fateandfortune | Insomnia + Caretaker Memes

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Insomnia + Caretaker Memes

CARETAKER ROLE

Who in the world could hate kindness? Sweetness? Conscientiousness? All of us, on some level, like to be pampered and taken care of, from the most churlish to the most pleasant. Yes, even those grouchy grumps, or, of course, the cool-headed psychos -

Okay, maybe not all of us to the same degree.

Regardless of your disposition, somehow, you've gained a doting significant other. It seems like they find their greatest pleasure in taking care of and looking out for you. This may manifest in them simply trying to keep you entertained, happy, and healthy; it could also come in the form of them being a domestic doter, taking care of all your needs. Be it the former or the latter, there's an inherent adorableness that comes with their efforts and generosity, and in return, you have an urge to protect and care for them. They're just too precious for this world! Only, you know, there's a good chance you can a. ignore this, because you're emotionally stunted and full of wo/manpain, or b. repress it because you're a badass and would never.

Unless you've completely disregarded all that because they're just too much and you want to hold them forever.

So, how do you feel about all this? Do you wish they'd stop with this foolishness (not really)? Are you pushing them away? Are you embarrassed? Maybe you're absolutely taken with them! Just realize that you have it incredibly good.

HOW TO PLAY
• Comment with your character, preferences, their role, any info, etc.
• Reply to others.

ROLE
• Usual: This is how they always are. "Caring" is in their nature.
• Unexpected: They don't seem like the type...but with you, they are.
• Terrible at It: They're trying hard, yet it seems like they fail at trying to take care of you. Depending on who you are, though, that may just make them more endearing.
• Because You Like It: They heard you like those who are sweet and kind, so they're trying to change their ways.
• Not Together: Technically, you're not together romantically, but everyone knows the truth.
• The Doted Upon: What it says on the tin!

PROMPTS
• Feeding: Whether they cook for you or have moments where they feed you, literally, they take your nutrition seriously.
• Massage: Let them work out all those kinks.
• Clean You Up: Here, they've drawn a warm bath for you.
• Dress Your Wounds: If you're the kind of person who gets in battles, they'll see that you're all patched up.
• Singing: Or telling stories, or otherwise calming you down.
• Lap Rest: Sometimes, their lap is the best pillow.
• A Shoulder to Cry On: When you have troubles, they're always there to listen.
• The Calming Force: If you have moments of terror from past trauma, they're always willing to put themselves on the line to bring you back to reality, even if it puts them in danger.
• Soft Kisses: Their kisses feel so good, and they're never demanding.
• Head Pat: Sometimes, a simple gesture can mean the most.
• Grooming: They'll fix your hair - or at least play with it - and help you shave.
• Gifts: Homemade or expensive, they like to shower you in presents.
• Lovemaking: The obligatory smut option, where they're a generous lover.
• Protector: They look out for you, and while they don't seem that way, if you're threatened, they get like a bear protecting her cubs.
• Gentle Giant: They make you feel so small and delicate.
• Reverse: For once, you want to dote on and take care of them.
• Unwilling: It's a wonder they still try to care for you, because you're cruel to them and rebuff them at every turn, even if you really don't mean it.
• It's Okay to Cry: They never get upset because they don't want to put that on you. You want to let them know they can let it all out.
• WILDCARD

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the i n s o m n i a meme

It happens to everyone - sometimes, you have nights where you just can't fall asleep, no matter what you do. It could be for a number of reasons, or no reason at all. And this is what's happened now: you've been laying in bed for what feels like hours, just tossing and turning, and nothing seems to help. So what's left to do? Get out of bed and go wake someone else up, of course. If you're not getting any sleep, then why should they?

i n s t r u c t i o n s

• Post with your character (note the name and fandom in the subject).
• Other people reply to you by generating a number from 1 to 10.
• Have fun!

o p t i o n s

01 • FEAR. Maybe you're hearing strange, indeterminable noises; maybe there's a severe storm happening outside; maybe you watched a scary movie before bed? Whatever the reason, you're terrified and it's keeping you awake. You just want to wake someone else up so they can protect you from the monster in your closet.
02 • HUNGER. Your stomach is growling and it just won't stop. Or perhaps your throat is so dry you could cough up a tumbleweed? Well, you've gone to the kitchen to remedy this and hey, that was a pan that just dropped on the floor. It was loud enough to wake the dead! Oops.
03 • PAIN. Your body is completely worn out, be it from exercise, battle, sickness, or what have you. Either way you're in enough pain to keep you from sleeping, so maybe someone else has a home remedy or something, or can at least help you take your mind off of it.
04 • SOLITUDE. For some reason, your bed just feels so empty at the moment. You're feeling terribly lonely and really just want someone to keep you company for a while. Maybe it'd be easier to fall asleep if you're with them...
05 • DISCOMFORT. Your room is an oven. Either that or a freezer. Or maybe this bed is just really uncomfortable? Who knows why you can't get to sleep, it feels like it could be anything. Why even bother trying? Maybe someone else can preoccupy you until you feel tired enough to ignore your discomfort.
06 • PENSIVE. Something's on your mind, and no matter how hard you try to focus elsewhere, it's just not going to work. Your body may be tired, but your mind is incredibly busy and it's virtually impossible to get to sleep. Surely, talking it out with someone else will help?
07 • SADNESS. Something terrible has happened that day, perhaps; or you could just be severely depressed. Either way you're trying your hardest not to cry yourself to sleep, and it's not working at all. Better find a way to get it out of your system somehow; you need a shoulder to cry on.
08 • ANGER. You are just... fuming. Who knows why - that annoying dog is barking again, or maybe the people next door are getting busy and keeping you awake. Whatever the reason for your ire is, you'd better put an end to it so you can get some damn rest already! Go wake up a friend so you can complain to them.
09 • RESTLESS. You're far too energetic to sleep right now. Maybe you're just trying to do so out of necessity - you have to be up early tomorrow! But you just don't think you'll be able to fall asleep for a while now, so why waste the time trying to sleep when you could be doing something else? Namely bothering someone else - you're totally jealous because they're getting more sleep than you.
10 • WILDCARD. Choose one of the options above, or make up your own scenario.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Steve found, in the couple short weeks they'd been sleeping together (really sleeping together, not the sex), that he slept best when he was curled around Rogue, usually in just his boxers, so he could press as much skin as possible against hers. He'd rest his head against her shoulder and neck, wrap an arm loose around her waist (never tight, never anything she felt she couldn't get away from, if she needed space), one leg bent to rest just a little over hers. It should have felt smothering, but the feeling of having her right there with him helped Steve relax, and he knew Rogue enjoyed being able to feel skin on hers.

