Nobody really seems to care what they talk about, or if they talk at all, which is the best kind of company in her opinion. She could sit here and listen to them tell stories from their shared childhood all night long.

She wishes she'd had the chance to befriend Steve in DC, before everything went to hell. She wishes she'd countermanded her orders and just told him the damn truth... but they're friends now, and she wouldn't change it for anything.

Just like she wouldn't change this: Bucky's fingers twined with hers, the deep happiness shining in his eyes when he looks at them. She can't imagine the relief he must be feeling, can only be grateful for her own.

And for tonight. And tomorrow. And the tomorrows now possible afterwards.