"Your birthday is in a few days." Brooklyn reminded Steve, as she helped him set up the camp site. "I mean, you have to be aware of it."
"Yeah." He sighed, nodding, as he worked the water hose connection. "I know. It's kind of... unavoidable."
"I never asked." She paused, standing up and leaning against the RV, letting him get on with it. Ever since she had suggested she help; she had the distinct feeling that he would have preferred for her to stay out of the way. To just let him get on with it. "Given the date, and all."
"Born on the fourth of July." He snorted.

"Something... ironic about that, I think." She nodded. "Being you're... you know... him."

"The star-spangled man with a plan." He grunted, tightening... something. "There. That should keep us settled for the night. We'll need to do the septic tank, before we leave. It's probably well past time, now."

Brooklyn nodded. "I wonder... really, sometimes... if Erskine saw your date of birth and said, yup, this guy is it. He embodies everything American. He's blonde. Blue eyed. Hell, he was born on Fourth of July! It's kismet!"
Steve shook his head, grabbing the cloth they had started keeping with the hoses, wiping his hands. "I would believe that, if it hadn't been Senator Brandt who came up with the whole 'Captain America', title. But yeah, I sometimes wonder."
"Fate finds us." She mused, before shrugging, shaking her head. "Well, the past is the past, yes? No use in digging up old boxes and letting the moths out."

"No moths." He grinned, tossing the rag into the storage box, before shutting it. "Okay. That's us squared away for the night. Power done. Water done. What should we do for dinner?"
"Something light." She suggested, coming over, wrapping her arms around his neck. "We can unpack the bike, and go see what they have in town? Port Angeles. Originally named Puerto de Nuestra Senora de los Angeles. Or, Port of Our Lady of the Angels, if my translation is correct."
Steve nodded, bending his head to kiss her. "Seems a bit of an odd way to get to Seattle, when we were literally less than two hours away, when we left Bellingham."
She shrugged. It made sense to her. Steve had liked the KOA in Montana. With that in mind, she had looked up the nearest one. Which happened to be on the peninsula, after a bit of a drive, and a ferry ride... and a bit more driving. But the drive to Bainbridge, according to the maps, would only be a couple hours, before hitting Seattle right on. Besides, was the point of this trip, besides fucking each other's brains out... which to be honest, with Steve wouldn't take that much effort really... to explore the areas that maybe they wouldn't go to, if they were on a normal trip? What was taking them off beaten track by a few hours' worth? Besides maybe making a few memories.

The drive to their current location has been pleasant.

After exploring Bellingham a bit more, which had included the museums (Steve had liked the old, refurbished courthouse with its local history), a quick jaunt out to see where Fort Bellingham had been located then going back to see the Picket house. The scheduled tour had been interesting, if a bit tilted in it's history and... well, hero worship of the confederate general for which it was named... and apparently built by. But, it had been local history. And while the tour guide had been apologetic about the actions taken by the namesake after he had left the area, he had pointed out that it was because of Pickett that the roads between Seattle and Bellingham existed, as well as the township itself. His defense of the area, while... not really needed, while looking at the past through the lens of modern sensibilities, had been the driving force behind the settlers coming to the area.

She had caught herself wrinkling her nose, more than once, at some of the explained history, really. Although... it had been interesting to know that Pickett had taken a local native to be his wife, and even having a child with her...

Brooklyn imagined, based on what she had read about the South and it's feelings about mixed marriages at the time, that hadn't endeared him to his family back home.

After that, they had gone on a drive, looking at the local art on display as well as winding down to the Fairhaven district, enjoying the attempt to keep the old facades on the buildings and the old trolly tracks in the road, along with the broken cobble stones and brick work roads.
But after that, they had taken a look around, and decided to move on.

Retrieving the RV from the mall, Steve had battled the traffic to get them back on the freeway, heading south along the I-5 corridor, while she found and booked the campground, then plotted the course, and with a bit of raised eyebrow, booked their place on the ferry.

Now, hours later, parked in their assigned campsite, the RV hooked up, the slides out, her darling bottomless pit of a husband was now requesting dinner.

She kissed her way up his jaw, well, as much as she could reach, given she was so much smaller than him, damn him. "I'll look up something nice. What are you in the mood for?"
"Anything, really." He grinned, shifting to brush his lips against her forehead. "I'll claim my right to choose what you eat, once you decide where we're eating."
"I knew you wouldn't forget about that." She sighed.

"Never." He swore, smiling wider. "You've been doing so well, too, since we started this. I know it's been what, a week, now? But I can tell the difference."
With that comment, he reached down, his hand landing on her backside, fingers digging in. He gave his handful a jiggle, before letting go, then slapping it lightly. She could feel the flesh of her backside move with the hit.

"I somehow knew you were an ass man." She sighed. "I just... I knew it. Something about the way you like to look at my ass. And your obsession with trying to stick your dick in it. I'd be worried about you being gay, but... past, present, and future plans for our sex life kind of... blew that theory out of the water."
"I told you. Pussies are just too nice to pass up." He bent his head, kissing her neck. "And yours is the nicest I've ever come across, and in. So, yeah. I love your ass. But it's not the only thing I love about you. I love all of you. Every inch of you. Every part of you. I mean, I would hope you would love me for more than my dick."
Brooklyn pursed her lips, considering. "Well, there is the fact that you can reach the top shelf in the kitchen. And that you like to try and keep things as clean as I do, even if you occasionally miss the laundry basket."

