fateandfortune | Just a kid from Brooklyn. [For Steve Rogers]

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Just a kid from Brooklyn. [For Steve Rogers]

Three months. That's all the longer Rogue had been in this world that wasn't hers, trying to scrape together a life out of nothing. She'd barely made a decent start of it when the world had tried to end on her with the Battle of New York. The city had been in chaos, was still trying to pick up the pieces two months later, and Rogue did all she could to help in her own way. In a small way.

Sure, there had been a few times she'd been tempted during the battle to run out into the thick of things and become her old self. Join the superheroes who had taken charge of the situation. But in the end she'd stayed back, because the reality was that without someone to borrow an active power from, she was just another normal person, and normal people just got others killed in fights like that.

In the weeks that followed the Battle, she'd taken to volunteering whenever she wasn't working. She'd joined an organization that worked with the elderly in various capacities, and they sent her where she was needed. Sometimes it was a nursing home to visit with the ones who didn't have families or who had simply been forgotten, sometimes to the retirement communities that put on events and could always use a few extra hands. Those were her big plans that Sunday - a party at a residential community, complete with cake, punch, music, and streamers. Lots of streamers. They'd really done the place up for the 4th of July holiday, which wasn't technically until Wednesday, with red, white, and blue all over the common room. It had taken hours for Rogue and a few others to get the decorations up and everything ready, but the smiles on the residents' faces as they were shepherded in by a fresh set of volunteers made every second worth it.

Laughing as goofy Mr. Samuels swept Mrs. Hawkins into something almost resembling a waltz, Rogue continued spooning out strawberries onto the whipped cream on top of the line of shortcakes. It felt strange to not be wearing gloves, even after months of having decent control over her mutation, but she'd still chosen a blue dress with long sleeves for the occasion. A simple dress, with sensible heels, so the sticker nametag reading "Marie" didn't look too terribly out of place.

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After the Battle (that's what everyone was calling it, The Battle, or The Battle of New York, and while he'd certainly been in plenty of battles before, it seemed fitting to have no real name; everything had changed, including his opponents), Steve had been somewhat adrift. He'd been somewhat directionless after first waking up, but much of his days had been filled with just relearning his world, history that had passed while he'd been gone (he hated the term frozen, even though that's literally what had happened), new technology and societal norms. But after the Battle, he hadn't gone back to SHIELD, hadn't reported like a good soldier awaiting orders; he'd gotten back on his motorcycle and driven around the country, revisiting places he'd been before, but never had a chance to really see, during his USO tour.

But like all things, that couldn't last forever, and it had only taken just over a month before he'd started missing the chaos and bustle of New York. He'd gone back, but still hadn't reported to SHIELD; he was sure Fury knew where he was, but so long as no one came looking for him, he wasn't going to them, either. He'd been a soldier for years, and now he wanted some down-time.

One of his apartment neighbors, Shelley, volunteered occasionally, and she'd helped him find some places that sounded like something he'd enjoy doing with his spare time. He still wasn't entirely sure how he'd come to be helping out with an Independence Day party at one of the local retirement communities, but that's where he was, escorting a sweet lady named Daphne Wallin into the spacious community room (Daphne had informed him she was 81, and enjoyed having a handsome young man on her arm, winking as she said it - which made her younger than he was, but Steve had wisely stayed quiet on that front). The room was awash in red, white and blue, from streamers twisted around points on the ceiling, tablecloths and buntings hanging along the edges, even to the food, with a variety of strawberries, cherries, blueberries and whipped cream put together for sweet treats.

Music was being played from a boombox (from the 90s or early 2000s, Steve's mind supplied from his history lessons) off to the side, and he recognized big band music, if not the specific song. For a moment he didn't see a gathering of people old enough to be his grandparents, but his own celebrations growing up - parents chatting over glasses of punch, while children ran between them, shouting and laughing, while a band played and intrepid couples tried dancing through the crowd.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Everything reminded him of the past, but the 4th of July more than almost anything else; you couldn't escape it anywhere in the country, and it was tied to some of his best memories. He should've just stayed home, no matter that it wasn't even the 4th yet.

Suck it up, Rogers, he told himself firmly. Still, he wandered over to the refreshments table and grabbed a glass of sparkling punch before leaning into the corner. He just needed a breather for a moment, that was all, just a couple minutes to get his head back in the here-and-now, before going to help with the rest of the party. He unconsciously hunched his shoulders and ducked his head, slouching like he always did at gatherings like this; he still often forgot that he was almost a foot taller and much broader than he used to be, and thus much more conspicuous.

As much as Rogue loved being around these people who were so full of life, laughter, and stories, it was a little exhausting. She still had moments where she was sure all of this was a dream - there couldn't possibly be people smiling still, not when the world was ending. Innocent people being rounded up and herded into camps like cattle, cities burning until there was nothing but ash-covered rubble left to remember them by. But no, that was the dream now, her nightmarish past that couldn't be shaken off.

She did her best, though, putting forth her brightest demeanor to make sure others had a moment of happiness. It was what she'd done for so long, putting others before herself, that it actually made her feel a little guilty to finally take a break after finishing with the shortcakes, but with hours of work already behind her it was desperately needed.

