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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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.

Looking at the text inked into her skin brought back the memories of trying to rescue those who had been taken before her, of arriving too late for so many and finding only piles of bodies instead of the friends and students she'd own known. Of searching all those faces for the ones belonging to Remy's family, the people who had accepted her as one of their own, who had stayed behind to give them time to get to safety. Even years after, they had searched for them, hoping blindly that even one of them would be found alive.

The pain of her experiences both in and out of that lab was so intense that in the end it became numbness, a defense her mind created to help her deal with the trauma. That numbness could be punctured easily enough with a simple word or phrase, or something as innocent as tears - Steve's tears that she saw in his eyes, that single tear that she felt hit her skin following that perfect, heartbreaking kiss.

By the time he sat up again, her own tears were falling, and she didn't hesitate to lean in to press her lips to his in the kiss she'd wanted for what seemed like forever. Her free hand found its way to his jaw, and she moved as close to him as she could possibly get. He made her feel safe, even though she knew as well as he did that she was anything but in this world. The war had cost her everything, her family and home and purpose in life, but she refused to let it take this from her too. If he would have her after all of this, she wanted to be by his side, regardless of the threats this world posed to her. So long as she had that hope he gave her, then she could face it all.

The kiss was electrifying, just as he'd known it would be, when it finally happened. He leaned in to meet her, relief and heartache mixing together as he wrapped his arm around her back, pulling her closer. It tasted like desperation and panic and freedom. He'd let go of her hand only so he could move his up to her face, stroking back to cradle the back of her head.

When he finally pulled away, he found himself short of breath, and leaned his forehead against hers, like he'd wanted to the other day. "You..." He swallowed against the hoarseness in his throat. "Thank you, for telling me. I'm so sorry, so sorry." He wasn't sure exactly what he was apologizing for; that she'd felt the need to tell him, to relive the experience even in those few sentences, or that she'd had to experience any of it in the first place.

"I'm not gonna let anything happen to you, okay?" He leaned in again to press a soft kiss against her mouth, to seal the implicit promise in his words. "Anyone finds out, anyone comes after you, they'll have to come through me. And you don't know this yet, but I am the most stubborn asshole you'll ever meet."

It was the most perfect kiss she'd ever experienced, and not just for the fact that it was the longest that didn't end with her partner in a coma. Steve was perfect, from the way he held her to the very taste of him, which was indescribable beyond being everything she'd never known she wanted. Her hand slid up his jaw to comb her fingers through short strands of hair, while her other hand clutched at his shirt at his side.

The added intimacy of having his forehead pressed against her made her heart ache even more, her stuttered breath meeting the apology he gave that she didn't quite understand but still readily accepted and adored him for. It was relieving to have him know at least this much about her, even if it was only the tip of the iceberg even where the war was concerned.

But then he made that promise and the entire world seemed to fall apart around her. Her eyes widened at the words and by the time they were finished, she was just shaking her head, expression crumpling like a piece of paper. "Don't say that," she whispered brokenly, adjusting her position just enough so she could wrap her arms around him and hide her face against his shoulder. "Please don't say that."

Remy had made that promise to her, when they'd first found out that she was on the list of mutants they wanted for special research. He had made that promise every time they'd had a close call, and he had kept it every time until the one time he couldn't. Until he was injured so badly that they couldn't do anything for him there in the middle of a battle, and he'd asked her to make her own promise.

Steve didn't care about the war. If she never breathed another word about it, he would never bring it up. If she wanted to talk about it, of course he would listen, but he would never ask her questions that would undoubtedly be painful, at the very least, to her. He never, ever wanted to see her hurt.

As soon as she started shaking her head, he knew he'd said the wrong thing. He wasn't sure how or what (although he could hazard a guess, and it wasn't pretty), but he'd upset her even more, and that was the very last thing he'd wanted to do. He curled himself around her smaller body, thankful that the trees surrounding them hid them from the casual eye. "Okay," he murmured against her temple, one arm around her back and the other curled up and stroking her hair. "Okay, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please don't cry. I'm sorry."

