His mouth edges into a grin, just barely there, when she thanks him. He looks at the table, absently scanning some of his discarded drawings. "She was always more than just a dame to me."

It's quiet, tinged not only with shyness but something else. Longing, maybe. Sadness. He remembers that awkward car trip to the lab, the one where he fell all over himself and she somehow resisted the urge to deck him. She was gorgeous, sure. But then she was smart, and tough, and capable, and Peggy Carter became a friend, and a neighbor, and a comrade.

He laughs, a quick guffaw that has him reaching to rub the back of his neck. "I did. Private Hodge. Sheesh, that guy made me miserable. I don't think a single eye at camp missed that swing. Damn."

Fond memories.