It starts with tracing. She wants to see how it actually looks on his skin before she does anything, so she paints in quick, light strokes. She can trace well even if she's not much of an original artist.

The story about his dad--she can't relate, much, until she thinks of Larkspur's hands lightly over her on the piano. Sister and mother all in one, really, and she hums a snatch of Bach before she catches herself. The lullabies were always her favourites, sweet and soothing, and soothing makes her think as she sets the stylus aside and picks up the bundle of needles.

"Hey. You can pet me, if you want. I don't know. I'm a companion animal, we're supposed to be comforting." She smiles a little crooked, offering her arm, and as an afterthought: "You do it right. Most people like--bend them or break them or something. It's pretty--I don't know. Where'd you learn that?"

"And," she adds, pressing the needles to his skin, "Captain America is the guy with the shield, yeah? Steve?"

Libby doesn't know she's not supposed to know, not really. But she's seen Steve's shield, the way James got tense in front of him, and Steve runs around with Tony, who James is all hung up on, and Libby is the relentless compiler and analyzer of data. "He seems pretty chill. Captain America is a weird name, though."