He wasn't going to take it back, though. Steve had no illusions about what must have happened, probably how she'd lost her husband, but there was no way he could even contemplate not protecting her until his last breath, if it came down to it. He'd faced down death before, had welcomed it, and wound up on the other side, still alive, but regretting what it had cost him.

He would never, ever regret protecting those he loved with everything he had, though, up to and including his life. He didn't need to tell Rogue that, though. If she didn't realize it yet, she would probably figure it out eventually, but he didn't have to say it for it to still be true.

"Nobody needs to know, anyway," he breathed into her ear. "Nobody knows, except me, right? I'm not telling anyone, ever. That will always be up to you." He felt like he was adding the burden squarely back on her shoulders, but she was so distraught, he wanted her to understand that he would never, ever tell anyone her secret. "Partners, remember? We gotta stick together."

Edited 2016-05-26 08:53 (UTC)

Steve knew all the right things to say and do to keep her from completely losing control of her fragile emotions. Holding onto her the way he did was possibly the best thing he could have done, anchoring her here in the present and her world of hope so she didn't slide down into the abyss of grief and pain. Even after so many years, she could still remember the feeling of Remy in her arms, his blood soaking through her uniform as she said goodbye and granted his dying wish - absorbing him completely so he could always be with her, protecting her in the only way left to him. He'd known that it would just be a matter of time, they both had, until she was captured, and having him with her through it all was one of the reasons she was still a semblance of a person.

"Partners," she echoed with a ghost of a smile, loosening her grip on him just a little but not letting go. She didn't want to ever let go.

"Lord, sugar, what did ever do to deserve you?" The exhaustion she felt down to her bones was starting to come through in her voice, a weariness not just from her late night or the emotional roller-coaster they were riding, but from the strain of having kept that secret to herself for so many months. Just having one other person know it had lifted a huge weight off her chest and she finally felt like she could breathe again.

"This probably isn't how you thought this would go, huh?" she asked with a hint of laughter. "I know having a girl cry all over them probably isn't every guy's dream." She turned her head to press a light kiss to the side of his neck, then leaned up just a little to set another on his jaw. It felt like natural and easy to kiss him, and she wanted to do it forever.

Steve had no clue what he was doing. He just knew that Rogue was hurting, and he couldn't stand to see it without doing something. His motions echoed those of his mother, comforting him after a nightmare when he was small, cuddling with him when he was so sick he could hardly move, and both of them were sure he wasn't going to last much longer. Bucky, curling around him and helping him breathe through an asthma attack. As much as he'd hated it sometimes, Steve was fortunate to have a lot of experience with comfort, and he tried to put all that knowledge to use.

When her grip started to ease up, Steve pulled back some, but he didn't move his arms from where they were wrapped around her. He was loathe to let her go, and while he knew that physically, eventually he'd have to, he was going to do everything humanly possible to keep her with him for as long as he could.

She sounded so tired, Steve couldn't resist reaching up and brushing some of her hair away from her face, using it as an excuse to continue touching her. "Pretty sure you went through hell," he murmured, his thoughts flashing on that tattoo on her arm again. He was going to have nightmares about that tattoo, and what had been done to her, he was sure. At least it would break up the monotony of watching all his friends die over and over, trapped behind a wall of ice.

He was glad she seemed alright with kissing him, in that casually intimate way he'd always envied when he saw others doing it. He turned his head enough to kiss her forehead, then again on her temple, before just resting his lips there for a moment, breathing in the smell of her. "Well," he finally responded, trying to bring a little levity to the mood, now that the storm seemed to be over for now, "I did like the kissing. That part was nice. And I got to have a gorgeous girl in my arms, which actually, yeah, has been a big dream of mine, for quite a while. So thanks for making that finally happen." Steve kissed her temple again before pulling back enough that she could see his smile.

