6624/Pearls of Wisdom

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Pearls of Wisdom
Date of Scene: 23 February 2019
Location: Unknown
Synopsis: Steve and Janet admit their feelings are more than platonic.
Cast of Characters: Wasp (van Dyne), Captain America




Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
After Thor and Steve have their talk about Nova Corps and Dark elves, and Thor departs, Janet shakes her head and leans her tiny head back against the comparatively giant-sized coffee mug on the table behind her. Very bitty fur-lined white boots swing back and forth over the incalculably deep three-foot drop to the floor below.

"Thanks for talking it out with him," she tells Steve, in her tiny voice. "I think everyone will rest easier. I hate the idea of Carol and Thor fighting. They're so much alike," she frowns. "It'd be bad for the team if they got any bad blood between them."

Captain America has posed:
Leaned still against the desk, Steve looks over at the wee fashionista with a concerned smile. "Wish I knew more about the Dark Elves as a whole. It'll probably be best for me to ask him about them again after this has been resolved, over a tankard of mead. I'd ask Loki, but..." The Captain trails off with a significant flick of his eyebrows. He likely needn't finish the sentence for his opinions on matters involving the Trickster God to be clear.

"If all it takes for folks to talk respectfully is me making coffee and asking a few questions, I'm pleased," he then admits, seeming to relax visibly. "I don't think it'll come to bad blood. I didn't get that impression off the bat." The empty mug is taken up and he seemed surprised to find it empty. Dangit. "I told Carol to stand her ground and not throw the first punch if it came to something more than a yelling match. She will -- and Thor won't throw anything at her. He's level-headed." The Captain's faith in his team remains untarnished yet.

"I was going to get more coffee, you want anything while I'm in the kitchen?" Steve stands up from sitting on the desk and pauses to await an answer.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet stands and flits to Steve's shoulder, landing and growing to a solid ten inches of height. More brownie sized than pixie. She plants a foot against the slope of his trapezius and grips the curve of his ear for balance. "No, but I'll go with you," she tells him.

"I don't think Carol needs much encouragement in the 'stand your ground' department," Janet tells Steve a little wryly. "She'd throw down with the tide if she thought the ocean was getting uppity."

The Wasp flies off Steve's shoulder and shifts to full size now that she's warmed up, and finds another stretch of countertop to sit on almost immediately. She crosses her legs at the knee and rests a palm behind her for balance with her arm locked out. "I think coffee's one of those universal language things. It's hard to lose your temper when you're hugging a warm cup of something," she points out. "Failing that, we could try getting them stoned!" she offers helpfully.

Captain America has posed:
His shoulder remains stable as he walks, as if Steve were hosting a chattering budgie upon it and didn't wish to spook it away. Her hand on his ear does tickle, but he refrains from jerking his head away. Upon entering the kitchen, he diverts towards the espresso machine, one of Tony's fanciest. A little scowl at the numbers of button necessary to get the machine going, but he's pleased to see that he didn't accidentally tell it to dislodge the used grounds this time. No one was around to see that happenstance, thankfully.

"I don't know if Thor can get stoned. Same with Carol," he says over his shoulder as he wings what could be a small smirk back at the Wasp. "Coffee's a safer bet. It's still not gonna stop someone from punching someone else, but there's always diplomacy involved." He turns back around while the mug is filling and leans against the counter, arms crossed before his broad chest. "They'll be fine."

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Oh, I'm sure. I'm just imagining Carol and Thor at a rave," Janet says, with an unrepentant grin. "You'd be amazed what it does for my industry. Models are very needy and photographers tend to be really high strung. A little chemical mood modification goes a long way to preventing homicides," she says with an airy smile. When Steve turns, she makes grabby hands his direction, as if beckoning him closer.

"Grab me a cup of coffee please? And some of that hazlenut mocha creamer, please," she requests of him.

Captain America has posed:
Pushing off the counter, Steve fishes a mug out of the cupboard above with no difficulty. There's the quiet click-clunk and following clunk-click of full mug exchanged for empty mug. He presses buttons yet again and the same brew begins to pour into the new mug, red rather than blue.

