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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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.

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."

Steve considered himself a fairly open guy, not ashamed of his emotions or his weaknesses (he'd never been proud of his physical weaknesses, but he'd never been ashamed of them, either), but the fact of the matter was, he'd been born and raised in a time when it was expected of men to be stoic and put-together. It had been one more way he hadn't quite fit the mould back then; he'd been called 'sensitive' by his mother, and while she'd meant it as a compliment, it had taken society a great deal of time to begin to see it the same way. But while he felt a great deal of connection with Marie, just from their relatively short (but intense) conversation, the fact of the matter was, she was still a virtual stranger to him, and it was impossible to let his guard down any further with her. At the moment, anyway.

Saying she might understand better than he thought struck Steve as a little odd, but he figured she was still talking about what she thought were the ordinary troubles of a recently-returned veteran. But still... her offer was so tempting. To be able to talk to someone who was in no way connected to SHIELD, or the Avengers, someone who was removed from the entire situation, but was sympathetic, sounded so nice, even if she couldn't adequately grasp the finer nuances. And so far, no matter what he'd said, she had been sympathetic, no confusion or scoffing at him. If they did stay in touch - and now, he found himself thinking of ways to get that to happen - he would tell her, soon, about his patriotic alter ego. He'd just have to wait and see where it went from there.

At her gesture, he did wait, but while she darted off to the supply closet, he began pouring more punch. She returned just as he finished, and he set the bowl down to take the small business card she handed over. His lips ticked up as he read it, the unwilling thought that he'd actually gotten a girl's number, and he hadn't even had a chance to try yet. He smiled and gave a small huff of laughter when she suggested he could use a smoke signal. Even he wasn't quite that old.

"Thank you," Steve said, flicking the edge of the card a few times with his finger. The words came out softer than he'd intended. "Maybe... Are you... doing anything on the holiday?" Despite having just thought to himself jokingly that he'd gotten a girl's number, it took a second to realize just how that question sounded. "I mean-- just-- I've never really--" He finally made himself stop talking, took a deep breath, and tried again. "I've never really been alone on 4th of July. It's my birthday, and I've always had someone drag me out and enjoy myself." He rubbed at the back of his neck self-consciously. "I make absolutely no promises I'll be any better company than I am today, but... getting something to eat and watching the fireworks with a friend sounds a lot better than sitting alone in my apartment."

The change in his voice was noticeable, and she frowned in concern as he seemed to struggle with finding the right words. But when he did... She couldn't stop the smile that curled up the corners of her lips, because it was the sweetest invitation she'd ever received, and there was no way in hell that she could say no that. He couldn't have many other people to ask, not when he was still so new to this time, and she couldn't let him spend the day alone.

"I'd love to spend your birthday with you, Steve," she assured him. "I'm sure you'll be perfect company, and if not, the fireworks will undoubtedly make up for it." There was more than a bit of teasing in that last part, and she decided against admitting that she'd be hoping a little for a different kind of fireworks between them. Eventually. Maybe.

She cleared her throat a little before grabbing the refilled punch bowl and nodding toward the open door to indicate he should follow her as she headed out to return the bowl to its rightful place on the table. "Now, for a very serious birthday question," she began, giving him a pointed look. "What's your favorite kind of cake, sugar?" Because what was a birthday celebration without cake?

Steve hadn't realized how anxious he was about asking, until Marie easily agreed; his shoulders slumped in poorly-concealed relief, and he smiled happily. He'd tried not to think about it, tried to keep moving and keep busy so his mind didn't have a chance to dwell on spending the day alone. He wasn't sure if birthdays were dealt with differently now, but he remembered every one of his being treated like summer Christmas. Not a lot of money for food or presents, but things were always scraped together to make the most of the day, with lots of celebrating and laughter, and at the end of it all, watching the fireworks with his ma and Bucky. He remembered being little and his mother bundling him onto her lap as they stared up at the sky, and her whispering that the light show was just for him. He's wondered, over the years, if his birthday was made such a big deal because it was proof that he'd managed to live yet another year, when all the doctors at one time or another were skeptical to downright disbelieving that he would.

"Fireworks make up for everything," Steve agreed with a smile as Marie started gathering the punch. He stepped forward automatically to take it from her, but stopped himself; it was okay to let women carry things now, it was expected. It wasn't a mark against him as a gentleman if he didn't offer, and might be considered chauvinistic if he did. It was hard to remember all the social niceties that had been flipped around in the last seventy years. Steve had to just keep reminding himself to treat every woman like he'd learned to treat Peggy, because it seemed like all the women he was attracted to were strong, independent types.

Steve paused, first at the 'very serious question' comment, and then again, but for an entirely different reason, at the question itself. He thought about the small slices of different cakes he'd had over the years, about food and especially sugar rations, about limiting his sugar intake because of his (now nonexistent) diabetes, about all of the different kinds of cake there probably were now...

"Well," he finally said, once they'd reached the serving table and started refilling glasses with punch. "Chocolate, definitely. But I've only ever had vanilla and chocolate, so I don't know if I'd like something else, better. And everything tastes different, now." Which was very true, but not in the way she probably thought. "I mean, for the last three years, I've been living on K-rations and coffee that tastes like it got scraped from the pot and reboiled in an unwashed boot." He'd discovered after the serum that he could eat almost anything and not get sick, but just because he could eat it to survive, didn't mean he enjoyed it.