Pretty sure you went through hell. He didn't even know the half of it. It was likely that he had an idea of what had happened to her in that lab based on his time in WWII, which made her feel terrible that he'd had to revisit those experiences because of her, but he couldn't even guess at what they had forced her to do with her powers. She hadn't told him about her mutation, and... she wasn't sure that she wanted to. Yes, she trusted him with her secrets, she trusted him with her life or she wouldn't have said anything, but it was easier to keep a secret when you didn't even know it. If he asked her, she would tell him, but for now she was content to just be with him in the moment and enjoy a glimpse of the life she'd always wanted.

Every touch, every kiss was perfection. This man who was holding her and showering her with comfort and little signs of affection had a heart of gold and the beautiful face of Adoni, and for some crazy reason he wanted her. Despite everything she'd just told him, he was still there, telling her that she was fulfilling a dream of his while he did the same for her.

They were quite a pair, weren't they?

She matched that smile with her own, slipping a hand up to brush her fingertips along his jaw, tracing that wonderful smile. "I want to make all your dreams come true, Steve," she told him softly, affectionately. "You deserve that and so much more." Her smile turned a little mischievous as she added, "And the kissing was a hell of a lot better than just nice."

At some point, Steve would probably realize that he didn't really have a complete picture of her story, didn't know exactly what I'm a mutant actually meant for her, but for now, at least, it didn't matter. She was safe, and now that her tears were drying and he'd hopefully allayed some of her fears, she was smiling and happy again, and that was all Steve wanted. He wanted the world for Marie, for Rogue, and she seemed to think that he could give it to her. He was definitely okay with that.

If he thought she was gorgeous when she was smiling and happy, she was on some until-now-unknown level when she got that mischievous look on her face, and that butter-wouldn't-melt tone to her voice. It felt like they'd passed a threshold, and Steve was comfortable with teasing back in a way he hadn't been previously. Maybe it was the kiss, and the casual touches, or maybe the secrets they now shared. He didn't think twice about how to respond, though. He shrugged and pulled an unimpressed face. "Ehh. I mean, it was okay. It was passable." He couldn't hold the straight face for long, though, and started grinning. He shifted his hand slightly from where it was wrapped around her back, and gently pinched her side, winking.

Oh. Oh, really. That's how it was going to be then, was it? Two could play that game, though she was going to up the stakes rather significantly. But if you can't stand the heat, then stay out of the kitchen, Steve.

Her jaw dropped in comical outrage at the pinch and that jibe about the kisses they'd shared. It was a struggle to keep her own grin at bay, and she moved to grip his chin gently but firmly between her thumb and forefinger, making sure he didn't go anywhere. "I'll show you passable," she muttered with that same mischief before leaning in to kiss him again - a very different kiss, more about tasting and exploration, conveying passion rather than just affection.

Steve should be glad they were in public, or she might have climbed into his lap right then and really shown him what she could do. Kissing like that may have been new to her, but she had hundreds of borrowed memories in her mind that lent more than a few tips to her technique.

Steve had never backed away from a challenge in his life. Now was certainly not going to be an exception.

He wasn't above having a healthy dose of fear, however, when Rogue took hold of his chin. His eyes widened and he looked like the proverbial deer in headlights - but he sure as hell wasn't gonna back down. His stomach swooped like the best free-falls, jumping from a plane with no parachute, that thrill of going far too fast, with no safety net.

He loved every second of it.

And that was before the kiss itself. Which was... intense. He wasn't the best kisser, he was sure, this being the fourth kiss he'd ever had (Maggie O'Brian didn't count, because she'd been goaded into it by her friend, and it had barely been more than a peck on the lips). He was a little hesitant and unsure exactly what he was doing - but he'd always been a quick study, and Rogue definitely seemed to know what she was doing.

It was a very good thing they were in public, or this might have escalated more quickly than he'd intended. It wasn't that Steve didn't want Rogue - because yes, he did, very much - but there was always that small seed of doubt in the back of his head, reminding him that for all of their chemistry, and similar backgrounds now that he knew about it, they still didn't really know each other, as people, very well.

That wasn't going to stop him from enjoying the very public display of affection, however.

