For a moment, she lets herself be selfish and young, allows her eyes to slide over the wealth of strong muscle and the sheen on his skin. For just one moment, Peggy lets herself imagine that there hadn't been a war or the complications of Steve's ridiculous self-sacrificing nobility and they're not thrust here together by outside villains. Then, of course, the ridiculousness of ignoring all of that comes crashing down and she's forced to acknowledge reality.

"Steve," she greets in turn, her lips curving softly upwards as she finds that no matter how much he might torture her in the moments at night and when he isn't around, it's not the same when he is. "How are you?" It feels so awkward and strange to rely on small talk, but better that than diving into the harder conversations she's not sure she's willing to have.

"You know, you might save some of that for the rest of us," she can't help but quip, of his determination to chop wood and help out wherever possible. Even here, even now, he's so stupidly selfless and it would make her furious if she didn't love that so much about him.