6599/But Is This Dinner...

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But Is This Dinner...
Date of Scene: 21 February 2019
Location: Unknown
Synopsis: But is it 'dinner' or is it
Cast of Characters: Wasp (van Dyne), Captain America




Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Why yes, Steve, I'd love to go to dinner with you. Out? Just the two of us?" Janet turns and shifts her shoulders and hips, examining how her white dress sits. It's a stiffer material more for a suit or a jacket, but fitted into a sleeveless single-piece dress with a daring asymmetrical split and plunging neckline. Demisleeves are tucked into stylish black opera gloves. She reaches for her wide-brimmed white hat and tugs it down onto her head, sitting at a fetching angle that alternately frames her face or gives her a coquettish expression. The fashionista touches fingers to her lips and blows a kiss at her reflection in the mirror. "Wish me luck!" she tells her reflection.

Her reflection uplifts a wagging finger. "Fortune favors the bold, darling," Janet reminds herself. She steps into her white leather pumps, gaining a solid four inches of height, and heads to the door of her suite and closes it on the empty room behind her with a *click*.

Thirty minutes later, Janet's struggling to maintain her polite facade. 'Dinner out' for Janet means Le Cirque. 21. The sort of places with private numbers and expensive, must-reserve tables.

Steve has taken her to Outback Steakhouse. Because it's 'all you can eat meat' Wednesday, and the bloomin' fried onions are pipin' hot.

"The, uh... the cheeseburgers look ... good," Janet tells Steve, summoning a smile to dispel any doubts he might have about her attitude regarding chain food.

Captain America has posed:
The dip of the menu in the soldier's hands means he's giving Janet his full attention. The beers on tap were worth consideration up until he heard the delay in delivery of her words. He glances around the place and back to her again, trying for a small smile.

"Not your usual haunt, I know," he says and his lips part a bit further to reveal some teeth. He's in a blue-plaid button-down shirt beneath his black motorcycle jacket. Comfortable jeans are paired with completely comfortable...hiking boots. Ah, boots on Steve: the bane of Janet's fashionable existence. Steve will not be convinced otherwise that they aren't comfortable. With a day's worth of stress-related stubble on his face, it's clear by his choice of restaurant that he wanted no muss, no fuss, and simple food -- well, to him.

"The cheesburgers are good, yeah, but I'm here for a steak." He glances to the plastic-lined menu and taps a finger on a food listing twice. "New York cut sounds good. Medium rare." His eyes flick to Janet again. "There are salads if you want something lighter?"

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"A salad might be just the thing," Janet says, and flashes a reassuring smile at the man. She's getting more than a few looks from the restaurant's patrons, and for once it's making her a *little* uncomfortable. She's dressed for a formal event, or to go to the Kentucky Derby. Not to hang out at a place that proudly advertises everything in fire-kissed capital letters.

The waitress arrives at that moment, goggling at Steve a little. "Here's your blooming onions, Mister Rogers," she says with a breathy sort of awe. The poor girl can't be nineteen, a cute and slender blonde a few inches taller than Janet. She's pink as a radish, and it's clear the rest of the waitstaff is fighting bitterly over who gets to serve Captain Rogers his meal.

Janet slides her martini glass towards the girl. When she's not immediately acknowledged, she clears her throat. Pointedly. The waitress is given a chillingly polite smile. "Rum slammer. Try not to drown it," she tells the girl, and taps the edge of the stem with a fingernail. The waitress beats a hasty retreat from Janet's vituperative glower, which is kept artfully concealed from Steve. Should he look, Janet's got her Perfectly Pleasant smile on her face again.

"Well, they do have that deal where you get a free steak if you eat the whole thing in thirty minutes or less?" she reminds Steve. Gloved fingers turn the menu over and a look of horror crosses her face. "And a milkshake, and... an onion tower, and a side of chili fries."

Captain America has posed:
"The salads aren't bad. I've had one of them before," he adds, attempting too to cajole his tablemate into feeling less...out of place. Impressed at first at the hat that belongs at High Tea with the Queen of England, now the Captain's beginning to feel badly for the socialite. It can be seen in the subtle quirk of his brows. However, the arrival of the server with the famed blooming onions garner his attention and his face smoothes into its usual polite-in-public smile with shocking ease.

