"How could I possibly refuse," he answered, agreeing to cook for them.  "I'm not the best cook, but I'm not horrible.  A couple steaks shouldn't be rocket science."  He quirked an eyebrow at her, then added, "I hope."

He watched her run her fingers through her chestnut hair, once again thinking that; he was glad that they'd met.  He checked to see if there was any gas in the oven.  No luck.  But it wouldn't take long to set up a fire.  There was easily enough materials to do so, just in this building alone.  After gathering some broken pieces of concrete, he made a circle on a flat panel of metal, then started loading up scrap wood.

"Tell me more about yourself, Mr Issac. You seem to know plenty about me."

"Hmmm, where to start?" Isaac said, squatted down at their makeshift fireplace.  "Was a vault dweller once upon a time.  Grew up in a small colony of about two hundred people.  A few friends, school... mother worked as a mechanic.  Father died when I was pretty young - cancer.  Life was alright though." His memories flooded back as he scratched out some sparks on his flintsteel.  Sure enough, they had a fire going.  He looked up at Zara and grinned - an expression of mischief to thinly viel his sadness.  "I fucked it up," he told her, before hiding his face once more as he sorted out the steaks.  "Broke the rules so badly that me and my mom were exiled.  We got attacked the second we left the vault.  Mom saved my life but lost her own in the process."  He shook his head.  "Shit - that's the wasteland for ya."

When he was certain he had control of his emotions, he was looking up at Zara again, two skewered steaks being held over the fire.  He'd somehwat forgiven himself for getting his mother into that mess in the first place, but it still wasn't nice to talk about.  He'd become numb to killing and death over the short few years he'd been out in the wasteland.  It was so ordinary.  One day it would happen to him.

Still... his mother never knew that.  She didn't get a chance, out here.