He laughed, kissing her neck again. "I am so grateful that I am secure in our marriage and love, that I am not taking that personally, and worried that's the only reason you married me."

"Of course not." She scoffed, before grinning, patting his chest gently. "I'm also after your Social Security payments."
He blinked, before barking out a laugh, and she pulled away, skipping to the door of the RV.
"I knew there was something else!" he laughed, following. "You gave in to my proposal, way too easy."
"I didn't want you to sweat about it." She teased, climbing up the stairs, knowing that the truth was... far from that. A touch of guilt, for making him wait so long, only for her to realize what she wanted, when she thought she had lost him. "I was worried the stress would be bad for your heart."

Nodding, he followed her, still laughing, while shutting the door behind himself. "Well, thank you for that. I look forward to many, many years of you attending to my old man needs."

Brooklyn threw her hands up in the air. "Oh, woe is me! I married an old, decrepit man, who can barely get it up, without the help of pills, and potions, and hours of preparation!"

She squealed as he grabbed her from behind, lifting her up, carrying her towards the bedroom, laughing.

"I'll show you how little preparation I need to fuck my wife." He promised her, before tossing her on the bed, reaching for his jeans. "How much do you need, Babydoll?"
Arching her back, and spreading her legs as she lifted her skirt, she winked at him. "For you? None at all."

******

The smell of the bay was evident, even through the glass of the restaurant, she reflected, as she looked out over the dark water, still dappled with the remains of the setting sun. The buoy bell clanged, almost at a rhythm, as the waves rocked it, the sound pleasing as it rang out across the water.

Steve hummed happily, as he held her hand, looking with her. "It's calming, in a way."
"it is." She agreed. "I can't imagine people who live out here, ever get tired of it."
"I think it's like how it is for us. When things get to be... normal. People, especially visitors to New York, often ooh and aww over things that we find to be so commonplace." He offered. "We are used to the sounds of the city. To the point that it is a comfort. Remember, the first few nights? We had to have the sound machine on, because it was too quiet. It's like that, I imagine. People get used to the sounds, the smell, the sights, and it becomes so... normal for them. For us, it's a wonder. Because we are not used to it. But for them? Everyday occurrence. Just the background of their daily lives."
"You should have been a poet." She smiled, turning to look at him. "You put words together, so well, sometimes."
"And yet, I could barely talk to a woman, before the War." He returned the smile, before bringing her hand up to kiss the back of it, before turning it over, kissing the palm. "But I'm glad I had the practice, so I knew how to do it, when it came to you."

"See?" She shook her head. "That, right there. That's... amazingly poetic."

Steve just grinned, kissing her hand again, as the waitress came up, pulling out her pad.
"Good Evening." She began, before smiling at them. "Welcome to Smuggler's Landing. Have you decided what you would like to have, tonight?"
"Yes." Steve nodded, picking up the menu, unfortunately having to drop Brooklyn's hand, making her pout a little in disappointment. "I'm afraid... this is going to be a lot."
Brooklyn bit her lip, turning to look out over the water again. When she had chosen this place, she had made the slight mistake, or mishap, of forgetting to look at the prices. She had been caught by the pictures of the dining room, of the promised view of the port and water. Unfortunately, this mishap had led to Steve frowning, before sighing.
this was going to be a costly little dinner. Especially since they had decided, together, to just... eat what they wanted. Taste what they wanted. But... that came with a price tag.

"Before I begin... Am I correct in assuming the seafood is... local? As much as possible?" Steve asked the waitress.

She nodded, leaning over to point at the menu. "Yes. The Crab is local, caught daily. The shrimp is flown in, daily, and picked up from the local fish market. The salmon is caught the day before, but still fresh, as is the cod and halibut. All are caught in local waters. Clams and scallops are harvest from local beds."

He exhaled slowly, before giving a single nod. "Okay, in that case, we'll start out with the steamed clams, the fried oysters, oyster shooters- one each... then the peel and eat shrimp?"
The waitress raised her eyebrows but began to jot the order down. Brooklyn watched her, via the reflection in the window, when she adjusted her vision to do so.

"Then... we'll try the coho salmon... and the Dungeness crab." Steve pursed his lips. "And go ahead and bring us a seafood platter. That should do us, I think."
Brooklyn turned her head, looking at him.

"oh, and if you wouldn't mind... a Caesar salad. And substitute some of those fries, with clam chowders, please." He nodded, before holding out the menu to the waitress. "Thank you."
She finished writing down the order on her pad, before taking the menus. "And to drink?"
"You know what?" He sat back, before shrugging. "Surprise us. But... local beer, right? Something from the local breweries. That would be nice, thank you."
"I can do that." She grinned, seeming to bounce on her toes a little. "I'll put your order in with the kitchen and get your drinks! Give me just a moment."
She spun and seemed to skip towards the kitchen area.