The nametag on her work-shirt is read in a flash. "Thank you, Heather," he replies to her, the epitome of a gentleman with nothing at all implied but gratitude. When the young thing disappears post-haste to deliver Janet's drink request to the bar staff, he does look over at the Wasp again. At her expression of distate in the offerings of a big culinary dare, the man outright laughs.

"Alright, alright, Janet, I get it," he says as he lays down the menu on the table. "Look, we'll go someplace else. You finish your drink once you get it, I'll eat some of the blooming onions, and we'll eat where you want to eat." A crooked, rather charming grin surfaces briefly, proof of a wicked streak of humor in the steady-natured man. "Unless you wanna see if you can win a free steak."

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Oh, no no," Janet says, swiftly. She glances away, holding a palm aloft. "You made your bed of bloomin' onions, now you get to lay in it." She gives Steve a smile that's more impish than annoyed, breaking past her plastic expression with some real sincerity. "It's my fault. I keep forgetting that this is the far future for you. Everything's deep fried and you don't have to worry about carbs," she says, enviously. "I mean, not as much as the rest of us do," she amends. "And trust me, if you challenge me to an eating contest, you're either going to haul me out of here in a wheelbarrow or you're going to be *very* cross at how readily I cheat," she assures Steve.

She reaches for a fork and pokes at the onion, trying to steal a slice. This fails, and she tries to twist and pull the leaf free. This, also, fails, and she starts dragging the plate closer to her. She grimaces, lips pulling down and sideways, and starts trying to pull the leaf off without actually getting her suede black gloves greasy. She ends up plucking at the air repeatedly and is about ready to go at it with a second fork before Steve intervenes and helps her break it free.

"Hah. See? I'll try new things," she remarks, and pops the blooming onion into her mouth. She crunches down on it several times, and then the expression bleeds from her face as the taste hits her. "I... see. It's..." She tries not to talk around the mouthful of food, and covers her mouth with a napkin. It also looks like she's trying not to let it touch her tongue. With a startling effort she pushes her chin forward and *swallows* the half-cheweed leaf, and immediately guzzles half a glass of water.

"See, delicious," she says, looking a bit faint.

Captain America has posed:
"I won't dare challenge you then." Steve holds up both hands to further defer even as his cheeky smile calms to become more polite yet again. "Salad's still an option, however, remember that if you're worried about carbs." By his tone, he implies that Janet really shouldn't waste a minute on fretting. He doesn't make eye contact, however, and considers his menu again until he realizes that she's having a hell of a time with the blooming onion.

The man licks at his fingers after releasing the flake of onion into her care and watches her expression expectantly. Mmm, that coating of grease is something delicious and he can already feel his metabolism responding to it. It's like jet fuel -- like nitrous -- and apparently, according to the scrunched moue of potential nausea on the woman's face, it tastes like either of those things to poor Janet. A short sigh and he looks at the fluffed plate of fried onions with eyebrows lifted high.

"You know, what, Janet van Dyne...you're a terrible liar." His voice is quiet. "Look...I'll get the check, we can go elsewhere. My feelings aren't hurt," he affirms to her with a wane half-smile.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Oof." Janet touches fingers to her bare sternum, wincing. "God. Steve, promise me you never go darkside. I feel like I just kicked a puppy," she says, looking crestfallen. Not really chagrined, because Janet might fundamentally lack the ability to feel self-conscious.

She ventures a smile at him. "It's ... we're just from different backgrounds, Steven, and I forget that sometimes," she says. She's struggling to reach out with some sincere empathy for his frustration. "I just never ... Look, I've been on a diet since I was twelve," she explains. "And you can't have this sort of thing around models and artists, they'll go insane and turn into catty bitches when you remind them that they're losing weight for swimsuit season. It's fine!" she says, hastily, and reaches over to squeeze his hand. "Here, I'll show you." She picks up a fork and skewers a free leaf, and crunches down on it. Pointedly she stares at Steve the whole time, munch munch munch, and doesn't let any expression show. "See?"

She sets her fork down and leans across the table, sticking out her lower lip appealingly to try and chivvy Cap's spirits. "Don't feel bad, please? I can't take it," she tells Steve. "You're making me feel awful. Call me a name or something? I won't get mad," she promises. "Fair's fair." A wicked smile blushes across her cheeks. "Or you could give me a spanking, I suppose," she says, trying to break over the edge of Steve's sad disappointemnt and provoke a resposne.