Steve finally managed to make himself pull away, gasping more than he thought should be necessary from just a kiss. "Okay. That was..." He shifted a little, lowering his head to rest on her shoulder for a minute. Finally he said, "please don't do that again in public. This is gonna be awkward." He cleared his throat, knowing he was blushing at what he'd just revealed... but she'd caused the problem, so it seemed only fair that she be made aware of it.

Edited (Steve's been kissed more than I realized) 2016-05-27 02:12 (UTC)

Okay, so Rogue may have enjoyed herself a little too much with the kiss. It was just such a thrill to be able to kiss someone at all, and for it to be Steve made it even more of a rush. In hindsight, she would admit that she'd perhaps pushed things a little, but in the moment she threw caution to the wind.

She was gasping as well when Steve pulled away, looking more than a bit like the cat that just ate the canary, and it was oh so tempting to swoop back in for more. But he set his head on her shoulder and her immediate reaction was to smooth her fingers through his hair, waiting for him to catch his breath.

Oh, Steve. It took every bit of willpower not to burst out laughing at his words, but her shoulders still shook with the effort, and she knew he'd be able to hear the strangled giggles from how close he was to her. Part of her felt completely terrible for being the cause of his problem, but the rest of her was entirely too pleased about it. "I'm sorry, sugar," she managed to squeeze out between those giggles. "I promise I won't do it in public."

Lots of wiggle room in that promise, just like the one she'd given him on Sunday. The future would hold all sorts of possibilities for them, after all.

The kiss had been... phenomenal. Exceptional. Fantastic. Their first kiss, when she'd been crying, had been more about comfort, tinged with slight desperation - this had been their real first kiss, as far as Steve was concerned. It had been everything a kiss should be, including slightly awkward after it was over.

"You are going to kill me, aren't you?" he muttered, pressing a kiss to her clothed shoulder before pulling his head back up. He said it lightly, having no idea how closely the words might hit to home for her. He meant it in the best way, if that was any consolation.

Taking a deep breath, Steve glanced around. No one was really around, but his sensitive hearing could easily pick out the sounds of people nearby, joggers and people strolling through the park, playing games in the more open spaces around them. "It's occurred to me," he glanced back at her, "that maybe we're going about this kinda... fast. So, before we get any further," he shot her a look that said he again recognized exactly how much room she'd given herself with her promise, "how 'bout we get to know each other a little better. Without some of the filters on our stories." He gave a small laugh as he realized something. "I don't even know your last name. And do you want to be called Rogue, or Marie?" He understood nicknames easily enough; he disliked being called 'Steven', because growing up he'd only heard that when he was in trouble, and the same went for Bucky (who ended up getting caught and scolded far more than Steve, although their trouble-making had always been closer to 50-50 than anyone believed).

Codenames were trickier than childhood nicknames, though. If he weren't trying to keep a low profile, he didn't even mind when people called him Cap. It had been a more common nickname when he'd been younger, though, for various reasons, so nowadays it just made him stand out. But if she was trying to blend in, and go by Marie, he didn't want to call her 'Rogue' in front of the wrong people, simply because that was what he was used to calling her.

Honestly, he could come up with a thousand questions to ask her, trivial things, and he was sure she could come up with just as many for him. He wouldn't mind answering any of them, even the ones with painful answers, but he didn't want to upset her by asking something that came with its own painful story. It was going to be an interesting day.

Rogue had never gotten to have the normal first kiss scenario with anyone until Steve. She'd tried back when she was seventeen, but the guy had ended up in a coma. Every kiss after that point had been careful, measured, and restrained for fear of hurting her partner. Not that Remy had ever really heeded her warnings, of course - the silly Cajun had ended up passed out on the floor more times than she cared to remember, and he still didn't regret a single one of them. He'd called her mutation a 'challenge', and no one had ever said that Remy LeBeau didn't love a challenge.

If she hadn't been in a moment of very good headspace, Steve's comment about killing him would have had her right back to crying all over him, and quite possibly running the other direction entirely. She hadn't tested her control over her powers in this world, not to their full extent at least, but that didn't mean that she didn't worry about it. The very idea of hurting Steve by being close to him terrified her, but that was why she didn't think on it too much. The more she thought about it, the more she would just get in the way of her own happiness, and she refused to let herself do that in this life.

