Finding You

[theycalledmeacurse]

I know forever don't exist
But after this life, I'll find you in the next
So when I say "forever," it's the goddamn truth
I'll keep finding you...

Aliens. Of all the things that could have gone wrong on her first solo business trip for the school, somehow aliens hadn't really made the list of possibilities. Breaking a shoe on the way to the donor's office, her car breaking down on the way into the city, getting food poisoning from bad sushi — the list went on and on, but aliens had never really occurred to her. Staring up at the giant armored worm thing flying above the street a few blocks down, she realizes that apparently it should have.

It takes time for her to fight the crowds fleeing the epicenter of the attack, each second feeling like an hour, and then she's faced with one of those creatures, its weapon pointing straight at her—

Reflexes honed by years of training sessions in the Danger Room have her dropping just in time, the car behind her taking the brunt of the impact with a metallic screech, and then she's back on her feet, a short metal stick in her hand expanding to a full-length staff. She wastes no time in swinging it at her enemy with practiced force, focused on damaging that armor enough to get hold of its weapon. Once she has it, she should be able to take them out much more efficiently.

It's a good thing everyone is more focused on the alien invasion than the woman with the weird hair trying to play ninja in a business suit.

Comments

[on_ur_left]

A large part of Steve's mind is focused on the battle; angles and trajectory, strategies both small-scale and large, positions and movements of his teammates, civilians, and the enemy.

But a small part of his brain has been sectioned off so that he can quietly continue to freak out, just slightly, about the fact that aliens are invading Earth. And apparently, H.G. Wells was wrong, and they aren't dying from microscopic organisms that humans are immune to.

Just one more way the future has disappointed him.

The police seem to finally be doing their job, herding civilians away from the attacks - although that's kind of hard, when the enemy has flying bikes that can attack from anywhere, as well as laser weapons that that same small part of his brain is comparing to all the old sci-fi movies. That small part of his brain has to grudgingly admit that the real thing is much cooler than the bulky laser blasters from the movies. Is that a good thing, since it's not a disappointment, or a bad thing, because the reality is so much more deadly and accurate than the portrayal?

Something to think about later, when he has more time to process those kinds of thoughts; right now he's moving so fast, throwing his shield, jumping and jabbing, kicking and spinning towards and away from the enemy almost before he consciously registers what he needs to do.

Out of the corner of his eye, he notes an alien facing off with a body that's neither alien nor wearing one of his team's outfits; his shield is hurled with pinpoint accuracy to crack at the base of the alien's skull, which he's discovered is a weak point if you hit just the right spot. The alien goes down, and Steve gets his first look at the civilian, dressed professionally and looking like maybe she can handle herself.

Time seems to stop for a second. For just a second, everything blurs, all the shrieks and alarms and cries from battle turn strangely muffled, as Steve stares at the woman.

"...Marie?"

[theycalledmeacurse]

Another thing she hadn't been expecting: Some guy dressed in red, white, and blue throwing a shield at the alien she'd been about to pummel. The round disc arcs back through the air to him almost like a boomerang and her target goes down hard.

Huh. Well, that's effective.

Turning to shout out a quick thanks, she notices that he's... staring at her, like he's never seen a woman before. She is pretty unusual looking, but this is New York City and there are aliens out here, he should really—

In a split second, she raises a stolen energy gun and sends a bolt not even a foot away from his side, knocking down a creature who'd been raising his own weapon at her companion. "Get your head back in the game, sugar!"

[on_ur_left]

Steve doesn't flinch when she swings the weapon around and fires; he can see where she's aiming, and it's not at him - but it's damn close. Her shouted words are right (and he did flinch at those, not at the rebuke itself, but the inherent Southerness, and the use of the word 'sugar', because wasn't that Marie's special word for everybody?), but he's been thrown for a goddamned loop, his world's been shook like a cheap tourist snowglobe - the second time that's happened in less than six months - and this is precisely the worst time for it.

There's chatter on his communicator from his teammates, and Steve turns to scan the streets while he's listening. He quickly turns back to Marie - or the woman who's a fucking spitting image of her, at any rate, since she doesn't seem to recognize anything about him - and points a warning finger at her. "Don't even think about going anywhere. We need to have a chat. Once the insanity dies down."