They'd gone out to dinner that night, on what Rogue was jokingly referring to as 'Date Night'; they spent as much time together as they could, but Steve enjoyed going out and doing things every courting couple would, and tonight he'd taken Rogue out, nothing fancy, just to a pizzeria, where they could enjoy some good food, and just joke and flirt and be a regular couple for a few hours. It had been amazing.

They'd gone to bed early, but hadn't gotten to sleep until much later, but as was beginning to be the norm for him, wrapped around Rogue Steve dropped right off to sleep. Things were finally settling into a routine for them, and Steve loved it. Everything was really starting to look up.

Rogue felt safest when she was wrapped up in Steve's arms while they slept. Not that she didn't always feel safe with him, but it was nothing short of a miracle that of all the nights they'd spent together, she'd only had a handful of bad dreams, and they'd been nothing like the debilitating nightmares she'd had shortly after her arrival in this world. The dreams had been unsettling, but only just enough to wake her, and once she'd seen Steve's face with those blue eyes she loved so much, she was just fine.

Date Night had been wonderful, as she'd known it would be. It was a beautiful dream come true to be able to sit in the booth at that pizzeria and laugh when Steve got a bit of sauce on his chin, to be called adorable by their waitress, to hold hands on the table. It had been one of their best nights together and Rogue was looking forward to sharing many more with Steve.

Perhaps that was what caused it. She let her guard down, let her mental walls slack a little in her peace and happiness, and as she slept things only got worse.

The nightmare that slithered into her mind was vivid and brutal, full of sharp edges of memories that were twisted into something not quite real but still traumatizing. Arriving at the camps too late and finding piles of bodies in ditches along the perimeter, corpses wearing the faces of her students, the children she'd vowed to protect and so completely failed. Watching the Sentinels burn the LeBeau mansion to the ground while Mercy and Henri screamed as they were trapped inside. Being strapped to that table and forced to kill so many innocent people, men, women, and children - they loved watching her fight to get away, they laughed as the children cried.

Remy throwing himself at the Sentinel to protect her, and being run through with its arm, then thrown to the side in the ensuing explosion. Holding him in her arms as begged her...

All of it twisted inside her, turning and tumbling over in her mind. Death, pain, hopelessness. Anger, grief, despair. Being abandoned by the people she'd thought were her family. Being tortured because of the way she'd been born. It welled up inside her until it was Steve on that table beside her and--

She screamed. It was a shriek of terror and pain, a banshee's cry as she pulled away in her sleep, jerking a few inches away from the touch she no longer recognized, the dream still clutching her in its darkness.

Sound asleep, Steve jerked violently at the screaming right in his ear, flailing a little as he tried to instinctively get away from the noise, startled awake and not really coherent yet. "What─?!" he muttered breathlessly, before realization set in.

"Rogue," he said urgently, moving back toward her before pulling his hand back uncertainly. He didn't want to touch her ─ of course he wanted to touch her, he wanted her to wake up, but he didn't want to startle her out of the nightmare she was obviously having. "Rogue," he said, making his voice as firm as possible, hoping to get through to her. Still using his Captain voice, he continued, "you have to wake up now. You're dreaming. It's a nightmare. It's not real."

Considering the last nightmare they'd had to deal with had been his own, and it had been based on a real memory, he wasn't sure how accurate his words were - but in the moment, nothing she was seeing was real. It might have happened at one point, but it wasn't happening now. He just had to get her to wake up and realize that.

His words did the trick, pulling her to the surface of the dream and finally to full wakefulness, but she was still afraid. Rogue was so terrified that she couldn't breathe, that her heart raced and she was a second away from bolting out of the room if only she could find where the door was.

Everything was mixed up, her world was turned on its side, and she felt like she was about to hyperventilate as she pulled in harsh, gasping breaths. She could still see those faces, still smell burning flesh, still feel Remy's blood on her hands. It wouldn't leave her, and she didn't deserve for it to.

Steve made his voice gentle, coaxing, but didn't make any move, toward Rogue or anywhere else, recognizing the wild, frantic look on her face. "Rogue. Marie. I need you to relax." She was breathing too fast, and Steve really wouldn't know what to do if she hyperventilated and fainted while panicking.

Not knowing what else to do to pull her out of her head, Steve─ started singing.

He didn't have a high, clear voice, but he pitched it up as far as he was comfortable with, letting the words flow over his tongue on instinct, barely paying attention to what he was singing.

