phasing_cat | Oops I Overdid It Again

Entry tags:

who: americanass; verse: captain pryde

Oops I Overdid It Again - for @americanass

Kitty struggled out of the taxi, nearly falling to one knee when she stepped up onto the sidewalk. Every part of her felt like it was filled with lead, and her clothes and hair smelled like smoke. She assumed that she looked as disheveled as she felt, but that wasn't important at the moment. Looking up, she was greeted by a small miracle. Since the last time she'd been there, a shelter had been built over the bench at the bus stop just a few feet away. She shuffled over to it, planted her feet, locked her knees, and leaned back against it. Immediate threat of collapse handled.

It was late, after midnight, and the street was deserted though the sounds of traffic from the main thoroughfare a couple blocks away floated in the air. This was a good neighborhood, on the nicer side without being obvious about it, and the building was very secure. She didn't have the key fob or code to get in on her own. So she pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed Steve's number. If she weren't so utterly exhausted it would have occurred to her to call while still in the cab, so that if he wasn't home she could have chosen a different destination. But she was committed now, for better or worse. Glancing up at the darkened windows she knew looked into his bedroom and living room, she prayed that he was there. And awake. Or at least had left his phone ringer on.

Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up...

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Ow. She'd fallen right on her hip and it was going to bruise. She struggled to form a complete, rational thought. Her brain felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. Her body didn't feel familiar, didn't even look familiar. Her arms and legs were thinner. Her jeans were loose around her waist. And where was she, exactly? Where had she been when she'd fallen asleep?

But the voice, the hands checking her over, she knew them. Steve. She forced herself to lift her head and open her eyes. She completely missed that he had asked her a question. With him there, figuring everything else out didn't seem so urgent. Her eyelids drooped again not unlike a drowsy baby's might. She managed to touch her temple to his shoulder and utter a single word.

"Bathroom."

No significant injuries he could see, and however weak she seemed, however rocky her voice sounded to his ears, relief washed over him. She was alright, all things considered, and she was awake at least for a moment. That was a good sign. He was pretty sure of that.

"Bathroom," Steve echoed, the faintest hint of amusement behind the understanding in his voice. "Right. Come on. I've got you."

Carefully, he eased her up, supporting her weight, steadying her. She might not be strong enough to stand on her own after so long unconscious, but Steve was strong enough to do all the work if he needed to. It was no hardship for him to haul her a few steps further down the hall to his small and tidy bathroom.

To say he walked her to the bathroom would be inaccurate - he carried her. It wasn't in a traditional way, and her legs were moving, more or less, but he did all the work. She ended up using one hand to hold up her jeans, since they slipped lower on her hips with every second that passed.

His bathroom being small was a blessing in disguise. She was able to use the vanity to hold herself up and shoo him out of the room. No matter how bad of a shape she was in, there was no possible situation in which she would let him stay in the room while she used the bathroom. No. Hard no.

She didn't even have to unbutton her jeans, just let them fall to the floor. Sitting down was the easiest part of the whole adventure, and for a brief moment she nearly fell asleep there, black boy-short panties around her ankles. She summoned all she had in her to stay awake. When she was done she stood up and decided to leave her jeans there for no real reason other than she didn't know if she could bend over to pick them up without falling down. Again, thanks to the small room, she was able to just pivot on one foot to be in front of the sink. She turned on the water to wash her hands and was amazed at how good the cold water felt. All the exertion was making her hot. The porcelain of the sink was cool under her hands, as was the tile under her feet.

In fact, laying down on the cool tile felt like a really good idea. The best idea. She lowered herself down, enjoying the cold on her bare legs, then stretched out, cheek and palms pressed to the tile. The last thought she had before falling asleep again was that she'd left the water running.

He’d absolutely would have helped her if she needed it, but since she seemed stable enough on her feet by the time they reached the bathroom to at least not go crashing to the floor again, Steve let her be, waited in the hallway for long minutes. Ready to sweep back in and help her again once she was done. He heard the water running, and didn’t hear it stop. For a lot longer than it should be. On and on until he couldn’t just wait anymore.

Steve knocked first, of course, called out to her with no response. Gave it a few more seconds before deciding it was worth embarrassing her if she did need help, before letting himself in with half-hearted apologies that he knew fell on deaf ears before he saw her.

Curled up on the floor like a sleepy child.

