9070/The Curse of A Good Memory

The Curse of A Good Memory
Date of Scene:	04 September 2019
Location:	Steve's Room, Avengers Mansion
Synopsis:	Steve returns to the manor a little beat-up and beat-down, but Janet is there to remind him of good in the world and simple things.
Cast of Characters:	Captain America, Wasp (van Dyne)

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Captain America has posed:
Needless to say, getting back to the mainland United States was a fiasco. What Steve thought would be a... Okay, so he was certain it was going to get weird, this SHIELD mission, but to end up in Honolulu, Hawaii because Bucky's patron Trickster God felt the need to ditch them all someplace sunny and cheery post-beatdown with HYDRA cybernetic monstrosities?

Misplaced kindness, to be certain -- and it definitely meant having to miss the reservations made in San Diego for the American-Pacific's best sushi.

The texts to Janet were apologetic, if shorthand, and made some sense at best; he'd be home late tonight, yes, probably after midnight at the earliest with the Quinjet sent overseas by west coast SHIELD affiliates, meet him in his room if she'd like.

Boy, does the Captain drag in. He's skipped the medbay entirely and, of course, someone's hit him in his pretty face. His cheek is swollen, split and healing shut via the super-serum, but it's also apparent that whomever dealt the blow had enough strength to leave a wicked bruise behind as well...and a split lip. With a tired push of his arm, he shoves his bedroom door shut and looks up, bedraggled.

"Shortcakes...?" His voice isn't loud in the room at all, mid-volume at best.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"You rang, Captain?"

Janet pivots around the corner from Steve's bathroom, all set to make an entrance with that breathy and alluring voice. A black silk kimono is left deliberately partially open to reveal something red and lacy under it. A sensual expression goes to stunned shock at the sight of the bedraggled and beaten soldier. "Jesus, Steve-- your face!" Janet blurts.

Clearly a miscommunication has arisen here. Ah, technology.

She quickly steps towards Steve, belting her robe up tighter as she does. Fingertips move to touch an uninjured part of his jaw and his temple, tilting his head down and sideways so she can examine the wounds. White teeth dimple her lip in a fretful expression, and it takes the wee fashionista a few seconds to tamp down a panicked alarm at his injuries.

"Well," she concludes, a beat later. "I hope the other guy looks a lot worse." Her deadpan tone contains a little playful snarkiness. "You just don't have the sort of face for sexy scars, honey."

Captain America has posed:
Her efforts don't go remiss. Even as Janet's on the approach, the speed bringing the hem of her silky-black kimono to lifting, Steve tries a half-smile. He succeeds with a small wince for healing skin stretched at the corner of his mouth and submits himself to her look-over, eyes still watching her reactions. She doesn't seem as perturbed as usual, thank goodness, which is...good news? If twisted and insinuating that, clearly, Steve cannot duck to save his life.

"The other guy's in pieces in the basement of a HYDRA den back in Ningbo," he reports. His blond hair's a total crow's nest from being in his helmet, sticking up in places with dried sweat, but his navy-blue stealth suit and shield seem to have come out of the fiasco no less for wear. "'nd call me selfish, but I prefer my face without sexy scars. Scars always start off painful." Turning his face, he presses a kiss against her fingertips, already sloughing off the stiff-shouldered public bearing.

"I'd hug you, but I smell disgusting 'nd I'm pretty sure there's some sort of fluid down the back of my neck I really want to scrub off. Gimme a few to rinse off?"

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet wraps her arms around Steve's neck and hugs him quite firmly for a long few counts. Fingers press against the nape of his neck, cool and reassuring, then she palms the back of his head. Fingernails rake reassuringly against his scalp and her calves spike with the effort of tip-toeing up to reassure him.

"I wasn't going to say anything about the smell, honey," Janet admits as they break. "But yes, you definitely need a shower. You smell like feet," she admonishes him with a wrinkle of her nose. A little twinkle of amusement in her green eyes keeps it from sounding like a sincere criticism. "It's that Army scent. Feet, canvas, and stale Old Spice."

