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]

Maybe it's because Steve has the same problem, even now, but he recognizes that self-deprecation, no matter how cheerfully it's said. He wishes he knew what to say - and how to say it - to get her to understand that's bullshit.

Finally, he just goes with honesty again. "So? Most of the people on the planet are a result of mutations. Not-- okay, not the the extent you're talking about, but I'm sure the first time some baby popped up with blue eyes, or a lighter skin tone, their parents, their community, were angry, terrified, or both. People have dimples and all colors of hair, and all of that's just another type of mutation. Who's to say in another hundred years, a kid being born without any sort of mutation won't be looked on with pity and horror, because having a mutation isn't the norm by then?"

...Shit. That's probably also not at all the right thing to say. He just can't help himself. People, as a group, can be assholes to those they see as 'different.' And it quite often pisses him off.

[theycalledmeacurse]

That's... not what she'd expected. The intent behind his little speech is clear, and she appreciates it more than she could ever say, but there's also a part of her that flinches at the mention of a child being looked on with pity or horror for any reason. Mutant or baseline, children should be loved, not hated or feared.

"Thank you." It's all she can manage to say, and even then the two simple words come out in a hushed tone, as if she's afraid of speaking any louder in case he might decide to take back the things he's said.

[on_ur_left]

Steve is in complete agreement with her on that, but he's resigned himself to the fact that as long as there is something different about someone, humans will always pity or hate the Other. It doesn't matter how young they are, or how innocent the child is of any of it.

Still, maybe he was a little harsh. Not toward her, but still. "Sorry." He rubs a thumb between his eyebrows, just above his nose. "I just think it's stupid when anybody looks down on anybody else, just because they're not the same. That's the whole point of being human, isn't it? That we're diverse. We're not homogeneous. I like that about us."

How did they go from getting-to-know-you light conversation, to philosophy about humankind? He has the worst skills at chatting to women.

[theycalledmeacurse]

"Do you think that's why we--"

The question pops out on its own, and it's only when she finally realized what she's saying that she manages to reel it back in. He'll be able to get the gist of it more than likely, though; he seems like a smart enough man for that. And he's the one with all the soulmate experience here.

[on_ur_left]

It takes him a minute to puzzle out what she started to ask - and so abruptly cut off, but when he does, Steve can't quite help a small, amused huff of laughter. "Much as I like the idea of that being our common ground, I don't think we're the only two people in the whole world who think like this."

Sure, he has some experience, but it's all personal, and every experience is different, whether you're talking soulmates or sky-diving. Add to that, his personal experience was by no means typical - his first soulmate he met as a young child, which was unusual in itself, and most people only ever got the one, so meeting a second was unusual again. And the fact that they were all soulmates of each other...

"I haven't really thought about it that much. I kinda just grew up with the surety that soulmates exist, because I already had mine. I think... Well, with me and Bucky, we grew up together, so we came from similar backgrounds. Marie was altogether different; grew up in the South, was sweet and a little shy, but cheerful. But could verbally kick your ass if you pissed her off." It didn't hurt quite as much, now, talking about either of them, remembering them. Oh, it still hurt a lot, but telling Rogue... felt right, somehow.

"I mean, I figure a soulmate's just God's way of letting you know 'hey, this person will complement you, will help you reach your highest potential, more than anybody else.' Definitively, no guessing. That's all it is. The rest is up to the people. You still gotta work at a relationship with your soulmate. But it... It kinda adds a nice little safety-net, because if anyone's going to understand you, if you can share a secret with anyone, it should be your soulmate. So it kinda gives the trust a little leg up."

...did that make any sense? He's never had to try to explain it before.

[theycalledmeacurse]

It hurts. Everything he says hurts and it isn't fair. The things he's telling her are beautiful: glimpses of his past and the people who have shaped him, theories of what this bond is and what it can mean for them. But despite how much she wants all of this to be true, she can't trust it. He doesn't know her; when he does, everything will be different.

"It sounds nice," she remarks, genuinely meaning it. Her fingers tighten around her phone and she closes her eyes, leaning her head back against the door. "...I should probably get back to work. I've got a stack of papers that won't grade themselves."

She's running again. It's what she does best.

[on_ur_left]

Steve... wilts. It's the only word for it, as his shoulders droop and he slumps a little in his chair, closing his eyes. He's said something wrong, or - maybe not, maybe he's said everything right, and it's still not enough. He doesn't know how to get through to her, and more, he knows that sometimes, pushing something only makes it worse, makes it harder for the other person.

Rogue's not ready to accept it, and he's not going to push it. Maybe it is a soulmate thing, or maybe it's just him being able to read people, but he knows now isn't the time to say anything. He'll just stay here, in whatever space she allows him to be in - even if it's just friendship, he's not even asking for anything more, would be perfectly happy if they could just be friends. He'll do or be whoever she needs, wants.