Steve laughed to himself, shaking his head, moving without hesitation to scoop her right up off the floor, murmuring about it being no place to sleep. More for his own sake than hers, just because saying the words made him feel better. It was only a handful of steps to take her right back to the bed, leaving her pants behind, though her added weight, slight as it was, reminded him of the shard of glass in his bare foot. He ignored it the best he could all the same, picked his way carefully around the shattered glass on the floor to place her gingerly beneath the covers again. Not without a little hiss of pain when doing so put pressure on just the wrong spot.

Only once he’d made sure Kate was comfortable again did Steve go for the broom to clean up the mess first, careful to get every shred of glass from the floor in case she got out of bed while he wasn’t looking again. And only then did he return to the bathroom to deal with his own foot. Which turned into him first picking up her pants and folding them neatly.

He figured he probably had at least another couple hours, another day, before she woke again so he wasn’t in too much of a rush, just tidied up and tended to the glass sliver, went so far as to replaced the broken glass of water despite the risk of it winding up in the same state and went back to waiting just like he’d done before.

There were a few times she almost woke, nearly emerged from the abyss, only to roll over and sink back down again. When she did finally open her eyes the sun was just starting to come up. She'd been out for longer than 48 hours but not by much. She took several deep breaths, stretching her arms up over her head and her toes down as far as they would reach. Her body felt strange. Weaker but not weak, like it had been through something that had taken a lot out of her, but she could still get up and walk if she wanted to.

Her throat was hot and dry, and as soon as she saw the glass of water she sat up, reached for it, and downed it in short order. Still holding the empty glass with both hands, she looked around the room. Steve's bedroom. She was in Steve's bed. With no pants on. Curious. She was pretty sure she'd had them on when she'd nodded off on his couch.

"Steve?"

The waiting was probably one of the most stressful things Steve had done. He wasn’t very patient and not being able to do anything to fix it was hard. But he filled the time by checking in on her regularly, making sure she was comfortable and not getting any worse, reassuring himself that as long as it went on she was just sleeping, and rather peacefully by the looks of it.

He almost didn’t register her voice calling out for him, half dozing on the sofa while a cup of coffee went cold at his elbow.

But Steve was waiting for her to wake up, so hearing what he’d been anxious for had him on his feet and down the short hall in no more than a moment, the concern on his face immediately shifting to relief to see Kate not only awake, but sitting.

“Hey.” His voice was soft, soothing, and he moved to perch on the edge of the bed beside her. “How’re you feeling?” She looked better than the last time she’d woken, that was for sure, if a little drawn.

A simple question that didn't have a simple answer.

"Weird," she said, the first word that came to mind that seemed remotely accurate. She didn't remember feeling like this the last time she'd overextended herself. She'd woken feeling and looking pretty much normal. She ran her fingers through her hair and wondered if she looked as drained as she felt. Drained was a pretty good word, too. As if she'd been attacked by a vampire cursed with a sense of restraint.

"Hungry." She grinned crookedly and reached for his hand.

"I'm sorry if I scared you. How long have I been out?"

Steve didn't point out he didn't need apologies, that yes he'd been scared, what sane person wouldn't have been? But that what he'd felt so much more of was relief that she was alright, that as long as she was just asleep she was still whole and safe. For as long as she had been, of course he'd worried, but exhaustion took time to come around from, he understood that, and so he'd been patient.

He felt much better seeing her awake and smiling, though.

Turning his hand in hers, Steve squeezed gently. "Couple of days." Long enough he'd been concerned, not so long that he'd panicked or felt he'd needed help caring for her. Close, but not quite. "It was a hell of a wait."

Not being able to act had been hard. But Kate was worth it. He cared about her, and she'd put her trust in him by showing up, by calling for his help. Steve wasn't about to let her down. The small things he'd been able to do had been enough. Making sure she was warm enough, making sure she had what she needed when she did wake up, little bits of fussing over her that he was glad she hadn't seen, had filled the time.

"Days?" She looked at him with disbelief and more than a little guilt. She'd known she was in bad shape and that she'd sleep for, well, longer than she'd probably led him to believe. But that long... no wonder she felt like she did.

"Everybody must be freaked." She spotted her phone on the bedside table. She quickly grabbed it and, on unlocking it, discovered that he had already handled the freakouts. And sent regular updates. And... he was friends with Storm now? That merited further investigation later.

