Rogue certainly wasn't wrong about him. He wanted to do anything, everything, he could for her. He wanted to help fix the problem, but he knew this wasn't the sort of thing you threw your fists or even your shield at (it would be much simpler if that was all he had to do); all he could do was be there for her, try to comfort her, and let her know that no matter how she felt, what she thought of herself, he thought she was perfect.
Steve continued to just hold her, the hand around her back reaching up past her shoulder to soothe over her hair, holding her head gently against his shoulder. He listened as her breathing slowed and evened out, and clearly heard her whisper, and the rasp to her voice. "Darling," he murmured, "it's no problem. I think... it was probably long overdue." He knew, if you kept a lid on emotions as volatile as that, they built until they exploded, usually when you least wanted them to. Rogue, as he was learning, was someone who seemed to try to control her emotions all the time ─ while he didn't know what she did when she was alone, she didn't seem the type of person to let things out to relieve all that internal pressure. He'd probably been wreaking havoc on her emotions, and all he ever wanted to do was make her happy. Witness him trying to do something kind and complimentary, like give her flowers, and her reaction. Not to mention this latest fiasco.
Still. He wasn't going to stop, just because it made her cry. "'Tears are holy water,'" he said, soft and gentle and distant, remembering his own mother speaking those same words, as she soothed him after his crying bouts, or sometimes even her own, if he chanced upon her before she could clean herself up. His voice took on the sweet sing-song lilt of her Irish brogue as he quoted her. "'Pure and cleansing, they wash away our hurt and anger and fear; all the toxins in our soul, to leave us fresh to greet the new day.'"
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Steve continued to just hold her, the hand around her back reaching up past her shoulder to soothe over her hair, holding her head gently against his shoulder. He listened as her breathing slowed and evened out, and clearly heard her whisper, and the rasp to her voice. "Darling," he murmured, "it's no problem. I think... it was probably long overdue." He knew, if you kept a lid on emotions as volatile as that, they built until they exploded, usually when you least wanted them to. Rogue, as he was learning, was someone who seemed to try to control her emotions all the time ─ while he didn't know what she did when she was alone, she didn't seem the type of person to let things out to relieve all that internal pressure. He'd probably been wreaking havoc on her emotions, and all he ever wanted to do was make her happy. Witness him trying to do something kind and complimentary, like give her flowers, and her reaction. Not to mention this latest fiasco.
Still. He wasn't going to stop, just because it made her cry. "'Tears are holy water,'" he said, soft and gentle and distant, remembering his own mother speaking those same words, as she soothed him after his crying bouts, or sometimes even her own, if he chanced upon her before she could clean herself up. His voice took on the sweet sing-song lilt of her Irish brogue as he quoted her. "'Pure and cleansing, they wash away our hurt and anger and fear; all the toxins in our soul, to leave us fresh to greet the new day.'"