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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 tilted his head thoughtfully before glancing over at the counter. There, tucked in against the refrigerator, behind the microwave, was something covered in a white cloth.

"There may just be dessert."

Solemnly: "I'll be sure to keep it a secret, in case you need a surprise last-minute game-saving throw."

"I appreciate that," he said with a little grin.

The Stripes wasn't the most amazing bar in the world, but it was the one that most of the people in town tended to head to after work for drinks and food. Most of the week, it was a good place to enjoy a beer, kick back, shoot some pool, or hang out with friends. The interior was nice and large, all dark wood and decor that would be kitschy if it wasn't all entirely genuine; the place was something of an institution and had been for many years. Within the last few years, they'd expanded their food offering to provide a greater variety of pub food during the day and from Thursday to Saturday, the pool table and the freestanding tables were stowed to cater to the nightclub crowd. It never got particularly loud or outlandish, but it was still the preferred spot so the press of bodies did require a little extra maintenance.

Steve worked from Tuesday to Saturday, acting as the primary bouncer for the night club and the drunk wrangler for the other nights, occasionally assisting with tables and bussing on slower nights. He was friends with all of the staff, his boss regularly referred to him as an angel, and he'd gone from most desired co-worker to everyone's brother (sometimes older, sometimes younger) within a week of taking the job.

Tonight, he'd finally convinced Bryce to come to dinner with him; Sunday evenings had the best food (as far as he was concerned, old Irish fare as prepared by the cook to her rib-sticking preferences) and the lowest number of people, so it was the ideal night to come out.

"Bess makes the mashed potatoes proper," Steve said with some authority as they walked to the table, "and the lamb is fantastic when she decides to make it."

It was hard not to notice that they were getting a few interested looks from the staff - coworkers trying to evaluate his mysterious wife, most likely. She wasn't sure what the place looked like other nights, but right then it seemed more like a restaurant than an actual bar, which helped her be a touch more comfortable.

"I guess we know what we're ordering, then. If she decided to make it."

"I know what I'm ordering," he said with a little smile, "but it's all good and you may see something you like better."

He glanced towards the back.

"I'll be right back but I'm heading past the bar, so I'll put in my drink."

"All right."

Of course, it felt like he'd barely made it out of sight before someone who apparently wasn't paying attention to who she walked in with felt the need to approach her. She made the mistake of giving him attention, thinking he might be a coworker of Steve's or something along those lines and got a singularly unimpressive pick-up line for her trouble.

She stared at him impassively before speaking. "Just walk away."

It didn't work. "It would be crime to let a MILF like you sit around here on your own. Lemme buy you a drink."

"Not interested."

He leaned forward, close enough that she could smell that he'd clearly already been to the bar that night, and leered. "What? You're too good for a drink with a guy like me?"

The girl manning the bar leaned over from where she had been standing and raised an eyebrow.

"Buddy, I think you may want to reconsider. Lady's married."

He waved her off. "I'm just having a nice, friendly conversation with her about why she's such a bitch that she can't even accept a free drink from me."

Her eyes gained a tinge of green.

Which was when a hand on his shoulder pulled him around. Steve was roughly the same size as him, but the grip on him was firm and Steve's eyes were focused on the man in a very unpleasant manner.

"There were so many things wrong with that sentence, I'm just going to tell you to go away and leave it that, sir."

He was either too drunk or too unobservant to be intimidated, while Bryce had more or less retreated from the conversation entirely, focusing on calming the green haze in her mind. "What's it to you?"

"Well," Steve said, his voice utterly calm, "for one thing, I'm not much of a fan of men forcing their attention on women who don't want much to do with 'em. For another, I happen to be the usual bouncer here, so it's quite literally my job. Most important, though, is that you're bothering my wife."

For a second, there was silence while the words registered.

And then he paled very slightly and hacked off so fast he bumped into a few people along the way, stuttering something that might have been an apology.

And Bryce breathed out, trying to release some of the tension that had gathered in her while he was in her space.

Steve sighed very tiredly before settling down into his seat and reaching a hand over towards Bryce, but not touching her.

"You all right?"

"Yeah," she said with a smile that came nowhere near her still green-tinted eyes. "I just need a minute."

He nodded and carefully made his way to the bar, returning with their drink order. He never let her leave his vision this time.

"Here you go," he said gently, giving her breathing room.

"Thanks."

It took her about another minute before she looked up again, her eyes back to their natural color. "Sorry."

He shook his head.

"No, no, I'm the one who should apologize. I guess I don't realize how rough people can be when I'm not on the clock."

She shrugged awkwardly. "I've had worse."

He glanced over at the exit where the man had skittered off.

"That doesn't make it okay. If you want to head out, I'll come back and pick up the food or make you something to make up for it."

Honestly, she did want to just go back to their place and leave this for another night, but she felt a little guilty that she was ruining this attempt at dinner. She had had worse, it shouldn't have been a big deal. She just couldn't quite get the smell of his breath out of her mind.

"It's fine."

He looked at her a moment tapping the menu.

"We can get it to go just as easy. I'm here most of the week. I mostly wanted to share the food with you."

"I - " The words I'm fine stuck in her throat. After a moment, she said, quietly, "Please."

He nodded and looked satisfied before giving her a little smile.

"Just let me know what you want and I'll bring the order to the bar. They'll bring it out in a few moments."

She picked something more or less at random from the menu and waited at the table while he stepped away, unconsciously shrinking into herself a little and avoiding eye contact to prevent anymore unwanted attention.

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I may have hit post too soon.

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