She handed him the glass she'd drained a few minutes earlier. "I'm going to call real quick, let her know I'm still here. Mind getting me more water? Or juice... or Gatorade, actually, if you have it. My electrolytes must be all out of whack." Among other things. She was grateful, though, to be there with him and not at the mansion. He wouldn't treat her like a child and fuss over her. Well, he might fuss, but not in a demeaning way. In a caring way. Logan would probably have started calling her "half-pint" again.

“I think I can manage some juice,” he said, taking the glass with a nod, giving her hand another squeeze before letting go. “Just give me a shout when you’re done your call.” He would give her privacy for that, or as much as his small apartment could provide anyway. Which would be enough that he at least wasn’t listening in unintentionally, though he’d probably know when she was finished just because the quiet murmur of conversation was gone.

He would still wait until she called for him. And would under no circumstances suggest she just get up out of bed. At all. Until she was good and ready. She needed to rest and Steve didn’t want a repeat of her falling because her legs couldn’t carry her. He didn’t want to risk her actually hurting herself.

But as long as she stayed exactly where she was, now that she was awake, he wasn’t all that worried. She’d be just fine, and he’d keep her fed and hydrated.

With a gentle smile he rose and excused himself from the room, left the door open just a crack to give her that privacy to talk, and went to get her a fresh drink.

The call didn't take too long. Storm was relieved to hear she was alive and seemingly okay. Kitty was happy to hear that, according to the news, there wasn't a single fatality in the fire despite the building being a complete loss. Kitty had to admit that Storm was right - she hadn't considered all of the phasing she'd done before the group of children in calculating how risky carrying them all would be. That was a frustrating aspect of her ability - she didn't gradually get tired. She could go without feeling anything until she hit her limit, and this time she'd hit it hard.

After getting Storm's promise to pack a bag for her and have someone bring it to her in a few hours, Kitty hung up and put the phone back on the table. Curious to see how it would feel, she pushed the covers off and swung her legs off the side of the bed. She tested putting weight on one, then the other. It felt strange, like how she imagined walking on stilts might feel, but she didn't think they would buckle under her. Using the bed and then the wall for extra support, she peeked out the crack in the door. Seeing nothing, she hurried as fast as she dared into the bathroom. The only thing worse than her full bladder was 48-hour swamp breath. She knew Steve wouldn't judge but still. They were nowhere close to that level of comfort.

So she used the facilities, splashed some water on her face, ran her fingers through her hair while lamenting not having something to put it up into a ponytail with, and brushed her teeth using his toothpaste and her index finger. She hoped to sneak back into bed without him noticing but alas, she made too much noise not to catch his attention. When she opened the door he was standing there, glass of juice in hand. She grinned sheepishly and waited for the lecture she probably deserved.

A lecture probably was deserved, she really shouldn’t be up and about given how bad of shape she’d been in the last time, but it didn’t come. Steve wasn’t really in any position to give lectures about being a good patient when he was about as bad as they came. Even before the serum, when every doctor had told him he wasn’t healthy enough for war, he’d stubbornly pushed through it all. Now, if he could move, no matter what power it took to get there, he was going to do it.

So he wound up just meeting her smile with one of his own, gentle and understanding, and offered her a hand.

“Back to bed until I’m confident you’re not going to wind up on the floor.”

No matter how quiet she’d tried to be, his apartment wasn’t big enough that he wouldn’t hear, but her getting up and going about her business under her own power was more reassuring than anything. It was surest sign that she was on her way to recovered.

“Not that I’m not glad you’re feeling better,” he added teasingly. If they could just ensure she didn’t wind up injuring herself on his watch, that’d be great.

She took his hand and let him help her back to bed, much preferring his help to using the wall. And speaking of ending up on the floor...

"Is that how I got this bruise on my hip?" She couldn't remember falling. She didn't remember anything after falling asleep while he soothingly ran his fingers through her hair. She waited until she was back in the bed, under the covers and propped up by several pillows, to take the glass from him.

"So, did you take my pants off, or did I do that?"

“I'm insulted you’d even ask,” Steve joked, his smile making it clear there was no actual insult to be had. It was ab understandable question, given how she’d gone to sleep. He was surprised she didn’t remember losing them, though, chalked it up to her being only half awake at the time. “You did that yourself. Right after you tried getting up and forgot how to use your feet.”