Turning again, he starts calling out positions and tactics as he scans the street, the skies, watching for the enemy. Slinging his shield and pummeling aliens like his life depends on it. Trying to keep her safe, even though it seems like she can take care of herself, especially with one of the enemy's own weapons.

The small part of his mind relegated to miscellaneous thoughts notes that her hair's dark, now. White streaks in the front, he thinks, but with all the dust it could be any color. It's not Marie's color, he tries to tell himself, and she'd never dyed it. But her face... her voice, the accent, even the cadence and emphasis on certain syllables... It was all Marie.

Which scared him a hell of a lot more than an alien invasion.

[theycalledmeacurse]

Did he just... point a finger at her and tell her to stay put? She spares a full three seconds to gape at him once he's turned away, then immediately shakes herself and puts the entire encounter out of her mind. With no idea who that guy was other than someone who clearly knows how to handle these things, she doesn't give a damn that he wants her to stick around for a chat. There are people to save, aliens to take down, and a city to keep from crumbling — whatever bone he's got to pick with her can damn well wait.

So she gets to work. Any of the creatures she can reach on the ground are beaten down (though she takes a bit of a beating herself in the process), and she does everything she can to get any straggling civilians to safety. Basements and subway tunnels seem the safest spots, and she stops to confer with a cluster of police officers about making sure any trains still able to run were being used to evacuate the civilians to other parts of the city. Time was of the essence when they could lose power in the underground stations at any time.

During the chaos, she can't help but notice that the guy from earlier didn't seem to be alone. A flying man in a bright red cape, a big green guy she remembered hearing about a few years ago, even Iron Man was out there. The only ones missing were the X-Men, but she doesn't have time to get hold of Scott and make sure someone is on the way. The battle hasn't even been going on very long, they might not make it in time before—

They stop. All of them, every alien and flying creature just falls down like their strings have been cut and suddenly it's all over. A million people stop with them and try to cope with what happens, emergency services doing their best to get everyone away from the rubble, somewhere safe to deal with injuries and contact loved ones. She waves away any attempts at getting her to go as well, ignoring that her once-black suit is now grey with dust and grime, that there's a rip in her pant leg from a cut that's causing her to limp slightly. Her adrenaline is still running high and she's focused on doing all she can to help; it's just who she is.

[on_ur_left]

Even trying to keep an eye on Marie, Steve's focus has to be on the battle. And it's a hell of one. The team needs him, his focus, and he has to shut her out of all but his periphery while he fights, coordinates, engages.

Black Widow makes it to the roof, communicates she can shut the portal these things keep endlessly pouring out of. Iron Man says no, and Steve lets him call the play - they've somehow seamlessly fallen into roles of leader and second-in-command - flying the nuclear device through the portal.

It hurts. It hurts more than he expected, would have imagined, to watch Iron-- to watch Tony, disappear through the portal. One-way trip. It hits close to home; it's like watching Bucky fall, only in reverse, and it makes him regret all the sniping and arguing. For all their fundamental differences, for all Tony's brashness and loud proclamations of not being a team player, they'd slid into fighting side by side as if they'd been doing it for years. He's not going to get a chance now to see how that dynamic might carry over to downtime, when they're not in the middle of government conspiracies and alien invasions.

He never gets a chance at anything. A glimpse, a taste, before it's snatched away. His whole damn life, he can't even find the energy now to be mad. Later. Later he'll rail about it, wail on a heavy bag until it's spilling sand, raining down like an hourglass until all that's left his him. Again. Bucky. Marie. His life. He keeps losing everything.

But then there's a shout, drawing his attention up, and suddenly it feels like his heart's about to pound up through his throat, because that's IRON MAN--

not slowing down, and Steve can see through the quick tumble of the armor that it's not lit up, it's dead, and he finds he's still got a drop of hope left in him, because he's hoping inside the suit, the same can't be said for its pilot.

It's the Hulk who saves the day, and Iron Man, in more ways than one, and it's Tony's half-conscious quip about 'nobody kissed me, right?' that has the knot in Steve's chest easing, making him huff an exhausted laugh and glance away, looking out over the carnage, but the battle itself is over.

