6675/An evening to dine. ...van Dyne.

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An evening to dine. ...van Dyne.
Date of Scene: 26 February 2019
Location: Unknown
Synopsis: Janet and Steve have their long-delayed dinner. Secrets are revealed.
Cast of Characters: Captain America, Wasp (van Dyne)




Captain America has posed:
There was a promise for dinner and promises must be kept. For the first time in a long time, Steve found himself anxious to get out of the comfortable chair at his place along the long wooden table within Triskelion's conference room. Rather than tap the pen used for taking notes on the table itself, he tapped it against his palm, a steady metronomic pace. It's a deviation from his normal patience and no doubt garnered some interested glances from other agents sitting around him. Still, the meeting did end and it was upon him to figure out what to do next. A check of his phone and he nods, briefly rolling his lips. Alright...that place is going to require a suit jacket.

A quick stop by his apartment in Brooklyn Heights, where his closet holds what he needs. Thus, preceded by the rumble of his glossy black Harley-Davison Street 750 motorcycle, customized to his druthers, Steve pulls up in front of van Dyne Industries. He's sans-helmet, but one sits in his lap. Kicking out the stand and killing the motor, he dismounts and walks towards the building with helmet in hand, dressed in his leather jacket and what appears to be a passable pair of dress-slacks and dress shoes.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Looking for me, soldier?" Janet emerges from her private elevator car just as Steve approaches the front desk. The Winsome Wasp seems to have reached back in time for her outfit. Olive green slacks with subtle vertical pinstriping are worn up to her waist, and they're so expertly cut they emphasize her curves more than hide them. Her sleeveless blouse sports neatly symmetrical military lapels. A silken eggshell fabric with complex, dark floral patterns curling into themselves like encarnine fractals. Four-inch black stiletto pumps are anything *but* old fashioned, though. She pauses mid-step, legs crossed into a model's 'x' stance and she pivots on one toe so Steve can take in the whole image.

"You like it?" The fashionista extracts a floral scarf from the crook of her elbow and hands Steve her camel-leather coat and purse to hold.

"Everyone's out of the penthouse, Robbie. Have a good night," she bids the security guard. Expertly she ties the scarf tight to protect her hair and then turns her back to Steve so she can help him into her heavy coat. He's given an insincerely demure look over the bare roundel of her shoulder. "Glad you were able to break free from work so soon," she says, fairly purring up at him.

Captain America has posed:
"Looking for you," echoes Captain Rogers on his approach, and the very end of the reply goes a touch hollow for the vision before him. She's sight and a lovely one at that. He stops and watches her rise en-pointe to rotate on display. Being the gentleman that he is, the man does manage to act the porter for her coat and purse in passing; the outerwear drapes over to hide the motorcycle helmet he holds.

"You look fashionable as always, miss van Dyne." A firm nod accentuates his thoughts as does a faint, somewhat incredulous grin. Now that he's actively paying attention, she is very well put-together -- and that includes build as well as sartorial expertise. With gentle care, he aids her in slipping into her coat. A swallow at her praising comment. "Meeting didn't last as long as I expected it to. Seemed long enough. More taking stock of the status of current missions, etcetera. It's all stable, but you know how a line of dominos only needs a nudge to start a chain reaction."

He hands back her purse as well and leads the way out to the motorcycle tucked next to the sidewalk. The helmet is lifted in offering towards the Wasp. "Helmet hair or the off-chance of the NYPD scowling at us?" he asks, grinning in a rare little show of cheeky humor.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet beams up at Steve grateful for his praise. It's hardly false compliments; Janet *always* looks fashionable. But she welcomes Steve's words nonetheless.

"Why thank you, /Captain/ Rogers," she remarks. Janet turns back to face Steve and buttons the double-breasted jacket up and cinches the belt tight. The dense white fur and thick black threading gives the jacket an almost cartoonish quality at a glance, as if she's been cel-shaded in. A hand is layed on Steve's arm and Janet hooks her forearm through his elbow to follow him to the bike. "So I know I said Williamsburg," Janet begins, and follows Steve to his bike. She accepts the helmet and pulls it onto her head, then pushes the visor up so she can be heard and settles in behind Steve. Palms slide along the angles of his obliques with a deliberate tardiness and Janet melts against Steve's columnar back, a light, lithely warm presence there.

"I thought you might like a classic. Take the expressway to Metro and Meeker," she tells Steve. "I'll get us there once we're closer. Hopefully you don't figure it out before we arrive." She grins at him impishly, the expression not at all muted by the boxed-in cushions around her delicate features.

Captain America has posed:
The soldier shifts in his straddling of the bike, seeming to better get his balance and to kick the engine to life -- really, it's because of the glide of those hands. Janet isn't the first to ride pillion behind him in any manner, given how many instances required of him and another Howling Commando in the war, but her presence is a beacon in comparison.

"Well, now I'm curious," Steve admits good-naturedly over his shoulder with a quick look back at his rider. "I'll play along. Expressway to Metro and Meeker it is." He pulls the bike out into traffic with care rather than willy-nilly thrill-seeking speed. However, it appears that the Captain isn't against slipping between cars with a bit less caution than a standard rider might gauge. Up onto the Expressway they go and the motorcycle thrums as he merges. The wind is brisk at this speed, but hopefully the bulk of his frame brunts the worst of it for Janet. Far sooner than later, after lazily weaving around SUVs and yellow taxis and a van or two, he's exiting down towards Metro and Meeker.

"Left or right? Straight?" he asks over his shoulder back at Janet.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet nudges Steve back and forth with her knees and fingers. She's a good passenger; leans into Steve's back with each turn, keeping the center of gravity in a consistent arc. She certainly doesn't seem to mind an excuse to hang on to Steve for leverage.

They come off the expressway and around a bend, and Janet taps Steve to slow down and pull into a parking spot. Once the engine's killed she removes her helmet and hands it to Steve. "I wasn't sure if you ever ate here," she admits, shyly, and leans past Steve to point at an illuminated sign.

"Bamonte's. I read it's been around since like the turn of the 1900s. It's still like one of the great authentic Italian restaurants in the City. D'you-- do you like it?" she inquires, worried hesitation tingeing her voice.

Captain America has posed:
It's as he's pulling the bike up to tuck into a street-side parking space that Steve realizes where she intended to direct him. A quiet laugh escapes him, bright with surprise if a little muffled given his current facing as driver of the bike. Turning in his seat, he takes the helmet from Janet and works to get it locked to the bike by the thin passenger seat.