"You're a brave pioneer in your field," he then say as he opens the fridge. The hazelnut mocha creamer is hidden away behind the second gallon jug of milk and he delivers this plus the initial cup he brewed to Janet, off to one side of her seated presence on a clear surface of counter. "Carol might like going dancing like that. Dunno." A little shrug and he glances at her with a small true smile. "Could ask her."

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"I know she would. I wanna drag Jessica and Jen along, too," Janet tells Steve. "Maybe Wanda, even. Though half the time I wonder if she's on something already. Whatever she's taking, I want some." Janet laughs at her joke and wraps fingers around her mug and balances it on her knee.

"You still owe me proper dancing," she reminds Steve. "I guess the Savoy Ballroom closed down a long time ago. But there are still some clubs that cater to the old swing dancing community. I'm not convinced they're more fun than a nightclub or one of the Latin hotspots..." She gives Steve an impish look over her coffee.

"But I'm still game to go play if you are."

Captain America has posed:
Steve's lips seem to twitch before he turns back to gather up his own mug of coffee from the machine across from the island-counter. The soft beep-beep announces its completion of task. He returns to repose against the wall-counter's edge and murmurs almost to himself,

"Proper dancing..." The gentleman sips at his coffee before he meets Janet's eyes again. "I did promise that. Where do you wanna go?" This he asks with open interest in hearing what she proposes, not just to slide the decision into her court.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet beams at Steve when he asks her so directly. "Tomorrow night?" she offers. "Unless you've got plans on the books," she adds, hastily. "We can go next weekend if you want. I found a little club that specifically does swing dancing. I think we'd blend in pretty well, so there's no pressure to show up and sign autographs. I just hope I don't step on your feet too much," she tells Steve. "Maybe I can rope you into another lesson before we go? Just so I've got the basics down."

Captain America has posed:
"Remember the extraction." It's a mild reminder from the Captain accompanied by a flick of his brows. "We have to be ready to prep and leave at the drop of a hat. Probably not tomorrow night because of this." He sips at his coffee. "Next weekend, that's...more open, yeah."

Steve then leans out towards the door to the kitchen as a distant sound is heard. Probably just one of the manion's inhabitants rustling about. There's almost always someone in-house as is, even if JARVIS counts due to near-sentience. "You want another lesson?" Settling back again, Steve visibly tries not to smile and succeeds -- mostly. "I can oblige that."

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet smiles flatteringly at Steven. "Listen, I..." she examines her coffe mug. An immaculately french-tipped nail scrapes against the mouth of the mug. "I wanted to say thanks. For last night," she tells him. "It's been a while since someone invited me out to dinner," she explains. Her tone is... retiring. Almost shy. "I mean, properly. Not just a 'hey let's go raid the deli for a late-night bagel sandwich,' " she clarifies. "But I did have fun. And I think onion rings are growing on me."

Captain America has posed:
A shifting of booted feet betrays Steve as he adjusts his lean on the counter. Rather than remaining hidden behind folded arms, his hands slip down to allow him to hook thumbs in his pockets.

"You're welcome, Janet." While quiet, his reply is warm. "But if you liked those onion rings, don't go about knocking a late-night bagel sandwich. Ever had a toasted meatball bagel sandwich? With provolone and marinara sauce? Everything bagel? That's one of the few heavens on earth." He shakes his head and chuckles once. "Mascot's Bagel and Deli. Brooklyn. Stop by there sometime, it'll change your mind on meatball bagel sandwiches."

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Leo's Bagels, near South Point," Janet counters, with a wickedly playful smile. "He does this sandwich with turkey and mustard and alfalfa seeds. Best thing after a night of clubbing."

She sips her coffee and eyes Steve over the space between them. "Unless that's your way of lowkey fishing for another dinner date?" she teases him. Janet sips her heavily sugared coffee. "Not that I'm saying 'no', mind you," she hastens to add. "I'm just erring on the side of making sure we're on the same page here."

Captain America has posed:
"I'll take your word for it," Steve replies with an easy-going shrug. "Don't go clubbing anyways." The way the woman across the way considers him is enough to make him slow in raising the mug to his lips. A dimpled one-sided smile flashes across his face, there and gone again, at her inquiry.

