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.

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[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.

[theycalledmeacurse]

Wiping her hands dry on a dish towel, Rogue grinned at that teasing. "It was too good to pass up," she explained, leaving the towel on the counter to dry before heading over to help with the smaller bits of paper. "You did a lovely job yourself, though, sugar. It was really beautiful."

With the last scraps in the box, she looped her arm through Steve's, leaning into him with a tired, happy smile. "Let's go to bed, Steve. I've got a pair of pajamas calling my name." They were light green and had pies on them.

[on_ur_left]

Walking into the bedroom, he noticed right away that the curtains had been drawn there as well. The Christmas lights hung along the tops of the walls gave it an ethereal, mellow glow, and as he climbed into bed and pulled Rogue against him, Steve didn't even think about the cold. All he could think about was what a fantastic night they'd had, and what a wonderful gal she was, and how incredibly lucky he was that she was with him.

Tonight had been great, and he hoped as he fell into a dreamless sleep, that tomorrow would be even better. It was Christmas, after all.

[theycalledmeacurse]

Curled up against Steve, Rogue could almost forget that they weren't just two normal people in love. The horrors they'd faced faded into the background and she could focus on the future they were going to share. Lately, it had led to some beautiful dreams that left her feeling content and at peace.

This wasn't a night for those dreams.

Perhaps it was a subconscious reaction to the windows being covered, or some other subtle trigger from the day that had gone unnoticed. Whatever caused it, the nightmare latched onto her suddenly and abstractly, more feeling than memory. She shifted only once before jerking awake close to dawn, gasping and shaking as the dream slipped away.

[on_ur_left]

It was a testament to how tired he was, that when Rogue jerked away, Steve's only reaction was to hum in discontent, reaching out for her. "Too early," he mumbled. "Come back to bed."

[theycalledmeacurse]

Taking a few slow, deep breaths, Rogue carefully untangled herself from Steve and leaned down to press a kiss to his cheek. "In just a minute, sugar," she murmured, her heart still racing. "I'm gonna get a glass of water." Maybe her hands would stop shaking by the time she got back.

[on_ur_left]

Something was wrong. Steve's brow furrowed as he surfaced from his sleep, trying to figure out what was going on as his brain continued to wake up. He stretched his arm out, but even as his hand only hit the quickly-cooling sheets where Rogue usually slept, he remembered her saying she was going to get something to drink.

"What time is it?" He muttered to himself, glancing at the digital clock. Just after 7 am. They'd gotten to bed about five hours ago. It was a holiday, so there was really no reason for Rogue to voluntarily be waking up so early. If anything, it was usually Steve who was up first, especially if there was no coffee to entice his girl out of bed, unless...

Groaning a little, Steve rolled over and aggressively rubbed at his face, trying to force himself awake. He was not, contrary to what people seemed to believe, a natural morning person. He just didn't need a lot of sleep, and thanks to the war, he could usually be up and alert in a matter of seconds. But apparently his body and mind knew that there was no reason for it, so it was taking longer this time. Except there was a reason: Rogue probably had a nightmare. It was becoming less common, but between the two of them, they were lucky to go a few weeks without one of them having an episode. So far, the first nightmare for both of them had been the most... dramatic compared to subsequent episodes, but he still wanted to go check on her, just in case.

Getting out of bed, he padded on light feet out into the apartment, across the living area and into the kitchen. He stopped at the island, bracing his forearms on the counter. "Alright?" he asked, his voice husky with leftover sleep.

[theycalledmeacurse]

She should have known that Steve would follow her out of the bedroom. The poor thing looked like he was barely staying upright, so he must have been in a deep sleep when she'd woken him. Guilt gnawed at her stomach and she took another sip of water from the glass she was holding before nodding.

"I'm okay, sugar," she assured him, though her hand was still trembling. "It was just a bad dream, nothing out of the norm." She wanted to brush the whole thing off, claim that she didn't even remember the dream -- but she couldn't lie to him. She did remember what little of it there had been, and he had been front and center.

[on_ur_left]

Steve sighed softly, pushing off the island and moving to stand beside her, facing out into the kitchen. He leaned against the counter beside her, his hands holding the edge, within sight and close to her, but not threatening to touch her. He wanted to, dearly, but he knew at times like this, he had to let Rogue come to him first. It hurt, but he understood that's how she was.

Glancing over, he could see she was still upset. He averted his eyes, not wanting her to feel pinned to the spot, but kept his head turned toward her as he murmured, "Rogue. Marie." He tried not to use her given name too often; she preferred Rogue, and it held more impact if he saved it for certain occasions. In this instance, when he wanted her to be honest with him. She didn't have to tell him what the nightmare - because really, 'bad dream' surely didn't cover it - was about, but he didn't want her to lie to him and say she was okay, when clearly she wasn't.

[theycalledmeacurse]

Why did he have to be so perceptive? She could see it in his eyes that he didn't believe her assertions that she was just fine. Of course he didn't, who would? Her hands were shaking, her voice was strained, she felt like she was about to have an anxiety attack. She wasn't okay, but she couldn't bring herself to admit it.

"I'm alright," she insisted with an ounce more of firmness and a shake of her head. "Let's go back to bed."

The glass was supposed to rest on the counter. She wasn't supposed to lose her focus and fumble her grip as she let go, the bottom of the glass only half on the counter so that it teetered over the edge, water spilling as the star-speckled glass hit the floor and shattered, pieces skittering across the kitchen floor. It was an old, automatic instinct for her to immediately crouch down and begin gathering up the shards.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'll replace it." The words ran together in a steady murmured stream. She'd been the one to buy the glasses, one of the many special holiday additions to his apartment, but all that was registering in her mind was that old familiar terror at the prospect of being cast aside for something she'd done wrong.

[on_ur_left]

Steve closed his eyes at her response, making a supreme effort so that his disappointment didn't show on his face. He knew she'd take it the wrong way, that he was disappointed in her, and that wasn't the case. He was disappointed she wouldn't, or couldn't bring herself, to confide in him, and he was getting sick of being so understanding, but he did understand. So he'd keep being understanding, and let her get away with it. She was in no state for him to push, right now.

If he'd had his eyes open, if he'd been more alert, he would've realized what was happening, been able to react faster. He might even have been able to catch the glass before it hit the floor. As it was, the sound shot a much-needed adrenaline rush through his system, and he was suddenly on high-alert.

Steve crouched down almost before Rogue had even started speaking. He took in her words, as well as the overall scene, in an instant. Neither of them was wearing shoes, and she was picking up glass with her bare hands. He reached out on instinct to grab her hands and stop her, but pulled back at the last second; in her current state of mind, she might flinch away from him, and he didn't want her cutting herself.

"Rogue - Rogue, it's okay!" He shifted a little to try and get her to meet his eye. "Honey, they're your glasses. I mean, if you'd just move in already they'd be our glasses, but it's not a big deal."

It took a couple seconds for him to realize that he'd said that out loud, when he'd meant to just think it. Clearly he wasn't as awake as he'd thought.

[theycalledmeacurse]

If you'd just move in already...

Rogue froze at those words, her heart skipping a beat at what he was saying without saying it. Did he want her to move in with him? Yes, she spent a lot of time there, but didn't he realize that if she moved in, there wouldn't be anywhere for her to go when he decided he didn't want her anymore? That thought had her shaking her head again and continuing to try to clean up the mess she'd made. It was always her mess that ruined things, her own damn fault that people abandoned her. It had to be her fault, it had happened so many times.

"I can't do that," she informed him, tears in her voice even as it cracked on every word.