"I haven't been here since the 1930s." Janet gets the full force of those dimples in a grin before the Captain swings his leg over and pockets the bike's keys. "Can't believe it's still around." He offers out an arm yet again to the wee Wasp before they travel between large cement pottings of plants and to the brick-faced eatery, tan on its lower level and ruddy-painted on its second flooring, with its angular sign proclaiming 'Bamonte's' on the vertical and 'Restaurant' on the horizontal.

Inhaling deeply even as he makes to open the door, Steve sighs happily. "Garlic. Gonna have to get some bread," he comments as he stands to one side to allow Janet entry first.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet's smiling to beat the band at Steve's sincere pleasure. "I guess it hasn't changed hardly at all in the last eight years," she promises him. "They even go to the same upholstery shops and make sure the chairs are done in the same fabric and dyes and colors so they're preserving as much of the original intent as possible. I think one of the current owners is even someone's great-grandkid from when the original family opened it."

She waits for Steve to open the door and heads inside with him, hanging onto his arm with an effortlessly and slightly possessive balance. The maitre'd greets them both, and Janet whispers in Steve's ear 'Rogers' when their reservation is mentioned.

"Be a dear?" she murmurs at Steve, and turns her back to him again so she can extricate her arms from her coat more gracefully than trying to wriggle out of it.

Captain America has posed:
"Evening. Reservation under 'Rogers'," the soldier tells the maitre'd after the inquery and consequential lean briefly down to hear Janet's sotto-voce prompt. He ignores the quiet flutter that goes through the staff with a practiced grace as he holds on to the shoulders of the fashionista's coat in order to allow herself extracation without issue. When he shrugs out of his own leather motorcycle jacket, it's revealed that he swapped out earlier's t-shirt for a fine dress-shirt in a flattering steel-blue, almost a near-match for his eyes. The outerwear is handed off to a waiting staff-person with a quiet 'thanks' and then they're being escorted to a small two-seated table in a more private section of the restaurant. Apparently, the staff has deliberately left tables at least one section outwards and around them empty as to not allow nosy folk to lean in and ask questions of the two superheroes. Rest assured, however, that their appearance isn't without the additional lull and rise in conversation as the various attendees realize in clusters who has arrived.

The waiter sets down the menus after pulling out both chairs and seating both Steve and Janet. He asks after drinks. "Ice water for both of us, and wine?" He asks towards the woman in particular with a nod towards the tall, thin listing of vintages.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet's fussing with her place setting and her napkin when the question is thrown to her and she responds with a reflexive smile at Steve and the sommeliere. "Whatever you prefer, Steve. I'm leaning towards the fish tonight, so perhaps white wine?" she offers, as a polite suggestion.

Once they're settled in-- candles lit by a flickering match in the host's hand-- Janet leans over the table, fingers curling over her elbows, and smiles at Steve. Her regard is langorously intense, raking green eyes over the slopes and planes of his craggy features. "So what do you like best about the 21st century, Steve?" she prompts him. "Is it the food? The music? You've been un-thawed long enough you probably even have some strong opinions about this year's Oscar crop."

Captain America has posed:
After Steve takes up the wine listing, he points to one of the bottles of white wine and glances up at the sommeliere. "Of course, sir," and the man nods once. "I will return with it." Suit-tails and all, the waiter then masterfully disappears in a wake of snuffed match-smoke to leave the two to their perusing of the menus proper.

With the dinner menu propped up on the edge of the table, the Captain looks up from musing between lasagna and meatball spaghetti towards Janet. A lift of his brows and he clears his throat, visibly at least a little flustered for her intense attention upon him. "Didn't watch the Oscars, but I heard more about that Kriss Ivans man you mentioned earlier. Glad to see that chivalry hasn't died out yet." He sits back in his chair and frowns as he considers. "Best thing about the 21st century... The expediency of it all, I guess. Food's ready quickly, I can look up new jargon on my phone in a heartbeat...but that's also its problem too. Few folks have patience these days. It's not the end of the world if you don't get your coffee in under a minute," he opines with a shake of his head at some past memory of a Starbucks fiasco he observed.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Mmmmaybe that's because we're all so aware of what we could be doing with every wasted minute?" Janet supplies, helpfully. She pinks a little. Steve's complaint is an accurate descriptor of the flighty, impetuous little Avenger, after all.

A foot jitters silently under the table for a few beats until she pins her ankle in place with one foot hooked ahead of the other. "I'm sure people got impatient back in the day, too," she counters. "And with how *big* New York is, you're going to run into more jerks per day. Right?" she says, hands spreading in mute appeal. "Because you don't notice the hundred regular people around you, you notice the one screaming asshole. And so does everyone else."

Captain America has posed:
A ghost of a knowing smile lingers around Steve's mouth at what small blush touches the Wasp's cheeks, but he doesn't let it come to full fruition. "Running into punks hasn't changed and it never will. There's always gonna be a bad apple in the bunch. Yeah, they're obvious. At least there's...what's it called these days. Peer-pressure," he says with a quiet snap of his fingers before he takes up the other side of the menu again.

"What about you? You were born and raised to the times. Barring the jerks, what's your favorite thing about the 21st century?" The ball gently flies back into her court and the Captain grants her quiet attention.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet laughs uneasily. "Such a weird question," she chivvies Steve. "I've only ever been *alive* in the 21st Century. I don't have any frame for comparison."

"uhhh...." She rolls her neck backwards and looks skywards for inspiration. "I guess my smartphone," she concludes, finally. "Like being connected to *everyone*. I can post pictures on Instagram and share with friends thousands of miles away with the push of a button. I really do think social media's pulling everyone together, y'know?"

Captain America has posed:
Steve tries to keep the old tic of annoyance under control, but his nose still wrinkles. He's diplomatic as he politely disagrees. "From what I can tell, it's taking away from the sincerity of speaking face to face. Like this," and he gestures between Janet and himself over the menu. "I can see your expressions. I can tell whether or not you're mad or happy or tired. Those text-based faces...emojis? Those don't replace the human element and they never will." By his tone, no one's convincing him otherwise. "I get that you can speak to someone hundreds of thousands of miles away in a heartbeat and for that, phones are useful. Texting someone who's two rooms over or across the house? Expedient, but...it lacks connection."

The sommelier returns with the bottle of wine and after pouring out two samplings of the white blend chosen, he then leaves them both with bottle and fully-filled glasses. Steve takes up his glass by the stem and lifts it. "...to you," he says, gentle in his compliment.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"To us?" Janet ventures with a smile, and gently chimes her glass against Steve's before taking a sip. She eyes Steve, almost saying something, then thinks better of it and her warmly social smile reappears. "There's no substitute for the real thing," she agrees, and shifts as she crosses her legs under the table. With exquisite social courtesy she removes a slab of butter from the serviette and transfers it to her plate and then breaks a roll in half so it can nestle in the folds of bread and start melting. It's true butter, too, a pale cream on the plate instead of the hard margarine served at other restaurants.