So she grabbed a cup of punch and turned to retreat to the corner behind the table that she'd scouted out earlier, only to find it already occupied. She narrowed her eyes at the rather innocent-looking guy who didn't seem to be paying much attention to his surroundings, and made a decision. "Thief," she declared in a rather serious tone, though the look in her eyes was purely playful and she was having a hell of time holding back a smile.

At first, Steve didn't realize the voice was directed at him - but it drew him out of his own head enough that he glanced up, only to discover a petite young woman standing a short distance away, looking right at him. It took him several long seconds to understand to what she was referring, before he glanced down at his cup and muttered a quiet "Oh!" He looked back up at her, dimly noting her nametag read 'Marie', and started stuttering out a panicked reply, as was his wont whenever he was accused of stealing (it happened more often than you'd expect, but usually it was Bucky who'd--no. Not anymore). "Oh, no, I just--that is--"

Then the subtle cues caught up with his brain and his mouth, and he realized she was teasing him. She was doing an admirable job of keeping a straight face, but her lips were twitching upwards. He'd never been good with women teasing him, and definitely not flirting with him (he couldn't be sure she was flirting with him, though; sometimes dames--women--were just friendly), but he tried to be casual and polite and friendly.

"I'll make another one up," he offered, sounding much calmer now. He raised the plastic cup in a small salute and tilted his head toward her. "And I won't tell if you don't," he said, adding a hand gesture to indicate her own glass. Unfortunately, he hadn't drunk a lot of the punch yet, and the gesture was a little too grand, and some of the liquid sloshed over the edge and down his hand, dripping onto the linoleum. Way to go, Steve, his inner voice (sounding very much like Bucky) griped.

Oh, he was adorable. That delayed reaction, the stuttering response, she could have a lot of fun with him. Teasing and flirting was how she communicated with people, it was an easy tactic to fall back on in most situations and had come back to her quite quickly after her arrival in the city. Her teasing was never the cruel kind, though, nothing meant to do real harm, just perhaps cause a little blushing and a stumble or two.

Or a spilled drink.

Rogue couldn't help the bright laugh that bubbled out of her, accompanied by a smile that made her cheeks ache. "Are you always this suave and charming?" she asked her corner companion as she grabbed a few napkins from the table, holding them out as she approached his hiding spot. Her smooth southern drawl was only slightly tempered as she warned him, "Because if you are, we might have to hide you. A few of the ladies here have a tendency to get pretty frisky after four o'clock, especially when there's punch involved."

Though she didn't think the punch's influence would make much of a difference. The man standing in front of her was nothing short of downright gorgeous. There was something about him that seemed clean and genuine, real in a way she couldn't put her finger on. But whatever it was, it was that element that made her like him instantly. And there was something familiar about him...

Steve accepted the napkins - made up in a pinwheel of red, white and blue, of course - with a nod of thanks, quickly wiping his hand and then bending to swipe the small puddle on the floor. The floor seemed alright, but his hand now had streaks of pink over his knuckles. Lovely.

"Oh, this is me being downright dashing, lemme tell ya," he replied, his tone clearly conveying sarcasm. His own Brooklyn accent was faint but distinct, from being back in the City after his years overseas. "Usually I'm sweeping women off their feet by now - no, wait, I mean 'driving them away in droves'."

Marie, however, didn't seem to be backing away with a thinly-veiled look of distaste, so Steve counted it as a win. He switched his drink to his left hand and held out his right. "I'm Steve. And I'd like to say I'll be able to handle a few ladies getting handsy... but I probably won't." He'd learned early on in life that if he didn't make fun of himself first, someone else would. He didn't get the sense that Marie was making fun of him - more like making fun with him, which he appreciated. She seemed nice, and just the sort of person he liked to see at projects like this.

She could hear the accent in his voice, recognizing the sound of a local boy, perhaps only recently returned to his roots. Even though she'd spent over a decade away from the south, her years in New York hadn't done much to change Rogue's own accent, which was something she was actually quite grateful for. With all the psyches crammed inside her head these days, it would be so incredibly easy to let another voice slip into her own - that smooth drawl was a sign that she was still herself, even if that sometimes meant she was a little fractured around the edges.

Honestly, she was having a hard time seeing where Steve's basis for his jokes might be. He was a handsome man, utterly charming in his own way, and she could have named a dozen women back in her world who would have fallen head over heels for him in a second. But maybe he hadn't always been that way; people could change, and she knew better than most how the experiences of childhood would stick with you for the rest of you life.

"I'm Marie LeBeau," she answered with a smirk, setting her hand in his hand for a firm but gentle handshake. A handshake. One of the simplest things that so many people took for granted. How long had she wished for just one of these exchanges, just one time of holding someone else's hand in her own and not threatening their very life by doing so? "And don't worry, sugar, I'll make sure you make it outta here in one piece. You might be a little worse for wear, but I'm sure you'll be able to walk it off."

