Characters: Sitwell and Jan! Setting: A lunch date! Jan's place, and wherever our whims take us. Content: Awkward spazes spazzing out awkwardly. Summary: Jan asked Jasper out! Jan asked Jasper out? Jan asked Jasper out!
Take a deep breath, focus on the target, release. Again, deep breath (how does it smell? Breath mints, pick up breath mints, consume), release. It wasn't a big deal; it was just coffee, and they had known each other for years, and the Wasp was just a gorgeous, millionaire Avenger. Nothing could go wrong. Especially if Jasper cancelled now and saved them both the trouble. He did just lose a fellow agent and hadn't really processed that, he could probably use a day (or the long lunch he had scheduled for himself and carefully cleared with his unit and restructured their command chain in case something happened and told Sheila to make a note of) to grieve or organize his travel plans and time off for the funeral. It was a little late to cancel, though, and he had probably already disrupted Ms. Van Dyne's whole day; breakfast would have been better, no pressure, then she would have the rest of her day to herself without the interruption. Why didn't he think of that before?
Before he was standing in the lady's lobby, or the lobby of her building, trying to explain himself to the doorman and insist that the basket he carried wasn't a bomb. Which probably wouldn't have even been an issue if he hadn't laughed nervously and insisted, "I swear this isn't a bomb." Suspiciously, gingerly, the doorman poked through its contents, and obviously still didn't quite take Sitwell's word because he made a point to keep an eye on the unfamiliar guest as he called up to Ms. Van Dyne's suite. Jasper smiled, whistled, and rocked on his toes, admiring how polished and fine everything seemed even in the lobby, even so soon after the zombie thing. There probably weren't a lot of zombies in here, though. Vampires, maybe. All the vampires Jasper knew lived in castles, and there weren't a lot of those in New York City.
"Penthouse," the doorman announced, clearly not pleased with the revelation that Jasper was indeed invited. Jasper wasn't entirely convinced it was the bomb thing, either, since the basket clearly only had flowers, a thermos and a cookie tin in it; he should have dressed better. It was a date, anyway, even if it wasn't dinner or anything; a shirt with buttons, at least, would have cut a less suspicious figure. He must have overplayed the gracious thanks, too, for the doorman's time as he scurried over to the elevator, because the guy was back on the phone by the time the elevator doors slowly slid closed. Please don't call the cops, this is the first date I've been on in years, "please, please, please," ding. The doors opened again and Jasper hadn't even felt the elevator move, let alone take him all the way up to a silent hallway with just one, grand door at the end of it. Now this felt like an execution. Jasper smoothed his t-shirt and straightened his jacket and checked his breath one more time before knocking carefully.