"Still, emojis are nice for some things. Saying exactly what you want someone to understand. I think you just like the nuance of face to face-ness," Janet challenges playfully. "Mister microexpression. If I send you a text message, there's no subtext for you to dissect, is there?"

Captain America has posed:
Steve gains a touch of color at his ears for the subtle shift in compliment given back to him, but it's not too terrible this time around. He too takes up a roll from the basket delivered to them along with the wine. A small sigh of appreciation escapes him for the real butter to spread and after observing Janet's plan, he too tucks away a cutting of it to melt into the bread. He glances up at her again at her words and smirks.

"No, there's no subtext to dissect," he readily allows. "What's the best way to put it... You can't see a facial expression, you can't tell if someone lying -- and I don't have a lot of use for liars." Steve smiles to soften what rings almost painfully truthful on his part. He then looks down at his menu again and asks without looking up at her, "Figured out what you want to order?"

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet's on her phone and tapping something out with her thumbs at a machine-gun pace. "Y'know, I think I'll have the baked clams," she remarks thoughtfully. "I was eyeing them when I was looking at the menu online. I've heard they're absolutely stellar. They said the bolognase is the other house speciality," she recommends in a helpful tone.

"It's apparently this wonderful old recipe they've had secretly for years and years. Authentic old Sicilian, I understand."

Steve's phone buzzes. "Looks like you got a text," she tells him with a casually suggestive tone, and waits patiently for Steve to look at the device in his pocket.

When he looks back at her, Janet scoops up a dollop of melted butter under her immacuately manicured nail and lays it against her tongue. The dairy's sucked free with a softly audible *pop*.

"What was that you were saying about lost subtext?"

Captain America has posed:
Janet gets a bemused frown for her efforts. Indeed, the phone vibrates in his pants pocket and the Captain pulls it out to look down at the screen. While at first he's apparently somewhat unamused and feels she might be pulling his leg, his expression then shifts to something more...knowing -- and daresay it, mildly flustered.

When he looks up again, there's the overt come-on and he feels his cheeks heat as if a switch were flicked. Thank god for the waiter arriving on-scene to save him from his own mouth because whatever was going to tumble out was probably going to be equal parts Gaelic and nonsensical.

"Oh -- ahem, yes, yes, we're ready to order. She'll have the baked clams with the bolognase sauce. I'll have the...the...spaghetti, please, with meatballs. Four," he specifies, his voice having gone back to smoothness yet again.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet uplifts a hand at the waiter before he can speak. "I think he means /he/ will have the bolognase on spaghetti," she clarifies. "I don't think my baked clams need red sauce. As the chef recommends, please," she tells the waiter.

"Bene, madame, molto bene," the waiter chuckles. He tops off their glasses and heads off to deliver their orders to the kitchen.

When Steve's attention returns to Janet, she's toying with the lip of her wineglass and scraping a nail around the rim. "Listen, Steve, I... I kind of did something dumb," she admits, hesitantly. She glances at Steve. Janet's neck is turning red. It's not shy arousal, but rather a deeper embarassment. "And like, I don't know. I ... don't ... I got some advice about being honest. I don't want tonight to keep going so amazingly and then go off the rails. I'm trying to be... I don't know. Less crazy."

The chair under her creaks as Janet sits back, hugging her stomach in a gesture of uncomfortable defensiveness. Green eyes duck away from Steve's face and she pushes at her bangs where they tease her brows. "I went to the Triskelion earlier. To talk to Bucky," she explains. "I... don't know. You kissed me. Then you left immediately. I panicked," she mumbles.

She massages her brow with thumb and forefinger. This also shields her eyes from Steve, as sincere embarassment suffuses her cheeks a shocking shade of saffron. "So I found him in the cafeteria and I went to talk to him and things kinda devolved from there."

Captain America has posed:
The menus are handed off and with a visible sigh, Steve then rubs his palms on his pants out of sight of the table. He looks up at Janet once more to find her appearing suddenly...guilty? It's enough of a boomerang in emotional state to make him go still and attentive. How magical, this ability to flip lenses upon reality -- he's hard-pressed to figure out where it stems from. Regardless, he listens, brows drawing slowly together.

She drops his friend's name and Steve draws up in his chair. Now his consternation is blatant on his face, but it's still modulated with confusion and his inherent stance that all people mean well in the end.

"...devolved?" he then asks, his voice low and enviously steady despite the very pointed look she's now receiving. His jaw shifts back and forth, grit-grit, but then he schools himself back to the near-flawless mask of manners once more. Must not glower.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Well..." There's a wince. Janet did not miss the flat basso shift of Steve's relaxed, confident baritone. Nor the flexion of muscles in his jaw. The subtle signs of Steve controlling his anger are not lost upon the petite fashionista.

"I was trying to play it cool. I've done the secret agent disguise before so, like, I just grabbed a suit from my closet and styled my hair. Carol totally stole the look from me, by the way," Janet says, flickering a playful, timid grin at Steve.

"I think he made me the second I sat down. I don't know how. He wouldn't talk to me or answer questions-- the whole time he was glaring at me. But his cute dog was super sweet, so I guess he can't be all bad."

She takes a breath. It's a little rattle in her throat and she seizes on the excuse to throw back a strong gulp of her wine.

Captain America has posed:
"Did she." It's a mutter sotto-voce from the Captain about Carol's propensity to borrow looks, not loud enough or intended to interrupt the story unraveling across the pristine white table before him. He has the stem of his wine glass pinched between forefinger and thumb. However, he does not fidget with it in tilting or turning it; instead, just a hold, relaxed...for now.

"The dog is Lili. She's his service animal," explains Steve. "I brought her to him to help him...cope." By the tiny nod, he decides that's the best way to describe what Bucky's doing these days, especially in light of the mysterious van-man out to kill him. "Buck's not an idiot. I've seen him make HYDRA agents by the socks they're wearing. You're gonna have to try harder than you did..." He continues to frown. "...whatever you did." By the way she's drinking the white wine rather than savoring it, he suspects something else is on its way.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet nods sadly. Some of the starch is missing from her shoulders but she forces herself to sit crisply upright with the manners burned into her very soul. She swings a leg across her knee with a shift of her hips. Fingers busy themselves with buttering another roll.

