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" What's wrong with him? " +
Fear. An emotion deemed weak for those who like to keep a reputation; an inflated ego that'd surely be tarnished by a sweaty forehead and a racing heart; a simple whimper looked down on as shameful. But, all she could feel was fear.
A death grip of clammy palms and a dry mouth had wrapped its long claws around Rowan's throat, three weeks of sitting in her room, waiting for anything, taking a toll on her immensely. Her palms no longer felt warm, nimble fingers now iced over with malnutrition, skin flaking and hair falling out in clumps. Her mind not focused on herself, but her loved ones up in space; the constant guilt of whether or not they made it out alive. She couldn't bare it.
Steve Rogers, now cleanly shaven, sighs as he watches the girl he's raised sit silently on her bed; the usual sight of a laptop or a cell phone nowhere to be seen as her head remains hung, sullen eyes training on the carpeted floor of her room. A mere knock to the door has her twitching slightly, a crook of her neck allowing the two to make eye contact for a split second before she returns gaze back to the floor. Silent.
"Hey, Bug." The blond man begins, "you hungry? Pepper made some sandwiches."
She shakes her head, her protruding ribs and sunken cheekbones a tell tale sign she needs some proper nutrition, but her body wouldn't allow it. It was punishing her with heavy nausea and tingles whenever she decides to munch on something; a single potato chip calling for ten minutes of bile burning up her throat. Steve frowns, his heart aching at the sight of his little girl in distress, as he slowly makes his way over to her side, careful not to startle her, before taking a seat on her bed.
"You have to eat something, Row-"
"Don't you think I would if I could?" Her voice, crackly from the lack of hydration, raises; snapping uncontrollably at her guardian. Rowan grimaces, obviously disapproving of her actions, as she apologizes meekly for her outburst, "I-I'm sorry, I- didn't mean to yell."
Cap's lips upturn empathetically, his light blues trailing sadly over her face; a usual beautiful canvas of light now painted over with dark, the artist clearly losing his shit by painting madness across his portrait. That's how Rowan felt; like an artist gone mad, thoughts swarming erratically, driving her insane. "What's wrong with me, Steve?" A tender question, one that brought out her emotions, a tear sliding down her cheek as she continues to stare down at her carpet; helpless.
"Nothing, Row, absolutely nothing." Steve starts, pulling her head into his chest, stroking her hair carefully.
"Then why do I feel like this?" The brunette croaks, closing her eyes as stinging water continues to stain her cheeks red. She pauses, emotions thick, "what if they're dead?"