"Hmfffeeeeeeeee..." Heather, being half-ninja like most waitstaff, catches only the last sentence of that discourse. She sets the drinks down in a hurry and with a rigid back and shoulders, hustles back to the waiter station with steam almost literally escaping her ears.

Captain America has posed:
Dismay subtly forms cracks in the Captain's veneer of mannered concern towards his table-mate. His mouth opens to form the beginning of a thought and it dies as she keeps speaking. More fish-mouthing on his part, but still, he can't bring himself to interrupt as she explains about the woes of modeling. A half-lift of his hand to signal a halt in her attempt to prove that she //can// eat another piece of fried onion falls back to the table with a near-silent bump.

"I see," he finally manages in regards to the successful and far less emotional consumption of the onion leaf. The push of lower lip is enough to garner a breathy chuckle from him and he smiles back, even if it's forced enough that his eyes lie. "Oh, jeez, no, I'm not gonna -- "

- call Janet a name, but her secondary option in the list of potential remonstrations is enough to make him widen his eyes noticeably as he falls silent. He only barely notices the arrival of the drinks and calls a hurried 'thank-you' over his shoulder that is likely not caught. Turning back in his chair, he drums up his tattered dignity and ignores the heat in his ears as he speaks again. "Um, ah-hah, no. Those are all...options, but no. It's okay, we don't have to stay. I'd rather you enjoyed yourself. You don't have to prove anything to me," he reminds her.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet folds her arms stubbornly and sits back with a displeased huff. It's hard to tell if she's irritated with Steve for insisting they can leave, or passing on her playful overture. It's probably both.

"Well, *you* can leave, but *I'm* not going anywhere," she informs Steve, with a tone that brooks no more debate on the topic. "I just got my drink refreshed and now if I wait any longer to eat, I'm going to be too cross to enjoy it. So I'll have their crumble salad, with feta and strawberries." She takes a long sip of her rum, fighting the urge to swish it through her mouth.

"I'm trying to decide if I like the stubble or not," she tells Steve, changing topics abruptly. "It's so weird to see you with facial hair. I think I like it, though. Gives you a little hard nosed tough-guy sort of look," she compliments him, flashing a ruby lipped smile. "You could grow your hair out a bit, get that Grizzly Man Adams look going."

Captain America has posed:
"Then...we'll stay." Steve settles back into his chair as well. He works to remove the frown from his face, but it lingers as if he's confused at something on the menu that he stares at again. He already knows the prices of all the entrees and the main courses and the options one gets as far as sides -- hell, he has them all memorized at this point. Janet's observation has him looking up without lifting his chin. Almost self-consciously, he reaches up to touch at the chiseled line of his jaw and grimaces.

"Forgot to shave the last two days. Not enough time in the morning. Thanks, though. Didn't think I had that Grizzly side to me," he banters back at her with a wry smirk. Hopefully the server's coming by again soon to take their proper order. The scent of the various foods swirling around the restaurant is making his stomach knot upon itself.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Not like you to be so absent-minded, Steve," Janet tells Steve. It's more observation than chiding, and she leans forward to rest her elbows on the table. Fingers wrap loosely around the tops of her gloves. "You've been a little out of it the last week. And I haven't seen you in what, three or four days? You're being awfully cagey about things," she remarks. "Talk to me, tell me what's going on. You seem... well, you look like you could use a drink or ten," she admits. "Or whatever it takes to get you to unwind."

A waiter walks up, an older fellow emanating a properly New York weariness for celebrities in general. "Hi folks, I'm Mark," he says, laconically. "I'm taking over for Heather for a bit. Looks like you've got drinks and apps, are we ready to order the main entree?" He produces a pen and notepad, standing ready to take their order and looks to Steve first.

Captain America has posed:
By the pull of the Captain's mouth to one side, he's considering precisely how to respond to the caring inquiry. However, Mark interrupts and for this, the man is moderately grateful. He can stall and better collect his thoughts.

"Yes, we are. She'll have the crumble salad with feta and strawberries. I'll have the ribeye, medium-rare, with the roasted garlic butter topping. Baked potato on the side, all the works," he adds as his side. With a tight smile, he takes up the menus and hands them to Mark. Once the man has bustled off, Steve sits back into his chair again.