"Well, so, once he made me, I should have bailed. But I was ..." she exhales. "Too committed. He grabbed my wrist and said he was gonna call for help. I panicked-- god he's strong-- and slapped him on the wrist with one of the shrinkdiscs," Janet explains wincing.

"I thought for sure he was going to kill me. But he kept his cool the whole time. I mean, people say ice in the veins, but..." Janet shakes her head, looking down and away, then looks back at Steve with a calm resignation. "But he stayed calm and it kept me calm and we didn't end up like, throwing down or anything. He was mad at me. Then I think suspicious. Then... I don't know. He just seemed to deflate. Then I asked him if... he had any advice for me. I mean, about you." She inhales slowly, struggling to control her rising worry, but holds Steve's gaze. "He showed me how much you mean to him. And, then, he said... 'be honest'. So..." She shrugs, her resolve finally breaking, and ducks her eyes to the roll between her fingers. "Here we are."

Captain America has posed:
Steve's throat moves as if he wants to say something to hearing of how Bucky reacted, but he keeps his silence and rolls his lips slightly instead. Janet's the recipient of the keenest blue gaze yet from the man with the wine glass stem still pinched between fingertips. It doesn't begin to crack or showcase sign of structural weakness still. Her wince about utilizing one of the colored discs engenders a tiny inhale through his nose. Already, he's running through what SHIELD footage to reveal and potentially even delete -- only if necessary, however.

The murmur of the restaurant rises around them as the man continues staring at the Wasp in abject silence. Only the slow rise and fall of his chest betrays breathing. When he does finally break the hanging hush, it's with a soft groan in the back of his throat and his free hand coming up to rub at the side of his face.

"Janet," he begins before stopping. He clears his throat and tries again, his eyes rising from his own roll, left untouched thus far. "What you did was wrong. You could have been plain -- //In ainm De// -- " He slips into a brief expression of disgust in Gaelic before bringing himself back. "'m telling you what you already know. I don't need to tell you how you burned trust there. Look." More rubbing of his temple with his eyes shut, crinkled at their corners. "He's gonna tell me. He's gonna be honest too. Anything you forgot to mention?" Steve then asks, leveling a very serious look at her.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"No!" Janet blurts it out immediately, then flickering worry crosses her face. A complicated array of emotions-- uncertainty, regret for things that can't be unsaid, fearfulness. She rests her wrists on the table edge, struggling to keep her shoulders straight. Something glitters in her eye for a moment. "No," she says, again, more firmly. "I... I'm /trying/ here, okay," she pleads with him. "I'm not ... I haven't had a *real* relationship since I was nineteen. I'm kind of a mess and I'm *trying* to do better." Elbows dent the tablecloth and she runs her palms over her ducking scalp in frutraton. Looped fingers hang behind her neck like manacles. "I didn't know what to think. You kissed me then you suddenly left for a 'special meeting' at the Triskelion. Where Bucky is."

"Yes, I know, it's not like that. Bucky convinecd me," she reassures Steve. "But I didn't know. I wasn't sure. I thought I was just setting myself up to get ... get my heart broken again, and I panicked."

Captain America has posed:
His regard shifts about her face as he tries to keep track of the emotions on display. Wow, there's a gamut -- he's hit on a nerve, he can tell, and immediately after a quick jump in tension through his body, Steve makes himself deliberately relax. It takes his mein from judicial to simply listener and droops the line of his shoulders out of the set of defense. He can't help the little scoff at the line of logic ending in visiting Bucky rather than sitting in a meeting, but she does make her stance known and it mollifies him.

A third of his own volume of wine disappears again before he speaks. "I'll have you know I was, in fact, in a meeting about requisitioning training weaponry for the newest batch of SHIELD recruits. They wanted to know if we had any old equipment lying around the mansion. I gotta speak to Tony about it. It's nothing big," he adds with a dismissive turn of his hand on the tablecloth. He hold her gaze then.

"I'm not looking to break your heart. If anything, I'm..." A sigh. "I'm looking to find a woman who can be honest with me. So far, you're doing this. Keep it up and I might even start thinking you're not as flighty as you appear." It's an extremely gentle tease and the Captain's offered peace in turn, proof that while he's going to be exasperated until he speaks to Bucky, he's not going to let this ruin dinner.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet shoulders Steve's patient rebuke with quiet endurance. It seems to suggest the penitent suffering the last of the whip following confession. It drives the words home to the sulking, suspicious lizard brain-- relax, relax, relax.

Janet flickers a smile back at Steve's gentle and cajoling expression. Fingers slide across the table and curl into his palm invitingly. "If anything, I'm probably worse," Janet says with a tone of playful self-deprecation. "I'm as flighty as it gets. But you know... wasps might get mad and storm off in a huff in the wrong direction, but they always end up coming back to the nest," she tells Steve. "And it's nice to hear you admit it. Out loud," she clarifies. At that moment the food arrives and she's forced to sit back while plates are delivered.

"That you're looking." She lfits her glass to Steve in toast and blows him a kiss over the crystal rim.

Captain America has posed:
While the plates are laid out upon the table, Steve catches her eye again through the blur of pristine-white sleeves. With his wine glass already in-hand, he returns the salute to her and smirks. Rather than a kiss, a wink back at the fashionista.

"I have my eyes open. If you have any suggestions, I'm all ears," he replies as he takes up his fork. His palm still tingles where she gave it the small squeeze earlier. A deep and appreciative inhale of his plate of spaghetti and he looks up at Janet again. "Is it good? Do I need to grab a waiter about anything?" His fork tines hover over the pile of pasta, four meatballs and all nestled into its mountain.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"What sort of dessert goes well with an earnest apology?" Janet says, and her infectiously playful smile flickers over her face like sunlight breaking through gloomy clouds.

"And yes, it's very good," she says of her clams. She expertly transfers two small bites to a serving tray and slides it towards Steve across the short space of the tabletop. "Try them. You'll love it," she assures him. Her vivacity seems to return by leaps and bounds, and she breathlessly awaits Steve's opinion of his own food as well as hers.

Captain America has posed:
As Janet's scooping up some sampling for him to try, Steve realizes there's no space on the table as is with candles for a small dessert listing. "We'll have to look at the menu once we're through the main course," he replies even as he pauses in twirling up a forkful of pasta. The utensil makes a small clink on his plate as he sets it balanced on the plate to take up another fork instead to spear some clam.

He mulls the little bite of seafood about in his mouth and his eyebrows flick up to accompany his nod. "Not half-bad," he opines as he then layers up the pieces on the tines. "Think I'll stick to my spaghetti for now, but maybe next time I'll see if they come as a side. Here."

