When Steve came back to the kitchen, Rogue finally noticed just how the crying spell had changed his appearance. He looked awful, to put it bluntly. She wondered vaguely if that was how she looked after her little breakdowns, but she'd never really taken the time to catalog her appearance and commit it to memory. She did remember how she felt afterward, though - hollow and disconnected, completely apart from life around her.

Setting the plates of food on the table, she stopped to stand beside Steve's chair, a hand going to his back again to smooth a gentle circle over it. She didn't want to crowd him, but she wanted to offer what comfort she could. "The food will help, sugar," she told him softly, leaning in just a little closer. "I promise, you'll feel at least a little better after eating something."