"I thought we were discussing bagels." There's a questionable, almost teasing innocence to the opinion. "Can always see who has the better bagels later, after a lesson, maybe, if you're hungry. It'll be Mascot's, just to let you down easy," he then explains with a slight drop of his chin, as if he'd dare to look down his nose on this Leo's place.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet scoffs, and comes off the counter. She steps towards Steve and stops when she's quite close. A hand rests on his sternum for balance, though she doesn't quite lean against him. Janet looks up at the super soldier with a challenging expression and a dancing grin on her face. "You need to learn how to read subtext, Steve," she chivvies the fellow. "Or learn how to let a lady win, graciously. You're not just challenging my taste in food, you're upsetting my sense as a Manhattanite. I don't come to Brooklyn and remind you how bad the food is *there*, you know," she teases.

Captain America has posed:
"You don't need to remind me how bad most of the food in Brooklyn it is. I've known since 1922." The witticism is delivered nonchalantly. "You shouldn't put down Mascot's until you try it though," he continues, his mouth still shifting minutely as if a smile is not what he wishes, but it keeps attempting to slip into view. "Assumptive of you, Janet. Didn't think this was a battle either, but," and he shrugs, looking down at her. "I can be a good sport. Sure -- you win."

The slow and now unhelped spread of a smirk is challenging enough in turn.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet beams up at Steve when he concedes the point. "See, was that so hard?" She settles back on her modest bootheels, resting a hand on his forearm still for balance. "You're a *very* good sport," she reassures Steven, and touches fingers to his cheek in something a little less than a friendly pat of the palm. "I appreciate you yielding to the fairer sex." She smiles again and looks up at Steven, meeting his baby blues with her intensely green eyes. Her gaze isn't quite enraptured, but it's in the vicinty of the intersection of intrigued and smitten, and she doesn't seem to mind at all their increased proximity.

Captain America has posed:
"I can be wise when I put my mind to it. What's that quote..." Steve pauses to think, still sporting that mildly-crooked grin that gentles even as his mind blurs through options. "Right. The one about women and cats doing what they want and men and dogs relaxing and getting used to it." The grin sparks up brightly again before he forces it down into a fairly passable polite set once more.

"But who says I yielded? I say it's diplomacy," he then adds, still holding her gaze.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Circling back around," Janet prompts. Her eyes roll at Steve's challenging gaze and counter. The expression does little to dampen the amused smile curling up the corners of her mouth. "Clubbing. If I go swing dancing with you, I think it's only fair you come clubbing with me!" she says brightly, and bounces on her toes once. "I know this great nightclub-- or is it a discoteque?" She glances away with a thoughtful frown and taps her lip with a fingernail. "I think it's techically a discoteque because it's mostly Latin bands. If it was a regular nightclub it'd be some DJ up there with the bass turned up to a million and scratching records until 4 AM. Which, I mean, also fun." Her hips and shoulders move back and forth in time with an inaudible beat that starts emrging from her lips: "nsst nsst nsst nnst." She wiggles her brows up at Cap, trying to look enticing.

Captain America has posed:
He's pleased for the eyeroll, in a quiet corner of his heart. Touche, wee fashionista. An interested tilt of his head then reverts to the usual subtle straightening of spine at her suggestion.

"That's...fair," he replies in a deliberate cadence. "From what I've seen in music videos, I think stand by my stance that club dancing is arrhythmic bunk, but I've got to keep up with the times." A little sigh blown and he rolls one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. "I can be open-minded. It's probably a discotheque," Steve then agrees, " - if it's European by intent if not origin. Bet they don't accept combat boots at the door." A flick of his brows continues to invite low-key ire from the Wasp.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Uh, you can wear absolutely anthing you want," Janet assures Steve. "Just don't step on anyone's *toes* while you're clomping around in them. The only rule is that you have to look great when you're moving. Carhartt's and flannel isn't going to cut it," she teases.