The Captain realizes it's more difficult to share a forkful of spaghetti, so he simply pushes the plate towards Janet. "Spin yourself up a mouthful. Lots of garlic." It's a delighted warning. Mmm, garlic.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet's slender wrists move smoothly with spoon and fork to twist up a little bundle of noodles. It's done with a smooth and effortless motion. She even gets a little piece of the meatball squirrled away inside the piled beehive.

It's transferred to her serviette before she takes a bite. Her brows lift and her chewing slows to something deliberately thoughtful. "That... is very not bad. I think you came out ahead of me on this one," she tells Steve with a smile. "I'm glad you're enjoying it."

Captain America has posed:
"It's delicious." Maybe it's the smile -- it can't be the wine -- but regardless, Steve has just replied this without actually haven taken a bite himself. He doesn't seem to notice it off the bat until he's actually twirled up a bite for himself and has appreciated it. "Definitely delicious," he adds rather quickly, as if just NOW realizing his slip-up. "You're welcome to as much of it as you want. Your clams are good though, don't let my opinion change your thoughts on things."

A period of comfortable silence follows as they eat from their respective platings before Steve speaks up again. "Saw they might have chocolate mousse for dessert, does that sound good?"

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"I'm, um... I'm kind of finding your opinion to be on my mind a lot," Janet confesses to Steve. The shy admission is clearly contingent upon a reality so new for Janet she's still processing it. "For instance, did I nail the look with my outfit? I know it's a little nontraditional from what you're used to but I saw the shirt diagram in my little costume library, the pants weren't hard to hem, and then the whole thing kind of *clicked* all at once."

She tilts an ankle out to look down at her heels. "Didn't think I wanted to do the kitten heels or old lady loafers, though," she admits. "I figured some stilettos would give it a bit of kick, no?"

Captain America has posed:
How the Captain's managed to not need to slurp up a single strand between his lips is a thing of magic -- or perhaps a stubborn intent to avoid that circumstance entirely. Still, as he glances up from his plate, a little quarter-length of spaghetti needs must be carefully sucked up between his lips. His eyes wander down from her face and over her top before he leans to one side to observe the shoes. His chewing noticeably slows.

Once he's centered in his seat again and his palate is clear (read as: requiring another sip of wine against a wave of dry-mouth), Steve replies, "The shoes definitely give it a kick. You... You're the cream of the crop here." He tries for dimples and succeeds.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet is not immune to Steve's dimples (damn him) and pinks reflexively at the charming smile he throws her way. "God that smile," she mutters, darkly. "Dirty pool, old man."

"Oh, unrelated to anything, I met Miss Cranston," Janet tells Steve. "She stopped by to inquire about a fitting. Given her heroic lack of sacrifice to save your tuxedo, I agreed to do her a fitting for the big cat masquerade coming up."

"Also unrelated: do you have plans? Anyone asked you to Selina Kyle's ball yet, or can I bring the best looking soldier in the world to a swanky charity event?"

Under the table, Janet's foot rises and the toe of her shoe ghosts against the back of Steve's calf before sliding deliberately around the point of his knee towards his lower thigh.

Captain America has posed:
For the response garnered, there's the most fleeting hint of an edge to the dimpling that shifts it into range of smirk. It's the barest indicator that Steve will absolutely play a mean hand if he chooses to. Still, earnesty compels him to behave himself rather than continue to deliberately fluster his date.

To hear of the business mogul makes him pause in spinning up another mouthful of spaghetti. Janet's wording of 'heroic sacrifice' is muttered good-naturedly under his breath as his gaze drops to his fork again. Ignore the pinking of cheeks, he seems to beg with his body language.

"Um, no one's asked me //to// -- " The upswing in force of the word is for the sudden draw of a toe along the far side of the soldier's lower leg. He visibly shifts in his chair as he clears his throat, trying to hold her eyes. "No one's asked me to the masquerade charity -- ball masquerade -- the charity event. No plans. No plans beyond the extraction. You need an escort? A date. You need a date." It's almost babbling.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet bristles at the word 'escort'. But she's mollified by Steve's blushing stammer. Language barriers. "Need's a strong word," Janet says thoughtfully. She looks back at him with the sweetest expression in the world, which is utterly incongruous with the pointed elocution of her wriggling foot in Steve's lap. Which shamelessly continues to tease at the poor fellow.

Playing a mean hand, indeed.

She scrapes the last bite of her clams into place and scoops it away with a theatrical 'mm' and blissful expression. Green eyes open and land on Steve's face. "I mean, I'd /like/ to ask you to go," Janet says, cagily. "But I don't want you to get overwhelmed by a case of the vapuhs" in a heaven southern drawl, which she affects well, "by a woman having the temerity to ask a man out." She flutters her lashes twice at Steve. "So, you know, if you were so inclined as to *go*, I could say no one's asked *me* to go, either," she observes.

Captain America has posed:
The curtaining of the white tablecloth gives the Wasp plenty of cover to continue working her wiles. It must be worth the awkwardness of the past discussion to see him continue to try and hold himself still in his chair, his spine stiff and expression flickering in places like a bad TV signal. A hard swallow works his next mouthful of wine successfully down even with the little cough of crackling composure at her display of winsome insinuation.

"'m not one of those men mired in the Dark Years. Not years. Ages," he replies in a rough mutter and thus follows another harder cough. After setting his wine glass down, his hand disappears beneath the tablecloth. Its warm palm wraps around Janet's ankle and stills her efforts even as he gives her a pointed look. "Happy to extend the invitation to a woman who behaves herself in //public//." Clearly 'private' is another matter entirely. How pink those ears are now!

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet sighs melodramatically, supporting her chin on her palm. It's the sort of sigh described as 'busom-heaving' for good reason. Her jaw shifts sideways so she can fret her lower lip between her teeth. Flawless white enamel digs tiny lines under her full lips. She stills the motion of her foot, but doesn't retract it.

"Oh I know you're not," Janet assures Steve. "I'm just letting you know that I appreciate the little gestures of chivalry. Good manners are *very* sexy," she explains. Her toe prods his thigh pointedly.

"Someone said it well, who was it-- 'put her on a pedastle, not on a shelf. I think." She tops her glass off and upends the bottle into Steve's goblet. The empty container's set where staff can reach it.

"So what's your definition of how to behave *in public?" she asks. Her nose is a little red, right on the button tip. Her question is sincerely poised and she remains leaning forward with chin propped on palm, large green eyes blinking curiously at Steve.

