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Setting herself and Steve up actually turned out to be easier than usual. As a fugitive on the run from the US military, she didn't often have the luxury of picking locations that would be friendly to a woman traveling alone. Before she'd been on the run too long, she managed to pick up a ring that would pass as a wedding ring if needed. With Steve, she didn't just have a ring, she had a fake husband - which, for once, made it somewhat easier to find a place to stay.

It took barely a week for their current home to gain a set of jury-rigged laboratory equipment to continue her research into ways to cure - or, failing that, destroy - it. At the moment, she was mostly playing catch-up, adding newer findings to the worn notebook that served as a repository of information, something that she could visualize. When Steve entered the room, she smiled and quickly shut the book before he could see the heading of the section she was updating (termination(?)). "Morning."

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He stretched up and patted the top of the door frame with both hands before rubbing at his belly and glancing torwards the kitchen.

"Morning. Are you seeing it from the front end or the back? Cause I could make us some breakfast before I head out to get a few things."

Her fake husband had gone out and found a real job, working as a bouncer off the books at a local nightclub. It made for a lot of late nights and late mornings, but as he was naturally a morning person, he tended to drag himself out at a decent hour on his days off.

His fake wife had far more control than to let her gaze catch on where his shirt rides up his stomach when he stretched. "I've been up for a while, but I think it still counts as the front end," she answered wryly. "I could probably eat something either way."

"Eggs and bacon work for you?" he offered before straightening his bangs and tilting his head towards the kitchen. "And you want some juice with that, or just coffee?"

"Eggs, bacon, and juice sound great, thank you." She smiled genuinely at him and waited until he'd gotten to the kitchen to re-open her book.

Foreign objects that breach body prior to change appear to be shifted to least harmful areas and expelled. Can't be sure if that includes all harmful substances or just obviously foreign matter.

After a moment, she added, Might be poisonable.

Edited 2014-11-04 02:35 (UTC)

Except he'd turned around midway to ask if she wanted cheese on her eggs or not. He may or may not have gotten a look at what she was writing, but he didn't say a word about it, choosing instead to pause in the doorway again to ask his question.

"Cheese or no cheese on your eggs, Bryce?"

"No cheese is fine," she answered absently, not really realizing he wasn't as far as she initially thought.

Combining with one of the ARS cures that worked temporarily may produce results.

She bit her lip. "What were you planning to pick up? After breakfast."

"Just a few groceries, maybe a new pair of shades. After all, the less people look at my face, the better. And the last pair got broken when I had to get in the middle of a fight."

Not that that had lasted long.

"I'd tell you it's better if you stay away from unnecessary attention, but you wouldn't listen."

Well, that and she'd be a hypocrite. It's not as if she never stepped in on someone else's behalf, even when she would be better off out of the way.

"Part of the job," he said with a shrug, "and I'm not about to let you cover all the bills by yourself, not when I eat as much as I do."

Given that his metabolism was roughly four times hers, the food bill was considerable.

Still not exactly the most low-profile job he could have picked.

Bryce glanced down at what she had written and briefly considered whether or not to try gathering any materials, just in case. At the very least, something that could potentially slow down it might be useful to have around. And she didn't have to be trying to kill it to do continue research.

"I might head out a little later, too," she said. "There's a few things I could use."

"Anything I can pick up while I'm out? Or any food you'd like in particular?"

She shook her head. "No, it doesn't matter. Thank you."

Her pen tapped against the pages. "Were you planning on anything else today?"

"Not really," he admitted with a scratch to the back of his head, "though... I was wondering if you had, uh, any plans for dinner or anything."

"Not really," she repeated with a slight tilt of her head. "Why?"

"I was just thinking of trying out a recipe I'd seen. Well. One of the girls who works the bar gave it to me, said it was pretty easy for a beginner cook."

The girls at the club's bar liked him quite a lot, mostly because he was the first one there when anyone gave them any trouble. That was actually how Steve had gotten the job, and one of the reasons why the owner and the rest of the staff hadn't made much of a fuss about his lack of paperwork: he'd seen a girl having trouble with a patron out the back and he'd stepped in.

"So I was going to, uh... invite you. To dinner. Something... nice. If that's okay."

She smiled at him, slightly bemused that he felt the need to ask. "If you need a guinea pig for your cooking, I'm all yours, Steve."

Her words made him smile like the sun come out, but he just nodded and headed into the kitchen to make their breakfast for the time being.

Going out that afternoon, she had some luck with finding the materials she needed - or at least finding contacts to help her find the materials. She also dropped by a neighbor's place to help them with some difficulty they were having with some of their lights. She wasn't an electrician, but she knew more than enough to determine what the problem was, even if she couldn't fix it herself.

The place already smells great when she makes it back to their place. "Steve?"

He leaned back to greet her through the opening to the kitchen.

"Hey, Bryce. Welcome back. Find everything you wanted?"

She shrugged. "I found enough. And I think I might have volunteered myself for the role of local handyman."

"Better you than me," he said with a shrug as he turned back to what he was working on in the kitchen. If she came in to talk, however, she might see that not only was the dining room already set out for their meal, but that he'd added two candles as well. There were no flowers, nothing outwardly ostentatious, and yet it was obvious he'd made an effort for tonight.

On the edge of the breakfast counter, there was a sketchbook which was open to a couple of sketches of random objects around the house, one of them including a few pieces from her lab. It was... remarkably good.

Once she had the items she got tucked away, she headed for the dining room. And froze briefly while she took in the clear effort he'd made to make the table look nice.

(What had he said when he mentioned dinner? That he wanted her to try it, or... no, he invited her to dinner.)

She took the rest of the steps toward the kitchen more slowly, not quite sure what to expect.

"You've got about half an hour before dinner's actually done," he informed her as he slipped the tray into the oven, "if you wanted to get things put away or wash up or something. I was just going to clean up the kitchen and try to see if I could make something for dessert."

She nodded absently, her attention already caught on the sketchbook. If it had been closed, she would have left it alone out of respect for his privacy, but she assumed it being open meant whatever it was open to was fair game. "When did you start drawing?"

"A week or so ago," he admitted as he pulled the pan he'd been using off of the burner since it was finally cool. The water fizzled a little but he wouldn't warp the pan. Now he just had to clean it.

"I found myself doodling on napkins on my breaks so I grabbed a sketchbook and some pencils at the pharmacy the other day. Now, I almost can't stop. The girls like my drawings on the sides of the party lists."