Steve doesn't care about company time. He doesn't care about company time, America's time or God's time when he's got his mouth on Peggy Carter's and his hands are cupping her hips to bring her close to him. So much about this feels like coming home after the war and it strikes him that for he and Peggy, the war never ended. They're still fighting, still sacrificing for their country to the detriment of themselves. Is it always going to be like this? Will they always have to put duty first?

He can't think of that. He can't think of that when his lungs are burning from lack of air and when he breaks the kiss to draw breath, his heart yearns to kiss her again. This is what it means to be in love, he thinks, and he doesn't know if they can survive it. Still, it's the best kind of death.