Janet steps away and pushes her palms against the table so she can hop upwards and sit again. "Where was the best dancing during the war?" she inquires, tilting her head at Steve with a curious expression. "I read online that it was all the Army guys who spread swing dancing and stuff around Europe and the Pacific. Was it 'cause you learned it out in the world, or...?" She trails off, brows lifting inquisitively.

Captain America has posed:
"Fair," the soldier decides, in regards to the proposed rules of the clubbing scene. Rest assured the combat boots will return if he finds a feasible way to execute it. However, Janet asks a valid question and the man kills the remaining volume of his coffee before he fills her in, truthful as he is.

"The best dancing during the war was out of range of Nazis ranged weaponry." Whether or not he earns himself any reaction, he continues in a more serious vein. "Barnes took me to some dancing halls on double-dates, but it... It never panned out how it should have. Buck taught me some dance moves before I volunteered for the serum, but it was the Howling Commandos who weren't going to allow Captain America to step on anyone's toes. When there was down-time between engagements, they'd catch me between meetings and teach me a thing or two. Between Buck and Jacques, I eventually knew enough to fake it 'til I made it."

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Aww, that's such a sweet story," Janet says with a lopsided smile. Though Steve may not notice it, she clearly misunderstood the 'double date' line. "It's hard to imagine you before--" she gestures at him with a flickering of fingers. "All this happened," she clarifies. "Getting shot up with a hundred CCs of Formula Beefcake." Her eyes dance merrily over an impish grin.

"It's so sweet that the Commandos wanted to help you shore up your dance skills. I bet all that time doing those song and dance numbers for the war bonds had you pretty well grounded," she surmises.

Fingers flick lint from her heavy wool skirt. "Me, I had to learn ballroom dance in prep school. Which was awkward, because it was a girl's school in Europe. The Academy is a hundred and fifty years old and it still hasn't ocurred to them that dance lessons are difficult to teach without men to lead the dance." She rolls her eyes. "Anyway, we finally brought over the boys from St. Matthew's for some co-ed lessons and a few dances. Predictably, there were a lot of detentions handed out for people making out under the bleachers."

Captain America has posed:
"I can imagine there were a few dismissals," the Captain comments drily about the bleachers. "Never did learn ballroom, not beyond the Foxtrot and basic boxstep Waltz. Never figured out Latin. Never actually did any dancing on the stage with the warbond numbers." Again, Steve shrugs, adjusting the set of his boots as to cross an ankle in his lean on the counter. "Never had the time...and there wasn't any point before the serum. You can look at the photographs. SHIELD has 'em on file through a basic search in the system."

He seems to grow more solemn, more reserved, as he continues matter-of-factly, "Buck was always the lady-killer. He got himself into more dark corners and came back with more lipstick on his collar than I can remember. Nobody was interested in a little guy who didn't like bullies."

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet hesitates, checking her words with a shrewd look at Steve before she speaks. "Steve, don't get me wrong. You're very pretty," she tells him. "But-- listen to me, Steve," she says, snapping her fingers once to make sure she has his attention. "You're not like... don't take this the wrong way but you're not *unique* that way. I've been around Adonais' for years and I drape Hollywood pretty regularly. That Kriss Ivans? Hunky as hell. You kind of look like him, come to think of it," she says, peering at him curiously.

"Point is that if it was just you being beefcake, you'd be one in a thousand, but you're still one of a thousand. You actually have a personality and a good heart. That's... kind of rare. It definitely doesn't hurt to wrap that up in some pretty packaging," she says giving him a once over. "I sure don't mind the view but I'm not hanging out with you solely for aesthetic reasons. I get enough of that as it is."

Captain America has posed:
The snapping garners her a fleeting frown, but the irritation is short-lived. No reason to cling to it, and Steve grants her his undivided attention, keen as that might be. Note to self, look up this Kriss Ivans fellow.

Regardless, Janet leaves him speechless. The implications rock him to his core. His throat lifts and falls in something akin to a swallow against dry-mouth, and - of course - the tips of his ears darken.

