For Asgard!

Ninety-five, he had told Natasha. Not dead.

Despite the fact that she had already shown that her strength was at least equal to his own, if not stretching far beyond it if Thor and Loki stood as any representation of their kind, it was respect and not fear that assured that his eyes did no more than flick down the length of her legs. While his respect for Thor and the knowledge of the blond Asgardian as their mutual comrade and friend was a layer within his thoughts, his primary concern was of the respect he held for all women, first and foremost. He was too much his mother’s son to not consider his actions in that lens, and when his eyes caught hers and the width of her smile, he ducked his head in a measure of embarrassment, even as he could not help but grin himself.

His was an appreciation built of a love of the aesthetics of women as much as the reality and its appeal to more masculine instincts, but, as always, he faltered in the face of a woman with a fierce smile and sharp eyes.

As she spoke instead of battle and the more familiar grounds of physical competition and of weapons, he was swept easily up in her enthusiasm for the subject and the way her whole face brightened as she spoke. There were few he could speak of as equals when it came to offense or defense or the language of war, and while he knew too well that war had cost him more than he could have already imagined, there was still the easiness of comparing stories and strategies with a fellow warrior. “It’s nothing like Thor’s hammer,” he demurred, though his love of his shield was immediate and unguarded as he spoke, “Which I - actually, I don’t know how that works, but with the shield it’s more about finding the angles and how you throw it.”

“We can definitely do a sparring session.” Steve smiled widely at her, “I’ll bring my shield if you bring your sword. I’d be interested to see how it is in action.”