"We've made her night, I think." Brooklyn commented. "I'm sorry, again, about the prices."
"No... I need to... I need to accept that prices are way different. Than what I was used to. God knows, I've been out of the ice, long enough. Time to get with the times, as the kids say, right?" He frowned, before taking up her hand again. "Besides... honeymoon, experiences... and it's local. That'll be worth it."
"this much seafood... we're gonna get messy." She pointed out.

"So, we get messy. And yes, we're gonna eat with our hands." He winked at her. "We'll split the salad, just so we can pretend we were good little adults and had vegetables."

"Oh, yes. Because that's... just proof. I understand completely." She laughed. "We'll have to make up for it, later, right?"

"I hear Seattle has a year-round farmers market." He suggested. "Maybe we can pick some up, there. You know, the local food."
"I'm not going to lie. I really do enjoy trying the local cuisine." She leaned forward on the table, a little bit. "Trying different food. I did it in Poland. There was this... night market. And there was this man, with this grill... just selling meat off it, to the passers byes. I bought some, and it was.. really good. Something about the grilled meat, and the spices... I mean, people who live in certain areas, who cook certain ways... make it unique. It was beef, I think... but it was different beef than I'd had before, because he knew how to use the spices that made it... Polish. Or his version of Polish, at least."
"You didn't tell me that, when we talked about it, after everything settled down, in January." Steve commented, his voice non-judgmental. "I like to hear that sort of thing."
"Shall I tell you about learning to hunt?" She tried to give a smile.
"No. I just like to hear what you liked doing, when you were... growing up." He suggested.

"Ah." She nodded. "Okay. Well.. there was this one time... we were in... some place. And there was a bazaar. The scent of the spices was in the air, overpowering everything. And they had them for sale, on these huge platters, but... in perfect cone shapes. It didn't seem possible... but... it was. And every corner was teeming with sound, and life, and people, and smells. You could taste it on the air, even."
She closed her eyes, remembering.
"The sun filtered through the fabric the stalls had, that over hung into the street... but there was this... little sliver... of sun, that came through even that. Like... blades of light, striking your eyes, if you looked up. But the fabric also kept the smoke in, from the food stalls. So, you're walking around, through these people, who don't know you from anyone, and it just... covers you. The scent was in my hair, for a while, afterwards. I could still smell the smoke and the saffron. That's what I remember. Oh, that and the sweet bread that I stole from one of the stalls. The cinnamon, and the raisins and the currents, all worked through the bread, and these... little crusty burned edges, just right, that added the crunch to what would have been really soft bread."

"Do you remember where it was?" He stroked her hand, gently. "Just in case you ever want to go back there, some day?"
Brooklyn opened her eyes. "No. I wasn't.. keeping track, at that point. Unless it was important. I didn't bother. There was the mission, and making sure we made it back. I mean, sometimes, it was unavoidable. Because it was part of the mission. But... unless I needed to.. I ignored it. Or just...didn't pay attention."

Still rubbing her hand, Steve smiled gently. "I think I can understand that. And how dare you call me poetic, when you just described that... so... descriptively."

And just like that, he lightened the mood, making her laugh.

As she regained her breath, the waitress brought them their drinks. She set the glasses on the table, before smiling, holding the tray in front of herself.
"So, it'll be about ten minutes, before the first of your appetizers comes out. So, yeah. And you told me to choose a local brewery, and based on what you ordered, I figured this was the best fit." She pointed at the glasses. "It's our tasting thing? I chose five of the local breweries, on tap. If you want, I can also get a tasting of the local wineries, too?"
"Maybe later." Steve reached for one of the glasses, taking a sip, humming and licking his lips. "Oh, that's good."
"Okay, so... I got you two..." She pulled out a slip of paper from her pocket, looking at it. "Um..."
Brooklyn took pity on her.
"Just leave us ignorant. If we like something more than another, we'll call you over, okay?" she took the paper from the waitress. "He doesn't know alcohol. He just likes what tastes good to him. No worries. Okay?"

The waitress nodded, before smiling and turning, leaving.

"I don't know alcohol?" Steve asked, sipping the glass in his hand again. "You do realize I was drinking long before you were born, yeah?"
"Steve, what's the difference between a lager and an ale?" She asked, selecting one of the small glasses, bringing it up to sip. "A stout? An IPA?"
He sighed. "One's German, and the other is British?"

She smiled at his hopeful tone. "No. But that's okay. Just drink what you like. Nothing says you have to be a connoisseur. I just didn't want you to get bogged down by all the information. Not to mention, even she needed the cheat sheet."

He nodded, sipping the beer in his hand. "it's really good."

She sipped hers, humming at the clean, hoppy taste, and the slight bitterness. "It is."
"So." He sighed, setting his drink down. "I hate to... but.. you mentioned my birthday. I would really like it if we... weren't near the... festivities, on that day?"
"You don't like the fireworks." She stated, nodding. "I had a feeling you didn't."
"How..." He raised his eyebrows. "Anyhow, if we could.. avoid that?"
"I've already got plans for us to be deep in the forest, that day and night." She assured him. "And based on the fire ban, and the fact that they don't want fireworks in the forest, yeah, I think we'll be okay."
"I also don't want a big... thing, please?" He requested, his voice slightly pleading. "it's bad enough my birthday falls on that day, but it's just the two of us. So.. nice and light?"
"I can do that." She nodded again. "I hadn't really planned on inviting a million people, and making you blow out all the candles for each year. Again, fire ban. One wrong spark, and we could be responsible for how many acres have gone, in forest. Not gonna be responsible for that, Steve."