His eyes rest on the bubbles slowly gathering and rising up through the pint of red ale before him. About a full minute passes, but he then offers up, "Got a lot on my plate right now. Nothing new. Figured this would be a nice change of scenery from my desk at the Triskelion...or the meeting table at the mansion. Or the gym." A toss of his head back and forth. "I'll get it all ironed out - and remember to shave," he adds, laughing at himself.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet looks pleased as punch that Steve ordered for her, and it shows with a sunny smile of appreciation for his manners. Seems Steve did exactly right in Janet's eyes. For now, anyway.

"There's a lot of moving parts, Steve," she murmurs, trying to reassure him. "I know things with... Bucky," she says, with a deep breath, "are complicated as hell for you. I bet he's really confused and uncertain too. I don't... I'm not really sure what I can do to help, but if you need anything, I mean, all you have to do is say the word," she reminds him. "Sometimes it helps just to have someone you can trust in your corner."

She eyes Steve, on the verge of saying something else. A question forms on her lips, but on second assessment of his bitter frustrations under those wry tones, she thinks better of it. And she smiles instead. "I think we could all stand to get out more. The mansion's big enough but it's starting to feel like a dormitory. I keep expecting to see Tony and Rhodey playing football in the halls. We even have a cafeteria," she says, with a laugh. "Who *voluntarily* lives like that?"

Captain America has posed:
"Guess we all voluntarily live like that in the mansion." Steve lifts his free hand in a shrug before putting it back down on the table again. "Though the day I see Tony playing football is the day I wonder if something's in the water. Rhodey...Rhodey, I can see asking around to see if anyone wants to toss the pigskin out in the backyard." He takes a long sip of his red ale and licks at his upper lip.

His expression then slips back into a very familiar stoic set. "Is there something you know about Bucky that I don't?" The slight drop of his chin doesn't detract from how focused he is on Janet now.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"How would I know anything except what you tell me?" Janet asks, with a puzzled frown. "I'm not exactly besties with the upper brass at SHIELD. It'd be Rhodey or Carol who'd tell me anything, if anyone, and you know those two-- they think a secret security clearance is a lifetime oath not to dish on gossip." She rolls her eyes in irritation.

"And they're all wrapped up with this thing with Thor and that blonde ice queen he's got squirrleed away in New Asgard." She holds a hand up to her mouth, shielding her words from view of the restaurant. "Totally hot on her, too. Go figure," she says, shaking her head in disbelief. "I mean, she's pretty enough, sure. Has that whole Carol thing going, y'know, Nordic blonde, ridiculously tall and no one who works out that much should be *that* stacked. Unfair genetics," she huffs. "But seriously, money down that Thor's got a thing for her. He was all... genteel and polite. It was weird. Weirdly polite."

Captain America has posed:
By the nominal squint, Steve doesn't accept the answer fully in regards to Bucky. There's a discussion for a later time to be found there; he knows himself well enough that this is not the place. A shift in his chair and he leans the line of his forearm on the table now, all the better to listen to this news to him.

"Thor can be polite." Mild defense of his brother-in-arms. "And I don't know anything about this other woman. Carol came and asked me to talk to Thor, but about something else - not about another woman. She mentioned you'd recommended that she speak to me."

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"I did?" Janet sounds puzzled. "I mean, yeah, you and Carol both being Army types, I figured you'd give her better advice than me. I think. I can't remember anything after we got into the peach schnapps," she admits. "She was pretty bent out of shape about something, with Thor... it was..." She screws her face up, button nose wrinkling. "They got in a fight over someone who showed up unexpectedly. The elf!" she says, suddenly. "The Dark Elf, which is ... different than a Light Elf? But that's the one they're having friction over. I can't remember who wants to do what, but one of them really hates the elf lady, uh, whatever her name is. Elfie Elfington," she improvises. "I figured you and Carol could talk and work somthing out, and then you two could go talk to Thor and have beers, or arm-wrestle over it, or however the military solves things like that," she suggests, rolling a shoulder demurely. "I know you've got a good rapport with Thor and Carol just respects the heck outta you," she tells Steve.

Absentlymindedly she spears another onion peel and this time dunks it in ranch. She chews, and her eyes go wide. "That, that, that is..." she blinks. "Delicious. What *is* this?" she inquires, poking at the little container of dressing.

Captain America has posed:
"It's ranch dressing. Lots of folks dip their onion rings in it - or fries. It can go on salad too." Steve seems bemused at her reaction to it. How interesting, that she hasn't ever had ranch dressing before. "It pairs well with a lot of foods."