"'m glad to hear that." His words are quiet in the stillness of the kitchen around them. The scent of coffee and creamer still lingers in the air. "Over the years, a lot of it has been about..." and he gestures down himself. "Been numb over it. Disappointment." He still doesn't wax eloquent just yet.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"I guess I don't understand," Janet admits. "I mean, I kinda understand. Body dysmorphia runs in the industry. The models are all bulemic or anorexic. The ones who aren't are just blessed with insane genetics and that makes everyone *else* really insecure."

She exhales a weary sigh. "Sorry. That's not... I guess that's not super helpful. If you wanted to transition to being a woman, that's a conversation I've had with friends before," she laughs.

"I think you've just got to resign yourself to being pretty," she tells Steve. "It's life when you're gorgeous. I got used to it. Jessica will. Jen and Carol did. It doesn't change who you are inside. You'd still be Steve. And anyone who... cares about the *real* you would see past the, uh..." She proves her cheek with her tongue. "'packaging'. So to speak."

Captain America has posed:
Cue about the most bewildered look Janet might have ever seen on Steve's face. Again, he's speechless, and his mouth works without sound. He actually uncrosses his boots and stands properly upright.

"Janet. You can't -- how did you come to -- " Still not waxing eloquent, apparently. "I'm a guy. Male. I don't want to change. I want -- I want a woman in my life who sees me as me. A woman." And then a different light comes into his face and he outright laughs, if only out of acute embarrassment that spreads through his cheeks in a flush.

"Janet, Buck and I aren't a pair. He's a friend. My oldest friend. Lipstick on the collar? He used to try and bird-dog for me." Hands outheld to his sides are almost beseeching. "How on earth did you come to that conclusion?"

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Steve, it's *fine*," Janet laughs. She comes off the table again, but this time reaches up to give his cheek a fondly reassuring pat. "I don't judge you! I know you and Bucky go way back. I mean, c'mon, you've got the jawline, he's got those dark eyes and the bangs..." She sighs dreamily. "I get it," she assures him. "It's just all the little things that got me there. You two going on 'double dates', old 'barracks buddies'." Fingers dance quotes in the air. "It's fine! It's the 21st century, Steve. People are fine with it. *I'm* fine with it. I mean, god, it's not like I haven't, y'know, experimented," she says, with a suggestive wink. "It's your life and I don't judge you," she says, hands resting on her hips. "So don't feel like you have to prove anything to me." She tilts her head to the side, looking up at him beseechingly.

Captain America has posed:
The man's face smoothes into a mask of forced politeness as he drops his hands to his sides.

"Janet." The Captain's voice has dropped into low and deadly earnesty. "I would not lie to you. I have no reason to. Barnes and I are not together. We are friends. I have no interest in more changes to my life and to my person." Taking up his empty mug, he then walks to the sink in order to wash it out. "I don't know what else I can do to convince you," he mutters over his shoulder as the water rubs and he rubs at the inner curves of the cup with his fingers hard enough to squeak at the ceramic.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet gives Steve's broad back a look of consternated worry. Self-doubt and uncertainy cross her face. Steve plunges into the sink and Janet plunges into her memories. Every playful joke about Steve and Bucky, the entendre, the innuendos, the suggestive commentary... she goes a little pale at how gibly she's treated Steve's relationship with Bucky. Even a little sick in her expression.

Irrationally, then, her brow furrows. A pretty and irritated frown crosses her face. Not just Steve's blunt, belated clarification of his domestic situation-- but the comment about 'changes to my life and person'. The frown turns into an irritated scowl.

"You don't have to convince me of anything, Steven," she says with a tart tone, and swings her feet to kick off the table she's perched on. "I certainly wouldn't want to *complicate* things for you." She drains her mug and drops it onto the counter on the other edge of the sink. Struggling sincerely to project an aura of uncaring sophistication, she tosses her head back and starts walking towards the kitchen exit.

Captain America has posed:
Steve glances down at her mug as it clinks into place on the counter, left almost as a trophy kill. He inhales deeply and turns his head to watch her begin to leave. The water continues running, steaming up and around his hands, and his skin begins to turn red. He ignores it, leaving his own mug under the running stream.