"Besides," Steve, his voice slightly bitter, continued, "It's not like you let me go all out for yours. I mean, once I knew what day it was. If I remember correctly, once everything settled down, you seemed to think that me buying a cake, and taking you out was too much."
"Ah." She sighed. "Are you still upset about that? I figured... it's just my birthday. No big deal."
"It's a big deal to me." He informed her, firmly, taking her hand. "That day you were born is one of the happiest days of my life, even if I didn't know it, at the time. Because you were born. My wife was born. The woman I love was born. Why wouldn't I want to celebrate it?"
"Steve." She gave him as soft as smile as she could. "I had the best present I could have been given. I was given time with my Papa. Even if it was for a few days. The universe decided... I don't know what, but it was kind enough to have us in the same alley at the same time, and that I was able to convince him to give me that time. I love you. But... I wasn't... it wasn't a good time. Not this year."
"Next year." He intoned firmly. "Next year, I get to celebrate it, how I want to celebrate it. Alright? And if that means a party, and presents, and a cake, and singing... then that's how it's going to be. Please?"
Brooklyn sighed but nodded her head. "I guess... I'm okay with that."
"It really hurt me, Brooklyn..." He paused, before nodding. "Yeah, hurt me, that you accepted the gifts from the Marinos, but wouldn't even let me take you out. Or buy you anything, as well."

Guilt flooded her. Back in January, when things had hit that rocky patch, and she had gone to Poland, when she returned, he hadn't mentioned that he had been hurt by her refusal of his attempt to celebrate her recently revealed birthdate. Steve had waited a few days after their dinner with the Marinos, until things had calmed down, and thy had returned to their easy flow of life. Then he had broached possibly going out and celebrating her birthday, belated though it might have been.

Still sore from the way Papa had refused to return home with her, and not ever having good memories about her birthday, she had absently refused. It hasn't been intentional, trying to hurt him, she just hadn't been in the space of mind, in regard to celebrate her birth. She often had feelings in regard to that event, that were...non-celebratory. It hadn't been an intentional slight, but merely her own mental reflection, that had led her to decline any plans Steve had attempted to make.

He had let the subject go, and she had thought the matter settled.

The fact that he was bringing it up, months later, proved how wrong she was on that subject.

"I'll..." She took a deep breath, pushing the worry aside. "I'll allow it. Next year."
Taking another deep breath, she smiled, trying for a breezy and carefree tone.

"Besides, I would like to think I've stopped giving you issues about giving me gifts." To emphasize her point, she brought her free hand up to cup her pendant. "Besides, you give me such pretty ones, don't you?"
"That wasn't meant to be merely pretty, Babydoll." Satisfaction shone in his eyes, as he clearly accepted her acceptance of his request regarding her birthday. "It was to warn other men, and to tell everyone else that you are mine."

She wiggled her left ring finger, noting the light of the restaurant catching the blue jewel, letting the deep color shine. "I though that was what this was for."
"Oh, that too." He smiled, his teeth peeking out slightly. "in case they missed the first sign, that's to remind them, as well. My wife. Mine."
"Yours." She tilted her head slightly, submissively. "As you are mine."

He brought her hand up, kissing it slowly. "For all eternity."

They fell into comfortable silence, while the rest of the patrons around them chatted, laughed, and in a few cases argued. Sipping their beers, they watched the last of the sun fade away, as the water lapped at the docks, the boats moored slowly lighting up, as occupants either settled in for the night, or prepared to leave for night fishing.

"I can't imagine making a life off the sea." Steve mused, as he pointed out a grizzled older man, working on his boat. "It would be... too much, I think. Too much left up to God. I would feel like a failure, as a man and as a husband, if that were the case."

"I wouldn't know." She admitted. "I would make a horrible fisherman's wife, I think, though."
"Oh, I don't know about that." He smiled. "I mean, I might make a horrible fisherman, but I think you have the temperament to be a haranguing fishwife."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "What, exactly, screams haranguing fishwife, about me?"

Steve winked at her. "Oh, I don't know. You have a penchant for insulting the very air I breathe."
"Only because sometimes it's a waste of energy for you, if you aren't going to use it to power your remaining brain cells, which are clearly working over time, attempting to help you be funny." She shot off, giving him a look, as the waitress brought over their appetizers, setting up the tray before beginning to place the food in front of them.

"Right, so..." The waitress began, as she set the plates down. "The steamed clams.. and the oyster shooters..."
She shifted, putting more plates down.
"Shrimp... fried oysters, and a Cesear salad." She stood back, proud of herself. "Oh!" She put a large empty plate down. "A plate for discards. Is there anything I can get for you, before you start?"
Steve looked over the plates, nodding, before smiling at the waitress. "Do you mind bringing some more napkins?"
"Sure, I can do that!" She seemed to bounce. "I'll be back in just a bit. Enjoy!"
Brooklyn hid a giggle, biting her lip, as she unfolded her napkin, placing it by her glasses of beer, before looking over the food.

