She's still sticking close – and so is Steve, she notices. It's not so obvious, maybe, but he seems to always be close enough to put a hand on Bucky's shoulder or back or to jostle him as they laugh over some funny story or shared joke.

The wine and the company make it a little easier, at least. She can relax, doesn't have to be touching him all the time – but she still feels it thrumming in her blood: the need to make sure, to be certain.

It's fine. They have time, now. Real time, not just a week and a half.

(He's been under twice as long as they've been together, and that hardly seems fair.)

Still: she sticks close. And if the others notice, as they surely do, they turn an indulgent blind eye to it.