And there, somehow, his eyes immediately lock on to a figure in a dusty black pants suit, alien weapon abandoned now that it's no longer needed. Party's not over, he thinks; still have to secure Loki, get him the hell off this planet, this dimension, back to wherever-it-is that he and Thor are from. But for now...

"Get up to the Tower to secure Loki. I'll catch up." And then he's off, moving through the wreckage and debris toward Marie-or-whoever-the-hell-she-is, face set with determination.

He's going to get some answers.

[theycalledmeacurse]

"You're gonna be okay, sugar." The words are offered to perhaps the hundredth person she's handed off to paramedics after helping to go through the crowd and identify the people who needed care the most. This one is a teenager, a young man whose entire world has been shaken and it just about breaks her heart. He reminds her so much of the kids she's worked with for years now, the ones without a sense of stability who wake up screaming in the night. She hopes he doesn't join those ranks, but even she'll probably have nightmares about this day.

Something tickles her forehead and she reaches up to brush the back of her hand against it but winces at the sting the gesture causes. The grimy black glove comes away with a streak of dark wetness that can only be blood and she sighs heavily before tugging the glove off. It's easier to press her clean bare fingers along the edges of the cut, though it certainly doesn't hurt any less.

Another sigh follows seconds later when she spots the man from earlier, and suddenly she's feeling her exhaustion pretty keenly.

[on_ur_left]

There's a ripple of exhaustion that runs through Steve as he gets closer to the woman, seeing all the little pieces of evidence that show she was also fighting; dust covering her clothes, tears in the fabric, bruises on her face - and blood, trickling from a head wound, he sees as she shifts, then turns and spots him.

Seeing the blood makes the anger rush to the forefront. Now that he doesn't have to keep a clear head, all the emotions he was too numb to feel during battle come out with a vengeance. Who is she, and why the fuck does she look like his Marie? Grief tangles briefly with the anger, but he just uses the former to fuel the latter. Why can't he just grieve, without being surrounded by ghosts and shadows, echoes of his life Before reverberating into this After?

He's not unaware of what she was doing, though, and glances toward the survivors, the civilians who are wounded, or just lost and confused; devastated. But there are police, medics, and even a few other good Samaritans helping out. She can be spared, and he's not going to wait.

"We need to talk. Now," he tells her, in clipped tones, as he draws up, slightly into her personal space. It's an intimidation tactic, and one he's tried to avoid since taking the serum, because it's so much more effective now that he's larger - even when he doesn't mean to do it.

Oh, but he means to do it now. He wants answers, he wants to know what the hell is going on, and if she doesn't know, his next stop is going to be to Fury.

[theycalledmeacurse]

With anyone else in the world, that tactic might have worked like a charm, but all it does is make Rogue angry in turn. She's faced down an angry Wolverine, battled Sabretooth and Magneto and faced death head-on — no way is she being intimidated by some stranger who had no business speaking to her this way.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" she demands, her southern drawl thickening with irritation as she rests her hands on her hips and straightens up, ignoring the twinge in her wounded leg. "I haven't done a damn thing except help in this fight, and that sure doesn't deserve this kind of treatment."

[on_ur_left]

Steve pursed his lips, which added to his scowl while also holding any quick-tempered words in check for a moment. Because dammit, she had a point. And it hurt, hearing her talk; more, to hear her speak to him, with that voice, in that accent, as if he were a complete stranger. Because to her, he was. Because no matter that she was the spitting image... This wasn't his Marie. It couldn't be.

He'd known she wasn't, intellectually, because Marie had been completely human, completely normal, and normal humans didn't live for near-seventy years and not age a day.

Hope springs eternal. There'd been a small spark of hope left in him, one he hadn't acknowledged, hadn't even known was there, that withered into ash as he took a deep breath, and accepted what he should have realized after that first jolt of shock at seeing her. She wasn't his.

Grief swam through him, seeming even heavier than when he'd first woken up, and realized what he'd lost. He squeezed his eyes shut, reaching up to press finger and thumb over them, taking another slow, deep breath.

"I'm sorry," he finally uttered, in a low, guttural voice. "I-- you-- You're right. I apologize. I thought... You look like a woman I kno-- knew." He didn't say my soulmate. He didn't say the only person I had left. He didn't need pity from a stranger, but especially one with Marie's face.