"Anything you're unfamiliar with?" He asked, mimicking her action with the napkin.

"Nope. I think... I'm okay?" She shrugged. "Remember, Kitty put on a whole seafood thing, for their anniversary, last summer. And I've occasionally eaten similar, at their table. And the New Years Eve dinner....?"
"I remember." He smiled. "Shall we?"

He took up his fork, reaching for the clams. Carefully, he picked up one of the split shells, using his fork to scoop the tender meat out, before dipping it in the provided melted butter, offering it to her from across the table.

"Open for me, Babydoll." He implored, waiting, the butter starting to look like it was about to drip.

To avoid that, she leaned over, opening her mouth, allowing him to slip the clam into her mouth. The buttery sweetness of the clam made her let out a soft moan, as she slowly chewed.

"Good?" He asked, pulling his fork back.
"Really good." She spoke around the bite, reaching up to wipe the smear of butter his fork had left behind. "Fresh, I think. I mean, you can taste the sea.. or bay...or water. But it's... sweet, too?"
Steve nodded, as he forked himself up one, eating it. "It's good." He announced, as he finished chewing. "I can tell what you mean, about the flavor."

"Well, I tried?" She shrugged, reaching with her fork for one of the fried oysters. "I guess the seafood is going to taste different, then back home. Different waters, right? Chemical composition is different, as is the species, or sub species. Kind of how that beef from Japan is totally different then the beef raised her in the US? Or even, how the beef from Iowa tastes different from the beef raised in Texas? Regional and varietal differences effect the flavor, texture and desirability for the product in question."

Steve raised his eyebrows, as he reached for one of the shrimp, being careful as he worked the shell off, before dipping it in butter, offering it to her. She leaned over, taking his wrist in her hand, steadying it, as she bit into the flesh, before sucking, pulling it from the tail.

"You're not wrong." He confirmed. "Things we eat are affected by why it is fed, or what it eats. The waters around us are different than the ones we live nearby. That's why wines from different areas taste different. Why beers are different."
"Of which you know so much." She teased, as she reached for the fried oysters, taking one and dipping it into the offered sauce. Bit one end off, chewing, nodding. "This is good."

"I'll get there in a moment." He promised, as he began to peel more shrimp, using the tines of his fork to get under the shell. "I think I'm going to save you the trouble, with these. Something tells me you don't want to mess with the shells."
"Looks like a lot of work, for very little payout." She shrugged, as she finished off the oyster in her hand. "Then I might try that shooter thing."
"Don't chew it." Steve warned, looking at her. "You won't like it, if you chew it."

"Then how do I eat it, if I don't chew it?" She asked, as she pulled one of the shot glasses towards herself, looking at it. There was a thick red sauce at the bottom, followed by a gloopy piece of...something. "It looks... snotty."

Steve laughed. "Yeah, that's a raw oyster."
He continued to peel shrimp, explaining.
"When they're raw like that, they look... yeah, less than appetizing. But they're supposedly aphrodisiacs. Men used to eat them, before their wedding nights, to ensure their high performances."

"Eating something that looks like this..." She held up the shot glass, with disbelief. "Is supposed to help with sexual performance."
"I know, it doesn't make sense." He shrugged, seeming to gain speed with his task of peeling the shrimp. Maybe he had found a pattern that made it easier for himself. "But, that is the legend."

Brooklyn looked at the shot glass again.
"You just tip it back, and let it slide down." He told her, watching. "Maybe let it settle on the tongue for a moment, work it around, getting the sauce and juices mixed, then swallow. But, whatever you do, do not chew."

Wide eyed, she nodded, following his instructions, tipping the shot glass back, letting the contents, slide out and onto her tongue. Cupping her tongue, she let her saliva build, until it melted with the oyster and sauce. The flavor built, until she knew... she knew she could taste the ocean. The pungent scent turned into flavor. There, cupped on her tongue, with a touch of spiciness, heat in the sauce.

Her mouth filling, she swallowed, trying to ignore the almost... jelly like consistency that was very.. obvious, now.

Steve watched her, not pausing as he continued to shell shrimp. "Verdict?"
She licked her lips, swallowing again. "Well, I've had worse things in my mouth?"
"Not a fan." He nodded. "That's fine. It's an acquired taste."
"Is it one you like?" She set the shot glass down, swallowing again, slightly... squicked by the texture. Grabbing one of her glasses, she sipped the beer, the smooth hoppy flavor chasing away the spicy jelly ocean flavor. "I mean, is it something you really like?"
Steve grinned, putting down the shrimp in his hand, wiping his fingers quickly, before picking up his shot glass, raising it as if toasting her, then tossing the glass back, rolling his jaw a few times, before swallowing.
Brooklyn blinked, watching.

"That's a good oyster." Steve praised, as he set the shot glass down, before picking up one of the shelled shrimps, dipping it in the cooling butter, before biting it, pulling the meat from the tail, chewing. "I guess I like it."