Captain America has posed:
To Steve, it seems an obviously visible motion to shove Janet's foot away. He knows there are already eyes on their dinner, even if staff managed to seat them with the impression of privacy in a barrier of empty tables around them. As such, his hand remains wrapped around her ankle and it firmly prevents further movement at least at the joint. It does not prevent the poke of her toe and he start a little in his seat for it. Janet continues to get the politely remonstrative eyeing from Steve, but wine buffers it all.

He scoots the bottle father from the edge of the table as to avoid potential shattering on the floor from a mistimed sweep of hand and looks back at her again. "In public? With manners. It's as simple as that," he replies brusquely though not unkindly.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Mm. I'm gonna make you sit down and watch 'When Harry met Sally'," Janet tells Steve. A mischevious smile flirts across her fine-boned features. "I'll try to be on my behaviour," she assures him. "I mean, mostly. The only person I care about in this restaurant is you," she murmurs, eyes full of warm affection to go with her wry, playful smile. "I guess that's coloring my idea of what manners are needed."

The waiter arrives, hands clasping in front of him as the busboys take away the plates. "Bene, molto bene. Can I interest either of you in some dessert, or an after-dinner wine?"

Janet looks to Steve and lifts one narrow shoulder in a shrug, her smile indicating the choice is his.

Captain America has posed:
A gentle squeeze of his hand about her ankle and he tries to very delicately push her foot from his seat without garnering too much attention. It works out to be a subtle movement for what it's worth.

"I look forwards to the movie." The Captain isn't completely dubious, but he does sip heavily at his wine to cover the most of it. As he's setting his glass down upon the table, the waiter arrives. Steve's golden brows dance upwards and he glances in passing at Janet.

"Thought I saw a dark chocolate mousse on the menu. With mint? One of those, please," says he to the man. Once the waiter departs, the soldier returns the little shrug. "Figured it sounded good."

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet's smile widens at the gentle nudge to her foot. In response, her leg starts to straighten menacingly. Well-- menacingly as can be with the lush warmth of her intensely green eyes, which have turned a shade of green closer to dark lichen than pale moss.

"A chocolate mousse sounds divine," Janet agrees. She shifts in her seat, which shrugs her shoulders in interesting gyration and wriggles around the birdlike ankle clamped in Steve's grip. "What kind of dessert do you usually go with?" she inquires. "Creamy and decadent or light and sweet?"

Captain America has posed:
"Chocolate's always a good place to start. Figure nobody really dislikes chocolate." The Captain's got his game face on, but it's cracked at the corners of his eyes, where the possibility of a flustered, exasperated laugh is gaining presence. He can't scoot back further in his chair, not with how he's got his spine pressed to it. That wriggly foot -- damnit.

"Whether or not it's thick and creamy or..." His voice falls out and he thins his lips. Oh yes, he knows he's traipsed into the territory of innuendo-dom and he's up to his knees in it now. Bucking up his moxy, he finishes, "...otherwise, chocolate's deca-DENT." That was a hell of a wiggle! His grip on her ankle increases and he's more firm this time about attempting to push her heel from his seat, all the while giving Janet a beseeching look -- behave! -- it implies.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet gives Steve a look that's roughly five-percent disappointed resignation and ninety-five percent smouldering, lip-fretting promise that she is not yet *remotely* mis-behaving-- largely due to Steve's presence. Very grudgingly, her foot is retracted with the point of her toe dragging a frictionless line down Steve's calf. She nudges his shoe with his, playing a lazy game of footsie under the table.

The waiter brings the dish while Steve's adjusting his ... self, and Janet smiles brightly at the staffer. She picks up one spoons smoothly. When Steve reaches for his, she lays featherlight fingers on the back of his hand. "Thick and creamy. Chocolate," Janet says. She scoops out a bite of moose with a curl of her slender wrist and lifts the spoon up in the air, hovering six inches from Steve's mouth. "I'll try to remember that," she assures him.

"How about music? Do you play any instruments? Favorite bands? Did you know Frank Sinatra when he was a struggling cocktail lounge act?"

Captain America has posed:
Now the Captain's regard is not entirely reproving. At least no one can see Steve smooth his palms along the slacks lying rumpled over his thighs. Also, no one knows his palms were sweaty now. Wins all around! He doesn't move his foot, apparently more inclined to allow footsie than whatever one calls the deliberate, goosebump-raising tease of earlier.

When his reach is halted, the man's eyebrows rise nearly up into his hair. His hand lingers over the tablecloth still as he watches her intend to apparently feed him the dessert. Color lingering at his ears deepens a hue. "Ahem, right. Easy to remember. Um." Steve doesn't lean towards the spoonful of dessert as he visibly brings his brain back to proper conversational bent. "Don't play any instruments, no. Lots of favorite bands. I met Frank Sinatra in passing when I was on the ESO tour, he was a nice guy. I sing?" he offers with a little wince. "Passably."

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet looks a little disappointed when Steve doesn't rise to the bait. She sits back in her seat and eats the small scoop of mousse without much enthusiasm. "You must kill at the poker table," she accuses Steve. Her tone is wry and playful, more than anything else.

"I mean, aside from the ears." She scoops up more mousse and flickers a wink at him over the bite. Her fingers release his wrist so he can feed himself.

"Have you ever thought about it? An instrument, I mean," she clarifies. "I didn't know you could sing, though. All that time among chorus girls paid off."

Captain America has posed:
"Yeah, well...can't help the ears," Steve mutters as he reaches back to scratch behind one of them at his nape. His eyes fall to the dessert once more and he now that he's free to take up his spoon, he does. A far more heaping mouthful of the dessert is gathered and he makes a quiet happy sound as he appreciates the taste of it. The spoon ends up inverted on his tongue, so he's slower to reply to Janet at first. When he does, he gestures at her with the silver utensil.

"I could sing before the ESO tours. Nobody taught me anything there. Mathair did. My mother," he clarifies. "Dunno what instrument I'd pick up if I had the time. Maybe piano...though guitar's easier to carry around. Hard to fit a Baby Grand in your back pocket." Dimples show at his own quip before he makes to scoop up another mounding of mousse.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet exhales breathily at the dimples. Just a little. "I wonder if anyone else on the team plays," Janet muses. "Could start a band if there were enough people. What'd we even call that? The Cape Ensemble?"

She reaches for the mousse when Steve does and idly duels him spoon to spoon for the second-to-last bite. "What's the language you keep speaking? I've never heard the word 'Mathair' before. Is that like, Swedish or something?"

Captain America has posed:
The Wasp's thoughts on spare time dedicated towards a place in the New York City music scene is enough to make Steve let lip a surprised laugh, bright with honest amusement at the delightful oddity of it. "Avenged Sevenfold is already taken, so that one's off the board," he comments, dimpling yet again to himself at the pun.