"Janet van Dyne, you're a terrible liar." He levels that accusation at her retreating back like the knell of a tocsin. "Since you came back, everything's been complicated, just how you wanted it. The tuxedo, my phone, the dinner -- " A slap of the handle finally turns off the water with a firm thunk. "All of it. If you'd take a moment and //listen//, you wouldn't be sashaying off like some -- some -- "

Poor man's the victim of his own words as he stands there, turned away from the sink and towards her with hands tucked still dripping water beneath his armpits.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Ex/cuse/ you?" Janet turns on her toes mid-stride as smoothly as a drum majorette, one leg crossed in front of the other. Her hands rest on her hips for balance and she gives Steve a positively gimlet stare.

She stares at Steve then laughs, once, the sound a frustrated and broken thing. Fingers flip in exasperation, coded language for a nonexistent audience. "First, /buster/," she says, storming up to Steve. She jabs him in the sternum with an index finger. Zero physical damage, 1d4 emotional damage. "Call me a liar again and we're gonna go a round on the mat," she glares up at him. Red heat suffuses her pale, fine features. "Second, *complicated*? What kind of BS is that? Nu-uh, you're gonna explain to me exactly how *complicated* I've made things," she tells him bluntly. Head and wagging forefinger snake in opposite directions. "Because frankly, Steve, the only person make this complicated is you. /I've/ been the one trying to reach out. /I've/ been the one trying to hook you up with people and new friends and concert tickets. /I've/ been going out of my way to give you some pretty clear signals that-- that if you-- that *whatever* you want, you know, whatever makes you happy, I'm here to help you, damnit, and y-you've," she stalls, eyes dropping, and jabs him in the sternum again. "You've been talking about Bucky nonstop and I saw you looking at Jessica and I-I'm just, okay , yeah, fine, so I'm not the best at picking up hints, but I thought--"

"Y'know, it's fine, it's whatever, I'm /sorry/ I'm making things so /difficult/ for you, I'll ju-just leave you alone--" she takes a breath, clearly hellbent for leather on a long tirade, and stares up at Steve with angry, surprisingly wet eyes.

Captain America has posed:
Uh oh.

Even on the approach, one can see the broad-chested man lean backwards a minute amount. Steve is certain he's hit a nerve when she lands the solid poke into the space between his pecs. Setting his jaw, he glares down at the minute fashionista. For every emphasis on consonants and words that jags through the tirade like bits of broken glass, he seems to twitch about the corners of his eyes. He knows it's useless to try and speak up until she's done, especially with this head of steam, and as such, he waits, dreadfully silent all the while. The breath affords him an opportunity to speak and he does, swiftly and firmly.

"Let me explain how complicated you've made things. I went to Buck and I talked to him, Janet, because the last time I was looking at a woman, it was 1945 and I had no idea I was about to be frozen like a cut of chicken for almost seventy years. When I woke up, they were no longer boiling water and at one point, apparently, women burned their bras." His cheeks heat more, but he continues on. "I'm going to be a gentleman, Janet, whether you like it not, because you're a hell of a dame and you deserve one. Buck already told me I'm an idiot. I know it. Buck also said I was dragging my heels. I'm //not// dragging my heels." This denial he gravels out, as if his friend might hear it across the distance. "I am -- I am doing my best to court you like you deserve. I thought I'd start with dinner. You want more than dinner? What do you want?"

He throws up his hands and then lets them drop to slap off his thighs. "What do you want?" he asks again, more sincerely yet, brows furrowed.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet blinks when Steve overrides her tirade with his stentorian command voice. She looks almost taken aback, but for once lets someone else have the floor. The finger on his sternum relaxes, a half-curled fist resting against his chest for balance.

She pinks low in the hollow of her throat when Steve confesses his aims of courtship. Janet's expression becomes something fetchingly shy, even a little abashed as a tiny smile threatens to crack the edges of her outrage. She ducks her eyes away from Steve's intense, frustrated blue gaze until he puts the question to her.

Green eyes, dilated and dark, turn back up to Steve's face. She smiles lopsidedly and reaches up with her fingertips to barely touch his jaw. One hand, then the other, applying only a featherlight pressure. She stares up at him, silently trying to work her words into order.

