He nods almost imperceptibly, following her train of thought without more ever having to be said. It's both learned shorthand between them and Steve's good observation. A mark could look at her and see poise, passion, promise. All Steve sees is a cobra ready to strike.

"I've considered that," he admits, a slight tension in his voice that betrays months of second-guessing and frustration. He sets his now-empty plate down, and motions over his shoulder to the couch. "There was a planet. The ship went into orbit, and -- it was supposed to be a day trip."

The look he shoots her calls it the usual kind of day trip: the kind that's gonna take a while to explain.