932/A Quiet Evening is a Blessing

A Quiet Evening is a Blessing
Date of Scene:	02 April 2020
Location:	Steve's Room - Avengers Mansion
Synopsis:	Janet and Steve enjoy a quiet dinner of conversation and sushi while the contents of that sketchbook remain a mystery. FOR NOW.
Cast of Characters:	Janet van Dyne, Steve Rogers

---

Janet van Dyne has posed:
Janet's curled up on the sofa in Steve's room in Avenger's mansion, alone. Waiting for Steve to return with a meal for the both of them. A sketchbook is propped against her thighs, and she's busily tracing out ideas and concepts with a charcoal pencil. Black mid-calf leggings are paired with a tunic-style dress that'd be indecently short without them, cinched around her waist with a broad patent leather belt. The short sleeves poof around her shoulders, and it's worn casually unbuttoned to mid-sternum.

It's late enough in the evening that she's doffed her jewelry and removed most of her makeup, save for a little lipgloss and eyeliner. Janet pauses frequently in her work to push her bangs out of her eyes and makes for the umpteenth time an irritated expression at how long they've gotten. Next to her bare feet is a three-ring design binder, packed full of scraps of paper, photographs, and half-finished notes.

Steve Rogers has posed:
A run down to the sushi restaurant of choice is an easy jaunt via motorcycle. Even the mansion's walls can't muffle out the throbbing of the engine's return as Steve pulls it into the private drive of the property and into one of the garages dedicated to 'civilian' vehicles. He's got the order slung over his back inside a cinched light-weight gym bag.

"Hey JARVIS," he greets the local AI as he enters via the side door, proof that it is him and not some interloper or clone (heaven forbid this). "Nice that I didn't need an umbrella, weather was nice." An extra touch of security there, Steve adding this, callback to a time long-past.

<< Indeed, Captain. Welcome home. >> replies the refined voice from roughly the ceiling.

A knock-knock of knuckles on the bedroom door anounces Steve, motorcycle jacket and all, sushi order slung up in the neon-green stringed bag. "Hey Shortcakes," says the Captain, smiling to find her at work at some new design. He shrugs out of his coat and toes out of his boots before walking over to the table to set down his prize. His thermal long-sleeve, henley-grey, fits to perfection as he unloads the myriad smaller to-go containers for perusal.

"Order's exact as usual. Can't wait to get into the fusion rolls. Looks like they blanketed 'em in an extra layering this time," he says, glancing towards the Wasp with a half-smirk.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
"Good," Janet says absently. Absorbed in her work, it takes a few beats to get her attention. She looks up once a few more drawstrokes are completed, and flashes a distracted smile at Steve. "Good!" she says more enthusiastically. "I mean, they need to spice those up a bit. There are more flavors out there than wasabi. And yes, I know I'm offending the purists," she says, pre-emptively.

When Steve starts craning his neck to look at her sketchbook, though, she snaps it violently shut and hugs it to her chest. "Nu-uh, no lookies," she tells Steve firmly. "This is a surprise and I don't want anyone to see it before it's ready."

She eyes him warily and doesn't open the book again until she's sure he's not angling for a look over her shoulder. "What all did you get?" she inquires, and her nose twitches at the scent of spicy fusion fare wafting from the bag.

Steve Rogers has posed:
Indeed, as sneakily as he could have managed, Steve swung around the couch to see precisely what was taking up so much of the fashionista's attention. Usually, the arrival of food is enough to bring her up above the surface of her creative musings. The snap of the sketchbook has him putting up an absolutely innocent face and lift of brows. And laughter teeming in his true-blues.