He shifts back to the main line of conversation after downing a third of the red ale that won't even set off the ghost of a tingle in his fingers. "I told her I'd speak to him about the Dark Elf, yeah. Seems he clammed up on her when she tried talking to him about why he was against Alpha Flight granting the Elf sanctuary. I dunno that we'll arm-wrestle over it, but we'll talk." He doesn't bring up the purposed intent by the Asgardian royal to have the Elf executed, at least according to what Carol reported to him. That much, he'll leave for Thor to reveal, if at all.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"I'm sure you'll get it sorted," Janet tells Steve. Entrees arrived and are served up, and for a few minutes the pleasantly banal task of eating their meal consumes them. Despite her earlier misgivings, Janet seems to be enjoying the salad which looks quite freshly prepared. She drags a few leaves through the ranch, and sometimes even an onion peel or two.

"Y'know, when things settle down a bit... do you ever think about taking a vacation?" Janet inquires of Steve, over the last few bites of her salad. She's carefully herding the remaining bites into a pile to lift onto her fork tines. "You and I are the ones with a foot nailed to the floor. Carol and Thor can be around the world in a hot minute if they want. Even Tony's got a personal Quinjet. My little twelve-seater jet does OK but it's a day of travel to get to Europe from New York. Wouldn't it be fun to go... I don't know. Somewhere for anything *other* than work?"

Captain America has posed:
"Should be able to." He gives his table-mate a quick grin, thankful for her support, even if only through words. The commiseration is enough. His steak does arrive as requested and after a meticulous spread of garlic-butter overtop its entire surface, the man digs in. Manners must have been drilled into him at the dinner table from a very young age, given his napkin's spread across his lap and despite needing to saw at the meat, there's no scrape of utensil upon the plate. No chipmunk-cheek for Steve -- at least, not in public.

He glances up at Janet when she starts to speak again. His chewing visibly slows before picking up again. A gulp of beer clears his palate. "I've thought about it, yeah," he admits, albeit with some hesitance. "And I know, I know...the world keeps spinning even if we have to sleep." The colloquial 'we', as in the Avengers, is implied. "It'd be fun. Dunno if anyone would want to step in while we were gone." That's a very different 'we' slipped, on the other hand, while he's focused on cutting off another bite of steak.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet's eyes dart to Steve's face at the casual 'we'. If he were looking up a half-second longer, he might see her heart literally skip a beat, eyes wide with surprise and pleasure.

"Well, I mean, y'know, there's... a lot of people to fall back on," she says, struggling to maintain a facade of polite, diffident agreement. "There's the Justice League, those kids with the black spy plane-- I mean, c'mon, this is a volunteer thing, right?" she says, teasing at him with a playful smile. "No one says it has to be our entire lives. Wouldn't you like to... I don't know. See Europe again? Or go somewhere warm and sunny like Bali or the tropics? Or even just like... go to the West Coast for a while, see California. Bomb around Malibu in a rented convertible?"

Captain America has posed:
His jaw working, Steve nods in at least partial-agreement to the mention of the Justice League. He smirks at little at the banter before going back to making sure he doesn't scratch up the plate below the steak. It's almost two-thirds gone already, proof of his steady consumption. No doubt the platter will be clear sooner as opposed to later.

A lift of one shoulder as he sucks at his teeth to clear them of food debris. "Dunno about a convertible. I've always figured on a motorcycle, with the warm weather. Never lingered out there," he shares as he sets aside his fork momentarily for his pint of beer. "Wanted to, but it's always passing through on a mission. Seems like there are some quiet places outside of the big cities. I hear a lot about the vineyards. 'nd the League would probably step in." By his thoughtful consideration of his beer, he's definitely actively considering a vacation...for once.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet twists in her seat with a slow and controlled uncertainty. It's an effort to fight the urge to jitter a heel against the ground in sudden excitement and she does a marvellous job of restraining herself. A question starts and stops on her lips several times as she searches for the right words. She even hesitates, taking a slow breath and pausing before speaking.

"Do... if you went, do you see yourself going... by yourself?" She pauses then like someone daring the ice and afraid it'll crack. "Or, maybe, um, with somebody?" She looks down at her salad with a carefully neutral expression, and the brim of her hat dips down just a little more so Steve can't see her holding her breath.

