"Alright, Cap, I'm callin' it. No sign of the magic alien stick here."

Steve sighs at Tony's words. This location had looked quite promising as a potential spot for the sceptre to have been hidden, and yet they've hit another dead end. "Copy that. Let's identify any of the more significant pieces of tech and weapons and get them outta here ASAP."

"Already on it," Tony answers breezily. "The Iron Legion's set to arrive in a few minutes to establish a perimeter until Hill and her team get here to pack it up for transport."

"Good. Head back to the jet then. I'm going to do one final sweep of the perimeter and make sure we didn't miss anything out here."

"Aye, aye, Cap'n!"

Steve opts to remain silent in hopes of not egging Tony on further (the constant pop culture references and occasional babbling tended to try his patience now and then). Instead, he begins a light jog as he makes his way toward the jet, albeit via a roundabout path so he can give the perimeter one final look over. He doesn't find anything of note (not that he really expected to), but as he heads back to the jet, he spots Natasha staring out over the open field of tall grass a little way away from where the quinjet is parked.

"You good, Nat?" he calls out as he nears her, but she doesn't respond. He gets a bit closer and it's then that he notices her posture and realizes she's lost in thought - something he's not sure he's ever seen from her before. She's always so collected and hyper aware of her surroundings. Even with his enhanced hearing she can often recognize threats before he clocks them, so the fact that she's completely unaware of his approach is a tiny bit concerning to him.

"Nat?" he calls out again as he approaches her cautiously. He's approaching her from behind and even with his super soldier strength and abilities, he doesn't necessarily like his chances if he spooks her and she reacts to him as a potential threat. The sheer number of times she'd knocked him on his ass during their early days of training after Fury first partnered them together were proof enough of the fact that she is a formidable fighter. He knows he's lucky to have gotten the opportunity to learn from her. She seemed to possess endless knowledge of fighting techniques and skills, not to mention that she appeared to have a bottomless well of patience as she helped get him caught up on technology.

Just as he's about to yell her name again she turns her head to look at him. "Trying to sneak up on me, Rogers?" she says, a small smile curling on her lips.

"Wasn't trying to," he replies with a partial shrug, "but looks like I did."

She arches an eyebrow doubtfully and smirks. "And yet here I am spoiling your element of surprise. I'd hardly call that a success."

He frowns playfully and then arches an eyebrow as he tilts his head in a silent faux admonishment. "We've finished sweeping the facility. No sign of the sceptre."

"One more place to cross off the list, I guess," she sighs as she turns to look back out over the field and toward the forest.

"You good?" he asks softly as he steps in line with her and shoots her a quick look of concern.

"Yeah," she assures him with a smile.

He eyes her doubtfully. It wasn't like her to get lost in thought. Or maybe more accurately: not like her to get caught while lost in thought, he amends silently.

"Just enjoying the view," she adds with a vague gesture to the area in front of them. He follows her gaze and realizes there are hundreds of fireflies dotting the grass and slowly beginning to rise up. "When I was younger, I knew a girl who loved fireflies. Never really noticed them until she pointed them out - but I have to admit, they are quite beautiful."

"Yeah," he agrees with a nod because they are quite beautiful. It's certainly a sight he'd never seen as a kid in the grey and grime of an urban Brooklyn, and he wonders if it had been in Russia that she'd seen them.

He takes a moment to commit the fact that she likes fireflies and had seen them as a kid to memory. He doesn't really know all that much about Natasha (none of them really do, he suspects...except maybe Clint), but as they've spent more and more time together, he's started to learn little things. It was like that with Natasha, he's found. She was never as cold and calculating as her reputation seemed to imply, but she wasn't the most open person either. Still, sometimes she would offer little snippets of things about herself and Steve figures if they keep working together for long enough, maybe he'll hear enough snippets to piece together a better understanding of who Natasha Romanoff is behind her Black Widow persona.

Some of the things that he knows about her are things that he's observed and found out on their missions and during the bits of downtime they spend together.

