First Christmas

[on_ur_left]

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.

Comments

[on_ur_left]

Nodding, Steve pressed a quick, distracted kiss to her jaw, even as his arms loosened and he moved toward the kitchen. He rolled his eyes at the mention of the cookies, though. He almost asked if she was really hungry again after eating at the party, but stopped himself just in time. It would only be teasing, but he'd vowed to himself that he'd never say anything against her eating habits, especially now that she was eating more and had slowly gained back some of her previous weight. She was still light as a feather to him, and maybe it was growing up with Bucky's large Italian family, but he still thought she should be eating more.

"These cookies are so true-to-life, I'm almost afraid to eat them," he joked. "They look like some kind of edible voodoo dolls." He put several on a plate anyway, then got a small saucepan out to start heating up some milk. He grabbed one and began nibbling off the Hulk's green foot - the fact that she'd made a small batch with added green food coloring just for the Hulk cookies was insane, and one of the reasons he adored her.

Still stirring the milk, Steve habitually glanced over his shoulder toward the window to check the progress of frost - only to see that Rogue had already pulled the blinds shut. He took an unsteady breath and turned quickly back to stare at the milk, which was just starting to form bubbles. Rogue hated having the curtains drawn, even at night. She liked being able to look out at the city and see all the lights that never faded, never went out. He knew she'd closed them for him, and... She knew him so well, and really, what the hell was he waiting for, a hand-written invitation? Just ask her to move in already!

The milk started boiling in earnest, and Steve lowered the heat slightly and started adding the cocoa and vanilla.

[theycalledmeacurse]

It was true that she hated not being able to see the signs of life outside those windows, that even at night she would stare out at the lights and remind herself that this world was still alive and that it was all real and not simply the most perfect dream she'd ever had. But that was part of why she'd put up those light strings in the first place, and why she intended to keep many of them up throughout the winter months -- if they kept them on at night, then perhaps her mind would be satisfied with the star-like light and not bring her nightmares out. There was nothing to be done for those signs of cold, though, and so she would make this tiny sacrifice for him without even a shred of regret.

After plugging in the last of the lights in the bedroom, she grabbed the big fluffy blanket she'd stashed in the bedroom closet a few days earlier and returned to the living room to the delicious scent of vanilla and chocolate. The blanket was left on the couch so she could wander into the kitchen, lean against the counter to peer at his progress, and grab an Iron Man cookie from the plate. Said cookie's head was promptly bitten off with enthusiam.

[on_ur_left]

Steve was just letting the hot chocolate heat all the way through before taking it off the stove, when he heard Rogue walk through the kitchen. He moved the two mugs he'd gotten down, so they were a little closer to the stove, glancing over as she picked up a cookie, saying "It's almost done."

He started laughing at her antics. "What did Iron Man ever do to you?" The hot cocoa was poured into both mugs, and he added a dash of cinnamon on top to each one, before holding hers out. "Here, you savage," he teased, waiting until she accepted the mug before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her mouth.

[theycalledmeacurse]

Even after all these months, it was rare for her to actually enjoy eating something as much as she had that night. It was likely a combination of a happy atmosphere and genuinely good food that had allowed this happy occasion, and she found herself chewing the gingerbread with a smile. Steve's teasing about her choice of which cookie piece to bite first had her grinning, and she was full on giggling into his kiss after that playful name-calling.

"Tony let loose one too many quips tonight," she informed Steve matter-of-factly as she, her hot chocolate, and the headless cookie headed back into the living room. "He had it coming."

[on_ur_left]

Grinning, and probably looking completely besotted, Steve watched her walk into the living area before grabbing the plate of cookies and following with his own mug.

"In that case, I appreciate that you only bit off the head of his effigy. You wouldn't believe the paperwork involved when one of us gets injured." He said it glibly, and only afterward realized how it would sound to Rogue, and quickly backtracked. "Which, thankfully doesn't happen that often. Tony and Natasha tend to get dinged more than the rest of us, which is amazing considering Tony wears a metal suit of armor." He privately believed it was a combination of Tony thinking the suit would hold up to more than it really could, and the fact that Tony seemed to go through life believing that he himself was invincible. But that was a different conversation, and really not what he wanted to be talking about, with Rogue, on Christmas.

Not...that he had any idea how to bring up the conversation he really did want to have with Rogue. So he pushed it to the back of his mind again, to simmer until later. Right now they had presents to open.

[theycalledmeacurse]

It was nice that Steve made the effort to amend his statement, trying to turn it into a reasonable joke instead of one that would send her into a flurry of worry over the next time he would be called away. Not that she didn't already worry like crazy every time he went out on a mission -- no matter what he said, she knew that even the most indestructible people could fall.