The soft clink of spoons is something the man engages in with the same lackadaisical and distracted effort. Their utensils draw odd squiggles and lines in the mousse's otherwise undisturbed surface save for the earlier initial tastings. His true-blue eyes rise to Janet and his face softens. "It's Gaelic. My mother knew it just as well as English. Until I went to school and met Buck, it was my home-language. English came later," he reveals quietly.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet grins at Steve's comment about bands. "A wellspring of pop culture references, too!" she murmurs, looking quite impressed by Steve's knowledge.

Her smile shifts to blinking surprise. "Galic. Gaelic?" She prompts Steve for a nod of approval at the correct pronounciation. "I didn't know you were bilingual. I mean," Janet waves a hand through the air as if breaking up her words to amend them. "I know you can *speak* a few languages. You never mentioned the Gaelic before. That's ... Welsh. Irish?" Janet shrugs helplessly. "I'm sorry, my family's Dutch on daddy's side. Came over with the pilgrims. And mother was from old blue-blood family lines in Georgia. I'm pretty sure we haven't spoken English since musketeers were in vogue."

She lays fingers on Steve's wrist again, rubbing rough skin and giving a gentle squeeze of reassurance. "I guess Bucky helped you learn English then?" she hazards. "There probably weren't a lot of ESL programs in Brooklyn in those days."

Captain America has posed:
The man nods at the second pronounciation. "Gaelic," he echoes. He then listens as he enjoys another bite of mousse in no hurry at all. The spoon lingers in his mouth until it's necessary to remove it for speech. He explains after Janet regales him of her own family. "Figured you were Dutch somewhere in there, with your name. Gaelic is Irish. My family was originally from Galway, so the accent is west-coast."

Steve glances down as she dares another touch of his hand. After a telling second, he then upturns his palm so it's less of a covering and more of a tentative lacing of fingers. "Yeah, he was a big help, but so was when I started. We were very young when we met, enough that both of us had the capacity to learn more than one language with ease. Sometimes, I'd help Buck watch his younger sister while Mathair was working, so they would both teach me English too. Their favorite thing to do was get me mad. I...used to slip back into Gaelic." He laughs once and sighs.

And thus is conjured the image of a rickity, young Steve, no wider than a fencepost, red in the face and spluttering in a reel of lyrically-peeved Gaelic.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet teases Steve's fingertips with her own, curling into one another. She smiles fondly at the blonde soldier. "I learned Spanish that way," Janet explains to him. "I mean, I know a little conversational Italian and French. Y'know, fashion design," she clarifies.

"I picked up Spanish in prep school. I can speak that pretty well, it kinda came easy to me."

The check is delivered and left behind, and Janet leans back again while the waiters tidy up around them. "I should probably learn some Japanese or Chinese. The fashion industry's booming with Asian influences. Cheongsams, everywhereeeere."

Captain America has posed:
Steve too leans back as the dishes are cleared, given they've finished the chocolate mousse as well as the entirety of the wine bottle. He fetches his wallet from his back pocket and makes to grab the check before any sort of finagling can occur.

"We've got a lot of instructional videos around the mansion. SHIELD too, actually. Could sit on one of the classes given to the recruits? They do language courses and refreshers to keep us all fluent," he explains as he tucks his credit card into the holding slot and closes the small folding check-holder.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet beams approval at Steve when he reaches for the bill. "Thank you. For dinner," she tells Steve. "It was delicious." The waiter takes the card to batch it. Janet rises smoothly and unlifts her purse from the chairback. It's a tiny little thing, glittering red. She checks the contents and snaps it shut before moving to hook her arm in Steve's elbow to head to the coat check.

"Can I bum a ride home from you?" she inquires, whimsically. "I could fly, but it's cold out and this chivalrous streak of yours is *very* sexy."

Captain America has posed:
After Steve receives his card back, he too rises. Janet's more than able to take his elbow and he easily keeps it in place to allow her presence at his side. He smiles down at her as they walk towards the front to pick up their respective jackets.

"You're welcome. Glad you were able to tag along." His gaze rises as one of the waiters lifts a hand towards them and he mirrors the motion with easy charm, the usual put forth in a public setting.

"Of course you'd get a ride home. I'm not about to let you catch a chill." His delivery is half resolute and half teasing. Once Janet's coat is offered, he lifts it to allow her easier ability to slip her arms into it. "Where do you want to be dropped off? I've got office work to finish again. New batch of recruits. It reminded me earlier, when we were talking about learning languages." He shrugs into his own coat, scented of leather and his cologne, before leading the way outside and being sure to hold the door open for her.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
A murmured 'thank you' crosses Janet's lips when she shrugs into her jacket. She's been on bikes before; planning ahead, she tucks her tiny purse to the small of her back and cinches the stylish camelhair jacket over it.

Their path is to the parked motorcycle. Janet leans sideways and presses her cheek into Steve's shoulder. Fingers curl into his bicep while she hugs herself to his arm. It allows her to inhale slowly through her nose and lose herself in those scents. Contentedly, her head rests agaist Steve's shoulder for a few long strides.

"Mind swingin by my penthouse?," Janet requests of Steve. "I'm a little done with the mansion. Feeling the need to be in my own space," she explains, wryly.

Once at the bike she dons her helmet and clips it into place, and once Steve is ready, clambers onto the back of the vehicle.

Captain America has posed:
"Penthouse it is," confirms Captain Rogers as he settles astride the motorcycle once more. Now the street is darker and the evening colder in definite accordance with the season. The streetlights glow down amber cones upon the pavement and the forest of buildings rising around them shine in rows of windows with lights on within. He waits until Janet's got arms about his torso to get the bike up and running with a kick of the engine. The same caution is used to enter traffic and away they thrum, headed towards the building the Wasp calls home.

Steve doesn't need directions to get there, given he's got every Avenger's alternative address memorized, and after the relatively uneventful trip, he slows the motorcycle to a stop alongside the curb. While he kills the motor, he doesn't dismount from the bike itself just yet. Instead, he keeps it balanced and to allow Janet an easy disembarking.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet slips off the bike smoothly and drapes her helmet from the handlebars. She tucks her hands into her jacket pockets. Breath billows around her face as she steps to where Steve can see her and she can see him. Its' a little shyly awkward; uncertain.

"Dinner was wonderful. I'm glad we did this," Janet tells him. "I, uh... I hope you had fun, too," she offers. "I mean, I can find somewhere else if you want. I mean, if it was the food, not the company!" Ha ha ha, insert forced laugh. She drifts a half-inch closer to Steve on the bike, resting a hand atop his on the handlebars.

