"Okay," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her hot brow. "Okay. I love you." He said it often enough, but she definitely needed to hear it now. It killed him to see her like this, and he knew she would get better - it was just a cold, at worst a common strain of flu, nothing to be worried about in this day and age, and yet there was still a part of him that always fretted, always panicked when she got sick, and especially now. If she started having coughing fits, he'd be hard-pressed to hide his anxiety from her. He'd end up standing outside the bedroom door, ringing his hands in worry.
Knowing there really wasn't anything else he could do, Steve stepped back, out into the kitchen; it was one of the hardest things he'd ever done to move away from her, but hovering over her wasn't going to help either of them. She needed to rest without feeling bad for making him feel anxious, and he needed to keep himself busy. He had a newfound appreciation for why Rogue was always cooking. He forced his mind to concentrate on what his hands were doing, testing the soup, and in a fit of productivity, decided to forgo the pudding mix altogether, and make his own from scratch.
His memory was a little spotty about how his mother had made it, but a quick internet search on his phone helped him find a recipe that sounded, if not exact, then close enough to what his mother had done that he was comfortable with it. Fortunately, it called for basic ingredients that they already had. He started pulling everything out and placing it on the island, testing the eggs in water to make sure they were fresh, before starting to beat them by hand in a bowl, adding milk and cornstarch, starting a second pan on the stove to heat up milk, cocoa powder, sugar and a pinch of salt.
Moving back and forth between his phone and cooking, enough of his mind and body were occupied that he started to feel a little more settled. He had a clear task and goal, and that was enough, for the moment.
no subject
Knowing there really wasn't anything else he could do, Steve stepped back, out into the kitchen; it was one of the hardest things he'd ever done to move away from her, but hovering over her wasn't going to help either of them. She needed to rest without feeling bad for making him feel anxious, and he needed to keep himself busy. He had a newfound appreciation for why Rogue was always cooking. He forced his mind to concentrate on what his hands were doing, testing the soup, and in a fit of productivity, decided to forgo the pudding mix altogether, and make his own from scratch.
His memory was a little spotty about how his mother had made it, but a quick internet search on his phone helped him find a recipe that sounded, if not exact, then close enough to what his mother had done that he was comfortable with it. Fortunately, it called for basic ingredients that they already had. He started pulling everything out and placing it on the island, testing the eggs in water to make sure they were fresh, before starting to beat them by hand in a bowl, adding milk and cornstarch, starting a second pan on the stove to heat up milk, cocoa powder, sugar and a pinch of salt.
Moving back and forth between his phone and cooking, enough of his mind and body were occupied that he started to feel a little more settled. He had a clear task and goal, and that was enough, for the moment.