If she held onto his hand a moment or two longer than was really necessary, then she hoped he wrote it off as an attempt at actually flirting or something equally embarrassing. That was something she could handle, easy. She'd rather not have anyone here realize just how much of a freak she could be when it came to physical contact - one of the other volunteers had found out the hard way at a previous event that she didn't much like having her wrists grabbed.

Being a polite gentleman, Steve didn't release her hand until her own grip began to slacken, not noticing anything strange about the length of time that took; he hadn't shook many dames' hands, so had no real point of reference. He noted her palms and fingers were smooth, no real calluses, and it brought to mind the ladies his mother washed and mended clothes for when he was a child, always wearing gloves and large hats with feathers or fur trim, smelling of expensive perfume and, under that, expensive alcohol. Back when people could afford to have others do their laundry, back when his mother could afford to work from home. He laughed at her promise of getting him out relatively unharmed. He unconsciously reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, and he could feel his ears heating up, which meant his entire face was most likely an unseemly shade of blushing pink.

"Nice to meet you, Marie," he responded. "And fortunately, I've dealt with worse than little old ladies playing-- uhh-- grab-ass, with me." Now he could actually feel his face turning red; he'd been raised not to swear in front of a woman, and while he could swear with the best of them, there was a time and a place, and a social function with a polite southern woman was not one of those places. "Although since it's probably frowned on to punch anyone in the face for that--" Once again, it took precious seconds for his brain to catch up to his mouth. "Not!--uhh, of course, not that I would, I just mean--"

He finally just slapped his hand over his face, then slowly dragged it down, before letting his shoulders slump. "This...would be about the time I'd let you politely back out of the conversation. Or at least change the subject, but I make no guarantee I'll be any better talking about anything else." He could hold perfectly clear conversations, but put him next to a pretty girl, even a complete stranger, and his brain seemed to dribble out his ears. He knew, somewhere, Bucky was laughing his ass off at him, and Steve honestly didn't know how that thought made him feel.

Rogue was having more fun than she'd had in years just watching him flounder around the conversation. It was a bit like watching a train wreck; she could see him approaching the disaster area but he just kept right on barreling toward it. The ensuing crash was pretty hilarious, at least, though he probably didn't see it that way.

By the time he'd finished fumbling through the string of words, she could barely keep her face straight and had to bite her lip pretty hard to not burst out in giggles again. His very endearing offer of a way out of the conversation was what got to her in the end, though. "Oh sugar," she said between a wave of chuckles, "why on earth would I back out of this conversation when it's one of the best I've had in a long time? I mean, really, it's been ages since I made a guy verbally fall over himself."

Taking a sip of punch to try and calm herself down, she still beamed at him as she offered a sort of olive branch. "So aside from being completely adorable and having a heart of gold, what's your story?" It was a fairly open question, leaving a number of avenues for him to pursue and steer the conversation in a direction that would hopefully be a little easier for him.

Steve couldn't quite stop himself from rolling his eyes at her ribbing of his less-than-stellar social skills, and knowing without a doubt that his Ma, God rest her soul, was rolling over in her grave as he continued to trample all over her numerous lessons of how to treat the opposite sex. He gave a small self-deprecating smile and muttered, "Well, if you wanna see a guy fall over himself, I'm definitely not gonna disappoint you."

It was one thing to make a fool out of himself in front of a woman--he'd had plenty of experience with that, and at least Marie hadn't yet tried to kiss him, or shoot him--but while he recognized the peace offering for what it was, he really didn't know how to keep the conversation light while saying anything remotely truthful about himself.

Buying himself a little time, Steve leaned back against the wall, propping one foot against it and taking a sip of punch, letting his eyes wander over the gathering of elderly men and women chatting, some dancing, and even a few flirting. It was always disconcerting when he saw someone who looked old enough to be his grandparent, and then realize with a start that it was very possible he'd been born years before them. He didn't belong with their generation anymore, but he also certainly didn't belong with people 'his own age,' either.

"I, uh...I joined the Army, a few years ago, was sent overseas," Steve found himself saying, the words sliding out of his mouth without a conscious effort. It wasn't even a lie; for him it had only been a few years ago. "I came back several months ago, and... The world changed on me. But then I wonder, just how much the world changed, and how much was me." He rubbed his neck again, glancing over at her shyly. "Sorry. Not very light-hearted talk for a July 4th shindig, is it?"

Words couldn't begin to describe how good it felt just to talk to someone, and despite his self-assessment of his skills, she was enjoying the conversation for more than just the humor. For whatever reason, she felt comfortable around Steve, like she didn't have to force herself to wear the mask of being okay - she just was automatically with him. It really wasn't something she could easily explain, but it wasn't the first time she'd felt it. Logan had been that way for her, because he'd never demanded she be anything but what she was. And the more Steve talked, the more she got that vibe from him, too.

A soldier. She could see it now, there in his bearing and the polite way he spoke. He certainly seemed like what a soldier should be - someone honest and strong who cared about others, which Steve obviously did since he was giving up his personal time to spend the day volunteering. Even though she'd just met him, she had the impression that he'd been nothing like the soldiers she'd known, and that was a very good thing.