That pointed look that he gave had her trying to look innocent and failing rather miserably. He did have a point about getting to know each other. She was so used to having everyone in her head that not having him there was actually a bit of an obstacle - she didn't have that automatic sense of who he was and how his thoughts worked; she'd have to figure that out on her own.

Names. Right, starting with the basics. It was a good place, really. "My maiden name is D'Ancanto, from the family that adopted me when I was eight," she explained, straightening his open button-down shirt just to give her an excuse to keep touching him. "My husband was Remy LeBeau, and both of those names are on all legal documentation in this world. As for what I'd like to be called..." She sighed heavily and shook her head. "I don't want to forget who I am. It would be nice to have someone call me Rogue, it's who I've been for the past fifteen years, but even if I said it was a nickname it might be hard to explain to people. And I know it's not easy to keep things like that straight, that sometimes the wrong one slips out, and I don't want to put that pressure on you. So... call me Marie." The decision made her ache inside, her breath hitching slightly as she had the completely irrational sense that she was losing a part of herself this way. But it was the only option she could see, and as desperately as she wanted to hear him call her by the name she most identified with now, it had to be better this way.

She forced a nonchalant shrug and a flimsy smile as she continued, "Besides, without my gloves, I don't really feel like Rogue anymore. I still carry them around just in case, but it's not the same." In the moment, she didn't realize that he had no content for her explanation or that any of it might be confusion for him.

Steve was very good at being an obstacle for people, whether he meant to be or not. In this case, however, it was completely unintentional. He was willing to share everything with her. He had always been a fairly open guy, if anyone had cared enough to ask, but this felt like something more. Steve shied away from just what it did feel like, because he didn't believe in love at first sight. Love was built, even after you knew someone; it had to be maintained and tended, cared for, or it waned. He didn't know Rogue well enough to be in love with her yet. ...but he was definitely headed swiftly in that direction.

Straightening his shirt was such a maternal image to Steve, he couldn't help but smile as he watched her do it, even while he listened to her explanation on her various names. He'd never really thought about how much more difficult it was for a married woman to deal with paperwork and legal transactions, just because she'd had to change her name. It was something trivial, but he loved listening to her give brief explanations about it, little stories that all added up to the woman sitting beside him.

He watched a little more attentively as she considered and decided what she wanted him to call her. It was obvious what she wanted, and even having spent so little time with her, in the grand scheme of things, Steve could tell it weighed heavily on her that she was essentially forced to give up the name she considered to be her real one, just to stay anonymous and safe. It was one more way she was hiding who she really was. He thought about never being casually called Cap again; he remembered how disconcerting it was whenever he heard someone call his best friend 'James' instead of 'Bucky'.

The comment about gloves did puzzle Steve slightly, since he didn't know her exact mutation, but he just assumed that she didn't wear them here so she could more easily hide her true nature. He didn't consider the fact that they might have been a necessity before, since whatever her power was, they weren't a necessity to hide or control it anymore.

It was her true nature, though, wasn't it. She identified with those gloves, with her mutation. She identified more with being a mutant, and a superhero, than she did with being an every-day, ordinary person. He sympathized with that feeling, and it cemented his decision. He reached up and pulled one of her hands off his shirt, lacing his fingers together with hers. "Okay," he said softly, easily. "Rogue it is." He smiled gently, reaching up with his free hand to trace a finger over the white locks along the edges of her head. "It's not so unusual a name. You look like a Rogue."

It was true that she identified with her mutation, that she lived her life based on it regardless of her level of control. Being a mutant had made her an outcast, but it had also given her a purpose, a home and a family like she'd never had growing up. It was why she hadn't been able to bring herself to take the so-called cure, even after traveling all the way to the distribution site. Nothing had ever tempted her more than the possibility of being able to be normal again, but when she'd gotten there and see all the others waiting in line, she just hadn't been able to go through with it. Who would she be without her mutation? Silly Marie D'Ancanto who had dreams of leaving Mississippi, traveling up to Canada just to find the opposite of the life she had in the South.