"Alright, alright...no lookies." With palms raised up and out in the age-old display of surrender, the Captain turns and walks back to the small table. "Got a little bit of everything. Two bento boxes, a yakiniku bowl, nigiri, California rolls, a fusion box or two... C'mere and see, <<seillean>>, take a break. Your eyes are gonna get crossed 'n get stuck like that." Pulling out a chair, Steve collects a bento box for himself; his water bottle, two-thirds full, was already left upon the table in preparation. A crunch and he makes a sound of contentment. "Mmm, shrimp's done perfectly," comes the opinion once his mouth is clear.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
Janet finishes what she's working on, folds the sketchbook shut, and tosses it atop the binder on the sofa. The fashionista pops to her feet with a smooth grace and steps over towards the little table in the corner; it's sized just right for two, or at least, if the two are of Janet's petite build and Steve's bulky mass. One foot tucks under her thigh and Janet sits atop it on the seat to help unpack what's left. Lacquered chopsticks are produced and she starts spreading food around between two plates.

"Oh, duh, I should have asked. Do you want a drink or something?" she inquires, and slides to her feet again. Bare-footed she roots around in the kitchen for fixings for a cocktail, and digs in the fridge. "Rum and coke, or beer? I think you've got some stout left in here." She mostly keeps the sour expression off her face. Mostly.

Steve Rogers has posed:
There are enough odds and ends for a cocktail of sorts, though only one in terms of volume. The more prevalent beverage in the fridge is indeed a random assortment of beers, some stout, some lighter ales, and some fruity mixes that Steve hasn't touched after trying the severely sweet peach-grenadine blend out of bored curiosity late one night. There's sweet and then there's THAT. Having grabbed a pair of the chopsticks in lieu of plucking sushi with bare fingers, he pauses with a piece of nigiri captured up.

"Stout sounds good, thank you," he replies. "Sound go well with the beef bowl, at least." He waits until the brunette is settled before giving her one of those quiet, fond little smiles he reserves for her alone.

"Shortcakes, what's on your mind? You're one step away from grinding your teeth."

Janet van Dyne has posed:
The bottle is de-capped with a rushing fizz of decompressing C02, and a drink mixed as well. It's mostly rum with a splash of coke, but it technically counts. She returns to the table with both in hand and settles onto her perch again with a foot tucked under her.

"Oh, it's-- eh. It's nothing," Janet says, making a face. "It's this whole thing with Tony and Natasha. It's turning into more work than I really wanna deal with. Fake engagement photos, events we have to have been at, it's all secrets and lies and secrets and lies, and the fun of the gossip's starting to wear out under how much work it is to keep it all straight," she says.

"Maybe that comes naturally to master spies like her, but it's kind of a pain in the ass if it's not something you're personally invested in," she concludes. A segment of roll is snipped away and with casual dexterity she rolls it through her pan of soy sauce and eats it whole. "Also, between you and me, I'm starting to think this is a lot less 'fake relatioship to help a campaign' and becoming more of a 'real relationship being faked to throw everyone off the trail'." Immaculately sculpted eyebrows lift pointedly at Steve and reaches over to steal one of his nigiri.

Steve Rogers has posed:
"Thank you." Quietly, the stout bottle is taken and settled beside his waterbottle to be sipped at over the course of a meal. Rustling around in the gym bag, Steve glances over at Janet as she thinks about. He finds the wasabi sauce and one of the little packets of soy sauce and once he's eaten the last tempura shrimp, he makes to mixing a daubing of the hot green paste and the sauce. Dipping deliciousness, ahoy.

"Hey." His tone mildly annoyed at best, a pinch with his chopsticks whifts air and the piece of nigiri slips away to the Wasp's plate. Janet does get an eyebrow, but it's no spilled milk. He ordered enough for leftovers as it stands.

"'m gonna have to agree with you about the complication of the whole affair. Been lucky enough to not slip up myself so far. You think there's something real there though? <<Seillean>>, that's...mean, not impossible, but likely?" Broad shoulders shrug as he quirks eyebrows at her. "What're you basing the real-ness of the relationship off of? Haven't seen 'em off in any corner lip-locking or doing anything other'n being professional around here."