"I'm--" he glanced down at the outfit, still colorful despite the dust and blood coating it, the numerous rips. "Captain America. Steve. Sorry. Again."

[on_ur_left]

Three weeks later, Steve sits in his apartment, staring out the window with his cell phone in his hand, a business card on the table beside his laptop.

He took Marie-- Rogue's advice, and did some homework on mutants, and her team in particular; it didn't take much research to realize the 'X' on the card stood for X-Men, and Steve's not considered a tactical genius for nothing.

It's a lot to take in, mutants, not even counting how people feel about them. He's been thinking about it a lot; mutants, and his first meeting with Rogue. (He's gotten used to calling her that in his head; even if it's just a call sign, it's a tangible way for him to distance her from his Marie, to think of her as her own person.) He's not surprised at the dislike and distrust he's read online, not even very surprised at the ferocity of it. Disappointed, yeah, but not surprised; people always fear and mistrust things and people they don't understand. He thinks even if he didn't have a connection to mutants through Rogue, he'd still feel for them, still be on their side.

Between learning about mutants, and helping restoration efforts for the city, he hasn't had a chance to call her. He really has been busy, but part of him still feels like a coward; like he's been putting it off and avoiding her. He hopes she doesn't think that. Her parting words make him think she was ready for him to never contact her again - but that doesn't mean some part of her hasn't been disappointed every day she doesn't hear from him. He knows a little something about that kind of disappointment.

So, Steve selects 'Rogue' under contacts (he doesn't even have to scroll through a menu, he's got so few contacts in his phone, yet), presses 'Call,' holds the phone to his ear... and waits.

[theycalledmeacurse]

He doesn't have to wait long. Two rings in, she picks up the call, sliding to a stop in the middle of a hallway and giving the phone her full attention. There's no way she expects it to be him, she's honestly stopped hoping to hear from him by this point, but an unknown number on this line usually means X-Men business. And despite everyone in the world dealing with the incredible revelation that aliens are real and tried to destroy New York City, it's still business as usual at Xavier's School.

"This is Rogue," she answers clearly and automatically, southern drawl so much lighter than it had been during their first meeting; now that her life isn't being upended, she's got a much better hold on her accent.

[on_ur_left]

There's a brief pause, that one moment where Steve actually finds himself surprised that this is happening. Then he decides to jump right in. "I think I missed an opportunity a few weeks ago. I should've bet against you thinking you'd never hear from me again."

Clearing his throat, he turns the subject slightly more serious. "Sorry I didn't call before now. I've been helping with clearing and rebuilding efforts, and... I had some research to do."

[theycalledmeacurse]

Oh. It's... him. Even when he finishes speaking, she can hardly believe that she's actually hearing his voice after all these weeks, a voice she's tried and failed to forget. That familiar cadence makes her chest tighten with traitorous hope that she attempts to squash before it gets too out of hand.

"...hang on a sec." Hitting the mute button, she hurries down the rest of the hallway to her classroom, shutting and locking the door behind her before leaning against it and resuming the call. "Sorry, had to get somewhere quiet. You said you've been doing research - how exactly is it that you'd never heard of mutants before?"

She slides down the door to settle onto the floor, appreciating both the new angle in observing her classroom and the quiet. No students here to try to listen over, and likewise none to be overheard by Steve, whose 'research' could have uncovered any number of things. The X-Men are a known quantity among most internet groups tracking the surge in 'superheroes', but the school itself is only known to select groups in even more selective intelligence circles. If he's pulled the right strings, he might know about them, but if not...

As much as she wants to believe that she can trust him right away and without question, the safety of these children is more important to her than he could ever be. She would give her life to protect them from harm, so she sure as hell isn't going to risk telling that huge secret to someone she barely knows.

[on_ur_left]

He hasn't learned about the school, because he didn't ask anyone he knows about mutants. For one thing, he didn't want people asking why he wanted to know, but... mostly, he just didn't want to share this. He wanted to find out for himself what was going on, and while the internet was by far not unbiased or unopinionated, at least it had multiple sources, which made it more well-rounded than the handful of opinions he'd get from his teammates or Fury. (Plus at this point, he trusted any 'facts' he received from the Director about as far as he could throw them - before the serum.)

