Steve's become something of an authority on having conversations with dead friends, and one thing it's never been is normal. His first few months here, after Bucky and Sinthia and then Peggy, he started to think about what it would be like if other long gone friends showed up, and he wondered if that meant he was losing his mind. He knows what Howard went through to find him. He deserves the closure.

But he's pulling himself away and leaving the table, and Steve is left frowning in his wake. He gets up, moving to follow him at first, and then he thinks better of it. He stands about a foot away from the table and pockets his hands, watching Howard order, drink, and order again. His brow beetles, wondering if this is too much to put on him like this, but it's too late now. Howard's in space, in the future he spent so many years dreaming about, and still he's being haunted by the ghosts of his past.

The careful look of concentration on his face breaks into a smirk when Howard returns, grabs his hand like he's had one too many already, and starts babbling. He sits back down on the edge of his seat, keeping the space between them close.

"Not a dream, sorry," he says, pushing away the offer of a toast. The smile on his face stays true, but his words soften. "And no, Peggy isn't here anymore. But you're gonna have to tell me the story behind that right and left hook sometime."

You'd think after all this time he wouldn't look a little jealous as he says so, but the roots Peggy's left in his heart have grown deep. "Howard. Take a breath. I know this is all -- strange, but it is good to see you. I'm gonna need you to slow down and hold off on the toasts long enough for me to explain, though."