Shaking her head, she gave him a smaller smile this time, though it was no less heartfelt. "It's okay," she assured him gently. "It doesn't have to be light-hearted so long as it's honest." Though she was one to talk. "Besides, I know just what you mean. I'd been away for a while myself before coming back a few months ago, and it's... hard. It's really hard."

Adapting to a world that was so similar to her own was perhaps more difficult than it would have been had she been dropped somewhere completely different. Not a day went by that she didn't find some difference between that she would have to remember or risk having questions asked when she got one too many things wrong when it came to simple history or pop culture. So far she'd been able to reason it away by mentioning her husband's death and being out of touch with the world for a while after, but that wouldn't hold up forever.

Honest. He felt like the worst liar right then, lying with omission and vague truths. But he was trying to keep a low profile, didn't want to deal with the celebrity that 'Captain America' now had; or worse, the disbelief if he told anyone who he really was. He was just a regular joe, and he liked that feeling, and was he really hurting anyone by having a casual conversation that maybe wasn't the entire truth? He didn't think so, and, he justified to himself, it wasn't as if she hadn't been equally vague, if not more so, about what she'd gone through, was still going through, from the sounds of it. Two people, commiserating on how life had dealt them crummy hands, and they were trying to make the best of it.

Where had she gone, he wondered, that let her identify with his story, that had made her feel disconnected from her world? This, at least, he knew better than to ask about; whether soldier or civilian, he'd learned how to spot grief, and longing, maybe because he felt it himself still. He knew how to handle it, to let it sit, just under the surface, permeating but not overwhelming, before it slowly ebbed away again.

"I didn't... exactly grow up around technology, so that was a big change, coming back to cell phones smaller than the palm of your hand, laptops and the internet. Google." He flashed her a bright, boyish grin, inviting her in on his excitement. "I love Google. Any time someone says something I don't understand, I write it down, then Google it." He'd been confused at first when Tony had offhandedly told him to 'Google' something, but for some reason he'd latched onto the term with gusto. He still enjoyed going to libraries, the hush and soft whisper of paper soothing and familiar, but nowadays he spent as much time using a computer as he did the reference catalogue.

In Rogue's mind, there was a difference between telling the truth and being honest. Telling the truth would have been divulging that she'd been imprisoned and tortured for three years before helping to save her world and being dumped in this universe through a fluke of her mutant superpower. Being honest was saying that she was having trouble adjusting after having been out of the world for a length of time. There was nothing untrue about what she'd told Steve, and that made it easier to tell the lies she had to in order to maintain the life she'd created for herself there.

But those were really just semantics. She was a liar, through and through, and she hated that there wasn't one single person in this whole world who knew who she really was. It made the world an incredibly lonely place to be, especially for someone who had spent so many years surrounded by friends, students, people who were more like family than anything else.

Having to adjust to technology, though - that was something new, but also something she could sort of relate to in a way. Growing up in Mississippi, there hadn't really been a dearth of technology in her house, and then she'd ended up at the mansion and... Well. Holographic mapping screens, Cerebro, the Danger Room. They'd been at least a decade ahead of the general public, and some days she found herself just being grateful for having a smart phone, everything else seemed so antiquated.

"Google is a pretty great thing," she agreed, her own grin lighting up at the sight of his. A smile was a good look on him. "I have to look things up all the time myself, especially with pop culture or recent history. I constantly have these moments where people look at me funny because I don't laugh at what their 'obvious' joke, and it can get pretty awkward sometimes. That's when Google comes to the rescue."

Most technology was new to Steve; he'd heard about computers during the war, but back then it had referred to the women doing the computing of numbers, not the things that only vaguely resembled typewriters with television screens referred to now as 'desktops', or notebook-sized 'laptops' - even cell phones, which he'd once equated to a handie-talkie, were more computer than a real telephone, they just happened to include the ability to call people. And remember their numbers. And not have to listen to Mrs. Stultzman moaning to her sister in Chicago about the stray cats while waiting impatiently on the party line.

Steve gestured enthusiastically with his free hand at her, still grinning. "Yes, exactly! Tony-- er, a friend--acquaintance--friend?" he really wasn't sure what to call Tony Stark, honestly. Pain in his ass? Thorn in his side? Self-proclaimed governor to the contemporary world? He liked Tony well enough, now...but the man was exhausting, and Steve was thankful they'd only seen each other twice after the Battle. "He's always calling me with updates about our--some mutual friends, and then he goes off on random tangents, and he throws out these references that I can tell are references, but obviously I don't know them, and then there's just this silence, like he's waiting for me to laugh, or fill in the blank, or something, and then he'll sigh, and say 'look it up Cap' and then give me the source. It's so frustrating." In his enthusiasm, Steve had begun to talk faster, letting his guard down a little.

Steve sighed, glancing down at his drink but not taking a sip. "He's a good guy, all of my--friends are, they just... don't get it."

Edited 2016-04-03 01:43 (UTC)

That enthusiasm of his was contagious, and Rogue found herself still smiling right along with him as he talked about his friend. She kept that smile on full-blast as the pieces finally fell into place in a way he probably hadn't exactly planned or wanted.