Janet van Dyne has posed:
Brows furrow, and Janet runs her tongue across lower teeth in thought. "Yeah, I think so," she says, and worries her lower lip on the point of a canine. "Natasha and I had a little girl's talk the other night. I think she's really starting to get some feelings for Tony. Or at least she cares about him a lot more than this little bodyguard story calls for. Which," she says, exhaling, "is a problem for the team."

Some noodles get raked through a lake of soy sauce and she uplifts her bowl to eat quickly. "'cause like, breakups are bad enough," she tells Steve. "When it's in-house. It'd be one thing if they were just like, screwing around to burn off some steam. That makes for awkward house parties at worst. But if she's really got the feels for Tony, and he's leading her on..."

Janet's left shoulder rises and falls in a shrug that pretends at being nonchalant. "I mean, imagine how bad it could go if Natasha got her heart broken. Like, for real."

Steve Rogers has posed:
"That sort of thing goes both ways, though, a break-up. Tony's got a heart too, even if it's buried under sardonicism 'nd a work ethic even I question. Takes two to keep up a premise, that's the thing of it." Ends of his chopsticks make a quiet taptaptap of pensive fidget within the confines of the bento box's section dedicated to his own dipping mixture. Steve looks at Janet all the while, still sporting his small divot between his brows.

"Not my place to go about bringing in team politics into this, <<Seillean>>. They're both consenting adults. That, 'nd be honest: we'd come under fire. Granted, we're an established item 'nd have been so for a while." He sighs, squinting. "You give Nat any wisdom about this then? Or just an ear?"

Janet van Dyne has posed:
"Honey, Tony doesn't have a 'work ethic', he has a work addiction," Janet corrects, primly. "If he wasn't good at it, we'd be intervening about how much time he spends ... refurbishing lawnmowers, or something," she says with a casual toss of her hair.

"And frankly, it /is/ your place," Janet adds, a beat later, with a pointed look aimed at that divot. "We've been dating for a couple years now, and I think everyone assumned it wasn't going to work out anyway. You weren't gonna settle down with me, and I was just using you for your body anyway. And they all feel very stupid for being so wrong about it. Well, about your side of it, anyway." She gives him a smug smile.

"This situation? It's different," she says. "If Nat's has got real feelings for Tony, and he doesn't know about it, that could really wreck her. So, this is where you go into... 'bro mode', or something, and maybe throttle Tony a bit before he stomps all over Nat's heart," Janet suggests. "And if he is aware of her feelings, and letting this play anyway, you need to take him out behind the toolshed and smack him around. Because if not you--" She picks up a piece of fish, chews, and swallows.

"Then who?"

Steve Rogers has posed:
Steve eyebrows, his chopsticks lifted and frozen hanging with his last piece of nigiri hovering over the sauce mixture sans dip.

"You're telling me I should intervene in a relationship that may or may not be real from only one side, Tony's, because you've only heard from one half of it? You're missing fifty percent of the information. That's not good intel in this situation. Now, check with Tony about whether or not he's yanking Nat along? Yes, that's feasible."

There's still a sigh to leave him. "Bring team politics into it? Not yet. A check-in, sure," he agrees. "Maybe approach it from a perspective of PR 'nd the current race. There's garnering attention to a platform 'nd there's too much frosting on the cake where people get sick of it or turned away. This blows up publically...don't think it's gonna be useful to be the 'wounded hero'. Luthor's been straight-shooting so far as I can tell, even if he's got his word-twisters suiting things to the platform's fancy." Steve's eyes rest on his California roll collection now and, again, he takes to tapping the chopsticks against the bento box.

"Could end a mess. Could also end up fine." He gives Janet a small smile and then rests his arm on the table, palm up for her to take if she wants. "Gonna assume it's not gonna work out 'nd feel stupid later?" the man teases lightly.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
"Mm, I'm a romantic at heart, Steve," Janet tells her beau with a flashing grin. "So I'm hopeful. C'mon, it /would/ be sweet if they ended up together. Not that Tony needs another redhead in his life, but Pepper's about the only human being that can keep him in line. He's got no head for consequences. I think Natasha's just scary enough to remind Tony about how fragile human life can really be."

