driftfleet | action | party mingle

"Now you just sound old." Teasing as she lets him steal a bite of her ice cream. Looks like he was thinking of his appetite and not hers when he dished it up anyway. There's more than enough to share.

"You should have banana candy. They say the fake banana flavor tastes like bananas used to." Will that satisfy you, old man? "If that's true, I wouldn't say I'm missing out on much."

"Banana candy?" Steve hadn't heard about that and somehow doesn't think that he'll manage to get any here. But he still makes a note of it. Who knew what they might find in their travels.

"If it does taste like the old bananas then you've got your tastebuds ruined, kid." Call him old and he'll fire back, whippersnapper. "Not that it's your fault. Everything from the 80's on is more fake than real."

Natasha gives him a slow blink and a slight smile. From a cat, it would be a sign of affection. In this case it communicates something more like tolerant good humor mixed with the opinion that comment isn't worth dignifying with a response.

There's a pause, then she glances out at the party.

"So what do you and Barnes have planned?"

Steve glances to Nat and then out to the party once more. The guilt comes back up, again but this time the reasoning for it is less concrete. He watches Bucky across the way and tries not to think about. Or to think about what Loki said, before, about doing things for himself.

"We're going out to camp for a night or two. There's a cabin near a lake that we can fish at. Nothing big; we'd talked about camping as kids but New York isn't great for that."

"Going camping." She repeats that warmly. Maybe a little sad. The whole situation is a little sad, but not without its bright spots. At some point, all she can do is try not to let her exhaust her. "Sounds like a good time. Thinking you're going to catch Bigfoot?"

Steve reaches and squeezes her shoulder. "You don't have to talk to me about him, you know. If you're not ready. We've got plenty of other things to talk about." Steve looks around the party and lands on a particular face.

"Like how me and Loki are apparently friends now?" That should distract her.

"That's fast." Steve isn't the first to be won over by Loki, either. Just why isn't a curiosity Natasha indulges first hand often.

"It wasn't that fast. A lot of it happened in the Calibration rooms." And over drinks, but he's not going to talk about that one. "I take it you two haven't spoken too much?"

"No, not often." Natasha doesn't consider herself one to hold a grudge. Barnes shot her. Twice. Clint had been sent to kill her.

She hasn't seen much reason to change it.

Maybe she takes mind controlling her best friend a little more personally. "There hasn't been much of a reason."

"He's really not that bad. I saw a lot of his past. I don't think that New York was him. Or at least not entirely him." Steve can't help but sympathize with Loki. They have a lot in common with how out of place they feel. They just go about it differently.

"He made a wall. You can put your hand on it and see people who are gone."

"I didn't say he was that bad. There are a lot of things that aren't bad that I still don't seek out often." She shrugs. At this point, she's not actively worried about Steve growing close to Loki. That has to count for something? She remembers his threats on the helicarrier. Maybe he'd changed, or it wasn't all him, but that doesn't take that face out of her memory. "Some people aren't cat people either."

"Yeah, well, you shouldn't trust those people. Cats are good judges of character." He smiles, knowing what the point was even if he chose to mostly ignore it. He looks over at Loki and laughs. "Or maybe I just have a knack for keeping around people who try to kill me."

Sounds like a Steve Rogers thing to do. He shakes his head again and steals a little more ice cream. Or at least tries to.

She pulls the ice cream away slightly, but just slightly. Not seriously trying to dodge his attempt. Natasha doesn't try to talk Steve out of being friends with Loki. It's not her call, and she wouldn't even if it were.

But she's not sure what to say to Steve's apparent deathwish.

"You think there's going to be music? Maybe I'll call in my dance." So she changes the subject.

Steve lights up at that and wishes he had some way of playing music right here and now. "It's your feet," he warns all the same. But the threat of it is muted behind what's clearly excitement.

Even if he sucks at dancing he knows Nat wouldn't laugh at him. Laugh with him, sure. But that's what friends did.

"Maybe we can ask Vision."

"Seems like we ought to be able to figure something out." Even if it just meant streaming something from the network through their communicators. "And my feet can take care of themselves."

"You say that now. Then you're on Marsiva with shattered toes." Still, Steve puts his spoon down and starts fiddling on his communicator to try and figure out streaming. Considering he'd barely figured it out on his laptop, this doesn't bode well.

Good luck, Steve. Natasha doesn't seem inclined to help, opting instead to watch him play with the device while she slowly works her way through the pile of ice cream. Nothing says supportive like slowly eating the ice cream off a spoon while your friend struggles.

Steve hates technology sometimes. Even with the augment helping him he's not an enormous fan of trying to maneuver around on a device like this. Eventually he seems to find something musical. The first song is a screaming rock band which Steve barely turns off before making a good scene. He hits country and then one chanting song from another universe, clearly.

And then there's jazz.

"Finally," he sighs in relief. "Thanks for all your help."

"I'm teaching you to fend for yourself. Survival skills, Rogers."

She eats another bite of her ice cream before setting the bowl aside. Her head tips in time with the music. Big band. She might make fun of Steve's inability to modernize in some parts of his life, but she can't actually fault the music.

"Shall we?" Natasha offers her hand as she asks.

Steve doesn't swallow but he looks a bit like he's about to walk into a press conference filled with bloggers (he still doesn't understand what those are nor half the words they say). Still, he won't back away from the challenge. He takes Nat's hand and puts himself into the stiff posture of a middle schooler at their first dance. His hand almost hovers over her hip.

"Alright. Remember, I warned you."

And so he moves, his foot headed straight for Nat's toes.

It's a valiant effort, Rogers, but it'll take more than that to crush Natasha's toes. She steps back a little, making it seem natural, and turns a little, keeping a hold of his hand as she twists.

Her brow arches. "You don't have to be quite that eager."

"I didn't want to be made a liar," he jokes. Even joking his attention is down at his feet, face stoney with determination. He's going to figure it out. He's danced before, after all. Not well but he's managed not to kill anyone.

He wasn't in this body at that point, though.

Steve grumbles but starts again, listening for the music. He manages a step and then another like he's framing a box. Which he is. He remembers that a waltz goes that way: up, side, down, side. It's tense but not awful.

"Hey, try looking at my face. And trust me." It's a start. Natasha can work with this. Even if it's painfully stiff. "Relax. I'll follow your lead."

Steve looks up at Natasha's face and his foot immediately goes off target and towards toes once more. He recovers after, stumbling for a second before getting back into his square. It goes a little easier from there.

"Do I not seem relaxed? This is like a vacation."

How do you do this, Steve? Natasha laughs it off, though. He's not going to stop tripping over his own feet, figuratively, if he doesn't get out of his own head.

"Good. Because this is supposed to be fun. You're at a party. You're dancing with pretty girl. You'll do all right."

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