Unlike Rogue, Steve has no compunction about sharing information that hasn't been made public: namely, his identity. Although he thinks it'll get out eventually, so far the news is still reporting on the devastation of the city, and while 'superheroes' are still being hotly debated and talked about, the fact that a man seventy years' dead/lost to war hasn't cropped up yet. (He's sure it's just a matter of time; he knows how gossip works.)

"Remember I was dressed up like Captain America during the Battle?" he asks dryly. "I wasn't wearing the costume just for fun. Trust me, it's never been a fun costume to wear. I told you I was in a war. I was in World War II. I'm the... well, the 'original' Captain America, I guess. God, I hope there haven't been any others..." He mutters the last to himself, frowning at the table.

[theycalledmeacurse]

"Oh." Well, it's not exactly the answer she'd been expecting, but on a scale of all the weird stuff she's experienced in her life, this really doesn't rank anywhere near the top. Meeting a man who far older than he looks is kind of par for the course in her line of work, though she has a feeling that it's more complicated for Steve. Someone who did what he does, you don't just walk away from that for a couple decades. Something had happened, and yet here he is despite it.

"I can't say if there have been, I'm not really well-versed in that part of history. But that probably means there haven't been." She feels a little guilty admitting that she knows so little about his life before when he had been a prominent figure in history, but she feels justified in being a little distracted. At least she recognizes him from her history classes in high school; that counts for something, right?

[on_ur_left]

He chuckles a little at her response. He doesn't expect anyone to remember things from his time. It's always a trip when he stumbles across something from back then that was so historical that it's entered the national Zeitgeist and is taken for granted, as just another fact of life. "Don't worry about it. Just a passing thought. I..."

Sighing, Steve tilts his head back to stare at the ceiling for a second, before closing his eyes. "The plane I was on went down. I was frozen, presumed dead, for seventy years. Until just a few months ago when they found me. Thawed me out. Like a Thanksgiving turkey, with about as much careful handling." His tone makes it clear that he means: none whatsoever. "And before I was 'Captain America,'" air-quotes obvious in his voice, "I was a scrawny little shrimp nobody, whose mouth was constantly getting him into fights. The one nobody would ever bet on. And here I am, outliving everybody." His bitterness comes through on that last part a little too clearly, and he clears his throat.

"Anyway. So how've you been?" he asks with forced casual cheeriness.

[theycalledmeacurse]

She absorbs all of that information to process later, with extra attention paid to the details like his tone of voice. In the face of all that, he seems to be handling things remarkably well, at least from her vantage point. Which, granted, is a little skewed.

Taking a deep breath, she lets it out in a sigh and rubs a gloved hand over her face. "Busy," is the short answer, but it doesn't really seem fair to leave it at that when he's given her so much more. "I've just started a new summer job and it's been a bit overwhelming at times."

[theycalledmeacurse]

The meeting... hadn't gone well. None of them had, lately. Charles had hoped that going in person for this one would help their odds of being heard, but instead all it seemed to do was rile up the opposition even more. And worse yet, Charles had heard—

Those thoughts are shoved to the back of her mind, buried under a dozen other things, but she can still feel the fear beneath those layers. Lurking in the dark, waiting to rise and strike. It's without any real thought that she pulls her phone out of a pocket and thumbs through the contacts, finding a particular name and typing out a message. ]

I'm in town — got any dinner plans?

[on_ur_left]

Steve feels a buzzing in his front pocket, and after a quick, involuntary jerk of surprise, he pulls the phone out. He's still not entirely used to it; he's gotten the hang of it, but it still takes him a full second or two to realize what the buzz is, what it means.

He sees the name first, and his eyebrows raise in surprise. After swiping open to read the message, he pauses, biting his lip. Glances over at the bags of groceries he's currently putting away before making anything to eat. He'd been planning... well, nothing really. A stay-at-home meal.

Was gonna make food. Pasta. Do you want to meet somewhere tho?

Eating out isn't something he really likes to do, just because he has to eat so much. He always feels embarrassed, especially because people always notice.

But Rogue reached out to him, and if the price for that is a little embarrassment... it's not the first time he's been embarrassed, and he's positive it won't be his last.