But by God, he's not giving up. Taking a deep, quiet breath, he makes sure his tone is light and friendly when he responds. "Oh, sure! Yeah, sorry, I kinda interrupted your day. Listen, if you wanna talk, just give me a ring. My days are wiiiiide open," he says, a tad sardonically. "It'd be nice to hear from someone. Someone I like," he amends, "who's last name isn't Stark. And who doesn't make me feel like a complete ignoramus for missing the last seventy-years worth of pop culture references.

"Anyway. I'll let you go. You've got my number, now. I'll... I'll talk to you later." He tries, without being too obvious, to let her know that the ball's now in her court; it's her decision how she wants to proceed. It's his turn to say 'I hope I hear from you again. But I won't be surprised when I don't.'

[theycalledmeacurse]

Perhaps it is the soulmate thing, but she knows that the tone he puts on is false. She knows that doesn't feel that way, that she's made things hard for him. It's so hard not to apologize.

Eyes still closed, she rubs a hand over her face before nodding to herself. "You should try drawing again," she tells him, pulling on the only thing she can to give him hope that he'll hear from her again. "I'd like to see your work sometime." She doesn't wait for him to respond before ending the call.

He won't hear from her for another two weeks.

[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.

[theycalledmeacurse]

Rogue takes a seat at that small table, setting down the white box off to the side of it before shrugging off the damp hoodie. Thankfully the layers beneath are mostly dry - she hangs it off the back of her chair and hopes the warmth from the kitchen will help it dry off too, at least by the time she has to leave. Her gloves are just as damp, but there's no helping them unfortunately.

Grinning at his reaction, she provides, "I'll take one of them off your hands then, sugar. If you don't mind." Her nerves could sure use it after the day she'd had. Usually she's more of a bourbon girl, but she'll take what she can get. "Everything smells delicious, by the way. Thanks for inviting me."

Sure, she'd already said it over text, but this is something that warrants being said again. In person. He can't know how much it means to her.

[on_ur_left]

He glances at her again when she thanks him, then just shakes his head, bringing the beer bottle over to her. "You're welcome, but it's really not a big deal. I was plannin' on makin' food anyway, and..." he flashed her a smile. "I have the feeling you won't make much of a dent in all the food I have to make for myself. It's nice to have the company."

The chicken is dumped over the pasta and stirred a few times, before the sauce gets poured over it and set on the counter closest to the table - unfortunately the table isn't big enough for both the food and the plates, but it's a minor inconvenience. Next the garlic bread is pulled out of the oven and added to the pile already plated and moved next to the pasta. Lastly, Steve pulls a salad bowl of mixed greens out of the fridge and drizzles Italian dressing over it, before it gets deposited beside everything else.

Plating everything, Steve grimaces as he sets down in front of Rogue what is obviously a cereal bowl, full of salad. "Sorry. I don't do much entertaining, so my standard tableware is a little lacking." Setting a plate of pasta with 2 slices of garlic bread down in front of her, he makes up his own plate, with at least twice as much of everything as he gave her, before sitting down. "If you want seconds, no problem. I just--" he gives a kind of nervous, self-conscious laugh. "It's only been a few years, for me, but it's still hard to remember what 'normal' servings look like. First I couldn't eat a whole serving, now I have to have at least 3."

[theycalledmeacurse]

She pops the top off the beer and takes a sip, watching him move around the kitchen with purpose. It's comforting, seeing him at peace with his work. She's found that peace herself in the kitchen before, and more often in her training. It's a peace that she's tried to share with her students so many times over the years.

"You've got a faster metabolism than most," she reasons with a shrug, setting aside her drink and picking up a fork. "Trust me, I'm used to it. Between teenagers and mutants, people with normal eating habits is kind of a rarity in my life." Spearing a few pieces of pasta, she takes a bite and savors the taste for a moment before grinning. "This is really good."

[on_ur_left]

He doesn't quite sag, but there's a subtle relaxing to his body at her proclamation of his cooking. He alternates between bites of pasta that are deceptively large, and equally large bites of bread, polishing off his first piece in about 3 bites. Somehow it doesn't look at all like he's eating as much as he is, or as fast as he is, unless you watch how quickly his plate empties. That's part of why people end up staring when he eats out, Steve thinks; they wonder how he can appear to eat 'normally' and still go through so much food so quickly.

"Despite the whole super soldier business being scientific, there were a lot of unknowns and variables the scientists thought might occur, but they weren't sure how, or to what degree. So I kinda got tossed into the deep-end of the experiment pool, there. And," he paused to reach for the pasta bowl, adding a second large helping, and another piece of bread, "I've never eaten 'normally'. I always had to watch what I ate because of my health, allergies, all that. I could never eat a 'normal-sized portion', so between those two things, I learned how to cook what I could eat." He shrugged. "And then I learned how to cook what my family and friends liked. It's..." he grinned. "It's like science, with experiments, except you get to eat the results."