"Rest tired eyes a while; sweet is thy baby’s smile; angels are guarding and they watch o’er thee. Sleep, sleep, grah mo chree; here on you mamma’s knee; angels are guarding, and they watch o’er thee."

Steve winced a little at some of the lyrics - he hadn't chosen the song on purpose, it was just something his mother had sung to him, so often that when he thought of comfort, it was the first thing to pop into his head.

The song wasn't one she'd ever heard before. It was soft and calming, Steve's voice sweet as it drifted through her frantic thoughts and began to sooth those jagged edges in her mind. With each line, her breathing slowed, but she still shook like a leaf, adrenaline and instinct on high alert. And as she began to really process the words...

Rogue pressed a hand to her mouth to try to hold back the sobs, but it did little good. Tears spilled over her cheeks and her breathing became ragged in a different way. She knew he hadn't meant it, that Steve was just trying to help, but those words clawed into the guilt that permeated her mind and began to chip away even further at the walls that held back her personal brand of demons.

She wanted to touch him. She wanted him to wrap her in his arms and never let go, to let herself be taken care of and forgiven for what she had done. But she couldn't. Not only did she not deserve it, but it was too dangerous. She couldn't risk losing him too.

Steve saw when Rogue came back to herself, and let his words slow and die out as she started crying. He wanted to pull her forward, cradle her in his arms and comfort her ─ but he wasn't sure she was ready for that, yet. "Rogue," he called, wanting her to look at him. "Marie." He slowly placed his hand, fingers stretched and palm pressed down on the bed, then slid it toward her a little.

"Please. Let me help. Okay?"

Any other time, she would love to hear him say her name. Rogue. Marie. They sounded beautiful when he said it, and that's why it hurt in those moments. She didn't deserve beauty, she didn't deserve to be loved. Her champions in her mind were shouting that she was wrong, that none of it had been her fault and she deserved the best this world could give her, but all they did was make her head ache even more.

She glanced over at his plea but jumped back when she saw how close his bare hand was. Shaking her head, she sat up and started to slide out of bed, limbs trembling so badly that she was sure she'd fall when she tried to stand - but she still had to try. She knew Steve, he would insist on helping her, and it was too dangerous. She couldn't hurt him. Not him, not her Steve.

"Can't," she told him, her voice a raspy whisper stretched between her tears. "You can't."

Watching her start to retreat, Steve decided to change tack. He pulled his hand back, then held both of them up, palms out, showing that he was stopping. "Okay. Okay." He settled back on his heels, a little further away from her; she obviously didn't want to be touched right now - and yeah, that hurt, but he knew how she was about physical contact; this was just the opposite end of the spectrum of what he'd seen so far.

"If you don't want me to touch you, I won't," he said soothingly, lilting his words to put emphasis on 'you,' letting her know that at any time, if she changed her mind, he would be there in a heartbeat. "But please... just stay here, okay. Let me..." help, he wanted to say, but he didn't know if he even could, or more importantly, if she'd let him. It was always hit or miss with Rogue, whether she'd accept help, or insist she could handle something on her own. Finally, he settled on repeating, "Just, let me. Be here, for you. Please."

Rogue glanced back at Steve and her heart ached at the pain etched in his expression. She had done that to him. She was still doing it, by being a broken mess who couldn't stop falling apart. Was this why her friends had abandoned her? Had she always been this much of a hopeless burden? Maybe she was wrong to be angry with them for leaving her in that hell.

She should leave, she told herself. She should get up, take her things, and go. He didn't need her to mess up his life more than already had. Marie LeBeau was a walking disaster, a murderer with so much blood on her hands that she was drowning in it. And he was a good man.

"This is wrong," she whispered, mostly to herself, with wide distressed eyes. "I can't... You shouldn't have to..." She scrubbed her hands over her face before threading her fingers through her hair and tugging at it, her knees coming up to her chest as she sat at the very edge of the bed.

"What are we doing?" she continued in that strained whisper, tears still staining her cheeks and soaking into the collar of his t-shirt that she wore. "This isn't going to work. I'm going to hurt you the way I hurt them. I'm a monster, I don't get to be with an angel."

This is wrong. If he'd thought he'd been hurt at her not wanting him to touch her... this was a hundred times worse. Steve couldn't stop the quick inhale he gave at hearing her say that. But listening to what she said afterward, he began to understand just what she meant, and berated himself. This wasn't about him, it was barely even about them - this was all about Rogue, and the issues she had that he barely knew anything about, because she kept such a tight wrap on them. He understood wanting to keep your pain away from the people you loved, so he'd never begrudged her her secrets, never questioned the little things he could tell slipped into her words on accident.

But he wasn't going to shy away from it, either. Truthfully, it kind of made him angry, that she thought - what, that he was so perfect he didn't understand at least a little of what she was going through? That he deserved something better than the sheer perfection of the last several weeks with her, just because she had problems and issues she had to deal with?

He kept listening to her, his jaw clenching. Finally, when she called him an angel, he couldn't hold in the bark of dark, incredulous laughter. A humorless, angry smile, more a baring of teeth than anything, crossed his face. "Sweetheart," he said, anger leaking into his words (and if he weren't so very angry, at the entire world at the moment, he'd hate the fact that he used the term of endearment on her with anything but love), "if you think I'm an angel─ I am not. And if you think, for one goddamned second, that this?" he gestured around the room to indicate their current situation, "is gonna scare me away from you, or do anything other than keep loving you, then you really haven't been paying attention. I'm not going anywhere, Rogue. And if you wanna go ─ fine. But not tonight. Not like this."

