"You disappeared," she finally says. Rosalie rests her cheek against Peggy again, reaching out blindly with one hand until Steve wraps and arm around Sarah to take Rose's fingers gently in his own. "You were gone. You were both in that plane, the one that Uncle Howard found daddy in, but he didn't find you, and it was me and Sarah and Jo, and you were gone."

Tightness presses in around Steve's lungs. He's had enough dreams like that himself, waking up with a cry kept silent so his daughters won't hear it, pressing close to Peggy until the chill he still sometimes recalls fades from his bones.

"We're right here," he says, and is glad public speaking has trained him into controlling his voice, when he tries. He gives her hand the tiniest, gentlest squeeze. "We're not going anywhere."

"But you could." It's not an accusation, even coming from a four year old. "You could go on a mission and not come back."