Captain America has posed:
Steve's eyebrows flick and hold high on his brow like they always do when confronted with something unexpected. His eyes linger on Janet and they flick multiple times from the brim of Janet's hat and to her plate, looking for facial cues he's clearly unable to see past the armor of the hat itself.

"Uh..." he says slowly before blowing a little sigh. His knife and fork remain hovering above the last bit of his steak as he rests wrists on the tabletop. "I'd probably need a reason to be out there. Well, no, it'd be a vacation," he corrects himself with a stutter of a laugh. "Not by myself, no. You...gotta a reason to need to go out there?" How solemnly he asks this, eyes still resting upon the Wasp. His throat rises and falls in a swallow.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet pauses mid-bite and her mouth curls into a winning smile, even as her face remains concealed by the brim of her hat. Ruby lips wrap around the thin slice of strawberry and she chews with quiet deliberation. It leaves Steve sitting there for a moment with the question hanging in the air and the ball firmly in Janet's court.

"Reason? I could come up with an excuse to see California," she says, with a total diffidence that could destroy the careful, fragile glass of their conversation.

Her head tilts up enough that her brilliant green eyes are visible, smouldering all the more for the contrast behind the pristine white accessory and the black charcoal expertly edging her eyes.

"But offhand, I can only think of one reason I'd *need* to go," she says with a suggestive and husky croon in her voice. She holds Steve's gaze to drive the entedre home. Mercifully, she lowers her head to hover her salad again, breaking the spell and giving the stalwart soldier some room to breathe.

Captain America has posed:
Steve might as well be a statue while he waits. The metaphorical sweatdrop begins to slide down the back of his neck as he sits. Already, uncertainty is eating out the baseboards of his confidence like a bad case of termites. Then she replies firstly in her modest tone and he tries for a smile in reply. It's a little weak, undermined by that insidious little niggling of doubt growing in a bubble of acid beneath his breastbone.

The revelation of her eyes heralds the mad u-turn in the drift of her thoughts and again, the Captain's throat can be seen to work as if his mouth had gone dry. There go his ears again, beacons of reaction, and he tries to rescue himself by downing another half of his red ale. At least he doesn't choke on it.

"Could...consider going out there after things have settled?" he then asks, voice forced to a normal tone as he sets aside the near-empty pint glass. "Could use a guide too. Someone who knows the area?"

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"That's a lot of 'maybes', Captain Rogers," Janet remarks with an airy tone of playful reprimand. "I said I could *think* of a reason I'd need to go out to California." Her tone turns a little crisp. "I'd need a definitive reason, not a 'maybe'. With pronouns and gushing enthusiasm for my companionship."

She pushes her salad aside and leans forward on her elbows again, fingers interlaced and chin resting on the bridge of her knuckles. She all but flutters her lashes at Steve. "Personally I like the idea of getting lost and wandering up and down the coast. Unless you suddenly are having second thoughts about us getting away for a weekend?"

Captain America has posed:
His tongue flicks to wet his upper lip again before he inhales and no words come out at first. The clink of his utensils upon his plate then follows as he grabs up his napkin and wipes at his mouth. Oh man -- there's still steak on his plate and the baked potato hasn't been touched! Must be the way his heart's dancing a ridiculous double-time against the cage of his ribs.

"Didn't, uh...weren't sure if you were onboard." Of course it's entirely too level-headed, almost business-like on Steve's part. The crumpled white serviette does its best to remain intact in his lap, out of sight. "No second thoughts, just...thinking about what might crop up between now and then. Probably nothing, but...y'know. Gotta be realistic." He swallows again. A deep inhale and little nod, as if readying himself.

"You wanna go get lost on the coast, Janet?"

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet's mouth hangs open, and for once, words fail her. She starts and stops twice, and she manages to refrain from spluttering back at Steve. Despite her cool demeanour it seems she's no less vulnerable to Steve's baby blues and a straight line like that.

Her lips pull in different directions and she rolls her eyes upwards, smiling to beat the band (which doesn't help her get the words out).

"Iiiii would *love* to get lost with you, Steven," she gets out after a laborious few moments. Her eyes dance merrily, like a kid on Christmas who just won a shopping spree at the toy store. "After we get things all sorted out. You, me, golden coast, motorcycle built for two." She lifts her martini glass towards him. "It's a date?"

