If only Rogue had been able to know the Steve of the past. His physical size and looks wouldn't have mattered one bit to her, and she probably wouldhave found his lack of technique to be completely charming. All her life, she'd had men falling over themselves to get her attention, and only a fraction of them had ever been worth it. Steve would have been worth it.
She watched him closely as he pressed at his eyes, and at first glance she would have assumed it was just a typical headache as the gesture was meant to convey. But there was something in his stance, a weariness about him that told her it was something more than that, and that something tore at her heart because Rogue knew that technique better than perhaps almost anyone. She'd used it so many times over the years, after all. Laying her burdens out for other people wasn't an easy thing to do, not when it took so much explaining for anyone to comprehend what life was like for her, let alone try to even remotely understand it. It hadn't been until Remy had wormed his way into her heart that she'd really let go of her emotional burdens long enough for him to take some of the weight, and even the it had taken a good long time for her to not feel incredibly guilty about it.
She nodded at his qords, concern still firmly rooted in her sympathetic expression, and she reached out to carefully set her hand on his upper arm. Giving it a gentle squeeze, she smiled softly and told him, "We all go through that, don't worry. And if you ever do want to talk, I'm happy to listen. I might even understand things a bit more than you'd think."
Another squeeze and then she pulled back, thinking of something and holding her hand up to him in a 'wait a second' gesture. There was a small storage room connected to the kitchen where there volunteers had stashed their things, and she went inside to rifle through her small handbag. Extracting a white business card, she walked to Steve with a much larger smile on her face and held it out to him. On it was her name, a phone number and email address, and her licensed credentials for teaching English as a second language.
"Here's my number," she told him, even if it was stating the obvious. Feel free to call or text or email, hell you can smoke signal if you want, though I'm not sure how effective it would be. But I'd love to hear from you after all this, even if it's just to grab some coffee and talk about all the stuff people think we're weird for not knowing."
no subject
She watched him closely as he pressed at his eyes, and at first glance she would have assumed it was just a typical headache as the gesture was meant to convey. But there was something in his stance, a weariness about him that told her it was something more than that, and that something tore at her heart because Rogue knew that technique better than perhaps almost anyone. She'd used it so many times over the years, after all. Laying her burdens out for other people wasn't an easy thing to do, not when it took so much explaining for anyone to comprehend what life was like for her, let alone try to even remotely understand it. It hadn't been until Remy had wormed his way into her heart that she'd really let go of her emotional burdens long enough for him to take some of the weight, and even the it had taken a good long time for her to not feel incredibly guilty about it.
She nodded at his qords, concern still firmly rooted in her sympathetic expression, and she reached out to carefully set her hand on his upper arm. Giving it a gentle squeeze, she smiled softly and told him, "We all go through that, don't worry. And if you ever do want to talk, I'm happy to listen. I might even understand things a bit more than you'd think."
Another squeeze and then she pulled back, thinking of something and holding her hand up to him in a 'wait a second' gesture. There was a small storage room connected to the kitchen where there volunteers had stashed their things, and she went inside to rifle through her small handbag. Extracting a white business card, she walked to Steve with a much larger smile on her face and held it out to him. On it was her name, a phone number and email address, and her licensed credentials for teaching English as a second language.
"Here's my number," she told him, even if it was stating the obvious. Feel free to call or text or email, hell you can smoke signal if you want, though I'm not sure how effective it would be. But I'd love to hear from you after all this, even if it's just to grab some coffee and talk about all the stuff people think we're weird for not knowing."