"Go, go shower up. Are you hungry? I've got some food ready if you want," Janet offers. She retrieves some wetwipes from a cupboard and starts wiping down her fingers and forearms. "Wasn't sure what you wanted, so... steak, some goulash, and a side of sashimi sound good?"

Captain America has posed:
Her hug is welcome and Steve gently wraps his arm about the small of her back. It's a sweet gesture and takes him right to the heart, that his proud, proper, prim, and polished Shortcakes would ignore the gunk of battle to soothe him. He presses a kiss to the dark hair above her ear on the slant, briefly closing his eyes as her embrace lingers.

Janet even earns herself another half-smile. Stale Old Spice indeed. "The old adage about me eating a horse is a bit too real right now. That all sounds like a feast, <<seillean>>," the soldier replies, gratitude bright in his tone even if it still contains that hollow note. "Be fifteen at most." The shield is shrugged off to lean against his work desk, his helmet left to fall to its side in its shadow, and he disappears into the master bathroom.

Fifteen minutes pass and right around the thirty-sixth second mark, he emerges from the bathroom in his spare bathroom. It's an ankle-length deal in blue and black plaid, suited for summer in its thinner fabric, and he walks his dirtied suit over to the section of the room dedicated to the washer and dryer. It's dumped to the floor; he'll wash it later -- right now, food is calling.

"A feast," he echoes on approach to the sitting table by the small fridge and low counter tucked to one side of the room, looking actually ravenous. His stomach chimes in appreciatively, loud enough to be heard.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
While Steve's showering, Janet busies herself with the mundanities of their meal. Food's reheated quickly in his microwave and she start dishing up the meal on hot plates. By the time Steve's done showering, the meal's ready and she's sitting in her seat at the small table with one leg tucked under her thigh.

"Feel better?" she queries him, already a few bites into her meal. Her nose twitches with a few inhalations. "Well, you /smell/ better," she informs Steve. Janet rises and retrieves a bottle of a cold, dark stout from Steve's mini-fridge and uncaps it with a twist of her slender wrists. It's offered to the super-soldier along with a pleased smile at his compliment.

Captain America has posed:
"World's better," he replies as he sits with a grunt. "What would I do without you." Steve takes the offered bottle and lifts it. Even if his face is still a mess, despite the two self-applied butterfly bandaids and a visible gloss of antibiotic gel, he scrounges up a dimpled grin for the woman across the table from him.

"When I come home, lass, I come home to you," he says softly, by way of a toast. A deep, deep swig from the bottle before he sets into the food. Apparently, the fight deprived him of a good number of calories because the amount of food he plates up for himself would feed three standard humans.

"Tell me about your day then?" It seems a fairly standard question, but Steve awaits her reply with a subtle sense of desperation, as if he needed some normalcy on some bone-deep level.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet pinks a bit at the compliment and returns the toast. The question provokes a feigned thoughtfulness, eyes rolling skyward in contemplation. "Oh, you'd crash and burn," she assures him. A grin splits her fine features.

Her expression falters and she looks down at her plate. "It was fine," she lies-- rather convincingly, and flashes a Perfectly Pleasant smile at Steve. "Nothing really exciting happened. I'm looking forward to rotating off the duty schedule for a bit and sleeping at home."

The smile turns more rueful. "God. 'How was your day'-- are we turning into one of those couples? Next thing you know we'll be bickering about our work schedules and how you never take me anywhere nice anymore."

Captain America has posed:
That's only a third of a New York strip remaining when Steve glances up, the motion led by his lifted eyebrows. A muffled laugh behind the back of his hand, given he's still chewing, and he swallows in order to reply,

"Nowhere nice anymore? What, you don't like Outback Steakhouse? Thought the bloomin' onions were spectacular, especially with the ranch dressing." His true-blue eyes twinkle at the Wasp across the table as he looks back down at his plate again, going back to cutting at the steak. "Also, you lie about as well as Buck does about not smoking anymore." -- which is to say, very well indeed, but at this point, enough time spent with her has the Captain aware of one little tell or another. Another glance upwards, partially through his lashes. "Anything I can do to help what's eating you?"