Captain America has posed:
A laugh escapes him almost sounding light-headed. Oh god - he did the thing. Still, he takes up his near-empty pint glass and lifts it towards her, projecting envious levels of self-confidence as he replies,

"Sure. Motorcycle built for two and all -- once things are settled." Apparently, the Captain's going to be a stickler on this point in particular. Pulling him from his work is like distentangling a horse-chestnut from a woolen sock. Killing the remaining mouthful of his ale, Steve then gives Janet a more circumspect look. "And don't take this personally, but...keep it under wraps? For now? Don't want you disappointed if things happen and it gets delayed and..." His voice falls away as his hand takes up gesturing out the rest of his thoughts.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"O-oh." Janet looks surprised for a moment. Maybe even wounded. But she suppresses it so masterfully that it's unlikely Steve would catch it as such in the flickering moment. Particularly as she smooths her face into another warmly pleased smile. "Sure, of course. Things are crazy right now," she says with an agreeable sympathy. The last of her food is polished off and she reaches for the second-to-last onion peel, leaving the last for Steve. It's dragged through the rank and she exhales approvingly before setting her fork down again. Her plate's pushed away and she transferes her empty glass to the edge of the table to be collected. "That wasn't bad at all. Thanks for beinging me here, Steven," she tells him, gratefully. "It was ... an experience doing something new."

Captain America has posed:
"...you're welcome," the Captain says after a little introspective delay. Realizing that the last blooming onion leaf was left for him, he takes it for himself. A quiet crunch-crunch and it's gone, down that gullet.

"I know it was different that what you're used to, but if you enjoyed it, I'm happy." A little sigh and his eyes rise back up to meet hers. "Don't wanna disappoint you," he repeats with a touch more emphasis. "We'll go where you want to go next time. If you want to. If we go again. When we find time," he continually amends until he makes himself fall silent. No babbling. "I can get this boxed up and we'll roll out." He reaches back to pull out his wallet from his jean pocket. The small computerized system on the table is squinted at.

"No, lemme figure this out..." A hand upheld forestalls any assistance from Janet -- and, thankfully, he manages to pay for the meal as well as assign a proper tip.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Of course. Would you excuse me a moment? I'll just use the ladies, then we can go." Janet rises and heads to the bathroom, a (naturally) matching white clutch in her hand. Heels click on the floor and she sashays past the diners regal as a queen, ridiculous hat and all.

She eyes the bathroom with a grimace and reflexively hikes up the hem of her long skirt an inch. Janet takes a few quick steps to make sure the bathroom's empty.

"God. If. If. If. Fucking ... *if*," she snarls into the mirror. She scowls at herself. Her mirror self, rather precictably, scowls back. She removes her hat and looks skyward, then presses fingertips to her brow as if massaging a pain point. A weak, stressful sigh escapes her lips and she digs out a tissue to press to the corner of her eye. "For god's sake, girl, get a hold of yourself," she whispers at herself, savagely. "He's being nice. Just ... he's being nice," comes a stubborn remonstration. "Stop acting like a teenager." She glances in her bag, over her shoulder, and then digs in the bag again. Inside a ziplock bag are three rather prosaic looking gummy bears. She pops one into her mouth and starts chewing quickly. It takes just a minute for the 'snack' to kick in and tension bleeds from her shoulders.

A minute later Janet's back at the table, her tight-wound nature looking a little more happily sedate. She even took a moment to touch up her makeup. Vanity, thy name is Janet.

"Okay, I'm all ready. Do you still have time to take me home, or should I call a car?"

Captain America has posed:
While Janet's away, the server stops by and Steve gets those boxes he requested. Thus, when she returns, the man is standing by the table with a single white styrofoam container in his hand. He gives her a modest smile, complete with one-sided dimple.

"I've got time to take you home. I've got some paperwork to finish out at the Triskelion, so I'll drop you off on the way over." Out they go from the restaurant and into the relative chill of the evening. Steve is sure to open the door of one of the many cars kept on-site at the Avengers mansion for the team to borrow in order to let Janet step in and doesn't shut it until he's certain all of her is seated comfortably, including the hat. It's a prosaic drive back to the mansion and Steve pulls into the side driveway after the gate swings open, JARVIS recognizing the vehicle and plate numbers as well as occupants.