"I... I just want you to be honest, Steve. With me. With yourself. About what you want. What you're afraid of. Stop being scared of the risks over the rewards."" She bites her lower lip, face creasing in consternation at the naked vulnerability she displays for Steve.

"Sshow me you're more scared of being without me than you are of being *with* me," she pleads, looking up at him with a desperate hope.

Captain America has posed:
She can see his throat work. His hands rise to take hers and he looks down at them, those wheat-gold brows still colliding above his nose as if this had just become the foremost problem in his world. His thumbs rub along her knuckles -- Janet might recognize the handhold from the briefest dance lesson they dared weeks back when he rotates his wrists as to allow her fingers to curl about his, almost as a bird upon a branch.

"'m not about to waste time with a woman who doesn't want what's beneath the face. You know that." His eyes rise to meet and hold hers. "You said you know that, even if it was half-lost in...fluff," and he dares to laugh once. "You also called me one in a thousand. Said I had a good heart. You've got a brain under that show you put on," Steve then adds more shrewdly, squinting at her for a second. "Dunno why you do it, but I see through that, Janet. That's...that's what I see -- and since I'm being honest, you're scared too."

A deep breath and a short sigh. "And since we're both scared, we can figure this out together. Do you want a gentleman in your life? Because I'm your man." Steve still hasn't dropped her hands, carefully as he's claimed them. His palms are a bit sweaty now.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet smiles up at Steve, nodding. "No," she tells him, breathily.

Fingers curl into his and she leans her wrists against his breastbone, getting as close as his grip on her hands permits. "I don't want an Army man with all his rules and regulations. Or a gentleman who does everything by the rote of Miss Manners-- someone who sticks to safe bets."

"Love's a /battlefield/, Steve," she informs him. Where fortune favors the bold. Her tone is firm but not cruel, lacking any ire or vituperation. She ducks her gaze away, trying to marshal her emotions. She fails then looks back up at Steve, making eye contact. "I want ... I want that skinny kid. The one who picked fights he knew he might lose because he wasn't afraid of the risks."

Janet's teeth dimple her lip up at Steve, and she unconsciously curls her fingers into his palms as if her willpower alone could draw him forward.

Captain America has posed:
There won't be any missing the flash of shock over his face at the denial of his initial offer. Steve's mouth moves once and then closes as he tries to read more into the way she moves, stepping closer to him yet. That's rather a sign of affirmation, not of negation entirely. As her grip tightens, so does his in turn.

"You want that beanpole who wouldn't stand down? You get him in spades," Steve replies down at her, finding words after all, " - along with everything else. You'd get all of it, Janet, because that's what I can give...if you'll let me." When did he step fully into her space? "Because if this is a battlefield, you're going against someone who's been at war for a very long time, and I will risk all of me." His tongue flicks to wet his upper lip and he still hasn't dropped those lambent green eyes. "Yes?"

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
A breathy squeak escapes Janet's mouth. It'd be a sigh of utter longing and romantic awe at his poetic turn of phrase, but frankly her throat's so tight with tension that words of any sort aren't possible.

The socialite swallows heavily when the broad-shouldered Captain steps forward, leaning back slightly. Hips press closer to his and she puts herself literally in his hands, allowing his grip on her fingers to balance her as her center of gravity shifts backwards

Her expression-- uncertain. Afraid and enraptured all at once. Perhaps Janet, too, is wondering if she's biting off more than she can chew.

She nods at him. It's a jerky, uncontrolled motion.

"Y-yes," she gets out. Her voice hoarse. Wide-eyed with hopeful vulnerability as Steve presses forward.

Captain America has posed:
"Yes," the Captain huffs back, the echo nearly a hollow and relieved laugh. He outright dimples for a second and then his lips collapse as if he wasn't entirely sure that how he should have reacted. Another second or two of emotions crisscross his face and, at one point, he even tucks his chin in a show of bashfulness so counter to his well-balanced bearing.

"Already done it once'n' didn't get slapped, so..." The mutter is definitely towards his navel even as Steve meets her eyes again. There's an acute glitter to his own even as he leans in, pinked along his cheekbones to his ears and down the back of his neck.