It's definitely worth it.

[theycalledmeacurse]

Rogue tucks her hair back behind her ears as she reads his response, glancing out the window at the grey clouds rolling in and then at the room service menu laid out in the desk in her hotel room. The others had gone back to the mansion, but she hadn't wanted to make the trip back down the next day for another meeting... Maybe she should have, in retrospect.

Oh, sorry. No, it's okay, it looks like it'll storm soon. I don't want to drag you out in that to meet me.

It's hard not to let herself tell him the reason she'd contacted him at all just now: She doesn't want to be alone.

[on_ur_left]

Steve stares at the reply, debating. It's true, the sky's getting cloudy, and it just smells like rain is coming. But is that a legitimate reason, or is she saying it to get out of it because he made the offer?

Pressing his lips together, Steve starts to type.

You could come to my place to eat. Just some pasta Im making and garlic bread. Or I can deliver. :)

He stares at the message, then adds one more line.

I cook enough for an army, you'd be doing me a favor eating some of it.

He knows all about how to guilt someone into doing something. It may not work, but at least now he's taken away her chance to say 'oh I don't want to put you out.'

[theycalledmeacurse]

She can't help but smile at the message, recognizing his tactic as one she's used herself many a time. It doesn't sway her decision either way for any guilt-related reason, but it does make her want to accept the offer for other reasons.

I'm in a hotel for the night, so it'll be easier for me to come to you. Thank you for the invitation. When should I be there?

There's a part of her that's curious about where he lives, what the space will be like and what parts of him will be reflected there.

[on_ur_left]

Blinking, Steve glances around the kitchen, out into his apartment, trying to see what she might see. He decides quickly it's not messy enough to worry about - he's not much of one for pretenses, and he considers making his apartment immaculate for a guest/friend to be a pretense - and texts back, 45 mins. May still be cooking but it will still be hot when you get here.

He adds his address and apartment number.

Then realizes he still hasn't finished putting away the groceries, and hurries to do so, so he can start on supper.

[theycalledmeacurse]

Okay. I'll see you soon.

45 minutes is just enough time for her to change out of her suit and into something far more comfortable - jeans, long-sleeved t-shirt, and a well-worn green hoodie. Favorite clothes that make her feel more comfortable and help her move past the horrible events of that afternoon.

It's also enough time for a quick stop at a bakery. Steve had mentioned dinner only, so it seems only polite to pick up dessert on the way. Of course it starts raining as she gets to the stop near his apartment, but fat drops soaking into fabric as she makes a mad dash across the street, sheltering the white box as best she can. She doesn't look quite like a drowned rat when she knocks on his door, but the resemblance is certainly there.

[on_ur_left]

The timer for the pasta has just under 2 minutes left on it when Steve hears the knock, so he's still holding the tea towel he was wiping his hands on when he answers the door. A quick, involuntary smile crosses his face when he first sees Rogue, motioning her in. "Hey! Come on in. I'm just-- about ready to check the pasta, should be done soon. Umm-- you can have a seat," he gestures toward the little kitchen table - room enough for two people to comfortably eat, but probably not any more, "I'll just finish this up."

The towel lands on the counter while he moves back to the pasta pot, taking a quick peek at the bread slices through the oven window. The timer dings, and he scoops up a piece of penne with a wooden spoon, blowing on it a couple times before eating it. Nodding, he moves the pot over to the sink, draining it into a colander.

There's a plate set beside the stove with what looks like half a loaf of garlic bread already, and another pot on a back burner that's slowly simmering a white sauce. Beside the sink, there's a large bowl for the pasta to go into, and beside that an almost equally large bowl full of chunks of grilled chicken.

Steve moves efficiently, competently from sink to counter to stove and back, putting everything together. "What d'you want to drink?" he asks over his shoulder. "I've got... water," he laughs. "I think there's some soda in the fridge, but I couldn't tell you what kind. Not diet, I know that. I'm usually not a fan of a lot of sugar, though. Coke, I think," he adds in a murmur, trying to remember. Clint had come over at one point, brought the soda, some beers. "Beer, if you want. Doesn't do anything for me, so I'm not likely to drink it." He rolls his eyes.