"And, Tony can maybe help her loosen up a bit. Life's for the living. Show her how to... have fun," she says, nose wrinkling thoughtfully. "For the sake of having fun, not just because of mission requirements or 'essential team building'."

"Then again, I mean, it could explode horribly wrong, and we'd have the first instance in history of the First Lady assassinating the President, so..." A shrug dismisses that concern. "I don't know. Call it 50/50 odds?" she hazards.

Steve Rogers has posed:
The dark humor of her pessimism at the even chance of such a thing has the Captain snort-laughing with his lips pursed to the bottle of his stout. He still coughs once before giving her a moderated if reproachful squint.

"Don't think Nat's going to murder Tony if they decide to call it quits. 'sides...if it comes to an uncomfortable point, they've got the team to help mitigate." A point of chopsticks at her. "That, 'nd there're other assets to bring into the equation." He glances up again from his California roll lifted and about to be dipped. "Dunno how willing they'd be, but..." That's a novel thought by the musing frown he directs idly off in the direction of the Triskelion, even if there are walls and miles between the manor and the building.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
"Other ... assets, what?" Janet says, and sends a nonplussed look in the same direction as Steve's thoughtful gaze. She shakes her head at him minutely with her brows furrowing.

"I swear, Steve, you act like I'm a telepath sometimes. I'm getting another drink, do you need a refill?"

She gets to her feet and starts gathering the empty dishes and boxes to carry them to the little dinette for disposal there and starts washing the dishes, too. The mundane task busies her attention for a few minutes. "Look: all I'm saying is that maybe this is a good time for you to make sure Tony knows this isn't a situation he can buy or charm his way out of, is all," Janet calls back over her shoulder. "I get the sense Natasha's not the sort of person who opens her heart up really easily, and if she's genuinely falling for him, he at least needs to know that he has to let her down gently."

"See, if I gave a shit about politics, I could run for office. I think there was a van Dyne who was Mayor back in the 1800s," she says, thoughtfully. "Would that make you the First Gentleman?" she says, and grins down at the sudsy water in the sink.

Steve Rogers has posed:
"'m good, thank you, still another third of the stout left." A push of the dark bottle sets its contents to sloshing back and forth and able to be visually marked as such. Steve watches his other half begin to clear the table and makes certain to clear off his plate in time for her to snatch it away for cleaning. Comfortable at the table, he leans his forearms on it and watches her, allowing his eyes to wander -- though he is certain to have his gaze up every time Janet glances over her shoulder as she speaks.

Must not be distracted by the vanishing point of those leggings beneath the hem of the dress.

Yet another ranking. It makes the man smile. "'m already 'Lord of Midgard', don't need another title. Sorry, meant 'Captain Lord of Midgard'," he correct needlessly and aware of it by the twinkle in his eyes. "You're not wrong though. Nat's... Woe betide anybody who manages to worm their way past her defenses. Same with Tony 'nd his defenses. Last time we talked, before the announcement about the fake marriage, he asked me if Nat had said anything to me in the hallway. Thing is, I didn't speak to Nat in the hallway."

Blond eyebrows lift as if to prompt the jump in logic involving Tony's amount of care in matters.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
Janet rolls her eyes to the ceiling in supplication. "I have no idea what you're referring to, Steven," Janet says again. "See, again, you, thinking I can read your mind."

This time, she glances a little more discreetly and catches Steve's wandering eyes; her response is to lean forward a little and arch her back, emphasizing the rondeure of her hips and rear.

When he looks up again, she's grinning impudently at him. "Not that I don't know what you're thinking, most of the time," she purrs, and wriggles her hips at Steve. It turns into a little rocking motion of her knees and shoulders as she dances in place to some distant music elsewhere in the building.