She frowned, as she picked up one of the shrimps, following his actions. "So, oyster shooters are your thing."
"They were a real treat, of a sort." He shrugged. "I mean, oysters, period. They were a bit of a splurge, when I was younger. I don't think I actually had one, until I was an adult. There was a huge thing, with the oyster beds, long before I was born. But, once upon a time, they were so common, they fed them to pigs. Women and girls used to walk the streets, with buckets and wheelbarrows, selling them, shucking them, for pennies a piece."

He seemed to sink into his mind, as he resumed shelling the shrimp.

"The first time I had oysters, It was my birthday. Your Papa took me out, for dinner and drinks. He'd been saving for weeks, to afford it. We went to this little restaurant. They were so nice to us. We had beef roast, with all the trimmings. And next to it, was oysters on the half shell. They had to teach us how to eat them."
Steve grinned at her, pushing the now peeled shrimp towards her.

"Your Papa pushed me to go first. It was my birthday, after all. So, I gathered up all my courage, and downed the first one. And yeah, it was...an experience. But I loved the taste of the ocean, with the lemon, and the little sauce they put on them."
She picked up the shrimp, slowly eating them, as he began eating the fried oysters.

"And that was that?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, hell no." He laughed. "They were off. Bad. We both got sick the next day. Green to the gills. But... I knew... if I could try them again, I would."
She watched him, as he turned to look out the window, he happiness of the memory seeming to glow off him. It was a good memory. He had held that memory to himself, for how long she wasn't sure. But... it was a good memory for him.

"And after the oysters?" She asked. "Before you got sick?"
"Oh, you don't need to hear about that." He turned his head to wink at her. "I don't think you want to hear about what your Papa got up to."
"Or you, I would imagine?" She couldn't help but grin at him. "So, it's okay... for you to be all... floozy hunting... but I can't act like one?"
"Only with me, Babydoll." There was a thread of steel in his voice. "That's the only time I approve of you acting like a floozy."

"Would that you could get me drunk and see how I acted." She mused. "Too bad alcohol doesn't affect me."
"Oh, I don't need alcohol," He winked at her, "To see how you act. I see it, whenever I want. Because you're my wife."
She simply smiled at him, as they finished eating the appetizers. Luckily, they finished, just as the poor waitress returned, with another following, both holding laden trays.
"Oh, perfect timing!" their waitress claimed, as she set up the little stand for the tray, setting hers down, before turning to help her friend. "Everything meet with your approval?"
"Very much." He smiled. "You could really tell it was fresh. And I know fresh."
"Oh, I'm glad." She smiled, as she began gathering the empty dishes from the table, setting them on the edge, as she nodded. "We pride ourselves on the freshness of our seafood."
"You could taste the ocean." Brooklyn felt like it was the only thing she could really offer. It had been vastly different from what she had experienced in the past.
"That is a good sign." The waitress continued to smile, as she began unloading the plates from her tray, setting them not exactly in front of a single person, clearly understanding what Steve and Brooklyn had planned. "Most people just say buttery, or soft, or tender, or even salty."

"It was that." Brooklyn tilted her head, watching the growing amounts of food. She really should get over the idea that between the two of them, Steve and her would demolish it. But she caught the look of several of the other patrons out of the corner of her eye. It seemed to be a unique thing, what they did, with food. Between them, their need for food, to keep their bodies running at optimal peak performance, was at least five times what an average human could consume at an average meal. Granted, she realized that both of them adjusted for public eating. She also was aware of how Steve ensured, when they were home alone, that they both got what they needed. He wasn't wrong, though, when he commented how quickly she would drop weight, if she missed more than a few meals.

She was also aware that he wasn't fully knowledgeable about his body. That conversation they had in the giftshop in Montana was proof of that.

She was going to have to rectify that, sooner rather than later.

Rubbing her hands, she inhaled slowly as the nice waitress finished putting the rest of the ordered food on the table, before placing two pieces of printed plastic on the table, along with shell crackers, and other required tools.

"Enjoy!" She sang, as she loaded up the empty dishes on to her tray. "Oh, shall I get you some more beer, or is there something else you'd like to drink?"
"Wine." Brooklyn nodded. "White, if you don't mind. Something sweet, and flavorful."
"We've got something from a vineyard in Yakima, which you might enjoy." The waitress suggested.
Steve reached for the tools, smiling. "Both of us. In fact, just bring us the bottle, please?"
"I can do that!" the waitress turned her head as a customer attempted to get her attention. "Just be right back with it."
And with that, she was gone, checking her other tables.

"Alright." Steve set one of the set of tools and one of the plastic things in front of her. "So, how do you want to do this?"
Brooklyn surveyed the food, contemplating. The full steamed crab seemed to stare at her, it's ruddy shell an accusation for it's cause of death. Meanwhile, the seafood platter, covered in fried pieces of seafood, was still almost sizzling. The salmon was presented beautifully, its orange pink flake nestled still on it's silvery skin, a placement of butter and chives on top of it, the diamond grill marks darkly marring the beauty. Two bowls of decent size steamed gently, the white creamy soup inside hinting at the salty sweetness of the clams inside.
Reaching out, she plucked one of the fries off the seafood platter. "Let's see where the night leads?"
Steve placed the plastic object against his chest, tying the ties behind his neck, making her realize what it was. A plastic bib. Oh, well, yes. That would make sense, given the crab sitting between them.
"Am I going to have to shell the crab for you?" He asked, as he picked up a set of the crackers.