If she wanted to call this whole thing off─ well. He honestly had no idea what he'd do. Soldier on, like he had been before he'd met her, and she'd changed his world. But he wasn't going to let her do it just because of her insecurities and fears about herself. Captain America was the Sentinel of Liberty, the Leader for Justice.

Steve Rogers was just a stubborn sonuvabitch who never backed down from a fight.

If Rogue had been in her right mind, she might have been able to explain. These weren't all her thoughts, they were the influences of all the angry minds trapped within her own, leaking in to prey on her insecurities. So many of those psyches wanted her to suffer, wanted her to know pain and unhappiness for the rest of her life, and even the strength of Remy and Erik and Logan combined wasn't enough to keep them all at bay, especially not after such a strong nightmare. There was a spiderweb of cracks in the walls that kept her sanity intact and she was terrified of him seeing her when it came crumbling down.

That anger took her by surprise, and she stared at him as he bared his teeth and called her sweetheart with such dark emotion that it was like a knife to her chest. She'd done this. Her weakness was hurting him even now when she was trying so desperately not to.

"You can't love me," she insisted weakly, unfolding herself so she could slide off the bed and stand on unsteady legs. "Loving me gets people killed. I kill them. I can't do that to you."

And she started for the door, part of her knowing that he was likely to stop her, and that same part wishing that he would. She didn't want to lose him, but she couldn't keep him.

Steve had been honed for fighting, and with the adrenaline still coursing through his system from being so abruptly awoken, and the entire ensuing ordeal, his senses easily picked up the first minute shift of Rogue's body, interpreting it as her intention to leave, and was off the bed almost before she was.

Normally, Steve would never, ever try to confine Rogue, or restrain her in any way. But at this point, he could see the cracks starting to break open inside her, could tell this wasn't really her anymore ─ or it was, the real her that she'd been hiding from him; it didn't really matter. What mattered was, he wasn't going to let her leave until she was rational again.

She'd barely made it three steps away from the bed when he caught her elbow with one of his large hands, the other coming around to wrap around her middle and pinning her other arm; he pulled her against his chest, curled around her and tucked his head down beside hers, and waited for the fall-out.

Grabbing her was perhaps one of the worst things Steve could have done. The terror that rose up in her made her entire body shake, and her legs lost the strength to keep her standing. And she was crying again, sobs tearing themselves out of her throat even as she instinctively tried to stop them. Too much crying was bad, they didn't like it unless it was by their design.

Rogue couldn't stop though. She cried and gave in to the pain and fear, but she didn't fight him. Fighting them meant they would hurt someone and make her watch. They would make her listen to the screams of children and tell her it was her fault, that all she had to do was cooperate and it would stop. It was a lie, she'd always known it, but what choice did she have?

"Please, please don't," she begged the Steve that wasn't Steve. "I'll do what you want. Please. Please don't make me. Please."

Rogue's legs went out from under her, and instead of trying to hold her up, restraining her even more, Steve let his right knee fold, tilting to the side before sitting on the floor, with Rogue essentially in his lap, one leg stretched out beside hers.

Listening to Rogue's sobs tore at Steve's heart as few things ever had. Not least of which because he knew he was partly to blame for them; he'd triggered this, but he'd felt he had no other option, besides letting her go, which was really no option at all.

He let go of her elbow and wrapped that arm around her too, rocking gently on the floor, as he listened to her words. He knew those words, or words like them, and he'd never known what to do with them. How do you fight someone who's not there? How do you get the ghosts to go away, or at least grant a reprieve?

"Rogue, it's me," he murmured, almost a whisper, in her ear. "It's just me. I'm not gonna make you do anything. But if you walk out that door right now, I think you'll regret it, and I know I will, so I can't let you do that. Okay? I just need you to calm down, and then I'll let you up. But I'm not letting you go, not tonight. Okay? It's okay. I got you. I got you."

Steve continued the litany of soothing words, hoping they would make a dent; hoping they wouldn't make things worse.

Those words didn't make things worse, thank goodness. Steve's voice was the exact opposite of what she'd expected to hear, soothing and gentle, full of care and concern. It settled in around her and slowly her crying finally calmed. She relaxed into the arms that were wrapped around her and focused on those words as her breathing settled.

After a few minutes passed, with that gentle voice and those strong arms rocking her, Rogue finally leaned her head back to rest against shoulder. "I'm sorry," she breathed, the words so quiet they weren't even quite a whisper.

Steve tried not to let it through to his body, tried to keep his muscles loose and relaxed, but he was tensed. Ready for her to try and break away from him. He listened as her crying softened, then died to a few hiccuping breaths; he could feel her body as it settled against his, her resistance fading.

He couldn't quite hide the stuttered sigh of relief, and pressed his face into her hair to hide it, even though she couldn't see him. He still heard her apology, and almost snorted at the sheer absurdity of it.

"You have─ nothing to be sorry for," he whispered back, his breath hitching as he remembered her earlier pleas. "You haven't─ it wasn't your fault, Rogue. And I know," he continued quickly, before she could say anything to refute his words, "I know you'll say it's not true, probably even believe that, but none of this was your fault. I don't know what happened before, and I don't know what you dreamed tonight, but this, what happened just now? Not your fault. Only thing you've done, is be yourself, so that I fell in love with you. I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

He had to choose his words carefully while speaking, because this wasn't the time to be blasé and say something like 'being perfect' or 'making me fall in love with you'. Maybe it wouldn't matter; but it could, and so Steve selected his words with care. He still wasn't sure if he would say the wrong thing, hit some unknown trigger that would set her off again, but he was trying to avoid the obvious landmines.

