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There's an old man in a booth, reading a newspaper and sipping at an expensive single malt whiskey. He raises an eyebrow at her over the rim of a pair of cheap reading glasses.

And a six-foot-five murder machine looks over.

There is something definitely familiar about that old man, tingles down the spine and be a little more wary kind of familiar. But not so much that she doesn't go get her own drink, a decent mid priced scotch, before circling back. She takes a seat that is not at his booth, but close enough conversation wouldn't have to be overheard. Space to let her get the first soothing burn of the liquor before it would be too obvious she was continuing to watching him.

Tonight? He's a welcome sight. She debates throwing him against a wall. There are multiple different ways to interpret that sentence. All of them are accurate.

"You do know how to wear a suit," she says, pretending to consider the booze behind the bar.

There's something familiar about her, but he can't remember where he's seen her before. If he's seen her before. Her features are familiar but he's not sure. When she sits down nearby, Magneto lowers his newspaper and watches her, obviously curious. "I know your face. Your name is right there on the tip of my tongue. Curse of aging, I suppose. Indulge an old man's curiosity?"

"Yeah, I clean up real good," he agrees. He sips his drink - an Old Fashioned - and doesn't quite smile. "I'm buying."

The voice is familiar. Tied to vague memories that say the instinct that has her still watching him is a solid one. But there have been so many men with impressive voices and grand schemes. He isn't one of hers, but, well, in her business it paid to keep tabs.

"Jennifer Walters," she answers, waiting to see if that's enough to trigger recognition. It's been a long time since she maintained a secret identity, but people have a habit of not remembering much beyond the green.

Her gaze flits over to him, and Jennifer nods, accepting his offer wordlessly. It doesn't take an expert in body language to see that her focus is all on him, even if she's pretending to be still debating the drink.

"A Manhattan."

People have a habit of not remembering much beyond his helmet, and Magneto can see she hasn't quite placed him, yet. Her, though. Her name does ring a bell. "Ah, Ms. Walters, yes. Erik Lehnsherr, at your service." Magneto has never bothered with hiding, as a general rule, but he's found with his power so weak, it can be good if people don't remember who the old man before them really is. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

Edited 2020-10-24 06:28 (UTC)

Matthew nods, signaling the bartender that yeah, it goes on is tab.

"You just get off work?"

"Only moments ago," she admits. It probably explains a lot of the pent up energy.

Though, when she lets herself look at him more fully, she admits there are other reasons. "How about you?"

Jennifer remembers names. Especially names like that. Magneto. Not that he's there in the helmet or with all the weight that identity brings to bear in the moment. She can respect that. After all, she's Jennifer right now, herself, with her own problems with abilities that don't function right.

"Coincidence, oddly enough. I appreciate you helping me put the name to the face."

He looks back at her over the rim of his glass. "Oh, I'm always working," he replies, finally letting himself smile as he lowers his drink.

Oh, that's a line, and the quick raise of her eyebrow and quirk of her lip says it worked even as she believes him. There are some things you never get to put down.

"Well, then I hope you're up for some multitasking tonight."

Magneto chuckles softly. The recognition is obvious, and so in response he merely gestures to the other side of his booth. "Won't you join me? I was just enjoying a bit of a nightcap." And keeping an eye on someone, but she didn't need to know about the military man at the bar that he was carefully watching.

"I think I could manage that," he says, somehow managing not to grin as the bartender slides Jen's glass over to her.

"Did I mention you look nice? Because you do."

There's a reason she didn't sit there. Tactically, it's not the best choice to be seen sitting with him if he is up to any of the things that make him a name she remembers. Jennifer is trying for a lower profile at the moment.

She still moves to take the seat. "How kind of you to offer. I was of a similar mind myself." It would have been rude to refuse.

She takes the glass and a drink with a smile of her own.

"You have now." And she takes it as an opportunity to settle close enough to be undeniably in his personal space without touching.

"You can relax, Ms. Walters. I'm somewhat retired. Unless you play chess, I'm not a threat tonight." He finishes off his drink and gives her a look that is probably not altogether comforting. He gestures to the bartender, who brings him another whiskey. "I have a doctor who swears these will be the death of me. She didn't much appreciate the humor in it."

There is absolutely no denying that having her closer causes Matthew to brighten. His posture relaxes just a bit, and his face opens up.

"How was your day?"

"I'm sorry to say this is me relaxed." There's a silent asterisk there that adds 'lately' or 'since everything broke' to the end of her sentence. It's part of her keeping to her single glass, though she raises hers in salute to his new drink. "It would be a hell of an irony, but I can sympathize with trying to protect a person."

"Taxing." She pauses, because the word isn't quite right, and because she rest her hand on the bar next to his so they just barely touch, and it feels like an electric spark.

"All preparation and no pay off. Just effort and anticipation."

They should dance, she thinks. Especially if he'd keep looking at her like that.

"I find it hilarious because of all the ways I expected to go, my favorite drink wasn't one of them." He raises his glass and takes a sip. "Charles would probably have some small speech prepared about how that proves we're all human. I'm afraid I'm probably still ignoring my old friend's pearls of wisdom."

He pierces her with a sharp look. "And why are you so on edge? Too much work?" He raises an eyebrow in question. To say lately that he kept an eye on the comings and goings of people who accidentally were different, like the She-Hulk, was perhaps far too generous. He made sure they weren't too close to him on business.

Matthew has psychic powers, but that doesn't really mean anything as far as emotions are concerned because he still doesn't understand many of them. But he can at least feel the pleasant tension between them.

"Sounds frustrating." He leans just a little bit closer. "Not sure how you handle it. Me, I always have to burn off the energy somehow."

"It is." She lets her fingers slowly thread through his. Touch still lights up her nerves, grounds her body. It doesn't take much, and she doesn't mind drawing things out. She's still thinking of dancing.

"I can be patient waiting for a big enough pay out. But I still want to burn some energy off."