With an easy smile, he settled on the edge of the bed beside her again, one leg tucked up beneath himself.

“Guess you weren’t awake enough to realize what was going on, huh?” Probably for the best. She wouldn’t remember the shattered glass that had sliced his foot open, or him carrying her back and forth down the hall. There was nothing to be embarrassed about but not remembering took away the chance for it entirely.

She was so happy to see his smile. It reassured her that she'd made the right choice, coming to him. If she had found some way to get back to the mansion, it would have been at least a week, probably longer, before she was recovered enough to come back to the city and see him again. He couldn't come visit her there. She took a long drink of the juice and shook her head.

"I don't remember anything. What did I do? Drool all over your lap? Snore so loud you had to bring me in here just to hear yourself think?" She set the glass down on the table and leaned back against the pillows.

"Before I forget, Storm's sending someone with a bag of clothes and stuff for me. If you're sick of babysitting me, I can go back with them."

“Nothing quite that dramatic. Don’t worry about it,” Steve assured quickly. “What matters is you didn’t wind up hurting yourself trying to move around.” Shattered glass and going right back to sleep on the bathroom floor were irrelevant when she was looking better, awake and talking and moving under her own power again.

He was glad enough with that that he didn’t even mind that her things being brought over meant someone he didn’t know and trust knowing where he lived. Normally, Steve wouldn’t want strangers in his space, but for Kate’s comfort? To make sure she could spend however long she needed and wanted recovering? That was a different story. Besides, it would be someone she trusted, and he trusted her. By extension, he had to trust that.

“And you’re not going anywhere. I’ll make a little space for your things.” Not that Steve took up much of his own space, not that he expected her people to be bringing her much more than a couple changes of clothes. But it was the thought that counted. The willingness to open his space to her.

Besides, would it be such a bad thing for her to have a few things there in the future? Maybe it would get her over more, staying over now and then. Maybe it was an opportunity.

He would make space for her. Her heart skipped, as it so often did around him.

"I think I see what's going on here." She held out a hand, inviting him to move closer. To take it in his own.

"Now that you've finally got me in your bed, you're never gonna let me out." She was teasing, and she knew he would know that.

It had been a surprise when she'd found that needed to take things slowly with him. Emotionally and physically. He had understood and accepted her setting the pace without a single complaint, as she'd suspected he would. It just hadn't felt right sleeping with him when she was still having random thoughts like 'Captain America's tongue is my mouth' or 'Captain America's hand is in my pants' on a regular basis. It wasn't that her mind was elsewhere exactly, it was just in disbelief at where it was. Being in a relationship with someone so famous was strange and confusing. Not only did she want to be, but he deserved to have her, fully present for the first - and every - time they were intimate.

Her hand was offered and of course Steve took it without hesitation. Hands were easy, and safe, and just touching her reassured him that she was whole and healthy. Or on the way there, at least. Which was the only thing he really cared about. Hoping for the future, letting himself imagine what it would be like to really have her in his bed, not just because it was better recovery than his couch would have been, could all wait for another time. His only concern for the time being had to be caring for her.

She deserved better than him letting his own feelings and desires getting the better of him.

Smiling at her teasing, he shifted a bit closer all the same, her hand small in his in a way that always felt comfortable and right. "You caught me," he joked right back. "This is all just an excuse to get you where I wanted you."

There was no use denying it was, pretending that he wasn't completely interested. He never pressed for more than she was willing to give at any given moment but he'd never shied away from wanting her, letting her know with looks and touches if not with words that he did.

He moved closer and despite everything, she just wanted to kiss him and let him wrap his arms around her and make her feel safe, like the whole thing had never happened. But she knew it had. She'd just seen the ramifications in the bathroom mirror.

She was practically skeletal. She could see so many of her bones, looking as if they were trying to break their way out of her skin. And her face, well, she hardly recognized it. The circles under her eyes, the way her cheekbones jutted out, scared her. It was no wonder he looked so relieved that she was upright and acting like herself. She was more than a little surprised that he'd let her walk back from the bathroom, and hadn't just picked her up and carried her.

So she stayed rooted right where she was, trying not to think about how she must look to him, when her stomach saved he from herself by grumbling. Loudly. Unmistakably. Making her laugh.

"Did I mention I'm hungry?"