Cap. Tony. Steve. She'd seen the news reports, had done some research in the days following the Battle, seeing what she could find out about the city's team of superheroes. They'd mostly all fallen off the grid after the fighting had ended, except for Tony Stark of course, and now at least she knew where one of them had ended up - trying to get back into the world.

Her heart went out to him in the moments that followed, because they really were alike in so many ways. They'd both been fighting to make their world a better place, and they'd both ended up out of their depth in a world they didn't quite understand. She could fake it to an extent, but he must still feel so out of place with some things. Still, if he had taken to embracing the power of Google, then he seemed to be doing pretty well for himself, all things considered.

"It's good that you've made some friends, at least," she told him, her smile dimming a little but still there. "That can be one of the most difficult parts. They might not 'get it', but they're there. I've been having trouble with that bit myself. I've met a few people through work, but for some reason our conversations always end up veering toward relationships and they try to set me up with someone. Which, while oddly sweet, is not something I really wanna get into right now."

There were no signs that his small slips of the tongue (which he'd only caught after the fact) had meant anything to her, and Steve mentally sighed in relief. He maybe wouldn't mind if more people knew who he was, but once people found out, all they ever saw was 'Captain America,' and it was just-- everybody had it backwards in their heads. Steve wasn't Captain America, but the other way around; Captain America was really Steve Rogers, just a guy from Brooklyn who wanted to do the right thing, and make the world a safer place. He wasn't a hero, just a regular guy, doing what anyone would have done. (He knew that wasn't true, but he liked to believe that given the same opportunities, most people would rise to the occasion and help save people.)

And maybe, after seeing him being just a regular guy, helping out volunteering for the community, witnessing him make a total idiot of himself (and hopefully redeeming himself with the rest of the conversation), Marie wouldn't stumble too much over the knowledge - but they'd just met, and he wasn't going to pull out the 'hey, by the way, I'm Captain America' card just to find out. He liked being a regular guy, talking to a regular girl, about regular world problems.

If anyone else had told him 'it's good you've made friends,' Steve probably would have thought they were being condescending, but just from their brief conversation so far (which, aside from the horrible cock-up he made of it in the beginning, was going better than possibly any conversation he'd had with anyone since waking up), he knew Marie didn't mean anything like that; he thought maybe she seemed a little wistful at the observation, and her next words cemented the thought.

At the mention of relationships and being set up, Steve rolled his eyes in commiseration. "Yeah, a woman friend of mine has just started in on that, too. Thinks if I find someone I like, start seeing her, it'll... help ground me, get me back in the 'real' world." He pulled a face. The '40s had been just as real as this one, and so had the war; completely different, but definitely no less real.

Privately, he thought Natasha also knew if he found someone, he'd stop thinking about Peggy; he'd visited her once already, but it had been so painful when he'd realized just what her age had stolen from her, he hadn't had the heart or fortitude to go back yet. He would eventually, he just couldn't bring himself to do it yet, while he was still so adrift.

"Of course," he added wryly, "she also seems to think that I'd loosen up and be a lot happier if I 'just got laid,' and I'm... not that kinda guy. She finally seemed to get that, and I think that's why she's switched to getting me in a relationship. But, like you said, I'm not ready for that, yet. Of course," he chuckled a little, "most girls, while very nice... aren't at all what I'm used to, and we don't really have a lot in common. And, as you've already witnessed, my ability to speak to women is a little... rough, in the beginning." It didn't help that when he went on dates, he was always expecting them to be disappointed, and want to leave as soon as possible. When not in uniform, he kept forgetting that other people still saw him as an athletic six-foot-tall attractive man.

Rogue had no plans of informing Steve that the cat had been let out of the star-spangled bag. If he wanted to keep that part of his life a secret, that was fine by her, and it wasn't as if she didn't completely understand why he would want to do so. Captain America was an incredibly well-known figure, which of course tended to be the case when one saved the world, but not everyone had to deal with people wanting autographs and wearing t-shirts with your symbol on their chest. From what she'd remembered during her brief period of research on Steve Rogers, he'd tried desperately to join the Army to help fight in the war, but his genetics had cursed him with a body ill-suited for the military. It had only been through that government experiment that he'd managed to surpass that obstacle.

She'd tried to combat her own genetics once, but she hadn't been able to go through with it. Her mutation was who she was, and without it she would have felt out of place among the people she'd come to call family. But even now it took a great deal of effort not to hate the mutation that had led to her being tortured, but had also allowed her to help save the world.

No, she understood all too well just wanting to live a normal life after having been put through the 'superhero' wringer. It was what she wanted herself, after all. To just be a normal girl talking to a normal guy. That they both had some pretty big secrets didn't matter just yet. If they continued talking after the party, if she managed to get to know him like she was really starting to want to, then she would let on that she'd figured out his secret. Whether she would tell her own, though... that was the real mystery.

"You say rough, I say endearing," she corrected with a fond smile. "Especially when you flash that grin of yours. When you are ready to take that step, I'm pretty sure you'll have a line of girls out the door wanting to date Steve the Adorable All-American Guy." She might have been teasing him a little, but it was good-natured and the words were sincere.