They looked so small in his large hands.

She picked up the last glass of beer, draining it, before shrugging. "I think I can manage my own portion."
"Bib on, Babydoll." He instructed, reaching out and pulling a leg off the crap, the snap and crackle of the shell giving way, the strings left behind as it came away from the body almost morbid... and familiar, in the back of her mind.

Ignoring the niggling of a memory she would rather not remember, she did as instructed, tying the bib on, continuing her theme of the night of ignoring things that annoyed her, watching as he began cracking the leg, moving the cracker up and down the segmented shell, until he set the device aside, and used his fingers to pry the shell apart. Reaching in, he pulled out the white and red crab flesh, before dipping it in butter, then bringing it up to his mouth, biting in.
She noted the drip of butter on his lower lip, biting her own, as he chewed.

"Really good." He pronounced, swallowing. He nodded at the crab. "Dig in."
Shrugging, she grabbed a leg, twisting and pulling at the same time, not watching as it came away from the body. She followed his earlier motions, cracking the shell, ripping off the lower segments and placing them back on the plate, before opening the shell, fishing out the thick meat, dipping it in the butter, and shoving it in her mouth.

Cheeks puffed, she chewed, looking up to see his amused look.
"Wha'?" She asked. Well, as well as she could, with her mouth full of crab meat.

"Just... nothing. It's good, right?" He laughed.

Wiping the bottom of her lip with her finger, before sucking the butter traces from it, she nodded, still chewing. It disintegrated in her mouth, an underlying sweetness to the fresh ocean taste. Much, much different from the way the crab she had tasted last summer.

Steve continued to watch, reaching for the lower segment she had set down, swiftly cracking it, pulling out the meat, and setting it aside for her, before ripping of another leg, and working on it, was well. "So. We like crab."
She nodded, picking up the meat he had set aside for her, dipping it in the melted butter, and shoving it in her mouth.

"Good to know." He grinned, before setting the cracker aside, reaching for the seafood platter, readjusting it so she could reach.

Without thinking, Brooklyn grabbed one of the pieces of fried cod, scooping a dollop of tarter sauce out of the cup with the corner, digging her teeth in, and pulling it away, watching the white flakes part. She closed her eyes, chewing.

"Definitely a seafood lover." Steve hummed, as she chewed.

"Wasn't really a thing we got a lot of, when I was growing up." She mumbled, placing the cod down, using a napkin to brush the panko crumbs from her fingers. "I mean, we got it, sometimes. But... it wasn't... fresh."
"Fresh is best, when it comes to seafood." Steve agreed. "Had my fair share of run ins with bad fish, when I was younger, as I explained."

"The bad oysters." She nodded, taking another bite of the cod. "Aren't you going to eat?"
"I'm going to." He assured her, as he watched her, resting his jaw on his fist, his elbow braced just on the edge of the table. She narrowed her eyes, trying to figure out if it was bad manners, or not.

She picked up a fork, cutting into the salmon. "Theres this place, in Seattle, that I was thinking of us going to. It's called the Crab Pot. They boil all this stuff, in a bag, and then bring it to you, and you pour it out onto the table, and eat it."
"On to the table." He wrinkled his nose.

"Well, they put paper down, on the table. Obviously." She rolled her eyes, taking a bite of the salmon. "This tastes different."
He picked up a fork, trying it. "Wild caught, as opposed to farm raised, like we're used to. I think that's what the majority of salmon we eat, on the east coast is."

She nodded, taking another bite, before setting her fork down, and deciding to go back to work on the crab. As she ripped off another leg, the waitress brought the wine, setting the bottle and glasses on the table, looking at Steve. He let out a small sigh, but poured himself a small bit in the glass, taking a sip, before nodding at the waitress.
"Thank you." He told her, proceeding to pour Brooklyn a glass.
The waitress nodded, before huffing, swinging off to deal with another table.

"It's getting busy." He commented, setting the glass down by her, then pouring more into his own glass, taking another sip. "Good call on the white."
"White with fish, red with beef and pork." She recited, remembering what Kitty had told her.

"So. Tell me more about this Crab Pot place." He encouraged, as she went back to cracking the shell on the crab leg. "Do we get a choice on what's in the bag?"
"I think so? But I think I read it's based on size of people eating." She shrugged, setting the cracker aside, pulling the shell apart. "It's seasoned, and comes with potatoes and corn, and things like that. But, seafood, too."

"And this is where you want to go, even though we ate here, today." Steve asked, taking another sip of his wine, before snagging one of the pieces of cod, following her previous example, with the tarter sauce, biting off a hunk, chewing.