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet takes a deep breath to settle herself. "Uh, not unless you've got a few million dollars and a shady stock broker," she tells Steve. "Got the corporate financial report today. Tomorrow the Nasdaq's gonna reflect a fifteen percent drop in my stocks. Turns out sales are crashing through the floor because of a bunch of Chinese knockoffs that someone got through customs. Flooded the market. By the time we got wind of it the season was passed. Customs absolutely dropped the ball and I can't get a straight answer from anyone in their fraud division for details."

She sighs and forces another smile. "Not as world-shattering as dealing with SHIELD, I know, but it's kind of a kick in the gut to watch a hundred and fifty million dollars evaporate into thin air."

Captain America has posed:
Steve winces, letting out a near-silent sigh of sympathy. His lips pull to one side and his brows make eloquent his expression of rue. The cutting knife is set aside for him to reach across the table, palm up, in an offering to take and hold her hand with gentle pressure.

"Maybe I'm not the most fluent person in terms of money, but that's not small change 'nd even I know it. 'm sorry, <<seillean>>. What's the PI got to say about all of this? Worth his fee or time to find somebody else?" he asks, sincerely interested in the answer.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Her. She's... she says it's gotta be someone in the industry," Janet explains. Bumblebee yellow fingernails walk across the table and she curls her slender fingers in Steve's palm. "I just don't know /who/. Yeah we've got some assholes and frigid bitches in the game but this is like, a campaign or something. It's just too many coincidences to *be* coincidental. The factory? All those counterfeit goods and all the stolen shipments from overseas? Hell at this point I'm half convinced that someone at the FTC and the IRS were bribed into auditing my company. I just--"

She exhales, frustration edging her voice. "I don't even know where to start. I wish I'd gone with you on this last op. Then at least I'd know who to punch in the face."

Her eyes narrow at Steve's wounds. "By the way, if you're doing your own medical care, you're doing a lousy job of it. Doesn't SHIELD have medics?"

Captain America has posed:
Smiling to himself, albeit weakly, Steve then looks aside to his bottle of stout. The label is read but not processed, his mind tired and yet still running in circles like a dog chasing its tail.

"I came back directly, Janet. No time to stop by the medbay. It'll heal up overnight, be just a bruise tomorrow morning. Not like I have any ribs out of place or took a knife to the neck or anything." That these are examples? Concerning.

"Coulda used an extra set of fists for it," he adds more distantly, fingernail picking at the paper label on the dark-glass bottle. "Been a long time since..." His frown deepens and he frets at the inside of his cheek -- the side not split and reddened. A hard swallow. "Thought for a second there that it'd be one of those fights where I'd be in trouble," he admits.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet looks at her plate and pushes it an inch away, signalling she's done. Despite her fast metabolism she's not a heavy eater, and gets to her feet with a smooth motion. It takes her a second to rummage around for a little personal medical under his bathroom sink, and she comes back with the red tacklebox in hand. Salve is extracted from it and she chucks his chin to tilt his head back while she stands near his chair to start applying it near his injuries. "What happened?" she asks, more directly. "Not like you to get your ass whipped in a fight, Steven. Who'd you run into-- some Kryptonian? Doom?"

An eyebrow lifts pointedly. "Not for nothing, but I'm starting to think SHIELD's not giving you enough backup on these operations. You're not indestructible, and that ass /is/ a national treasure," she points out with a bit of levity.

Captain America has posed:
With Janet briefly away from the table, Steve makes a point to funnel his serving of sashimi into his mouth as if he needed to bolt it to beat an alarm set to sound. It leaves him with the serving of goulash, rich and thick, and still room in his stomach even as he lets the wee fashionista direct the angle of his face. More salve overtop the thin butterfly bandages won't be remiss, and certainly not on the bruises here and there, more obvious now with his suit off. His knuckles are abraided here and there and there's a large scrape on his left forearm, as if he'd taken a fall on cement at several miles an hour.

