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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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She shook her head firmly. "You really don't have to thank me for that, Steve. It's what any decent person would do."

"I don't have to," he agreed, "but I'm going to. Though I think you overestimate 'decent' people."

"A decent doctor, then," she amended.

"A good doctor," he added before starting to clean up the counter.

"I also... I got a couple of bottles of wine. If you drink that sort of thing."

She couldn't help the touch of tension gathering in her shoulders when he offered the wine. "Thank you, but I, ah. I don't drink alcohol."

"Well, they'll make good gifts then," he said cheerfully enough, "since apparently, the stuff doesn't do anything to me. Found that out the other week when one of the guys challanged me to shots after closing."

She was going to tell him that she didn't mind him drinking, but that tension goes away when he told her alcohol didn't have an effect on him. "You probably metabolize it too fast."

Her lips quirked. "I'm sure that was an interesting drinking contest, though."

"It mostly involved me having to carry him two streets over to his apartment," Steve said with a wry grin.

"But I won a little money out of it, so not all bad."

"I wouldn't get into any more drinking contests. I'm fairly certain just being you qualifies as cheating."

And that would just be unfair.

He spread his hands in front of him.

"Oh no. Never again. It tastes awful, after all. And you're right; it's cheating."

He tilted his head with a little smile.

"Playing big, dumb, and clueless at a pool table, though... that's fun."

She let out a snort-laugh.

"Now, that I might have to see."

"You're welcome down there any time. They only do the music and the dancing from Thursday to Saturday," he pointed out before washing out the rag he'd been cleaning with.

"I'll think about it." Her finger tapped against the page she was looking at. "I'm... not all that comfortable in bars, generally."

"I... do? I'm not sure why. Still no memories, but it feels right."

"I honestly couldn't tell you anything about why that is." She shrugged. "You could have spent a lot of time in bars. Or maybe you just get along with people very well."

Or both.

He quirked his lips to the side a few times before shaking his head.

"Nah, not much of a people person. I like to get to know the people I work with, I guess, but I'm not much for making friends outside of that. It's just a matter of having a good work environment where you all trust each other."

He reached into the 'fridge and pulled out a coke, twisting the top off to take a long gulp. The kitchen was a little warm, after all.

"I think I probably spent a lot of time in bars. It smells right."

She raised her eyebrows. "Smells right?"

She could not imagine anything about a bar that would smell right.

He laughed at the face she made and nodded.

"Yeah, I know. It's not a good smell, but it seemed familiar. The closest is when some of the cigarette smoke comes in from outside."

He took another sip.

"Sometimes, I think maybe I took the job since I thought it might bring things back."

"Has it?"

She didn't expect much - he probably would have told her - but even if he didn't remember anything big, something little would still be significant.

He shook his head.

"No. Mostly I've just felt... a little lonely. That's all."

Her tone softened. "I'm sorry."

He shook his head and shrugged, giving her a small, wry smile.

"Makes me happy to come home, is all."

Come home. Right. Bryce glanced towards the dining room. "What... were you planning? For tonight?"

He looked over at her, and the fact that he was thinking out his answer spoke volumes.

"Like I said. I made some chicken parmesan, gonna start some pasta for a side, and I thought we could... enjoy it. Together."

Bryce, meanwhile, had found some time ago that the best way to figure out these things was to just be blunt. "Is this supposed to be a date?"