Captain America has posed:
"Food was good," the man reassures her. The streelights shine on the glossy paint and chrome of the bike as he shifts on it to get more comfortable on the seat and balance it once more. His eyes fall to her hand and then rise back up to her face.

"Company was good too." The small dimples now come with their respective shadows to accompany his smile. "You being honest with me? The best part." Even Steve knows the power of positive reinforcement, even if he couldn't define it in front of a lectern. "Because I got to know you better in the process."

The sweep of his thumb across the back of her hand is tentative at first, but then stronger on the pass-back. "And...I like what I see. Learned." A beat followed by a faint laugh. "Both." Oh, the mortification pinks his ears again.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Relaxation shudders through Janet's shoulders and she strokes Steve's palm with an upcurl of her short-trimmed french tips. Fingers twist and twine and the gesture lures her a little forward, to touch Steve's jawline with a featherlight caress. "I like what I learned too. See," she amends. A playful banter, reversing his slip of the tongue.

Her gloriously green eyes duck away for a second and lift. Short brunette hair is swept away behind her ear in an unconscious gesture. "Thanks for understanding. I'll... do better," she assures him. Her mouth opens and closes twice, trying to form a sentence to go with an involuntary twist of her shoulders. In the end she decides to say nothing, and just bites back her words and smiles at him.

Captain America has posed:
The high collar of the zipped-up motorcycle jacket might hide most of Steve's hard swallow. It's coaxed forth by the drag of fingernails along the underline of his face as well as the coquettish play of her eye contact with his own.

"'m happy to help." The reply sounds as if it took effort to get past what must be a sudden influx of dry-mouth. "We're all human, we, uh...make mistakes now and then." Another faint laugh and he gives her hand a gentle squeeze where both have sets of fingers intertwined on the handlebar of the motorcycle. "So...it's, what, dance lessons next? After the extraction is complete? Once things quiet down...?"

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet's eyes scan skywards in thought, though the mischevious play of her lips suggests theatricality to tease at the soldier. "I think 'quiet down' is a bad choice of words," she says, her tone growing more thoughtful. "We're always busy. We're always on call. This life doesn't lend itself to 'plans' and 'quiet'," she observes.

"I don't mind it. Being an Avenger. Helping people. But I have to remember to give myself permission to live life a little for my own sake. I don't want to wear a cape forever," she says, her voice full of warmth and sincerity. "I won't be in my twenties forever, either. Someday... I don't know." She shrugs once. "I'd like to see what other adventures are out there."

She bites her lip. More uncertainty than flirtation. "Let's *make* time to dance. You have to grab moments when they come along. Steve."

Captain America has posed:
Steve can't hold her eyes forever. It sounds interestingly enough like what he's heard his oldest friend tell him time and time again: gotta make some time, Rogers, or it'll pass you by faster than a toupee in a hurricane. His thumb does another metronomic sweep-sweep across the soft, warm skin of her hand.

"We'll make time," he decides as he meets Janet's eyes again. "The next night after we get back from the extraction. One the guy's all squared away. Sound like a plan?" A taxi stops two spots down to let out another couple who are far more drunk than they should be on a weekday evening. They laugh uproariously at something the cabby says before stumbling in Steve and Janet's direction.

Steve eyes them. "Do you know those two?"

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"No," Janet says of the couple. She doesn't even bother to turn around. Doesn't know them; doesn't care. Doesn't matter. Janet's particular vivacity can easily be called 'intense' and right now the full weight of her considerable (if often scattered) energy is focused on Steve to the exclusion of all else in the world.

She dithers there on Steve's hand. It's cold out; she's cold. The fashionista shivers. The fashionable vintage outfit is not exactly warm weather gear, even with her jacket. But she seems unwilling to release the timorous connection with Steve, even if it's just the touch of fingers near the edge of her personal bubble. Reluctance crosses her features as well, as if knowing that a 'yes' will break the fragile moment between them.

"Of course," she agrees. "I'd like that."

Captain America has posed:
The couple nattering on as they walk into Janet's building don't give the two a second glance either. They are far too inebriated to care about anything other than making it into their apartment and consumating...something. Probably falling asleep and eventually rolling off the couch before much happens, given their intoxication levels.

"Then it's a plan." While the Wasp appears reluctant, Steve appears relieved to have something decided upon rather than living in the nebulous state of the unknown. His smile fades before returning with something else in it. "I'd better get to the office. Papers."

Still, rather than leave Janet in dismay at his departure, he takes up her hand from its perch upon the motorcycle's handlebars. Then, the man pulls a move out of the book of his sly-dog comrade in arms, that Barnes guy.

"Here's lookin' at you, kid," says he before he kisses Janet's knuckles lingeringly while holding her eyes.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet immediately flushes red at the gesture. She even laughs-- an awkwardly fetching, shy giggle-- and ducks her eyes away with a sudden schoolgirl bashfulness. Her resolve reasserts itself a moment later and she nods at Steve. Her free hand rises fitfully and presses her palm to his cheek. "I'll... see you," she tells him. Fingers reluctantly relax and slip away. She remains where she is, close as she can get without being unsafely near the vehicle, and tucks her hands in her pockets. If Steve wishes to leave, he'll have to roll his bike away from the subtle floral scents of jasmine and exotic spices lingering around the petite Avenger.

Captain America has posed:
"Yep, I'll see you. Extraction's likely tomorrow, be ready," the man's sure to add even as he gets the motorcycle up and running again. It coughs to life and then falls back into the deep, purring rumble. He reaches back to make sure the helmet's securely strapped onto the bike itself. Once he's all settled again, he gives Janet one last smile full of dimples.

"G'night, Janet." It would have a breathless quality if it weren't half-drowned out by the engine of the bike. Then the man slowly moves back out into traffic again and the rolling sounds of the engine gradually fade away into the ambiance of the big city.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet's hair and coat hem follow Steve's wake. Her pockets save her from reflexively chasing him with her fingertips as well. The petite Avenger stands on the very edge of the sidewalk until Steve's gone from sight before she exhales a sigh and turns to head into her building. The doorman greets her by name and informs her there's no mail for her. Janet heads up in an elevator that ascends so quickly her ears pop. It opens into her penthose suite. All very sleek and modern, with generous use of wood and 'organic' curves instead of jagged industrial chique.

She shrugs off her jacket and hangs it across the bannister leading upstairs. Shoes are kicked off as well. Janet heads into the empty living room and sits heavily in a lovely leather chaise that looks rarely used.

"I'm home," she announces. The house is silent in response. She sighs once and turns her head to look out the window at the path of Steve's departure. There her view lingers until long, long after the soldier has left the city.