rogue_america | Finding You

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.

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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.

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.

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.

"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.

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.

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.

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.'

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.

Finding You

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