Like how she likes her coffee. She generally favours European styles and absolutely won't touch so-called "American" coffee unless she has no other choice. Steve had learned that when he'd once offered to bring her a coffee from the diner where he sometimes ate breakfast before their morning training sessions. She'd smiled, politely declined, and then told him "It's not personal, Steve. I just don't do that awful American crap you folks call coffee. No offence." When he'd asked what coffee she did enjoy so he could bring her some, she'd offered to take him out for some "real" coffee that afternoon at a local Italian place she apparently liked to frequent. He'd enjoyed the espresso she'd ordered for him, and she'd opted for a marocchino, which he found out was a mix of espresso, milk, and cocoa powder. From then on, he made a point of getting her one whenever he noticed she wasn't quite herself and was having an "off" day.

He'd also learned that she enjoys a variety of teas, and sometimes adds jam instead of sugar - something which had baffled him at first (Bruce later explained it was a Russian thing and Steve didn't ask any further questions). Weeks later he'd had the opportunity to try it himself when Natasha offered him a cup of tea. He'd watched as she spooned some jam into her cup and mixed it around, and then grinned sheepishly when she looked up and tilted her head in a silent question at his stare. He hadn't even had a chance to respond before she had pulled his cup toward her and mixed some jam into his as well. He'd smiled after taking his first sip - the sweetness of the jam counteracted the bitterness of the tea quite well. He didn't drink tea often (that had always been Peggy's thing more than his), but now when Natasha offered to make him one, he never turned it down.

He knows she takes meticulous care of her equipment (truthfully that didn't come as a surprise to him at all). The first time he'd watched her take apart and clean her guns he had been impressed by how thorough and yet extremely efficient she was at it. That same day he'd seen her take the same care with her (many) knives, and he'd been a bit unnerved by her precision and speed. He hadn't put it together at first, but later he realized that skill and efficiency probably came from habits formed from her training during her childhood. He tried not to dwell on that thought too long.

But some of the things he knows about her are more intimate. They are the things that she'd revealed about herself in conversations, but always in passing.

Like that Clint was the one to have recruited her into SHIELD. He'd apparently been tasked with a kill order for her after she made something of a name for herself and had managed to corner her (Steve was still fuzzy on the details of how an archer managed to corner the Black Widow) and offered her a chance to defect rather than be killed. Steve had asked, tentatively, if she knew why he chose not to kill her. She'd smiled fondly and told him "That idiot said he saw something in my eyes" before chuckling lightly. Steve had smiled but not quite understood how she could laugh at just how close she'd come to dying at the end of Clint's arrow. But Nat could be like that sometimes he'd found - mixing dark humour with a genuine wide grin.

And he knows that despite being Russian and apparently used to it, she really hates the cold. Steve doesn't press when she tells him this, but he gets the feeling there are some very bad memories associated with the cold. He tries not to imagine the possibilities given what little he knows about the organization that had trained her.

She had once mentioned that he wasn't the first agent that she'd trained personally. His interest had piqued at that because she didn't strike him as the type who trained just anyone (not even, he suspects, if Fury had ordered her to). She had apparently helped train an Agent Morse, and when he had asked around about her, he'd found out she had turned out to be quite skilled in hand-to-hand combat and with batons (not that it was surprising, given Natasha had trained her). When he'd asked Nat why she had agreed to train her, she'd just shrugged and said, "She was more capable than the trainers and was one of a few junior agents that weren't completely terrified in my presence, so I offered to train her."

He also knows Fury is important to her. She'd been devastated by his death in a way he hadn't quite expected, and it was only later, after conversations with Maria Hill, Clint, and half-nuggets of information from Natasha herself, that he'd learned just how important the man was to her. Fury had taken a chance on letting her defect, had given her the chance to prove herself loyal to SHIELD and a new way of life, and hadn't ever asked her to do things which she wasn't comfortable with. (Steve remembers Fury telling him she was "comfortable with everything" but he suspects that "everything" at SHIELD didn't entail a lot of the things that it had before she defected.) And the way Clint tells it, Fury had been something of a mentor to Natasha.

"Cap! Natalie! Let's go. I've got takeout being delivered to the tower and I timed it to get there just after we do."

Tony's voice breaks him out of his reverie, and he realizes they've probably been standing there quietly for some time. Steve eyes Natasha critically and she holds his gaze with a defiant expression, as though challenging him. Behind them the rest of the team continues bantering.