But that wasn't what she wanted to talk about on Christmas either, so she set her mug on the coffee table and grabbed the blanket from the couch before settling on the floor next to the tree. Their presents to each other were nestled under the pine branches, the wrapping paper and bows now dotted with fragrant needles that had fallen over the past few days. "Sit with me?" she asked, smiling up at him before holding the cookie between her teeth so she could drape the large blanket around her shoulders. There was plenty left for him to fit under as well.

[on_ur_left]

Steve set the cookies and his drink down beside Rogue's mug on the table, before sitting and scooting much, much closer than he needed to in order to be covered adequately by the blanket. He even wrapped his arm around her shoulders, stealing a kiss against her temple; it was almost second-nature to him now, and not something he consciously thought about. "I have big shoulders," he told her in a completely serious, innocent tone, "I need a lot of blanket." He could only hold the innocent face for a few seconds, before breaking into his little-boy-mischievous grin.

[theycalledmeacurse]

Rogue gave Steve a very suspicious look when he moved in close under the blanket, especially when he tried that innocent act on her. She'd seen it dozens of times before, and rarely was he ever that innocent. The man was a troublemaker through and through, he was just adorable while he caused said trouble.

"Sure you do, sugar," she answered skeptically after chewing a bite of cookie. Shaking her head, she added a muttered but amused, "Incorrigible," before eyeing the presents under the tree.

"Do you want to go first?" If he wanted her to go first, she would and that would be perfectly fine, of course. But she was certainly eager to see him open the packages carefully wrapped in blue paper with white stars and large red ribbon bows. (Yes, she'd done it on purpose.) There was one large box that would fill his lap, another that was slightly smaller and thinner, and one that was the size of a book.

[on_ur_left]

"Well," he began, cocking his head as if seriously considering it. "I would offer to let you go first, but I'm kinda afraid you're gonna start crying, so why don't I go first, and then you, and then you can cry as long as you want without feeling guilty about it."

It wasn't that he wanted her to cry, or ever set out with the intention of making her cry; he just had a tendency to get her thoughtful gifts she'd appreciate, which inevitably led to said crying. He didn't like to see her cry, but perversely, if she did, it meant that he'd done something that touched her, and that's what he wanted. In an odd sort of way, if she ever stopped crying, he'd be worried he was losing her, because it meant she didn't care anymore.

This time however, he'd gone and done something that might genuinely upset her. He hoped she liked it, he'd spent a lot of time racking his brain trying to come up with an idea. And then how to implement said idea once he had it, where Rogue couldn't see it, since she was in his apartment so much. Thankfully she mostly left his studio alone, so he'd been able to stash the painting in the closet. He would've known if she'd seen it - she wouldn't have been able to hide her reaction, even hours after the fact.

Now, it rested propped against the wall beside the tree, a large, fairly thin package, and if one knew what they were looking at, obviously a 16" x 20" canvas, wrapped up in shimmery green paper with faint silver filigree, and a gold ribbon and bow affixed in one corner.

[theycalledmeacurse]

He was afraid she was going to cry at his gift? Oh lord, what perfect thing had he gone and done now? It seemed like every time Steve did something sweet and heartfelt, she ended up bawling her eyes out because of how amazing he was. The realization of just how much she loved him would slam into her and she would simply lose all control of her emotions. So if something like that was going to happen now...

"Start with this one," she told him, picking up the smallest box and placing it in his lap. Underneath all the paper and gift box he would find two things: an all-weather notebook with weatherproof pages, and a space pen that was able to write in practically any condition found on earth.

She fidgeting for a moment after handing him the box, hoping that he liked the gifts and didn't think they were too simple or generic, and finally she reached over to the table to grab her mug of hot chocolate now so she could have something to do with her hands. (And it smelled far too delicious to resist drinking it any longer.)

Everything was so beautifully wrapped, it had made the apartment all the more enchanting in the days leading up to Christmas. It seemed such a shame to destroy the works of art, but that was part of the tradition, wasn't it?

[on_ur_left]

A grin of excitement crossed his face as Steve accepted the wrapped package. While Steve was often rather fastidious, and liked to re-use a lot of things, gift paper was not one of them, and he eagerly tore into it, all but ignoring the carefully taped edges except as a starting point to tear through the paper.