"I did not get my ass whipped," the Captain grumbles back, brows meeting. "'nd my ass is...fine, it's a national treasure." That he allows this is proof of responding well enough to Janet's teasing. "HYDRA's into this business with Sebastion -- the Sentinel cyborg. SHIELD received intel about an underground laboratory dedicated to experimenting on not only humans, but Asgardians. We had Buck with us, 'nd..." He gives Janet a solemn, sad look. "<<Seillean>>, you can imagine, I hope, how it unsettled him. Thought I'd have to keep him from killing the target scientist. That, 'nd..."

He squints, actively considering continuing. "...had to call in exfil I sincerely didn't want to call in."

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet tends to Steve's wounds carefully. They'll heal, sure, but the salve soothes angry nerves and promotes healing. Steve's metabolism doesn't make him immune to pain.

And there's the simple relief that comes from having someone ministering to an injury, as powerful as any drug.

"Honey, this is kinda fast getting bigger than SHIELD can manage," Janet admonishes Steve. "May's good, and you and Bucky are a solid team. But there's only two of you and whomever SHIELD can drum up. HYDRA is bad news. Sentinels, these... cyborgs, Autobots, whomever the heck else pops up out of the woodwork."

She reaches for his injured hand and massages the salve into his knuckles. It stings for a second before bringing blissful, cool relief. "You know I'm right," she chivvies him. "Think about it. Me, Vision, doing the first strike. Tony, Thor, Rhodey hitting them from a distance while you and Bucky and Carol do that whole boot to face thing. Send SHIELD in afterwards to mop it up. Home in time for the Bachelorette," she says, and mimes dusting her hands.

Captain America has posed:
More of the stoic, steel-spined facade the Captain puts forth to the world melts away under her touch. She's gentle and cautious with the balm and though it makes his knuckles sizzle in a brief flare of agonized nerves, it does then numb the location. His small inhale leaves him in a deeper sigh, eyes rising to her face again.

"...'m not about to call in the team to be home in time for the Bachelorette," the Captain says quietly, slowly smiling to himself regardless. The momentary light-hearted expression then melts away as he looks to the window of his room, out onto the grounds of the mansion and beyond into the nightlights of the city's sprawl. "Think we got lucky with this particular mission being tied in to the Sentinels...if not lucky, then...I've got some talking to do with who phoned the intel in. Brought back what Nat called the head of a Master Mold." He lets that news sit for a second. "She was able to extract the information for us to look over. God only knows what would've happened if the Master Mold had been completed." Steve slowly shakes his head, eyes on his stout again.

"It's getting to that point though, isn't it. Time to bring in the big guns 'nd say, to hell with buraucracy 'cause dragging heels 'nd playing nice isn't doing anyone any good."

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet spreads her hands and shrugs at Steve as if he just made her point for her. "See? That's why your an Avenger, and not just another cog in the SHIELD machine. Look, SHIELD does good work. They've got good people."

She starts putting away the medicine. "We don't need to get government permission and set up a whole operation to go in like this. The team gets a target, we hit the target."

Lips twist into a wry, affectonate smile. "Am I offending your sense of order as a soldier? Sorry/not sorry, baby. I haven't asked anyone permission to do something since I was seventeen and I'm not gonna start now. Let's take the fight to them and do it as a team."

Captain America has posed:
"Think it's been some time since I held the government's words over the good of its people when it comes down to brass tacks," the soldier reminds her with some mild exacerbation as he watches her pack up the salve. "Started in '43, not gonna stop anytime soon." Fingers stretch and curl, testing the efficacy of the balm's numbing agent and finding it acceptable. While Janet briefly disappears into the bathroom to return the tin red lunchbox of aid back to its place beneath the sink, the Captain empties the bottle of stout with a few slugs. The goulash will wait, apparently, doomed to be reheated in his microwave once more upon wakening.

"C'mere, sorry/not sorry, want to nap with you in my arms." Rising to his feet, he summarily picks Janet up off the ground so that her toes barely touch the soft carpeting. A completely undignified flump on the bed is followed by some soft laughing, thrown elbows, and then settling in. Here, Steve completely deflates and soon enough, he, at least, is breathing evenly into the soft dark hair of his gal -- worn but safe, home after all, free of nightmares for now.