"Let me pilot and we'll get there lickety-split," Clint challenges and Steve winces at the prospect.

"Jet's plenty fast enough as it is," Bruce replies, ever the voice of reason. "No need to push it."

"Have no fear, Banner. Stark and I can both fly, we would save you and the others if the worst came to pass," Thor offers.

"You sure you're good?" Steve asks her softly, ignoring the ongoing conversation in the background. "You can tell me if-"

"I'm fine, Cap," she replies with a small smile, though he can hear the unspoken "leave it alone" in her tone too. "Let's get going before Stark collapses from hunger. We'll never hear the end of it if the food beats us there."

He watches her expression carefully because there was definitely something there, but he has absolutely no idea of what it might be. Natasha is the most even-keeled person he knows; nothing ever seems to fluster her. She hasn't ever seemed to be particularly nostalgic either, and yet here she was staring up at some fireflies with a pensive expression on her face, like she was lost in her memories. It was a mystery, not unlike the woman herself, but what he did know was that there was no chance of being able to get it out of her if she didn't want to share. And so even though there's a persistent feeling that this is more than her just getting lost in some thoughts, he relents and breaks his scrutiny to head back to the jet.

By the time they reach the ramp into the jet, Clint is still needling Bruce for his preference for safety above speed.

"C'mon, where's your sense of adventure, doc?"

Natasha rolls her eyes. "I think I speak for us all when I say that we'd prefer to get there in one piece."

"Yes, we very much would," Steve confirms. He can't help but chance another glance at Natasha but finds no trace of her previous pensive expression. It's like the moment hadn't happened.

"Just for that, I'm not piloting," Clint declares as he drops into a seat and kicks his feet up petulantly.

"Probably for the best, anyway," she quips. "No one wanted to say anything, but it's just such a bumpier ride when you fly."

He mutters something in a language Steve doesn't understand, but he can tell the meaning from the tone alone. For her part, Natasha returns in kind by spitting an insult right back at him, but with a sickeningly sweet expression on her face and in a tone to match. Clint reaches out a foot to trip her as she breezes past him, which she easily steps over and then holds her hand up behind without looking back, her middle finger extended. Clint mutters something again but he smiles, and Steve assumes this is an ongoing verbal war between them. Another one of those 'Clint and Natasha' things the rest of them are left puzzled by, and he wonders, not for the first time, exactly what their relationship is all about.

"I can fly us-" Tony begins, only to be silenced by Natasha, Bruce, and Clint all saying "No" at the same time. "Okay, ouch," Tony pouts and then sits down beside Bruce. "That's just rude."

Steve watches Natasha settle into the cockpit and begin flipping switches to prepare them for takeoff. They lift off the ground and as she manoeuvres them up above the top of the forest she calls back to Tony. "What time's takeout getting delivered?"

Tony grins. "J?" He says, prompting the answer to come out of the jet's speakers.

"Approximate time of delivery is in 65 minutes."

"Understood," Nat says as she turns the jet around to start them on their route back. "Better buckle up, boys. I don't like cold Chinese food."

Steve sees a smirk on her face as she accelerates quickly (smoothly though, he notes).

"I knew she was on my team," Tony declares. "Red and I go way back."

"Not as far as we do," Clint grumbles.

"Don't get your feathers ruffled. No hard feelings, Legolas."

"You can't mix your references like that. Pick the bird or pick the archer. You can't have both."

Steve takes a seat after stowing his shield and tunes out the ongoing banter between Tony and Clint in favour of closing his eyes and enjoying the flight back to the tower. They hadn't found the sceptre, but they'd come out with no injuries, seized some more Chitauri weaponry and technology, and he'd learned something new about Natasha. All things considered, not a half bad day, he thinks to himself.

