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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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"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?"

That got... an awkward look.

"If you'd like it to be a date, it's a date. If you'd rather just have a dinner with a friend, that's all it is."

Very... diplomatic. "Did you want it to be a date?"

"I'd like it if you wanted it to be a date," he said, keeping his words even and his voice soft, "but it'd be just as good to enjoy dinner with you."

"Because you're lonely." Her tone tipped upwards at the end, almost a question.

He shook his head.

"When I'm at the bar," he clarified, "I feel like someone should be there with me. That's what I meant.

"I'd like it if you wanted it to be a date because" he swallowed a little "because I like you. Because... the husband and wife persona feels good to me, and while I wouldn't say that... that we're there yet, I wouldn't...I wouldn't mind trying."

He took a long sip of his cola.

"But at the same time, I know how much you worry about... about me. How hesitant you were to accept me traveling with you. And how you seem to think" he took a deep breath in before deciding to go in feet first, "you seem to think I'm going to wake up one day and be tired of you. Of everything you have to deal with. And I don't want you to say yes because you think I'd leave otherwise. And I don't want you to say no to get rid of me out of some misplaced feeling that there's a whole wonderful life waiting for me as soon as I ditch you.

"That's just not how I'm built. Because I care about you, genuinely care about you, and I'd like to see if it worked romantically, but even if it didn't, you're still my friend. You're still the most important person in my life. You're still the person I'm happy to come home to."

All right. If he could be honest about this, so could she. She'd certainly spent enough time with Betty learning how to actually open her mouth and talk. Even if what she said when she was determined to speak had a tendency to be overly blunt, it had worked for them.

"I'm concerned," she said. "Professionally... I was your doctor when you were coming out of a 70-year coma. I'm the first person you actually remember meeting since you woke up. And you've gone on the run with me instead of making your own new life, which - I appreciate having you with me, I honestly do, but this isn't a very good life. You would, objectively, be better off without me."

She sighed. "Even aside from that, I come with more baggage than just the giant green problem and the General hunting me. I'm just not really worth that much trouble."

He looked right back at her, obviously somewhat prepared for this.

"I'm an amnesiac, Bryce. Everyone's going to be my first something. So if I waited for the first person to offer me a ride, the guy showing me my apartment, the girls down at the bar... when am I supposed to stop and decide that it's time I'm allowed to let someone mean something? Or do you think finding whoever might be left alive at this point and traumatizing them all over again while I can't remember anything about the person I was to them sits there between us like an elephant on the coffee table is the only real option here?

"I don't think there's anything objective about that statement, Bryce. And if I genuinely thought that your subjectivity was about not liking me, I'd be out the door in an instant.

"But it's not. And while you get to decide a lot of things, you don't get to decide who I think is worth the trouble and who isn't. That's up to me. I don't know much, but I know who I care about.

"And I care about you. I think you are beautiful and brilliant and kind and funny and you make me happy that I woke up from that ice. So if there's baggage, let me see if I can carry it with you. If you hadn't noticed, I can carry a lot."

Edited 2014-11-05 06:06 (UTC)