So he settled with his back against the headboard, and just tried to make himself look as comfy and inviting as possible.
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"I've told you before that I was given up when I was a baby," she began, reaching out to take one of his hands in hers. It was the only contact they had between them, but it was needed while she got everything out. "I was in and out of all sorts of foster homes that had a bunch of other kids -- I was just another paycheck. But then a woman named Raven Darkholme took me in and she was... She was the first mother I ever knew. The first person who ever made me feel like she was glad I was alive. She gave me my first birthday present, my first real Christmas with a tree and lights, she helped me with homework and read bedtime stories to me. She made me feel like I was loved."
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"I was with her for two years, and they were the best years I'd known up to that point. I thought--" Her voice broke a little, the pain still as strong as it had been all those years ago. "I thought she was going to adopt me. I really did. But then, one day she just left. I waited for her to pick me up at school, but a social worker came instead and told me that I was supposed to go with her. I cried and screamed and begged for my mama, and I didn't believe she wasn't coming back until the social worker took me to the house to get my things and none of her things were there."
Tears stung at her eyes, but she wiped them away with the back of her free hand. "I was adopted a few months later and I never heard from "Raven" again, at least not until I met her as "Mystique", a mutant who could change her form to look like anyone. She was Erik's right hand and helped him with everything-- Including the plan to kill me."
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Finally, Steve did something he hoped he wouldn't regret, and generally avoided; ignoring how Rogue had intentionally kept herself apart, seeming to want her space, Steve tugged on her hand until he could wrap her up in his arms, settling her against his chest and tucking his chin over her head.
Steve gave another sad sigh. "I know it hurt you, and I'm so sorry for that. Believe me, I know how things from childhood shape the person you are, and how you react to things." He stroked a hand over her hair, down her back, still speaking softly. "But you're not a child anymore, and I hope you know me better than Raven. I'm not going anywhere, and I'd never abandon you. I would never do that to someone I love."
His lips quirked, unseen, in a bittersweet smile. "I ever tell you what happened when I found out Bucky had been captured, during the war?"
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She welcomed it when Steve pulled her against him, nestling in and taking comfort as he readily offered it. It took effort not to bristle at the comment that she wasn't a child anymore, but she knew that he hadn't meant it like that. At his question, she just shook her head.
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Kissing her hair after she'd shaken her head, he settled his arms around her a little more securely.
"Well, first of all, I was still doing stage shows. Captain America, proclaiming that everyone could help out the war effort by buying bonds, punching Hitler every night, showing off great feats of strength.
"It went over great in the States. For the troops in Europe, not so much." He gave a huff of self-deprecating humor, time and distance allowing him to see the ridiculousness of the whole thing, how silly it, and he, had been.
"When I was telling Peggy how foolish I felt, after being jeered off the stage after beginning to believe my own hype - she told me this particular troop had had it worse than most, because they'd just suffered a massive defeat, losing 250 of their men, and this was all that was left of the 107th.
"107 was the group Bucky was assigned to. When I went and asked after him, Col. Phillips told me basically if he wasn't dead already, he was as good as. He wasn't going to stage a rescue operation, because he'd already lost too many men. He was right; as a leader, I can understand where he was coming from, but... I couldn't accept that. He told me I wouldn't understand, because I was a glorified chorus girl, and to just keep my head down, and my mouth shut, basically. I didn't accept that, either.
"So I... with Howard and Peggy's help, I dropped from a plane, by myself, into the middle of enemy territory, infiltrated the base where the prisoners were being kept, and..." he shrugged. "Rescued them. All of them. I found Bucky, and we made it out of there.
"I could've been court-martialed. Should've been, actually. I was ready for it. I never thought I'd get away with it without punishment, but I knew I couldn't just leave him there. Even if he-- if he were dead, I had to know. I couldn't leave him," he repeated quietly. "He was one of mine, and you don't just leave someone you love, just because it's not easy, or fun."
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Her hands held onto him, tightening as he spoke of his refusal to accept the decision to leave Bucky and all those men in enemy hands. It was so like Steve, a perfect example of his stubbornness and refusal to give up. It was something she loved him for, and she understood why he'd shared the story with her.
"What did I ever do to deserve you?" she mused softly, lifting her head to look at him. "I love you, sugar. So much. Thank you for sharing that with me." She moved to lean up to kiss him, but had to turn her head to yawn widely.
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He couldn't stop the small huff of laughter at her sudden yawn, though. "Well. I say it's Christmas, we've already opened presents; let's take a nap." He didn't need any more sleep, and might stay awake even if he laid for hours, now that his body was alert, but he wouldn't have suggested Rogue take a nap without him, even if he thought she'd agree. Which he knew she wouldn't.
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Or...was it their bed, now? Rogue had said... what was it? She'd love to live there with him, if he was alright after she explained why she had problems like this, sometimes. Something like that. A concrete answer hadn't been given, but Steve was feeling much more optimistic than last night, as he moved back into the bedroom and got into bed beside Rogue.