The clatter of the shield makes her twitch. She can't break. Won't break. Peggy has had beyond a year to purge the worst of it, and rebounding now wouldn't help either of them. At first, her spine stiffens -- as though she isn't certain about being held and holding him in turn. Considering her own affections towards the Captain, she can't deny it's a chance she'd sorely wanted for some time. But the circumstances are all wrong. No joy can be taken from this moment. So instead, she bends her efforts towards supporting him. Her iron-stiff composure falters, and Peggy places a soft hand against the back of his neck. She curls her fingers over the starched collar of his uniform.

Paradoxical, really. How she'd barely been able to touch him the last time she'd shared this grief with him. Standing amidst the ashes, she'd felt like an interloper in his hurt. But this is different. She is different.

Peggy knows it's not a time for words. So she rests her cheek against the side of his head and doesn't impede his tears. Suppresses her own.