I accept your mockery, Rogers. Just like I accept my inevitable defeat.

Or would, if this were the sort of thing where there was defeat.

[ She takes a sip of the latte, watching him over the rim of his cup. He has, once again, surprised her, because in this moment, when they're both momentarily quiet, it's comfortable. For her, at least. She hadn't thought she'd be able to genuinely tease him, or hear him laugh, or merely be. That she can do any of these - let alone all of them - is worrisome, though it only shows in her face for a moment. With her smiley face ruined when she'd taken a sip, she concentrates on doing something new. It can't be a portrait of Steve. There was no way she'd be able to pull it off.

After a moment, she tries her luck with a horse. It actually comes out looking somewhat horse-like. ]