He was not making it easy for her not to fall in love with him right then and there, and it would have been so easy to both kiss him senseless and cry all over him, with how utterly sweet he was being. She gave his hand a little squeeze and chuckled quietly at his last comment.

"You mean my hair's kinda weird and makes me stand out," she clarified on his behalf, smirking at her own words. "I tried dying it once, a long time ago, but the color didn't take one bit. Now it's just part of me." She'd grown to like her strange hair, despite the situation that had led to the streak's creation.

Anyone who knew him would tell you that Steve Rogers never made anything easy, and a significantly large part of the time, he made things much, much more difficult. Never on purpose, but that was part of the frustration. He'd never been accused of being difficult not to love, though.

"I mean," he said clearly, "that it is perfectly you. It's charming, wild, but very sophisticated." Steve shrugged. "It's hard to describe. It's not out of this world, or anything, but it's... wholly unique. So, it's you."

He wondered, a little, at the fact that she couldn't dye it. Which implied that it wasn't dyed in the first place, which was what he'd originally, naturally assumed. Plenty of people dyed their hair, and living in Brooklyn, he saw plenty of younger folks with all sorts of strange colors in their hair. He picked up one of the shorter strands that had fallen out of her braid and gave it a playful tweak. "I wouldn't change a thing."

Steve was scoring all sorts of points with his sincere compliments, and not just with her. There was an assortment of her closest friends who always stayed at the forefront of her mind, including some very overprotective men, and even they were beginning to give their approval of her being with this man. Remy was approving, nudging her into following her instincts rather than overthinking things, for which she was so incredibly thankful.

That little tug at her hair left her wearing a 1000-watt grin, and she lifted their joined hands to press a kiss to the back of his. "What am I gonna do with you when you insist on being this sweet to me?" she questioned him with all the affection she could cram into a dozen words. "At this rate, if you keep it up, you'll never be able to get rid of me."

In a move he never would have even considered trying before now, Steve lifted their joined hands just enough to drop his arm around Rogue's shoulders, keeping their fingers twined together. For the first time, when he wasn't fighting for his life, Steve was starting to feel perfectly at ease in his body. He attributed the new feeling entirely to her.

He stretched out a little on the bench, slightly over-exaggerating his casual, arrogant pose, and said airily, "Well, then my diabolical plan is working. 'Cause I plan on keeping you forever." He kept his voice light, but he meant every word. She didn't need to know just how serious he was, though, so he kept up the teasing. "Yep. I've caught you now, nothing for it. Just gotta accept the inevitable; you're stuck with me."

"I suppose I can live with that," she teased right back, eying that pose for a moment before rolling her eyes in mock exasperation. If he was just going to sit there looking so inviting, then she couldn't very well pass up such a golden opportunity. Keeping hold of that hand so his arm didn't slip, she turned slightly toward Steve so she could lean into him and rest her cheek on his shoulder. Her free arm slid across his waist, and she sighed happily. It was the best cuddle she could manage on the bench, but it was still damn near perfect.

"Lordie, this feels good," she murmured quietly, tension easing out of her muscles as she relaxed against him. It had been a very long time since she'd been held by anyone like this; she'd missed it.

When she snuggled against him, Steve froze, for just a split second, before slowly relaxing. Yes, they'd been getting pretty physically affectionate, but it kept hitting him, at odd intervals, that here was a woman who wanted to be with him, and he couldn't figure out how to act. It was taking some getting used to. He hoped eventually it would stop surprising him so much - but he also remembered Dr. Erskine explaining why he'd chosen him, how a weak man understood the value of strength. Steve would also always understand being alone, wishing he had found the right partner; now he thought maybe he had, and he never wanted to take this kind of moment for granted.

Reaching up with his free hand, he covered the arm she'd wrapped around his middle, and turned his head slightly to rest his lips against her forehead. "Yeah. Not bad," he murmured against her skin. He wasn't trying to provoke her, like he had before their second (or first, depending on how you looked at it) kiss; he just tended to understate things, that was all.