Steve tilts his head slightly as he examines the scene he'd sketched out on the page. He glances down to his set of coloured pencils and considers his options before opting to start with the greens. He drags the pencil across the background of the scene, filling in some areas lightly and others more darkly to give it some depth. Occasionally he swaps out the pencil for another one with a different shade of green to fill in other areas or accent certain parts. Next, he moves on to the foreground where there's an even lighter shade of green and some yellow and gold as well. Shades of dark blues, mixed with some purple, and some black are used to fill in the small glimpse of sky at the top of the page. Then he uses black and some grey to fill in the outfit of the figure standing in the foreground, and a few reds with tiny hints of a golden orange to complete the hair of the figure.

He leans back to take in the whole thing and nods in approval of his efforts so far.

"Hey you."

He glances up at the doorway and smiles at the sight of his wife. "Hey, Peg."

"I was going to make some tea. You want a cup?"

"Please," he answers with a smile and a nod. He glances at his sketch again and then adds, "With jam if we have."

Her brow furrows. "Jam?"

He nods. "If we have some."

"I thought you liked sugar in your tea."

"I do. I used to have jam in it once in a while though." He glances at his sketch again. "A friend of mine introduced me to it."

"Alright then," she says with a nod, though Steve suspects she's still a bit confused by his request. He can't blame her. He's been with her for years now and he hadn't remembered that he used to have jam in his tea occasionally until now.

He breathes in deeply and blows out the exhale quickly as he refocuses on the sketch. With most of the colouring done, he can move on to using the brush and some water to paint the colours. Slowly the scene begins to fill in with colour as he'd imagined it would, and it starts to represent the scene he remembered from years before.

The background's blend of dark and lighter greens and browns make up a forest, while the lighter shades of green and some yellows and gold make up the tall grass in the foreground, and a swirl of blues and purple make up the sky depicting the time just after the sun has set. And standing in the midst of it all is Natasha in her tactical suit, facing away. Her hair is a bright, brilliant red in and amidst all the greens of the grass and the forest.

Peggy arrives with his cup of tea then and she pauses to look at what he's been working on, sliding an arm around his shoulder as he takes a sip. Not quite how he remembered, but close enough to remind him of those mugs of tea Natasha used to make him.

"Natasha, right?" Peggy says softly. He nods and hums an affirmative response. "It's beautiful, Steve. Really."

"Thanks," he says with a smile before taking another sip of tea.

"Is it done?"

He shakes his head. "No, I have to add in some fireflies. That's what she'd stopped to look at."

Peggy smiles and leans down to press a kiss to his temple. "I'm guessing those ones we saw last night out in the park are the inspiration."

"Yeah. It reminded me that she always seemed to like them," he says fondly, remembering that day in the clearing when she'd been lost in thought. There'd been other instances with fireflies over the years including a fair few while they'd been fugitives, but that first one was his clearest memory.

It still hurts knowing "whatever it takes" had meant her having to sacrifice her life, but he's beginning to remember moments with her more fondly instead of them just prompting grief.

"We could frame it when you're done if you like."

"Yeah? You think?"

She squeezes his shoulder affectionately. "She was your friend, and she deserves to be remembered. We may not have any pictures, but I think this will do nicely."

He smiles. "You're right, Peg. As always."

She smiles back at him. "I'll be in my office. Don't rush," she instructs as she shifts her arm off his shoulder. "I've got a mountain of files to go through."

"Alright," he agrees before tugging her down for a quick kiss and then watching as she walks out of the room.

He sets down his tea and leans in with a gold-coloured pencil to add some fireflies on top of the now dry scene. A few minutes later he leans back in his chair to check his work.

"When I was younger, I knew a girl who loved fireflies. Never really noticed them until she pointed them out - but I have to admit, they are quite beautiful."

He smiles as he remembers their conversation that day. He never did find out what she'd been thinking about, but then that was the mystery of Natasha Romanoff.

I really miss you, Nat, he thinks as he leans in to add a couple fireflies right next to her. He leans back again and as he takes another sip of his tea he wonders if there are fireflies wherever she is, and if she's getting to enjoy their beauty.

I had this whole thing written, and then re-read it and (apparently) thought 'well this could use a tiny emotional scene at the end' and another 1000 words were added. 😅

(I don't pretend to be an artist, which is probably evident by my description of his process, haha - so just go with it!)

Let me know your thoughts - always cool to see if y'all have enjoyed it and what you thought. 😊