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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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"Okay." She breathed out and then repeated, louder, "Okay. I'm, um." Going to try to process what just happened. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

He just nodded to her before turning to fill the pot as he set the stove on high.

A few minutes turned into fifteen while she tried to figure out what to do. At some point during the conversation, she thought she managed to decide to see what would happen. At the worst, it wouldn't work very well, and he would finally move on to something better.

When she finally came back, she was - well, not dressed up because clothing like that was almost never a priority on the run, but she made an effort to look... nicer.

He'd taken the time, while the pasta was boiling, to duck into his room. He'd combed his hair, was wearing a nicely-tailored shirt, and a pair of well-fit jeans. He was lighting the candles when she got back and he'd made up a small bucket of ice and coke bottles for them both to enjoy with dinner.

He smiled when she walked in before holding up a finger and ducking down to pull the tray of bubbling cheese and sauce out of the oven.

"Hey."

She smiled back, trying to ignore the little flutter of nervousness and something else in her stomach. "Hi."

He put the tray on a couple of pot holders on the counter and walked around to pull out a chair for her without much of a word.

"Thank you."

She bit her lip after sitting down. "I don't really know what I'm doing."

"That makes two of us," he said as he carefully pushed her chair in. Then it was just a matter of putting out the salad bowl (he'd apparently managed to put some of that together), the bowl of pasta and sauce, and the tray of chicken parmesan.

"I figured you could serve yourself as much as you like of everything. Sorry it's not quite as pretty as it could be."

"At least we're on level footing." And she shrugged with another smile. "It doesn't have to be pretty. Honestly, my high standards bottom out at 'not food poisoning'."

That made him laugh.

"Well, I've tasted it enough to know it's better than that. So bully for me, I guess."

He sat across from her and plucked one of the cokes from the bucket and held it up for her 'approval' before gesturing to the glass.

The coke meets her equally high standards for bottles of coke. "It definitely smells good, so I think that's two for you."

"Good thing we're not keeping score," he said before twisting the top off and pouring most of it into a tall glass he'd already set out. He did the same for himself before settling back into his chair and closing his eyes to speak a short bit of grace. That, it seemed, hadn't been erased.

Once he was done, he smiled over at her and gestured for her to eat what she liked.

She couldn't help but tease a little at that. "Who says we're not? I don't follow sports, maybe this is the kind of score-keeping I pay attention to."

"All right then," he said with a smile back and a sip of his coke, "so who's winning?"

"I think we both are."

She was pretty sure she was, at least.

"I like how you play the game."

He went for some salad first, which he'd dressed lightly with some oil and vinegar and a bit of cracked pepper.

"The salad is also good, which I believe is a point in both our favors."

He spread his hands, taking the compliment.

"Wanted to have something nice and light to start. And--"

He glanced at the oven and winced.

"Shoot, I forgot to put in the rolls..."

She shrugged. "It's fine, Steve. Rolls are not a dealbreaker."

"You sure?" he asked with mock concern.

"I mean... we are playing to win here, aren't we? The Russian judges might be harsh without the rolls."

"They might," she agreed. "But I'm sure we can wow them with something else."

"Well, you'll have to tell me how the rest of it is. So I can prepare."

She gave him a crooked smile. "Of course."

"Not that I haven't made sure I had something up my sleeve the whole time," he said airily before grinning over at her.

"Really. Am I allowed to know what it is or is it a secret?"