Once he was inside the box, Steve pulled out a bright yellow notebook, and a rounded black pen, which looked very snazzy. He chuckled. "Okay, this is fantastic. Is it - not that I wouldn't love it even if it is just a regular old notebook and pen..." He fiddled with the pen a little and discovered that the clip was actually detachable, which was even neater, "but I feel like I'm missing something." He pointed at the cover. "Is it really all weather?" It did say 'Rite in the Rain' which he assumed was an intentional misspelling, meaning it could indeed get wet and be alright. Which, if that was the case... Wow. It was simple, and useful, and he loved it. He kind of wanted to hug the items to his chest, which was a little ridiculous.

When Steve had been twelve, his mother had given him a brand new box of 10 colored pencils. She must have saved for ages for it, because they'd never been very well-off to begin with, and the Depression had struck just the year before, and nobody could afford anything anymore. He'd been so careful with those pencils, but of course he couldn't not use them. He'd worn them down to the nubs, and when he finally couldn't sharpen them anymore, he'd put them all back in the box and left them in the cubby shelf of his room, and never forgot how much his mother loved him, and did for him. This wasn't exactly the same, of course, but it felt like it. How many other people would think to get him something simple like this - most people would dismiss it as 'lame' or 'not personal enough.' But it was incredibly personal, because it meant Rogue understood him, and his tendency to write and draw whenever the mood struck him. She understood that he didn't need big, flashy or expensive presents to make him happy.

He leaned over and gave her a soft kiss. "Thank you." His voice was huskier than he expected, and he cleared his throat a little self-consciously.

[theycalledmeacurse]

Freeing one hand from her mug, she cupped his cheek and savored that kiss. Those husky words warmed her heart more than anything else could, and set her forehead against his for a moment. "You're very welcome, sugar." Leaning back, she tapped the pen with a finger. "You'll have to try it out later," she said encouragingly. "It can write in all sorts of places without any problems. In planes, underwater... This way, you can doodle whenever, wherever you end up in your adventures."

She took a sip of her drink before reaching forward to grab another present, the biggest box this time. Inside, he would find three books on the early years of Walt Disney's legacy. She knew how fascinated he was with the man and the art that he'd created, and they were still working their way through the body of work that the creative genius had left behind and inspired. Hopefully the books would give him insight on the creation of those animated masterpieces, and perhaps they would inspire Steve's own art. There might be some complaining whenever he left his supplies all over the apartment, but Rogue really did support his artist endeavors, and she'd love to see him realize those old dreams of actually doing something to get his work out to the public. He deserved to have every dream come true.

[on_ur_left]

Steve once again tore into the wrapping, then pulled the flaps of the box open. His eyebrows raised when he discovered a book on top - really? It was an awfully big box for a book. No, several books, he saw now. He started pulling them out, one by one, quickly scanning the covers for information, flipping them over and quickly reading some of the info on the back for more clues, before going for the next, and then the final book. There were only brief pauses between one book and the next, but he soaked up the information, processing it in the blink of an eye. By the time he stopped with the third book, he sat for a moment, just staring at the back. His breathing was steady; a little too steady, and heavier than usual. His eyes weren't really focused on the book anymore, either. He blinked rapidly a few times, swallowing heavily.

Very carefully and precisely, Steve moved the box off his lap, placed the books gently back in the box - and then lunged for Rogue, wrapping an arm around her waist and the other around her shoulders, cradling her head as he kissed her fiercely. They tumbled over, but Steve twisted enough to land on the arm around her middle, cushioning her from crashing into the floor. He pulled back, only to start peppering kisses all over her face. "You are amazing," he murmured between kisses.

[theycalledmeacurse]

Watching Steve open the box and look through the books, Rogue found herself getting nervous again. Had she chosen poorly? They were books, she knew Steve enjoyed reading as much as she did, but still. Maybe he didn't see books as Christmas gifts? Maybe they weren't personal enough? All of her usual doubts and worries rose up again and she set aside her mug so she could face him properly--

But then suddenly she had a Steve Rogers wrapped around her, kissing her like the world was ending, and she was so shocked that it was almost comical. Thank goodness she'd set aside her drink when she had or they'd both have been covered in cocoa. She wrapped one arm around his shoulders to anchor herself and the other grabbed hold of his shirt, giving it a thorough wrinkling as she giggled quietly between those adorable kisses.

"You still have one more present to go," she reminded him, grinning at his exuberant reaction to his new books. It was also a way to mask the gnawing worry at this final gift, the one she'd taken a real chance on. The framed and matted photograph of Steve and the Howling Commandos posing like a bunch of victorious idiots with grins of their own, Bucky with his arm around Steve. It wasn't a photograph that was readily available to the public, and she'd had to wait weeks for the restoration to be completed, there had been so much damage to the original negative.

