Peggy's tightens around his the moment she feels his fingers against hers. She holds it tighter than she means to, but she can't bring herself to loosen her grip. It's the only outward sign of uncertainty, a surge of panic that she hides behind the usual carefully constructed soldier's face, even as the tiniest tremble flickers through her.

When Steve reaches to take Josephine, she doesn't stop him. She watches him resettle her, then turns back to Clint, calculating and studying.

Six months. That's how long she thought he was dead. And with a daughter curled in his lap and two more in the kitchen, an entire life with him for over ten years now --

Seventy years. Dead. She was probably dead.

She wants to lean against him, call Sarah and Rosalie back into the living room and never let any of them out of sight again.

Instead she takes a quiet, deep breath and steadies herself. Now is not the time. She keeps her hand in Steve's, focuses on Clint. "It was only six months," she says, professionally, calmly. "Howard Stark led a recovery mission. Most of the details are classified."

There's still a skeptical part of her that doubts what Clint is saying, fueled by an inability to see her life any differently. But there's an honesty in the man she has a hard time shoving aside.