"I've been getting the same kind of thing your friend's been giving you," she admitted. "The girls at work keep telling me to just let loose and have a good time, use 'em and lose 'em I believe is the way they phrased it, but I've never been that kind of person. It took years for me to let down my guard enough for my husband to get an emotional foot in the door, and even if it's been years since he died, it's hard to just move on from losing someone you cared about." She took a deep breath and gave a slight shake of her head. "If I were to be in a relationship with someone again... Well, I don't know exactly what I would want, but I know it's not the kind of thing that keeps being suggested to me."

Steve found himself blushing again at her sweet words, and wondering yet again if this was considered flirting. She'd already said she wasn't interested in a relationship though, so he was beginning to suspect that, like Bucky, sweet flattery and gentle teasing was how Marie spoke to opposite sex. If that was the case, he could handle that better than actual, purposeful flirting, which always left him feeling awkward and flat-footed. This was simple and easy banter, and he was going to treat it that way, until he was given a definitive indication that it was something different.

Then he found himself blushing for an entirely different reason as she started talking about sleeping around and use 'em and lose 'em and-- wow, did women really talk about things like that? He wasn't sure why he was still surprised by the things people did and said in this new age, and it wasn't like gals hadn't slept around back in his day, but he'd found that the biggest differences weren't in what people did, but how open they were about discussing it, now. Maybe that's why so many people seemed to be under the misconception that everyone was a prude in his day. Sex happened, and it was even spoken about, but back then it had been in bars and private rooms, never in casual polite conversation, and certainly not with the opposite sex.

And then she mentioned her husband, and Steve's embarrassment was forgotten. He thought of Peggy, and their one kiss, and what he'd lost to the ice, and couldn't even imagine how much harder it would have been to have years with her, marry her, and then losing her.

Thinking of Peggy, Steve nodded and murmured "Just gotta wait to find the right partner." He took a quick gulp of his punch, steeling himself for what he was about to say. She'd shared something personal, intimate, and it was only fair that he do the same. And he found he wanted to share with her, but that didn't make it any easier to actually say. "My girl, well...she... I was away for too long, and after a while, she moved on. I wanted her to, I'm glad she did, but I still miss her, what we could've had. I know Natasha means well, trying to set me up, but I'm-- I just don't think I'm ready to move on, yet. For everyone else, time's moved on, and for me it's--well, it feels like it was just yesterday, even though I know it wasn't."

She'd shared about her husband passing away, and in return he made it sound like he'd been dating a girl, got shipped overseas and his gal hadn't waited for him. Great. Steve grimaced, and took another sip of punch. He'd been doing so well for a while, too, and now he sounded like an idiot again.

The sight of him blushing was something Rogue was fairly certain she could get used to. It was just further cementing that All American Boy image she had of him that had absolutely nothing to do with his now not-so-secret identity. He just had this clean and innocent feeling about him, and not a childlike innocence, but an innocence from having done terrible things. He was a good man, and it was a hell of a nice thing to see after everything she'd been through.

Some people might have been offended by the notion of a loved one's death comparing to being left for someone else while away, but Rogue didn't see things that way. She had so many minds within her own that she knew the pain such a thing could cause, but more than that she was just grateful that he'd chosen to share that experience with her. He could just as easily have offered his sympathies and said nothing of his own past. And she had an insider's understanding of just what he meant by being away 'too long' that changed the entire tone of the story.

She couldn't imagine the pain he was going through, having cared for someone only to lose them to time itself. How different would his life have been had he been able to spend more time with that girl, have a life with her? How different would he be? Remy had changed her life just by being in it; she wouldn't be half the person she was today if it weren't for him and his lasting influence. Even now, there was that echo of him in her mind, reminding her of all that she'd accomplished in their years together, even though they were so few.

"It'll always feel like that, in some ways," she advised gently, offering him a soft, sympathetic smile. "It doesn't matter how much time we have with them, when it's someone you love it's never enough. There's always the wonder of what could have been if you'd just had a little more time."

It was nice to hear that what he was feeling was normal, even if she didn't understand the exact context. It was even nice, in some ways, to know that he'd always feel like this. To know that, even when he was ready to move on, he wouldn't lose the feeling of wishing Peggy was still around. He'd loved her, still loved her, past and present, and he wanted to always remember that.

Sometimes Steve wished the world would just stop, just pause for a few moments so he could catch his breath and readjust his bearings. It wouldn't, he knew, and he never expected it to, but it would still be nice. He was used to adapting to the world, though, because he'd learned long before the War and Captain America that the world didn't shift to accommodate you, and if you didn't adapt, you died. He was used to pushing his feelings to the side in order to get things done.

He gave a small, humorless chuckle. "I think part of the problem for me now is," he confided wryly, his accent starting to come out thicker with his turn of emotions, "I got nothin' but time, and absolutely no idea what to do with it. What do ya do after years of living fighting and bloodshed and tryin' ta outthink the other guy, wondering if this fight's gonna be your last - and then come home to just-- ordinary. I used to say I'm just an ordinary guy from Brooklyn, nothin' special. Except now it's-- I'm not really ordinary anymore, 'cause guys my age are workin' 9-to-5 jobs, a lot have a wife, maybe kids now. And I got--" something caught his eye, and Steve sighed.