[on_ur_left]

Placing one more smacking kiss on Rogue's cheek, Steve pulled them both back up to sitting. "Okay, you're starting to make my one present feel a little inadequate," he joked lightly, although there was an undercurrent of nerves starting to act up. What if she didn't like the gift? What if it was too much, or not enough, or-- He should've gotten her something else. Something little maybe, but personal. Truthfully though, it had been hard enough thinking up the one present. He felt it was a little... well, a little sexist to get her something like a cookbook, even if it had been filled with Southern recipes, or something like that. Steve was a simple guy, and it was clear Rogue had put thought into his gifts, but he always felt like his own choices weren't adequate in that regard. He'd just happened to stumble on the necklace and it had immediately reminded him of Rogue. But when he tried to think of something he could search out and buy, he always came up blank.

Anyway, it was too late now. Leaning over, Steve pulled the smaller, thin present to him. It was obvious right away that it wasn't a book, despite its size (he had not picked it up previously, and so that's what he'd assumed it was, just by eyeballing it with curiosity). He found a seam along the back of the wrapping and tore into it - and was greeted with the back of a picture frame.

Before he even flipped it over, Steve's breath caught in anticipation. He had a flash of insight as to the general nature of the picture, because his Rogue was resourceful, wasn't she? What sort of picture would she have gotten him, if not something personal?

Pulling off the wrapping paper as he turned the frame over in his hands, Steve gave a stuttered gasp at the image that greeted him. Lightly, almost not daring to touch it, he ran his thumb over the glass protecting the picture. Fallsworth, Morita, Dum-Dum, Dernier, all stood clustered in a ragged semi-circle in front of a Jeep, grinning like the lunatics they were. Between them all, in the center, stood Steve himself, with Bucky beside him, one arm thrown over Steve's shoulder, just like he'd always done, despite Steve now being much too tall for it to be comfortable on his best friend.

"Jesus," he laughed shakily, the tears threatening his eyes evident in his voice, "I look so young." He had to make a joke about it, had to lighten the mood, or he would start sobbing.

And there, just on the edge of the frame, part of her shoulder and the back of her hair cut off by the edge as she was turned in profile to the camera and looking at the group, was Peggy Carter. She stood with her head tucked down, holding her hands together in front of her, and looking nothing more like a pleased mother watching her mischievous children indulgently. He remembered that look, half-exasperated and half-indulgent, full of pride. "Fuck," he exhaled sharply.

He wrapped his arm around Rogue in a sideways hug, the picture still held in his free hand, and pressed a kiss into her hair, resting his lips there afterward. "What am I gonna do with you?" he asked softly, his voice cracking slightly with emotion.

The answer was obvious, of course. He'd known it since almost the moment they'd met: Keep her forever.

[theycalledmeacurse]

It was the best reaction she could have hoped for.

Watching Steve unwrap the framed photo, seeing the way so carefully touched the glass, she knew it had been the right choice. She could hear those tears in his voice, her vision swimming in response to that sound. He missed them all terribly, she could hear it in every story he'd shared with her and all the hundreds that he didn't, but as far as she knew, the only photographs he had of them were in the files provided by SHIELD. Sure, there were dozens of photos that he could find on the internet, and footage of them all from newsreels that had made it into documentaries, but it just wasn't the same.

She slipped her arms around his middle, leaning into his solid warmth. "I don't have any photos of my family, the friends I left behind," she explained softly, the words sad but not anywhere near as much so as they had been on other occasions. "That's just not possible for me. But it was for you, so I-- I asked Tony to look through his father's things from the war. I made him promise not to say anything, but I'm kind of surprised he actually managed it."

[on_ur_left]

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.

[theycalledmeacurse]

Rogue took a deep breath before sliding her fingers along that pretty wrapping paper, finding the edge to gently start tearing the paper. It became obvious pretty quickly in the process that there was a canvas under that paper, but she couldn't begin to guess what Steve might have painted on it. He'd worked in his studio a bit more than usual lately, but she'd just assumed that he'd been hit with inspiration and hadn't bothered him. The studio was his space, and she rarely went in there without his invitation - not because she didn't feel welcome to do so, but because she wanted him to have that space. She did spend an awful lot of time in his apartment when she didn't actually live there.

When the canvas was finally free from the paper, she carefully turned it around and felt her breath catch in her throat. The figures he'd painted, the colors he'd used. They were exact depictions of her loved ones, but they were the best he could do without having actually seen those people himself, and they were perfect. Jubilee's coat was just the right color, Logan's claws and sideburns, Charles and Erik in their usual uniforms, and Remy...

She could barely see the painting by the time she finished giving it a good once-over, and the tears spilled over her cheeks before she could stop them. "Steve, I--" She tried and failed to thank him, the words stretched thin and cracked in the middle. Her hands shook slightly as she so very carefully set the canvas against the table, and then she practically threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck as she did indeed start crying her eyes out. He knew her so well.

