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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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."

Rogue knew all about getting good people killed, and even as she continued to beat herself up about it, she would argue with Steve that it wasn't his fault. Given the chance, she would hold him while he missed his friend, and do whatever she could to help him through his grief. Even the strongest of them needed that much when a loved one was lost.

"Well, you'd better get used to it with me," she informed him with a playful smirk. "I think you're absolutely gorgeous, sugar, inside and out, and I'm gonna take every opportunity to mention it."

If things continued escalating between them on a similar track, she'd soon get the opportunity to witness his grief, and comfort him. But Steve refused to let his darker emotions take hold in the light of day, and he had a ready, perfect excuse to ignore them, right in his arms.

"I'm beginning to get the sense I should just shut up and smile when you say things like that," he said drily, unable to help the smile tugging his mouth up. "You, Ms. LeBeau, are Trouble. I've been warned about girls like you." He gave her a mock-severe look.

He was bound to see her own displays of grief, which she wasn't yet as skilled at controlling. It didn't help that her negative emotions were often exacerbated by those of the people she'd absorbed. Part of her dreaded the day that Steve would inevitably see her lose control of her mental hold on things, the 'bad days' that left her practically incapacitated as she rebuilt her mental shields and tried to find her way back to being whole again.

Rogue laughed at his dry comments, especially when a few particular men decided to chime in that the guy had a pretty good idea there. "Well, I'm certainly not the sort of girl that guys take home to their mothers," she tossed back at him, though it was a darker joke than she'd intended, ringing just a little too true to her own ears.

Edited (late edit for typos) 2016-05-27 21:26 (UTC)

Everybody had bad days, Steve understood that, and most of them hadn't gone through the kind of trauma and ordeal that Rogue had. Steve certainly wouldn't be looking forward to seeing one of her bad days, but when he did, he would do everything in his power to help her through them, whatever she needed.

Steve pursed his lips in though, giving her a considering look. "Maybe they didn't want their mothers to be jealous of the great gal they'd found," he finally said. "My ma - Sarah - I think she would've liked you. She was sweet as apple pie, but God, could she be vicious if she was provoked. Not in a hellcat kinda way, but she had a razor-sharp tongue. And the best disappointed and disapproving faces ever. One look from her and you'd be apologizing for things you hadn't even thought about doing yet."

It was easier to talk about his mother than it was Bucky; he'd come to terms with her death, and was able to look back on his life with her without regret. Sorrow that she'd died too soon, but it had been a slow decline, and he'd been able to grieve for her properly.

Rogue listened to Steve describe his mother and wished she could have known the woman who'd raised such a wonderful son. He didn't have to say it for her to know that he'd loved his mother dearly, that he was proud to call her family. She envied that.

"She sounds like my kind of woman," she told him with a smile and half a laugh. "I'm sure she'd be proud of the man you've become, and I don't just mean the whole saving the world bit." He was such a good man, she really didn't deserve him.

Rubbing her cheek on his shoulder like a cat scenting its human, she quietly asked, "You had a good life with her, didn't you?"

Taking a long, slow breath, Steve nodded slowly. "I certainly hope she is." Steve firmly believed in heaven, and if anyone had deserved a halo and a set of wings, it was his mother, who shoulda been sainted just for being able to deal with two rowdy boys who'd had way more bravado than common sense.

It had been a while since Steve had pulled his early memories out and thought about them; he had so many other, more pressing things to do, it was nice now to just relax and remember, and share things with her. "I did," he agreed. "It wasn't an easy life, and I sure as hell didn't help that. But she made sure I was happy, made sure..." he thought about telling her about some of the less pleasant aspects of his young years, but he never liked thinking about those events. This was one secret he was perfectly fine ignoring, and keeping to himself - for now, at least.

"Well, made sure I could take care of myself, knew right from wrong. Knew to respect women. She was a suffragette, so I come by my feminism honestly," he joked. One thing he didn't like about the future, was how everyone seemed to think that 'feminism' equated to women hating men and thinking they deserved more than men did. He'd met women like that even in his time, but the gap had been so wide back then it never would've been possible. He'd been pleased, proud even, of all the progress women had achieved - but feminism was a hot-button issue these days, and he'd been dismayed when he'd first heard people's opinions of it. Like so many other things from his time, while he'd slept it seemed to have morphed into something almost unrecognizable to him.

Rogue didn't know what she believed about what happened to a person after they died. She'd been raised in a Southern Baptist household, but none of it had ever really set right with her, not after the life she'd led. Spiritual was how she would describe herself rather than religious, but she didn't fault anyone for their beliefs.

A quiet giggle followed his joke and she leaned in to kiss the curve of his jaw. It was good that he was a feminist and had been raised by a strong woman - this thing between them wouldn't possibly work if he didn't have the sense to let Rogue be her own person. She hadn't always been strong-willed and minded, but her years at the mansion had changed her deeply. She had grown into the type of person who would sooner kick ass than kiss it, and that was who she'd always wanted to be, in a way.

"I'm glad you have that to look back on," she told him with sincerity. "And I'm glad you had other people that you cared about, and who cared about you. I know it's hard to have to go on without them, but you'll always have those memories to take with you."

It hadn't been her intention for the tone of the conversation to change to something so... heavy. It was something she couldn't avoid though, not when she was remembering her own less than perfect assortment of family and friends.

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