Salted roasted crickets, which is hilarious. [ They taste like nuts and there's a twinge, somewhere under his sternum, remembering a tiny face and the mundane conversation over what to have for lunch before Rogers and Romanoff rolled into his life again after years-

On the one hand, Morgan might love it here.

On the other he's infinitely grateful she and Pep are home, safe. ]

Apparently, for all they're straightforward to fix, back home if a French chef wanted to test a cook's mettle, they'd tell them to make eggs. It's the simple things with the fewest moving parts that are the hardest to get right, something like that. I- would probably fail, these are passable but no Michelin star meal.

[ He huffs a soft laugh, sprinkling a bit of salt and pepper on top before sliding to sit across from her. ]

So what has you up at this semi-ungodly hour?