He really was on a roll now, saying all the right things to calm her frazzled nerves. She didn't entirely believe him, but... maybe she did just a little bit. And that was a start.

Rogue lifted her hands to rest on his arms, just closing her eyes and breathing for a moment. A pounding ache was beginning to settle in her head and it was easier to think with her eyes closed. "I don't want you to go anywhere," she told him finally, her voice betraying the exhaustion that was permeating every inch of her. "I'm sorry for what I said. Thank you for not letting me leave."

Because she would have regretted it. For the rest of her life, she would have hated herself for letting go of this beautiful soul who loved her. She might not deserve him, but she wanted him, and he wanted her. Couldn't that be enough? Shouldn't it be?

Steve let his head sag onto her shoulder, his forehead resting there, when she started talking coherently. He didn't believe it was really over, but the worst seemed to have passed. He hoped. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, and then one to her jaw. He needed that loving touch, probably as much as she did right now, an affirmation that she was still there with him, still willing to try.

Trying to lighten the mood, without upsetting her, Steve smiled, half-hearted at best, but there, and hopefully coming through his voice. "Of course I'm not going anywhere. It's my apartment, and I've got a great discount," he joked. Pressing another kiss to her neck, he continued more seriously, "If, at some point in the future, God forbid," he felt like he should be crossing himself even thinking this, "we decide this isn't working ─ we'll go our separate ways. But it's gonna be a rational decision, for both of us. I'm never gonna let you walk away when you're scared. Okay?"

Captain America, it was a well-known Fact, didn't understand the concept of fear. Steve Rogers did, of course, but where others ran, it only made him fight harder to hold on to what he had. "We're in this together. We make those kinds of decisions together, too, okay?"

Each kiss patched up a little piece of her, and she could hear some of the smile in his voice. Her muscles relaxed even more, becoming like warm putty in his arms, and she listened to every word he said, carefully and with as much attention as she could muster through her headache.

We're in this together. He wasn't the first person to say that to her, but the sentiment didn't bring up the painful memories that it might once have. "Okay," she agreed with a nod, grimacing as the movement sent her world spinning. "Okay," she repeated again, trying to make the agreement stronger, but then...

Her entire body tensed and she shifted position slightly, trying to lean away from Steve. "I need to get up," she explained quietly, the words coming out in a rush. "I need-- Oh lord, I'm gonna be sick." The signs were all there, and if she didn't hurry, they'd be all over his room. It happened enough that it was almost a certainty.

He'd been about to let his arms fall from around her - they were just in a loose hug at this point, anyway - but at her urgent words, Steve quickly released her, putting a hand under her elbow to help her up. They weren't far from the door, thank goodness, and the bathroom was just around the corner.

She had to be exhausted, after all that crying, and now about to throw up wouldn't help her feel any better. Steve had no problem pampering Rogue even on a normal day, but he resolved to do as much for her as he could, as she would let him, at least until she was feeling better, and started getting exasperated with him. And maybe a little bit more after that, until she yelled at him.

Rogue wasn't all that steady on her feet, but she managed to stumble out the door and down the hall, just making it to the bathroom with a second to spare to close the door behind her before being violently ill in the toilet. It was with the ease of practice that she held her own hair back, and when she was finished and the contents of her stomach flushed away, she rinsed out her mouth and brushed her teeth with the green toothbrush she'd left in his apartment weeks ago. She even used a little mouthwash, though the artificial chill of mint in her mouth did little to help her feel better.

She felt terrible. Like the walls were pressing in around her and she couldn't breathe, like she was about to fall over because the world was spinning so much. She wanted to cry because of how bad she felt, but that would only make things worse. Rubbing at her eyes, she opened the bathroom door and sagged against the frame.

Steve waited outside the bathroom door, feeling anxious. They'd have to discuss this. Nobody liked puke, but it wasn't like he'd be offended seeing it, or think less of her for being sick. He could at least hold her hair back. But he also understood all too well not wanting to show weakness, or perceived weakness, to the people you loved.

So, he waited. And when Rogue opened the door, looking drawn and tired and so, so fragile, his heart broke for her. He reached out and wrapped his arms around her, gathering her in a gentle hug, reaching up to rest his hand on her head and smoothing down her hair.

"I love you," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I'm sorry you're going through this. Tell me what you need, okay?" He wasn't entirely expecting her to give in to his request - she was just as likely to tell him she didn't need anything, she'd be fine, but he figured he'd at least offer first, before basically forcing her to let him take care of her. "Right now, this very minute, what do you really want?"

It wasn't that Rogue didn't want to appear weak in front of Steve, it was that she just really didn't want him to see her being sick. It was awkward and embarrassing and she was simply more comfortable dealing with it on her own, like she always had. It had been something Remy had struggled with as well, but they'd come to an understanding - he had let her have her independence because she was damn stubborn about it, and in return she had let him take care of her on occasion, when things were really bad.

That was why she didn't shy away from Steve's embrace and instead leaned against him, trying to draw strength from him enough to even formulate an answer to his question. A real answer, because she owed him that much.

"I want to lie down," she told him tiredly. "And I could really go for some cold ginger ale." Because her stomach was still unhappy, and so was the rest of her. She wanted to take something for her head, but she wasn't certain she'd be able to keep it down just yet.