"And I got Mrs. Petrelli spiking the punch at a July 4th party for retirees."

[Work ate me. With a conference with 12-hour days. On the other side of the country. I was dead for a while after.]

Pushing feelings to the side to get things done was how Rogue had survived all these years. After her mutation had manifested, the entire world had changed, and while she did have a few years of angst, the events going on around her made her realize that there were bigger things at stake than whether she could kiss her boyfriend. The American public had started to turn on mutants, congress had pushed even harder on the registration act, and it didn't seem right that she spend so much time focusing on her own problems. They could wait for when the world wasn't ending.

Too bad that day had never come.

Hearing Steve talk about trying to figure out what to do next hit so close to home it nearly took her breath away. The war had lasted for so many years, and while she'd spent the last of them locked away, the beginning had seen her in the thick of it, fighting to rescue her fellow mutants and the humans who had helped them, to find some way to take down the Sentinels and the puppet masters who controlled them. And even before that, she'd had at least one mission a week with the X-Men since she'd turned eighteen and become a full-fledged member of the team. Moving on from that was... difficult, to say the least.

At his rather comical observation, Rogue glanced over at the offending retiree and frowned. "Mrs. Petrelli! We've talked about this!" she called over, setting a hand on her hip and using her stern teacher voice.

Looking back to Steve, she smirked slightly. "Didn't anyone warn you to check her for a flask? She's the reason we have a backup punch bowl. This is the third time in two months." She set her cup of punch on the edge of the nearby table and tossed over her shoulder, "Come on, Mr. Not So Ordinary, make yourself useful. Grab the bowl while I wrangle that flask from Mrs. Petrelli."

Edited 2016-04-19 04:19 (UTC)

[I was afraid you'd gotten tired of the thread, or something. *insecure* I watched Cap2 just before replying last time, so Steve got more melancholy than I'd planned on, I was afraid you got tired of his Debbie Downer routine. Lesson learned, that, lol!]

"Well, yeah," Steve replied, rather abashed as he followed her over to the table, "and I did, but..." He shrugged as he placed his cup beside hers and grabbed the punch bowl. He leaned toward Marie and spoke softly, not wanting any of the other participants to hear. "I saw where she took that flask from, and I wasn't gonna put my hand up an old woman's skirt!" He'd felt awkward enough when he'd had to search her purse, especially with the way she'd been eyeing him the whole time; he was pretty sure she wouldn't have minded at all if he'd put his hand up her skirt, which was just one more reason he'd been uncomfortable at the very thought of it.

Sniffing delicately at the bowl of punch, he was pretty sure she hadn't actually managed to get anything in there, but it was hard to tell. He could smell now that she'd opened it that she had Sherry in the flask (and she'd definitely been sampling the merchandise, which every bootlegger and runner would tell you was bad business practice), but the punch seemed fine. It was hard to tell since Sherry was so sweet anyway, but he didn't smell alcohol in the bowl. Maybe a few drops, but not enough to affect anyone's liver or impair their judgment. It was cooking Sherry, for heaven's sake!

[I'm never going to get tired of this beautiful thing we're creating! Even when he's a Debbie Downer, Steve is precious and I will gladly accept him. <3 Seriously, though, I love this thing and will continue it through eternity.]

Steve's little aside confession about the location of that masterfully hidden flask was too much for Rogue. She struggled to keep a straight fast and lasted all of four seconds before she broke out in a grin, followed by a stream of giggles. Oh, that was just too good. Captain America really was dealing with a whole new world of troubles now, wasn't he?

Mrs. Petrelli miraculously didn't give her any trouble when she went up to the elderly woman and extended her hand for the flask. The other woman didn't even bother to look chastened as she handed over the silver container, she just smirked and sent a highly inappropriate glance in Steve's direction. Oh boy.

Heading back over to Steve, she gave a little shake of the flask and pointed toward the small prep kitchen off the recreation room. "Better safe than sorry. It doesn't feel like she got much in, but we've got the punch to spare."

[Is it just me, or are these two just adorable together? I added some hints of shipping to this, but not much, you can do whatever you want with it.]

At Marie's laugh, Steve's shoulder's drooped in relief. He really had been trying to follow all the instructions he'd been given beforehand by the other volunteers; but it had already been hectic with preparations when he'd arrived, and he'd never done any volunteering with the elderly before. He'd just figured this would be less emotionally taxing than going to visit the VA or hospital, seeing the blank stares of soldiers that uncomfortably matched what he saw in the mirror most days, and that wasn't a reminder he needed just a few days before his birthday.

