There's a teasing glimmer in her eyes as she looks at him, implying that later, she's going to remark upon his use of 'honey', wondering if she's the first person to have ever earned that particular endearment out of him. She also can't help the way her insides try and liquefy when he says 'I love you' as easily as he does, as easy as breathing, like he does it all the time.

Heart racing, she steels herself and reaches down to take his hand in hers, squeezing firmly to promise that she feels the exact same. With a mind to their driver, she turns their conversation to banalities as they drive, discussing the colour of paint in the living room, what he wants for dinner.

Honestly, by the time they arrive at the club, she's desperately relieved given how bored she is by the discussion. Stepping out of the car, mindful that they're still in public, she waits for Steve, arm at the ready. "Incidentally," she says, when they're alone, though a smile is still plastered on her face, "if we ever grow boring enough to discuss paint colours, I may very well go out and pick a fight with the nearest Hydra cell just to keep our lives interesting."