Steve considered sex just as awkward and embarrassing, at least at first, as throwing up - but with the added benefit of being fun and pleasurable to make up for it. But so long as Rogue let him take care of her at some point, before, during or after, he could live with being shut out at certain times. If anyone understood wanting independence, it was him.

He was just glad when she didn't brush him aside, or tell him she was fine. Because clearly, she was not. He nodded at her answer, pulling back to kiss her forehead before catching her eye. "Walk, or be carried?" If she was that tired, her legs might not hold her now that the adrenaline was fading as quickly as it had come, but if he tried to change her upright position, it might make her sick again. "Lemme get you in bed, and I'll get you something to drink."

He did have ginger ale (he'd never had a pantry so well-stocked in his life as he did now, thanks to Rogue), but ideally he'd like to see her drink a glass of water, as well. He should start stocking up on Gatorade as well, really, for both of them, but water would re-hydrate her better than ginger ale.

Rogue was having the same thought process on how exactly to get to the bedroom. Steve carrying her would be so much quicker, but she didn't think her head would appreciate it one bit, and then she might end up throwing up all over him anyway.

"Walk," she decided, looping an arm around his middle so she could lean on him for support. It said a great deal about just how terrible she was feeling that Rogue was willing to let Steve fuss over her without even a hint of protest. In fact, she wanted to be looked after, to feel like she was cared for.

And truthfully, she was so thirsty that she'd be fine with whatever he gave her, so long as it was liquid and cold. Even the thought of drinking something warm made her feel nauseous again and she pushed it away.

It was the simplest thing for Steve to wrap his arm around Rogue's back, under her opposite arm to help support her. It felt like a much longer walk back to the bed than it had been getting out of it, and it wasn't just from the slower pace. Steve hated seeing Rogue so weak, and he was sure she hated it just as much, and more-so letting him see it.

Settling her on the side of the bed, Steve placed one more kiss on her forehead, smoothing down her hair, before murmuring, "Let me get you that ginger ale. I'll be right back, okay?"

So, yes, he was mollycoddling her a little. Sue him, he liked being able to take care of people. Being able to take care of her, for once.

Rogue had never been very good at letting other people take care of her. That was always her role, making sure people had what they needed and helping wherever she could. She'd never wanted to seem like she was the one who needed something, because then she might seem to be a burden. Part of her worried about that with Steve, despite everything he'd told her and the ways he'd shown his love. It was just going to take a lot of time and effort to get her to really accept and understand that he didn't see her that way and wanted to do these things for her.

"Okay," she agreed, wishing she had the energy to smile for him. Maybe when he got back, she'd be able to manage it. A smile, and a proper thank you, that's what he deserved. And another apology for this whole mess.

Steve would never see her as a burden, and not just because he loved her. He'd seen people who had truly been burdens, parasites only taking and never giving anything back, even to the people who loved them and wanted to help them. Rogue was absolutely nothing like that; and even if he had to take care of her every second for the rest of their life, Steve would do it gladly, because yes, he loved her, and that wasn't something that came and went like the weather. He was always going to love her, and when she let him, he was always going to take care of her, however he could. If she needed to see that over time to accept it, than it was nothing more than he was planning on doing anyway, so it was no bother to him.

He was thinking about all this while he got the can of soda, a glass and some ice, and poured it all together, grabbing a straw as well, just in case. He caught himself frowning in frustration over the entire ridiculous idea that he wouldn't take care of her, and made sure his face showed nothing but patience and compassion as he entered the bedroom again.

Sitting down beside her, but giving her a little room in case she still wanted it, Steve handed her the glass. "Careful, it's slick," he murmured, holding on until he was sure she had a firm grasp on the glass, already wet from condensation in the summer heat. He flicked the straw up between his fingers, a wry smile quirking his lips. "Wasn't sure if you'd want this, or not."

Rogue had never had anyone to take care of her while she was growing up, so it was a foreign sensation in adulthood. Despite that, some part of her craved it, wanted so desperately to have someone else look after her. She'd been on her own now for four years, alone and afraid of the world and of herself. Steve had started to change that, bit by bit with every hour they spent together, and it was both reassuring and terrifying.

She took the glass carefully as instructed, giving him a ghost of a smile at the straw. "Thank you, Steve," she told him quietly before taking a sip of the ice cold drink through the thoughtfully provided straw. The cold was just what she needed, clearing a bit of the haze from her thoughts and pushing past the nausea and cloying feeling. Another longer sip and, despite still feeling weak and exhausted, she really was much better.

Resting the glass against her thigh, the condensation instantly soaking into the fabric of the shorts she wore, she rested a hand in the space on the bed between them, palm up. An invitation she hoped he would accept.

Steve watched attentively as she drank, reaching out to rub a hand along her back - before hesitating. They'd slowly been working up to a point where she didn't mind him drawing attention to it, so long as he didn't draw attention to it, but he didn't know what she'd dreamed, and didn't want to make her upset again.

He didn't quite realize the significance of her hand on the bed at first; but when he did, his face lit up with a small, pleased and oddly shy smile. Instead of taking it with his nearest hand, he reached across his body, his closer arm going up to wrap around her shoulders in a sideways embrace. He brought their clasped hands up to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss against her knuckles. "Better?"

It was had to say how she would have reacted if he had touched her back. She was feeling rather detached from everything because of how tired she was, but the dream had been quite brutal. It was entirely possible that she would have flinched away from him, and that was the last thing she wanted to put him through now.