The motion and the task at hand stops, and she braces her palms against the edge of the sink. Her head bows in thought and she turns to look at Steve. "Okay, wait, no, I think-- you're saying that Tony is like, thinking about Natasha, and stuff. Like, her opinion. Not in a carnal way."

Her nose wrinkles. "I mean, probably in a carnal way." Janet shudders and holds her hands up in surrender and goes back to the cleaning with a shudder. "Oh god, there's a mental image I can't get out of my head."

Steve Rogers has posed:
"Sayin' you can't read my mind? Takes a lot of wind out of your stances, <<Seillean>>," the man muses, admittedly still wondering at the hemline of the dress.

He does get caught and after realizing the deliberation of the change in posture, Steve glances up and can't help the counter-grin as well as pinking of his ears. The latter will never change, apparently. His brows lift as she comes to her conclusion and slowly, solemnly enough to be theatrically deliberate while wearing the beatifically innocent expression, he nods. She squishes up that pert button nose, her beau ends up leaning back in the chair with arms nonchalantly crossed. How it accents his chest is unintentional.

His teeth gleam perfectly white at her now. "Hard being the visual-spatial type, isn't it? Folks don't know how lucky they have it sometimes, numb 'nd blind to the accidental trips into awareness." Gentle mocking aside, he continues more seriously. "But yeah, that's my point: a non-carnal concern about what she thinks. Granted, I could be wrong. He could be concerned about his reputation. But <<Seillean>>, you should've seen his face 'nd his reaction. Classical discomfit. Fussing at his shirt, not looking me in the eye, quick speech 'nd quick shift of conversation away from the topic." A hand lifts off his bicep in a shrug. "Think we'll find there's something there, at least."

Janet van Dyne has posed:
"Okay, in fairness, if there's anything that would make Tony's conscience wake up and gasp for air, it might be legitimate feelings for someone," Janet concedes. She finishes the task at hand and pours herself another drink before sashaying back over to the table. Instead of resuming her seat in the chair, though, she moves deliberately through Steve's personal space and levers her hips up to sit on the table. The pads of one foot rest on the edge of the chair between his thighs;she crosses the other leg over at the knee, bare foot bouncing absently. One arm extends behind her to support her weight while she clenches the straw between her teeth and sips.

"I'm not saying Tony /can't/ have feelings. I'm just saying, make sure this isn't some flash in the pan for him. Or that he doesn't panic and decide to launch Natasha out of some ejection port," she suggests to Steve between gulps. "Figuratively or literally. Tony doesn't like it when people put their food in his fridge, let alone sharing a toothbrush shelf with someone in the bathroom. Saying he's got boundary issues is like saying water is wet."

Steve Rogers has posed:
The two of them create something of a vee as Steve leans back to admit the Wasp into his space and remains comfortably leaned back -- he still needs must reach past Janet's waist to get at the remainder of his stout. As he angles his arm around her, a kiss is pressed to her knee.

"Both have their reasons for wanting their space, but I bet if we start watching them, they'll give their tells. Nat'll be harder than Tony," the man notes before tipping back his bottle. Liquid bubbles as it disappears and the bottle is then set on the ground beside his chair, Steve barely needing to bend at the waist to accomplish this. His hands come up and take the bouncing foot to not only still it, but start working at it gently with his thumbs.

"I'll see about speaking to him as a friend, not as a teammate. Not just yet. He might need a sounding board even if he's using AI for this most of the time."

Janet van Dyne has posed:
Janet's eyes flutter at the feeling of fingertips working out the tense muscle in her foot, and a sound somewhere between a steamkettle and a creaky door slips past her lips.

"Huh? Oh, uh, god yes, that's what he needs." It takes a second for her to try and jar her train of thought onto the tracks, and she bites the straw pointedly to focus. "I'm sure HOMER or JARVIS or whatever is like, super encouraging, but considering that /Tony/ programmed it, I don't think an AI is going to be a huge amount of help here," she observes.

