If he didn't have exceptional hearing, he might not have heard the thank you she breathed against him. He listened to her story with a growing knot of dread in his stomach. He knew, with gut-wrenching, heart-stopping certainty, where this was going to lead, as soon as she mentioned laws being put in place. She reached the word 'camps' and Steve had to squeeze his eyes shut against the images that were all too readily available to his mind's eye.
When she started to move, he pulled back just a little, to see what she was doing. He decided he really, really didn't want to see when she started pulling at her sleeve, and when the line of text was revealed, he couldn't hold back the smallest whimper that escaped the back of his throat.
Rogue didn't have to explain what she meant by 'studied'. He'd heard the horror stories from those few who'd been rescued from concentration camps. Worse, and closer to home, he remembered finding Bucky on that table, catatonic except to recite his name rank and number. The times they never talked about where he jeopardized their position by waking up screaming in the middle of the night, heading off on his own and refusing company for hours sometimes. The thousand yard stare he'd developed after being rescued. Bucky had only been there for a week. Steve didn't know how Rogue had managed to function after three years of that kind of treatment.
He pulled their clasped hands up and bent his head, pressing a heartfelt kiss against the ugly tattoo that told anyone who knew how to look that she was brave, and a survivor. She was victory. He shut his eyes again, and could feel a few tears start to fall, in sympathy for what she'd gone through. He stayed there for a second, bent over her wrist, and breathed, "I'm so sorry that happened to you."
Sitting back up, he just wanted to bundle her against him, hold her and never let go. He wanted to kiss her, to somehow prove that it was over, she was here now, and she was safe. But if that had happened in her home, where mutants were normal, she was doubly at risk here, where she'd be considered an anomaly.
no subject
When she started to move, he pulled back just a little, to see what she was doing. He decided he really, really didn't want to see when she started pulling at her sleeve, and when the line of text was revealed, he couldn't hold back the smallest whimper that escaped the back of his throat.
Rogue didn't have to explain what she meant by 'studied'. He'd heard the horror stories from those few who'd been rescued from concentration camps. Worse, and closer to home, he remembered finding Bucky on that table, catatonic except to recite his name rank and number. The times they never talked about where he jeopardized their position by waking up screaming in the middle of the night, heading off on his own and refusing company for hours sometimes. The thousand yard stare he'd developed after being rescued. Bucky had only been there for a week. Steve didn't know how Rogue had managed to function after three years of that kind of treatment.
He pulled their clasped hands up and bent his head, pressing a heartfelt kiss against the ugly tattoo that told anyone who knew how to look that she was brave, and a survivor. She was victory. He shut his eyes again, and could feel a few tears start to fall, in sympathy for what she'd gone through. He stayed there for a second, bent over her wrist, and breathed, "I'm so sorry that happened to you."
Sitting back up, he just wanted to bundle her against him, hold her and never let go. He wanted to kiss her, to somehow prove that it was over, she was here now, and she was safe. But if that had happened in her home, where mutants were normal, she was doubly at risk here, where she'd be considered an anomaly.