Birthdays were important to Rogue, because she'd had so few of them celebrated when she was little. Growing up in foster care had meant being passed from one family to another quite frequently, and other than the 'special day' at school, there had never been parties with friends invited, no cake, no presents. No parents to be grateful she had come into their lives. There had been one wonderful birthday that she tried so desperately to forget, and then she'd been adopted by a proper southern family. Birthdays hadn't been a time for her friends, but for those of her parents, and in truth she'd just been glad to be wanted... It was just too bad it hadn't lasted past her mutation manifesting.

Things had been different at the mansion, though. Each and every resident had their birthday celebrated not in style, but with genuine affection. Her classmates had left little presents at her door, and then her students had decorated her classroom and made questionable attempts at baking her cakes. And Remy... He'd always made sure she knew how grateful he was that she was alive.

She didn't know what she would do for her next birthday, but she would cross that bridge when she came to it.

Listening to Steve answer her question, she realized it hadn't even occurred to her what the era he'd grown up in might have meant for the life he'd led. During his childhood, no one would have had much money, and in wartime just about everything had been rationed. Going from that environment and into the Army, it was no wonder he'd never gotten to try other kinds of cake. And coffee that tasted like a foul boot? That just wasn't something she could let stand.

"Well, we're definitely going to have to fix that," she informed him with a grin. "I'm a coffee addict with a huge sweet tooth, especially for chocolate, so you'll be in good hands with me." She was already planning what she would need for the day, making a mental grocery list. Store-bought cake would be such a hassle and nowhere as good as what she could make herself, and he deserved the best after everything he'd been through, everything he'd done for the world. Making sure he had a good birthday was the very least she could do for him.

More than that, though, she was excited to get to spend the day with him. There was just something about Steve that drew her in, made her want to be around him for longer than they had that day. He was easy to talk to, funny and sweet, and they each had their secrets. It wasn't fair that she knew his without his knowing though, she acknowledged that, and so she promised herself that she would tell him next time they met.

Whether she would share her own secret with him then, though... Well, they would just have to see.

"Oh, no!" Steve exaggeratedly groaned, laughing a little. "Please tell me you're not one of those people who orders those weird-sounding, overly-complicated drinks at coffee houses. Like a 'venti mocha frappuccino vanilla soy latte macchiato, with extra caramel.'" He was pretty sure you couldn't combine all of those things into one drink - but then again, the way some people ordered, he wouldn't be too surprised if it was possible, now.

He paused, glancing over at Marie as her last words sank in. "And don't go to any trouble for me, okay? At this point, I'm just thankful I won't end up moping around my apartment all day." Or going to a bakery and buying the place out just because he could, now.

Overall, despite the lows that he'd hit from watching people three times his age but from his generation, and thinking about the past that he could never get back, Steve was going to mark today as a success. He'd met someone, completely randomly and on his own, and become friends. It was nice, learning that there was still more to him than just a national icon and an eye-catching costume.

[sorry this is so short! I just... have no idea what else to write. =|]

[short is just as good as novels! not all our tags need 300 words of introspection, haha.]

Hearing Steve make fun of the Starbucks ordering system and the people who bought those super fancy and insanely expensive drinks was absolutely hilarious. She couldn't stop the giggles that spilled out at that, though she didn't manage to keep them on the quieter side, and just shook her head at him in amusement.

"Sugar, it's not going to be a lick of trouble for me to find you a decent cup of coffee," she informed him with a very pointed look. "Which is not at Starbucks, by the way. I do enjoy a latte every now and then, but I'm just fine with a normal cup of joe. No weirdly complicated names necessary." She blamed Remy for her particular brand of coffee snobbery, but at least enjoying plain coffee helped to save her some money.

There was no way she was going to tell him her plan for the rest of his birthday treats, though. Not if he was going to be all sweet and protest her going to any trouble. They probably didn't know each other well enough for her to be able to elbow him in the side and insist that she'd go to whatever trouble she damn well felt like, thank you very much. She really didn't want to send him running just yet...

Marie giggling made Steve grin. He wasn't sure he'd ever in his life made a grown woman giggle before. Not without being the unintended butt of the joke, anyway. He shrugged at her look. "I know Army coffee was the worst, but I've never drunk much of it in the first place. It always... well, it wasn't healthy for me when I was younger, and I don't─need the caffeine, really, so I just don't drink it that often."

He'd almost said he couldn't feel the effects anymore, but realized it might sound hinky. He may not be able to feel the caffeine rush, but at least now he could enjoy the social niceties of having coffee with someone. Even now, he was still surprised sometimes when he drank coffee and didn't feel his heart start pounding out of his chest.

"So long as you know you're not obligated to do anything, or buy me anything," he finished, deciding not to fret over what Marie might be planning for him. Contrary to what his friends had seemed to believe, he didn't have to worry over every little thing. Really, his biggest worry was always money, but slowly he was coming to grips with the fact that, while everything was so much more expensive, people could afford things now. And, if they so chose, they could afford to spend money on others without having to go without themselves.

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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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omg, I can't with these two. ♥

they are too adorable ♥♥

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