He steps out of the car, leaving it running, and goes to open the door again for her. "Home again, home again, jiggity-jog," he comments with a little huff of laughter, his eyes winking in the ambient light from the mansion grounds. Then, a sort of breathless stillness seems to take over him. A little frown draws his brows together as if he's attempting to remember something as he looks her in the face.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet seems like she might be a little buzzed, as she's giddily amused by the least thing but also strangely laconic at the same time. She looks wholly relaxed, though, in a way that's rare for the oft-tightwound socialite.

"Jiggity jog, tickety tock. You say some funny things, Steve," she praises him. A hand is held out for Steve to take to aid her balance and Janet dismounts with a careful grace, even in those towering Stilettos. She breezes a step closer to Steve and rests a hand on his sternum, looking up. Janet's mouth opens to frame a question but she reads the distracted look on his face. Confusion perks her head, tilting to the side in her regard upwards at him. "Hey. What's up?" she invites. Her green eyes flash with an owlish blinking.

Captain America has posed:
"Um."

Not at his most eloquent in the moment, Captain Rogers, as he stands there looking down upon the fashionista with her ridiculous hat and the gentle weight of her palm on his chest, as if it belonged there all along.

"Y'know..." he tries and fails, ending up swallowing the rest of his thought. Another moment of silence. "Lemme walk you to the door." And thus he does, with a strong arm not allowing the airy-mein'd Janet to stumble in her heels and in her current state. At the side door, however, that shadow of reflection crosses his face yet again. A sigh that pufts white before his face and he lifts his chin as if coming to yet another decision rather than bashfully considering his toes.

"G'night, Janet."

Then, curling the brim of the hat back between two fingers as if one might flip the page of a book, he leans in and with about as much pressure as a butterfly alighting upon a daisy, he kisses the corner of Janet's red-red lips. He attempts to quickly draw away and thank god for the demi-lighting of the surroundings: the man is sporting a spectacular blush across cheeks and down beneath his collar at this point. Oh, Irish skin.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet would be offended if she suspected for a *moment* that Steve was concerned about her stumbling. Fashion lives and dies in her heels and Janet is the high priestess of that strange sartorial religion.

Her eyes go wide as dinner plates when Steve touches her hat and then he's *kissing her* and she's gobsmacked, she can't even react in a timely fashion aside from a sharp inhale of breath. Her medicinal 'gummy bears' are kicking in about this moment too which adds to the dreamlike delay that overlays everything going on around her. She reflexively claps a hand to her head to hold her hat in place. It doesn't even occur to her to return the kiss to her cheek before Steve's already pulling away.

Janet almost stumbles through a half step of pursuit; a hand rises, falls, and misses badly, grabbing at the empty air behind Steve's shoulder.

An awkward exchange follows, which would be comedic to an outsider. Flushed with embarassment for her clumsy flailing, Janet starts to turn away as Steve turns back. She turns back as he turns away. Two aborted attempts to speak are made, each interrupted by hesitation as the two cumbersomely try to restart the flow of conversation. It's to no avail.

"Thanks, for, um... dinner," she tells Steve, finally, and eases back a half a step. She gestures with a thumb over her shoulder. "I guess I'll see.. I mean do you wanna ... um." She blinks. "I'll see you tomorrow."

She turns too fast and clocks herself against the edge of the half-open door. She shudders backwards rigidly. "Son of a -bitch-," she seethes, as quietly as she can despite the throbbing from her knee and ribcage. "I'm fine. I'm fine! Good night!" She starts beating a hasty retreat before something profoundly embarassing befalls her.

Captain America has posed:
"I'll see you tomorrow, ye -- " Steve winces to see her bounce off the frame of the side-door. "G'night," he then echoes, a little too loud given embarrassment resonates through him as well. Far safer to let the wee fashionista go at this point, in his opinion, than risk more stumbling and fumbling and oh GOD, he actually DID THAT?!

He stares at the open portal to the mansion, now void of Janet, and in somewhat of a daze, walks over to close it rather than let the cold air into the sidehall. Always thoughtful, the Captain. Then, muttering to himself in a profoundly self-remonstrative stream of Gaelic, Steve walks back to the running car and enters it with a slam of the door. The rant at himself continues even as he backs out of the driveway into the empty street. It then wends onwards into a rather lyrical volume inside the vehicle as he drives off towards the Triskelion.

Bucky would wash his mouth out with soap.