Having his arm around her was one of the very best things. She leaned into him, letting him take a bit of the effort needed to keep herself upright, and gave him a slightly larger smile this time. "A little," she confirmed, wanting to be honest with him. "It'll take a while to be good as new. This isn't the first time it's happened." Far from it.

"That's okay," he murmured, drawing her a little closer so he could press a loving kiss to her forehead. "You take all the time you need. I'm not going anywhere." He wanted to add that she should tell him what else he could do for her, but knew Rogue never would, and might clam up and insist she was 'fine, don't worry about it' if he suggested it. He'd just stay attentive, and do what he could.

He wasn't going anywhere. Lord, how she hoped that was true, in both the short and long term. Losing Steve would just about do her in at this point, he'd wedged himself so thoroughly into her heart and her life.

A distraction, that was what she needed; something to take her mind off the pounding in her head. But what could she ask him for that wouldn't be too much of a bother? (She had to tell herself again and again that asking him for something period was alright, he wouldn't mind, especially if she kept it small.)

"Would you... Would you read to me?" There was hesitation and nervousness in the words and her expression, and she glanced at him with worried eyes, hoping it wasn't too much to ask.

Her quiet words, and that nervous look, made Steve's heart clench. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Absolutely." Another kiss, because he was never going to not want to touch her at every opportunity, before he got up and went over to peruse his shelves.

There wasn't a large selection that wasn't about art, or non-fiction. Although... Steve reached out, hesitating for a moment on pulling out the book he'd bought on a whim when he'd seen it during his cross-country tour. It had always been a favorite of his as a child, and as soon as he'd seen the familiar artwork on the cover, he knew he'd buy it; but it was a little embarrassing as an adult to read a children's book to another adult, wasn't it?

It had always made him feel better, though, and that's what counted, he decided, pulling the book off the shelf and returning to the bed. He settled down against the headboard and patted the bed beside him.

"Alright," he began, keeping the book hidden so she wouldn't see the title before he was able to explain himself. "I'm gonna preface this by saying, I don't think you're a child. When I was sick as a kid - and it was a lot - I always wanted my ma to read this to me. So, I can find something else, but it's kinda slim pickings, unless you wanna hear about the art deco movement, or post-modernism in painting."

Finally, Steve turned the book so Rogue could see the etching-style artwork of a rabbit on the front cover, with the book title "The Velveteen Rabbit".

Rogue sipped at her ginger ale while he searched for a book, trying to get as much of it in her as she could so it might help settle her stomach, and so she could set it down when he came back. She wanted to curl up beside him while he read, to be able to concentrate on the sound of his voice and not have to worry about dumping the ice cold drink all over herself.

When he did return, she could tell from the shape of the book and its thinness that it was a children's book. She'd seen enough of them over the years, but he didn't show her the cover until he'd settled and given her an explanation of why he'd chosen it. Not that it was needed - as soon as she saw the cover, she smiled, the largest one she'd managed since waking.

"I love this story," she assured him, setting her drink on the nightstand and moving closer to him. She was still going slow, her motions like being underwater, but she relaxed as she leaned into his side and set her head on his shoulder.

Steve shifted his arm a little as Rogue leaned against him, wrapping it around her shoulders and letting her settle against his side.

"Here was once a velveteen rabbit, and in the beginning he was really splendid," Steve began, his voice taking on the soothing cadence of reading aloud that he'd learned from his mother. "He was fat and bunchy, as a rabbit should be; his coat was spotted brown and white, he had real thread whiskers, and his ears were lined with pink sateen. On Christmas morning, when he sat wedged in the top of the Boy's stocking, with a sprig of holly between his paws, the effect was charming."

Steve continued to read, his voice soft and even, moving as little as possible when he needed to turn the pages. He found himself relaxing as the story progressed; he hadn't realized how tense he'd gotten, but it made sense, after being startled awake, going straight into trying to talk Rogue down from her panicked state, and then having to stand by helplessly while she got sick.

Rogue let her eyes close as she listened to Steve's smooth voice, not needing to see the pictures so much as be soothed by the words falling from his lips. His voice wrapped around her like a blanket, softening the world that had seemed too harsh and painful to stand.

She was so tired that she nearly fell asleep a few times, but the dream and resulting panic were still too close to the surface of her memory and so she pulled herself back from sleep, shifting slightly each time and blinking heavily before starting the process over again. By the time he reached the end of the book, she was good and drowsy, hovering in that fuzzy world between sleep and waking.

Without even looking, Steve could tell Rogue was starting to fall asleep, and fighting it; slowly sliding down against his shoulder and chest, before jerking slightly, only to repeat the process a couple minutes later. He understood the sentiment, the harrowing memory of terror too near, being afraid to fall asleep only to go through the whole traumatic experience again.

When he finished the story, and Velveteen Rabbit was a real rabbit but had lost the love of the Boy in sacrifice, he gently closed the book. There was no way on earth he was going to disturb Rogue, just to get up and find another story, and he didn't think he had anything else soothing to read anyway. But, there was one other option...

Taking a slow breath, Steve began reciting a story he'd learned from his mother. It was a simple nursery story, easy to memorize because of its repetition, and soothing for the same reason. "There once was an old woman, sweeping her cottage, when she came across a sixpence. 'What,' she wondered, 'shall I do with this sixpence? I know, I shall go to market and buy a little piggy.' As she was coming home, she came across a stile, but piggy wouldn't jump over it, no matter how she coaxed. So the old woman went off, and met a dog. 'Dog, dog, bite pig,' she said, 'for pig won't jump over the stile, and I shan't get home tonight.' But the dog would not.