He had to laugh, quiet as it came out. She had mentioned it, and he'd breezed right by it in the relief that she was alright. He could only imagine, after a couple of days, just how hungry she actually was, and it was probably an impressive thing that she was thinking about anything else.

"Did I mention," he countered, playfulness creeping into his smile, "that your friend mentioned you like blueberry pancakes?" Which, over the course of the time she'd been passed out, he'd figured out how to make. Definitely not well, barely more than edible, but that was a few steps better than he'd had before. "What d'you say?"

He absolutely was not going to invite her to come sit at the kitchen table, to let him take care of her there. She ought to stay in bed and relax. But at the same time, now that she'd come around and was looking a little more alive, if a little more thinned out than he liked, he was loathe to leave her side.

She had yet to see him laugh - really laugh, the belly laughs that make tears well up in your eyes. Laughs that grip your middle so tight you can't help but bend over. Maybe he was too even-keeled for that. She still wanted to see it.

Her eyebrows shot up and she shook her head. He and Storm really had bonded, hadn't they? It had been inevitable, really, but she didn't like not having any control over when and why it happened.

"I will never say no to pancakes. There's a place nearby that delivers?" He had more than made it clear that he was an unmitigated disaster in the kitchen. That was okay. Why not let someone else do the cooking? Besides, her appetite was much bigger than a stack of pancakes. She also wanted eggs. And turkey bacon. And cinnamon toast. She reached for the juice again, hoping it would quiet her grumbly middle.

After a few conversations, Steve had bonded with her friend. In a way. Enough that Steve had given her his own number so they could keep in touch while Kate slept. They’d chatted a little. He wouldn’t go so far as to say they were friends, but by a long shot, but they were friendly and he’d taken her advice every step of the way.

“There is. But I was thinking I’d try my hand at it.” He couldn’t promise better. He couldn’t even promise good. But he could manage not to poison her and it had to be the thought that counted. He’d done a little practice and it was far from impressive. It was just him doing his best. “I’ll keep the delivery as backup. Do you feel up to coming to sit out in the kitchen?”

Under any other circumstances, he’d object to the very idea of anyone eating in his bed. But these weren’t average circumstances and in this case, he’d prefer her to stay just where she was if she had even a sliver too little strength. He wouldn’t ask her to push herself for something so small.

Now there was a surprise. She nodded in response to his question, unable to keep her skepticism from showing on her face. She would need to actually see him make the pancakes in order to believe that he'd done it. She moved the covers back and swung her legs out of bed, taking the glass of juice and finishing it before handing it to him. She let him help her up, then they make the slow march to the kitchen. By the time they reached the living room she was shivering. She paused and took the blanket off the back of the couch to wrap around her, then they finished the walk to the kitchen.

She hated to admit it, but she was exhausted. She collapsed into a chair and took a moment to rest and catch her breath before arranging the blanket around her more comfortably, akin to a burrito.

"So you're making these from scratch? That means you have eggs... have you learned how to scramble eggs, too? If not I could slide the chair over there and make the eggs while you make the pancakes."

He absolutely could not blame her for wanting to see it for herself. Steve had made no secret about his lack of skill in the kitchen, had in fact cracked a few jokes about just how helpless he was. But for her, with the help of a lot of hours of research and too many burned practices, he’d managed not to be completely hopeless.

He took getting her to the kitchen table as slow as she needed, kept a close eye and a careful hand to make sure she didn’t stumble or fall. He’d taken care of her this far, wouldn’t slack in that now that she was on her way to better. If anything, Steve would be more attentive now that she could tell him what she needed.

Helping her settle at the table, helping to pull the acquired blanket snugly around her, he wound up just chuckling at her question. “I’ve always been able to manage scrambled eggs.” They just weren’t ever going to be anything worth writing home about. “You just stay right where you are, let me know if you have any other requests.”

He made sure first, once he was convinced she was comfortable and not going to topple out of her chair any time soon, to refill her juice.

She took the glass with both hands and sat back in her chair, ready for the show. She wouldn't be able to jump up and help him, but she could offer advice if things started to go badly. Or be a stove-side cheerleader.

"My mom always said the secret to scrambled eggs was cooking them in butter." Not particularly healthy, but she was already going to be downing pancakes which had little nutritional value outside the blueberries. She didn't see that as a problem, though. She just wanted tasty food.

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