"God. Tony and Natasha," she muses. "Wouldn't have called that one in a million years," Janet muses. "Then again, everyone said the same thing about us, I'm sure," she teases Steve, and pokes his thigh with her other foot. "Well, me, anyway. I was totally out to corrupt you. You just tricked me into a relationship," she accuses, and sticks her tongue out at him with mock petulance.

Steve Rogers has posed:
Thumbpads continue pressing tracery along the instep of her foot and around the meat of her foot before running back to the heel and beginning to idly engulf her ankle, sure to work up to her calf if given opportunity. All the while, Steve continues wearing that little smile of his. Pleased and knowing both, silently playful and yet somehow still composed, it only breaks when he speaks.

"Tricked you, did I? I seem to remember somebody being so enamored with me that she bounced off the doorframe over on the side of the manor," he says mildly. "I asked JARVIS to delete the footage after I downloaded it to a thumbdrive. 's'gone save for maybe a revist on our anniversary. Figure I'd set it up all romantic-like: candles, nice dinner, wine, 'nd a slideshow detailing the important parts. The final slide? That stutter you did after impact."

Wicked, wicked, how he grins at her now.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
Janet's other foot slips a deliberate few inches up Steve's thigh. Her eyes are lidding at the gentle and skilled massage of her delicate foot; they open to narrowed slits under a furrowed brow at his teasing.

It's pretty hard to take her expression of displeasure seriously.

"Oh if we're playing THAT game, I'm pretty sure I've got footage of you doing a solo dance number in spats and gym pants," Janet informs Steve. "You don't want to play blackmail with me, darling," she says, and stretches languidly in place with a shifting roll that starts in her hips and works up up her spine. "Sweet Brooklyn boy like you? You wouldn't last five minutes in Long Island. Or up in Huntington. Socialites learn the art of social extortion from a very, very young age."

Her head lifts and she looks down at him. "Though I guess it would depend what you were trying to get out of me," she murmurs with a deceptive nonchalance.

Steve Rogers has posed:
"<<Seillean.>>"

How gently Steve says this, followed by a tilt of his head. His eyes don't shift from her face, bluer than the heights of the heavens and full of an understanding almost achingly bright.

"I'd never blackmail you for anything. You know me well enough: I ask, I don't assume. I'd include the footage of you bouncing off the doorframe for us to laugh at. 's'cute," he insists. "'sides, you want to stick in the footage of me dancing in spats 'nd sweatpants, sure. I'll add it in to the slideshow. Fair is fair." Her toes get a gentle tweaking as if to accent his point.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
Janet exhales wearily and rolls her eyes, both a lame attempt (and a failure) to hide a fond smile working across her face. It's hard to contend with Steve's appealing earnestness, and she giggles and retracts her feet when he tweaks one toe.

"Don't! Ticklish," she reminds him, and tentatively settles her feet in his lap again. "Fine. Truce," she promises Steve. "But you're gonna need to do better for our anniversary than a clip show," she warns him. "I have high expectations, you know. Flowers and Outback Steakhouse aren't going to earn you any brownie points."

Steve Rogers has posed:
Rather than continue fussing at her feet, the man rests his palms overtop them both. They're sandwiched wamly now between hands and his thighs. He allows himself a more pleased shift in expression now.

"Scout's honor, something better'n Outback Steakhouse." Of course the nation's Biggest Boy Scout makes the appropriate hand-sign for the comment briefly. "Better'n flowers. Gonna make me be creative. Hmm." Intensity of musing high, he then patpats her foot-tops. "We've got time for me to figure it out. Don't want to spoil the surprise. C'mon, I'll work on the other foot."

Janet gets scooped up into his arms in a sudden silver-screen motion. Indeed, Steve intends to follow through with his promise by all appearances by how he disappears into the bedroom. The sketchbook's contents are left a mystery.

...for now.