"Yes, it is," she replies, and she will never be convinced that this isn't the case. "I allowed Howard to stop searching so often, I convinced myself and him that you were dead because I thought it was the only way that I could move on." Clenching her fingers into a fist at her side, she stares resolutely forward and thinks of Howard in that bloody plane, subjected to their enemy's persuasive words and Peggy thrust right back into talking to someone who nearly went down.

She finds herself walking nearer to Steve, keeping well-clear of the axe, but close enough that her hips brush against his every few strides, like she's checking into reality with the sheer presence of him. "I should have known, in my heart, that you were still out there." It's a wistful and sweet thought, one she knows is silly.

"I've also been told enough to know that what waits for you in the future is greater than me," she admits, as much as it aches to hear it, "but at the same time, I don't very much care what people in the future needed, some nights." Not the nights when she thought of herself as Peggy and not Agent. She pauses too give him a long look, reaching out for his hand to tug and prod him along. "I can feel guilty all that I'd like. It's hardly the only guilt on my conscience, I assure you that you're not taking up all the space."