[on_ur_left]

Steve watched her reaction anxiously, hoping he hadn't screwed up. Oddly enough, he found her reaction promising, even though he hated seeing that look cross her face, hearing her words break off in that particular way that meant--

Yep, she was crying. Steve easily caught her up against his chest, wrapping his arms around her, one hand threading into her hair. He thought of and discarded several things he could say, from asking if this was happy-sad crying, or just all-out sad crying; if he'd made any mistakes (he could easily paint over them), if she hated it, please don't cry, Rogue, shh.

He kept silent for the moment, though. Eventually she'd collect herself, and then he would wait what she had to say, and could ask if it was alright.

Well, no. There was one thing he could always say. "I love you, he whispered into her hair. "I got you."

[theycalledmeacurse]

Which of course only made her cry even harder. It was the best thing he could have said, the most touching and genuine, and so she held on even tighter and just let out all the emotions he'd brought to the surface with that beautiful painting. Grief at the loss of those people, happiness at the memories of being with them in the good times, utterly pure love for the man sitting beside her.

It took a few minutes, but she did manage to finally pull herself together enough to loosen her hold on Steve and lean back to give him just a little breathing room. She just looked at him for a moment with red-rimmed shining eyes before saying in a completely deadpan tone, "Only you could make me cry on Christmas and get away with it."

[on_ur_left]

When she pulled back, but just stared at him, Steve gave in to his nervous habit of sucking in his lower lip and chewing on it nervously, his brow creasing slightly in anxiety. It took a second, but eventually his lips quirked on one side in an uncertain, questioning smile. "That means you like it... right?"

He tried to make it sound teasing, but his uncertainty leaked through under the words. Unable to hold still, he reached up and brushed a stray strand of white hair away from her face, smoothing it down gently, taking the moment just to touch her.

[theycalledmeacurse]

As she always did, Rogue leaned toward that touch like a flower seeking the sun. She couldn't help it, the move was completely unconscious; even if she did notice it, she wouldn't have tried to stop herself. His touch made her life worth living.

"I love it," she assured him with a gentle smile. "It's perfect. I don't know how you did it, but everything about it is just... perfect. Thank you, Steve. Thank you so much." She'd never be able to thank him enough for the beautiful gifts he'd given her: the painting and his heart.

[on_ur_left]

Leaning his forehead against hers for a moment, he said simply, "I love you," putting a slight emphasis on love, as if that explained exactly how he'd done it. And for him, it did explain; he'd listened to her, he committed her stories to memory, because they were parts of the whole that made up Marie LeBeau, Rogue.

Reaching up, he brushed at her cheeks with his thumbs, wiping away the dampness still on her cheeks. He pressed a kiss to her lips, pulling back before either of them could make it more than just a lingering kiss. "Let's find places to put all these, and then get ready for bed."

[theycalledmeacurse]

I love you. With Steve, it really did explain everything. So few people seemed to realize just how much he paid attention, the details that he noticed and committed to memory. She shouldn't be at all surprised now by the things he was capable of, but every so often he did something that was so above and beyond what she expected that it just took her breath away.

"I like that plan," she murmured, looking forward to curling up in his arms. Using the coffee table for leverage, she hauled herself up before picking up the beautiful painting and taking it over to one of the low bookshelves. She propped it up there so it would be out of harm's way, letting a fingertip drift over one of the visible brushstrokes. "We'll find somewhere to hang you tomorrow," she promised softly, then went back to the coffee table to collect the various dishes. Uneaten cookies were returned to their container and the mugs of hot chocolate were quickly washed out in the sink along with the pot Steve had used earlier.

[on_ur_left]

Steve glanced over as he heard Rogue's murmured words, smiling softly as he watched her. He turned back to his presents. The books came back out of the box and got placed flat in front of some other books on his shelf; he'd find a place to put them away later. The notebook and pen he left on the coffee table; he was definitely going to be taking those with him next time he went out, might as well leave them where he would see them. And the photo...

The photo got set up on the coffee table as well, right in the middle, facing the couch. He remembered half a year ago, on his birthday, when he'd smoked a cigarette with a sketch he'd done of Bucky, in bittersweet celebration of another year lived. It ached, still, not having his friends around anymore, but it was something he could live with, now. He wanted to see this reminder of the good times, every time he passed through the room.

That taken care of, he started gathering up the wrapping paper and tossing it in the box. He'd sort out the recycling later, but for now it was enough to just get it cleared away.

"I liked the wrapping on my presents, by the way. Very creative," he teased lightly.