"So she walked a little further, and came across a stick. She said 'stick, stick, beat dog; dog won't bite pig, pig won't jump over the stile, and I shan't get home tonight!' But the stick would not." Having grown up with the story, and many others like it, in a harsh world so different from the current one, Steve was surprised at how violent the story was as he continued, running through the progressively longer list of characters the old woman met; the fire that wouldn't burn Stick, Water that wouldn't quench Fire, etc.

Finally, he began to reach the crescendo of the story. "But the cat said, 'if you will go over to yonder cow and get me a saucer of milk, I will do this thing you ask.' The old woman gladly went to the cow, but the cow said, 'if you will go to yonder haystack, and fetch me a handful of hay, I will give you some milk.' The old woman fetched the hay for the cow, who allowed her to take a saucer of milk, which the old woman gave to the cat. The cat daintily drank the milk, serenely washed its paws and face... and then:"

He had to take a deep breath here, because while he was trying to keep the story soothing for Rogue, he just could not resist rushing through the entire list of animals, giving it the proper sense of urgency and completion. "The cat began to kill the rat, Rat began to gnaw the rope, Rope began to hang the butcher, Butcher began to kill the ox, Ox began to drink the water, Water began to quench the fire, Fire began to burn the stick, Stick began to beat the dog, Dog began to bite the pig--

"And the pig, in such a fright, jumped over the stile, and she did get home that night."

Rogue vaguely registered when Steve began telling another story, but the words drifted in and out of her mind, incoherent images shifting as she picked up bits and pieces of the narrative. The harsh imagery was at odds with the soothing voice telling the story, and she stayed hovering in that not-quite-asleep state through the tale.

WHen he finished, she smiled slightly and shifted against his shoulder again, her eyes closed and her body leaning heavily against his. "What a story," she murmured, a trace of amusement in her voice before sighed deeply. "Don't leave." Barely a whisper, it was hard to say if she meant right at that moment or ever at all. Neither was what she wanted, of course, but she was in no position to explain, or even pry her eyes open to look at Steve.

No matter how Rogue meant those last two words, they struck a bittersweet chord in Steve's heart. He leaned his head down and pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of her head. "Not going anywhere," he murmured back, his secret code phrase for her.

Feeling another story might just keep her awake, Steve decided on something else. He probably would never feel comfortable singing this when she was awake, or when anyone was around to hear him, even if they couldn't tell when he messed up, but it was an intensely private thing, something he'd only attempted when he was alone, and feeling desolate.

He began singing a song he never truly understood; he could pronounce the words, knew the flow of syllables, could recognize a few words here and there as being separate from the other sounds, but for the most part, it was just memorized repetition. It was in Irish, and his mother hadn't wanted to teach him, telling him he was in America, he should speak English like everyone else. But she would sing, to him, to herself, and he had soaked it up.

The sounds flowed easily off his tongue, a high, soft pitch with a rhythm entirely different from English-language songs, but soothing, to him at least, as it symbolized home, and comfort. He tripped over a few of the harder-to-pronounce words here and there, but comforting Rogue had helped lull him into a half-awake state as well, and he just corrected himself and kept going, not fussing over anything.

Rogue barely realized that it was Steve who was singing that beautiful song with the words she couldn't understand. There was a flow to them that helped her float along in that in-between state, the sound of his higher-pitched voice wrapping around her like a cocoon of safety. There was a peace in it as well, a soothing softness that chased away those lingering shadows and eased her into sleep.

She didn't make it to the end of the song before she'd slipped fully, heavily into sleep. She was so tired and worn out, stretched thin by trauma and distress, and she wouldn't notice if Steve moved her - honestly, she might not notice if he rolled her right off the side of the bed. Hours would go by before she stirred again, and then it would be nothing like her earlier traumatic waking.

Steve could feel when Rogue finally fell completely asleep, her body sagging and becoming heavier against him. He finished the song, then craned his head forward to check her face; peaceful, with even breathing. He thought maybe she'd sleep soundly now, at least for the rest of this night. He pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, resting his lips there as he went over the events of the night in his head one more time.

Now that he had a chance to process everything, he realized just how close he'd come to her leaving, maybe for good. She'd been so frightened, and thankfully he'd been able to do all the right things to make her stay. He felt guilty, now, for grabbing her, for restraining her the way he had, especially knowing even a little of what she'd gone through, what her nightmare must have been about. But he simply couldn't let her run out that door.

He thought, a little uneasily, that maybe their relationship was unhealthy. They depended so much on each other, had fallen into this relationship so quickly. And yet, he couldn't regret it. Rogue had helped him really step into the 21st century in a way he'd been avoiding, living here but keeping his distance. She'd helped him move on from his past, and he hoped he was helping her as well.

Suddenly, he let out a jaw-cracking yawn, blinking his eyes wide afterward in surprise. He supposed that meant it was time for him to go to sleep, as well. Reaching over, trying to keep Rogue as still as possible, Steve clicked off the bedside lamp, shrouding the room in darkness, save for the city lights that shone in through the window. He carefully scooched down in bed, rearranging Rogue until she was resting against him, her head still pillowed on his chest and shoulder. He kept one arm wrapped around her back; the other he used to place her hand over his heart, leaving his hand on top.

Finally, he closed his eyes, and surprisingly was able to relax and fall asleep within moments.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Insomnia + Caretaker Memes

The Usual - take your pick!

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Alice Abernathy | Resident Evil | OTA