It's a chaste kiss yet again, no more lingering than necessary to make his point while being a determinable pressure. Warm and dry, it lands full on her lips and then he goes to pull away, opening his eyes again to look at her at the achingly close distance. A firm nod. "Yes," he breathes.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet turns her face up and her eyes lid. If she had a hat, she'd be holding it and swooning. The petite fashionista slips her hand around the back of Steve's neck. Fingers are cool and dry, pulling herself up into his kiss as much as she's trying to pull Steve down to her.

She blinks when Steve breaks away and follows him a fruitless half-inch. The point of her slender chin tucks in surprise at the break when he tries to straighten, still hanging onto him.

Her eyes flicker up and down and she gives him an almost affronted scowl. The hand gingerly pressed around his neck is joined by the other and Janet launches herself upwards with elbows braced on his chest. She seizes his head in hand and plants one right on Steve's mouth. Much less dry, *intensely* more warm, and she kicks a dainty foot up behind her as she lays the kiss on Steve's mouth and holds it for a head-swimming four count.

She breaks with a sharp inhale of air and slides languidly back to her feet. A hand rests on Steve's sternum for balance more than anything else and she takes a few slow, steadying breaths.

"Whew! Yes," she says, finally, and nods. She tries to check the immodest smile curling her bee-stung lips. "Yes, very, uh, very much yes." Fingers pat his chest reassuringly.

"Okay. Yes. That was..." she nods her head in a slow, dazed circle. "That was very much yes. Good yes? Good yes," she agrees, as if saying 'good game'.

Captain America has posed:
Janet might suddenly have the pull of a gravitational well for all that the far-stronger man doesn't straighten entirely from his initial foray. He remains partially bent at the waist as if paused in a bow. Her struggles are somewhat lost on him, but that glower isn't. Uh oh redux. It's hard to summon up words when he's trying to hear over the buzzing of his heart in his ears.

"Wha -- " Incoming, all to stifle his thought. It's snuffed as a candleflame beneath a douter. His hands find safe homes at her hips and what is breathing? It's like coming up for air when they separate after those four lengthy seconds and Steve too has to simply breathe for a few seconds, looking down at her dazed as he is.

"Good yes," he too concurs throatily. His hands at her hips squeeze and then relax, staying put by checked will alone. Still haven't been slapped. "I gotta..." Blinking hard, he clears his throat -- it's the steeling of his famous willpower. "Meeting, Janet, at the Triskelion. Can't be late." One can see him work his mouth as if it were cotton-dry. "Be back tonight. You wanna...dinner?"

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet stares up at Steve, helplessly. "Story of my life. I meet the perfect guy, and he bails on me for work." She bites her lower lip in a failed attempt to suppress a bright and teasing grin, the high points of her cheeks yet flushed pink. She nods reassuringly and fingers drum a pat on his breastbone. "Dinner would be ... wonderful," she tells him. "Um... text me? When you figure out when you'll be back. I'll get us a table. Or a booth. Or wherever. I'll make something," she offers, babbling. "Whatever works for you."

Captain America has posed:
"I'll text you," Steve confirms even as his entire posture relaxes into something far less tense in return, as if to cajole even the half-hearted worry from her. "We'll figure it out." It has the weight of much more than dinner plans alone. A drop of his chin again and he chuckles before looking to her almost on the sly.

"Not Outback Steakhouse this time though, I think. How about you text me where you want to go? Seems only fair," he says, straightening fully in place again.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Aye aye, sir," Janet says, and renders a crisp, terribly inaccurate salute. She finally (reluctantly) steps away from Steve, fingers interlacing and resting below her belly button to keep from reaching out again. "I'll figure something out and I'll let you know. Maybe I'll even find somewhere that will let you wear combat boots," she says, dark eyes twinkling.

Steve's given a slow up and down and for no particular reason, Janet sighs appreciatively. With a bob of her feet she moves forward and into his personal proximity once more, but this time guides his chin down with a featherlight touch to his jaw and kisses his cheek.

"Go save the world, soldier. I'll be here when you get back," she promises him. Janet frets her lip once more, gives his cheek a gentle and fond pat, and then turns and scurries quickly out of the room.