After a moment, he pulled back a little to speak. "Okay, serious questions. First of all..." he paused only briefly, not wanting her to become unduly worried. "What's your favorite color?"

Rogue knew he wasn't trying to provoke her with his comment; truthfully, she just assumed that he was like most men she'd known over the years, tending to understate and run short on words when it came to things like this. It had only been the ladies men like Remy who had waxed poetic about how wonderful something like a hug could be, especially from a belle femme like herself. The fact that he continued hold on to her was enough for her to know that he didn't mind her being like this with him.

She frowned slightly at his mention of serious questions and was about to pull back to look at him when the question itself took her by complete surprise. A bubble of laughter burst out of her and she snuggled even closer to him. "Green," she answered without hesitation. "It's my favorite to wear, and it reminds me of when I used to spend the odd week in the Canadian wilderness with my friend Logan." The words came easily, just tumbling out as she continued talking about colors and what they meant to her. "I also like grey and yellow, which you'll see in the way I've decorated my apartment - grey for my best friend Erik who controlled magnetic fields and manipulated metal, and yellow for Jubilee, who wore this hideous yellow jacket everyday and looked like she'd just stepped out of the 80's, but it suited her."

Stroking his thumb absentmindedly over her arm, he listened to her talk about color, closing his eyes and smiling, imagining it. He loved hearing her stories, which for obvious reasons he knew she couldn't share with him previously, even if she had figured out his own secret identity.

"I don't know anything about 80's fashion," he commented, "but I take it it's not a good thing." He had so much he had to catch up on, and fashion had never really been his thing. So long as it was functional and it fit, he hadn't cared.

He decided to share one of his own stories with her, since she'd been so open with him about what were obviously cherished memories of her friends. "Before - before the serum - I was color blind. My best friend wouldn't let me dress myself, because I kept making horrible fashion choices, he said. He finally told me to just wear khaki pants and blue shirts - which was one of the few colors I could see tell apart accurately - because it made my eyes stand out." It was still something he tended to do, even now that he could finally see all the colors he'd heard people talking about.

It hurt, remembering those early days with Bucky; their lives hadn't been easy, but they'd been carefree compared to when America joined the War. But it was also nice, being able to talk about him with someone who could understand the hurt, and appreciate the bittersweetness of remembering.

He wasn't wrong about 80's fashion, it was pretty horrific and entirely memorable for that fact. Rogue made a mental note to share some of the better 80's movies with Steve, the ones that were often mentioned in pop culture references, so he'd be able to understand just what people were talking about when they referenced big hair and the like.

There were so many things that she wanted to share with him. Things that she enjoyed that also existed in this universe, things that he'd need to learn about to muddle through conversations with the average person, things that were just fun or important. It was part of the need she felt to take care of him, to care about him and his well-being. She was a helper, she had been since she was little, and she wanted to help him navigate through this new strange world they'd both been dropped into.

"I can't imagine being colorblind," she admitted quietly, tightening her arm around him briefly in a gentle squeeze. "I can see how it could cause that problem, though. Your friend sounds like he was a good man, and I'm glad he took care of you the way friends should." There was amusement in that sentiment, because friends were always the ones to care about your fashion choices - she'd gotten more than her fair share of that from Jubilee over that years, that was for sure.

Leaning back a little so she could look at Steve, she gave him a soft smile as she studied his face. "He was right about the blue," she finally decided. "I love the color of your eyes."

Your friend sounds like he was a good man. Steve pressed his lips to her forehead again, staring over her head into the distance, but not seeing the park anymore. He was a good man, he thought, and I got him killed. He took a deep, steadying breath, and by the time she pulled back to look at him, he'd put the thought back in its box; to be drawn out only when he was alone. Bucky woulda come back from the grave just to murder Steve himself if he heard Steve was bein' melancholy over him while he had his arms full of a gorgeous doll.

Steve smiled back, but finally had to say, "I have no idea how to respond to that. Thank you?" He laughed. "Sorry. Not used to getting compliments about my looks. I have been wolf-whistled at a few times, but that's different."

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