"Yeah, but they pour it out on the table... and give you a mallet. And you beat your seafood, to get at the meat." She pointed out, going back to working on the crab. "it's like, stress relief and a meal, at the same time."
"I read somewhere you can eat on the top of the iconic Space Needle." He commented, his voice that tone when he was trying to suggest something, without suggesting it.

"I did look at that, yes." She nodded. "But, it's really touristy, and its expensive, and it's... high. And yeah, you basically see the entire city in the space of your meal, but... at the same time, there are going to be a lot of richy richy people there. Do you really want to have to dress up, just to have a meal? We might have to deal with that in Vegas, but I would like to think we would want to put that off, as much as possible."

"Wait, we might have to get all dressed up, in Vegas?" He asked, his voice surprised, as was his face, his eyebrows raising.

"Well.." She blinked, putting the crab down, frowning. "Steve... we discussed this, right? About going to Vegas?"
"Yes, you mentioned it." He nodded, but his face still stuck on surprise.

At least it wasn't stuck on stupid. Although, she was questioning that again.

"Vegas... where Pops has business." She reminded. "He wanted us to let him know, when we were getting close, so we could basically meet some of the people there. Mostly just to solidify my position as his adopted daughter, but.. I'm sure it's to also show us off. Maybe to check on a few concerns, in passing. But... I would imagine these people would be wanting to show off for us. Hence... dressing up."

He looked like he wanted to curse. Instead, he wiped his hands with a napkin, before rubbing his face with a hand. His shoulder spoke of frustration.

Still. Ew. She was going to have to make sure he washed his face, before they left.

"Let me get this straight." He intoned. "Its our honeymoon. And while we have made no solid plans, for any specific place, we are supposed to inform Pops of when we get close to Vegas, so he can arrange it for us, so you can do business."
He paused, as if to make sure she was hearing him. And then repeated.

"On our honeymoon, Brooklyn."

"Yes, Steve. On our honeymoon." She nodded. "I'm failing to... I'm not sure what has you upset."

"Its our time." He leaned a little closer, over the table. "It's a time when we aren't supposed to be beholden to anyone. Not the Avengers, not your family, and sure as shit not to Pops Fucking Marino. We don't owe him anything, during this time. That's the point. Its our time, to figure out how we work, as a married couple."
"And this is just... one day, maybe two, out of that." She reasoned. "As I said, it's probably just to ensure my position. I might have to do business with these people, one day, and it's best I am prepared for that, before it happens."
"And that's another thing. We agreed, Brooklyn." He tapped the table, his voice lowering. "We agreed, when you took over your... position, that you would be hands off. You would set up the crew, get them to start working for you, and then... back away. No leads to you. Remember?"

"And I'm abiding by that." She shook her head. "this is just... practicality. If one of them needs a favor, I would rather have a... a better... read on them, before I have to decide if I have to help them."

"That's not what we agreed, Brooklyn." He tapped the table again.

"Look... we're... probably borrowing trouble." She reached across, putting her hand on his wrist, where his arm lay on the table, rubbing his skin with her thumb. "I mean, it's... more likely he just wants us to show off a bit. Or be shown off. I mean, look at it this way. If we had taken our honeymoon in Italy, there would be an expectation that we would go to the Marino home village, right? Or if we had gone to Ireland, that we went to go see whatever family you had left, right?"
"Yes." His voice was still irritated, and his eyes were still gleaming with a touch of anger. "That would be expected, yes."
"Well, we didn't go to Italy, or Ireland. We stayed in the country and are exploring that. This is... just that version. Visiting family, that just happens to be in Vegas." She reasoned.

"Brooklyn...." He sighed, rolling his head, turning to look out the window. He stared for a while, his jaw flexing. She was patient, still rubbing his wrist. With a sigh, he turned back, a slight shake of his head. "That would be family. Not... The Family."

"Well, I don't have family. Not right now. I have The Family." She shrugged. It made sense to her. But like many things and aspects of their life together, this was one of those times when she knew what made sense to her, didn't make sense to him. The trick, she had found, was to make him see it from her perspective.

"Look.. I'll..." He paused, sighed, and began again. "I'll agree to... meet them. Play nice. Play the part. But... two days. That's it. And it's going to be on the peripheral of our visit there. Okay? It's not the focus."

"not the focus." She agreed, relieved. She hadn't wanted to be the focus of their visit, either. It was, as far as she was concerned, a request from Pops, and was therefore something akin to a chore. One of the boxes ticked off, that made her position when they got home, that much more secure. Despite what Junior had said, when they left, she would be willing to admit to a little concern that things might happen, before they got back, if she didn't do the right things, now. "Besides. I want to gamble, while we're there. I don't think I can do that, if I'm smiling my way through bullshit."
She picked up the crab again, watching him, waiting.

Steve finally nodded.

"Gambling." He shrugged. "I mean, it's not like you can lose the house there, right?"
Relieved, she grinned, nodding. "Exactly! See, I knew you'd get it."

A/N: I know... it's not a direct shot to Seattle! But... in my defense, i've been missing my mother, a bit lately. And she loved Smuggler's Landing, when i was younger.  So, as a bit of an homage to her, that's where Steve and Brooklyn are eating, tonight. Plus, really, their food is... fantastic!
Seattle next! I PROMISE!!