"I'm okay," he promises, which is a lie, but he's clearly not worse off physically than he was the last time she saw him. He's back in his own clothes from a year ago, several layers of them, back in proper combat boots even, and his long hair's clean and tied back. "I didn't. I didn't die."

She doesn't seem mad, at least. Maybe she doesn't know? He pads over to offer her one of the mugs of chocolate. "Not sure if your death toll has nausea involved. Steve can't eat anything. But in case it doesn't."