Sometimes, not often, these moments of revelation occur when everything that had been floating around without thought snap into place. Like the forming of the universe. The day God turned on the lights. For Steve, the last time happened when Heinz Kruger bit down on the suicide cap and Steve stood, barely tired from a foot chase that took him through half of New York, and looked at his new body.

But it's just happened again.

He looks at Steph's hand, then her eyes. That pensive line that usually betrays skepticism is between his brows, but this time he's just wrapping his head around everything. It's the five stages of realizing you're not alone in the universe: surprise, denial, weirdness, uncomfortableness, and now this. He reaches down with his other hand to cover Steph's, keeping it there.

"Are you hungry?" he says, for lack of knowing any better way to start than just asking; "Do you want to have dinner?"

Any excuse to stay, any excuse to keep talking.