He wasn't sure what he'd been thinking when he'd signed up for a senior citizens' event, though. Apparently it was either be reminded of his past as a soldier, or be reminded of the fact that he was, technically speaking, more suited to being a guest at this type of party than a young volunteer. He thought of the ID card Fury had handed him when he'd moved out of the SHIELD compound, with his height, weight, and coloring all listed correctly, but his birth year listed as 1988, instead of 1918. He'd stared at the card for so long, Fury had made sure they hadn't spelled his name wrong or something. Of course he understood why they'd had to change his date of birth... But it had hurt, in a visceral, aching way that he couldn't explain. Just one more thing taken from him by the ice, no more important than anything else, but it had been a part of him literally his entire life. And now it was just one more thing to lie about and hide.

Making his way over to the sink in the kitchen, Steve poured out the punch and sighed. No use moping over it now; just had to carry on and make the most of it. He thought about Marie giggling at him earlier, and how sweet she'd been, and easy to talk to, and how she hadn't shut him down after his first bumbling attempts at conversation - but then shook his head. He was still learning his way around the world again, a relationship with anyone probably wouldn't work, even if he'd known how to be in one in the first place. Still, she was very nice, and sweet, and he was glad he'd gotten to meet her, and hoped they stayed in touch.

You fall fast and you fall hard, Rogers, always have and always will, an inner voice said, sounding so like Bucky he almost expected to look up and see his best friend standing at his elbow as he poured more punch.

Too bad he couldn't get drunk; some of that sherry added to his own glass sounded really good right about now.

[Not just you, they are precious. I am totally down with hints of shipping, bring them on and let's get this ship slowly sailing! And sorry for the delay again, going to try to be more prompt.]

If it were ever to come up in conversation, Rogue would explain to Steve that she completely understood that inexplicable ache of having to give up something that was such a part of yourself. For her, changing her date of birth on identification hadn't been the struggle, it had been changing her name. She'd debated it for days after her arrival, whether to take the chance to shed Marie, a name she'd always rather disliked, and become someone completely new. In the end, though, she hadn't been able to do it, because Remy had called her by that name, and that was why she'd taken his name officially as her own in a way she hadn't been able to in her world.

Rogue's thoughts weren't far from Steve's on many things, really. As she disposed of the now empty punch containers, she contemplated how easy it was to be around Steve - he was kind, funny, and not demanding about anything. She'd met so many men over the past few months who had had only one thing on their minds while getting to know her, and it was so incredibly refreshing to meet someone who didn't seem to have that same mindset. Their conversation had been amusingly awkward at times, but he hadn't hit on her once, and if anything that just made her want to get to know him even more.

Nevermind the fact that they had so much in common with their superhero pasts.

She turned back to him and just watched him for a moment, studying his expression and body language and frowning at what she saw. Stepping a little closer, she leaned her hip against the counter and asked him with real concern in her voice, "Are you alright, sugar? You look like you've got a thousand pounds of heavy thoughts weighing you down. I know we've only just met, but if there's anything I can do, even just listening, I'd like to."

It wasn't that Steve wouldn't flirt with Marie, if he thought he had a chance; it was more a matter of he had absolutely no idea how to do it, and never considered that it might work on anyone. He'd seen it in practice watching Bucky at the dance halls and parks plenty of times - but he'd never understood how it worked, because the few times he'd tried, it had fallen completely flat. Part of it had been his size and looks, but part of it, as Bucky had pointed out, was his technique. Of which he had nil, apparently.

The question really shouldn't have surprised him - and yet, it did. Steve wasn't used to anyone except Bucky, and later Peggy, asking him what was wrong, possibly even noticing something was bothering him. It was nice, but it hurt, because it made him miss his friends all the more, which he hadn't thought was even possible, at this point.

He squeezed his eyes shut and pushed the thumb and forefinger of one hand against them, making it look like he had a headache, and not pressing against the sting of tears starting. He wasn't going to cry, especially not in a kitchen nook at a community center, in front of an attractive woman. The humiliation alone would do him in. It wasn't that he thought there was anything wrong with crying; he just knew what an ugly cryer he was. An Irish complexion meant he couldn't hide blushes, which he did far too often, or the splotchiness of crying.

Getting ahold of himself, Steve shook his head, and gave her a self-deprecating smile. "Got a time-machine?" he asked, before shaking his head again, as if to dismiss the question. "Thank you, for the offer, but... right now, I'm not sure I could really talk about it." Not without breaking down completely, anyway, which he'd been studiously avoiding for... well, ever since about a week after waking up. And that was without taking into account it would mean having to explain exactly who he was to her. Steve Rogers might have no problem crying, but Captain America breaking down would send even the hardiest of souls fleeing, he was sure. "Sorry, guess I just don't have my head in the game right now, that's all." Steve set his jaw determinedly. He could push this aside; look at the situation like a mission, and ignore everything else until later.

Usually your mission teammates aren't quite so attractive, his inner-Bucky piped up, and Steve wondered what the world would think if they learned that Captain America had lost his mind and was hearing voices in his head. Particularly this voice, who'd had to be censored at the best of times.

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sorry I've been absent; got the flu & I've been sleeping for like, 3 days. :/

oh no, that's awful :( hope you're feeling better now!

Feeling better now, thanks! Also, I get very wordy when I'm sick, lol

I love having short novels appear in my inbox <3

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I'm so so sorry for the wait!

Omg, don't worry about it! <3

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