The last of the bright summer grass that sat beneath Steve Rogers's bent legs, rustled in the gentle breeze that blew in from the east. The thin but vibrant blades shaking faintly like the leaves in the deep maple tree, that casted a cool shade down upon him, did. The soft breeze was enough to loosen the leaves that had changed early to the ground, and the orange hued leaves fluttered down on top of the green meadow that wasn't ready for the seasons to completely change. There was a faint shift in the way the air felt on Steve's skin, a certain relief from the sweltering summer heat that he had begun to grow used to. And as he took a deep breath of the cool clean air into his lungs, he reveled in the feeling of autumn nearing. 

His feet were bare as they sat grounded against the Earth, the blades tickling between his toes as the wind fluttered over his aged skin that sat vulnerable to the heat of the setting sun. He had long ago abandoned the fear of getting grass stains against the khaki fabric that adorned his legs, and his navy jacket was left open as he enjoyed the feeling of air floating through to the undershirt he wore beneath. His knees were bent together and brought inward towards his chest, just enough so, that a notebook he had opened to a very specific page could balance against them. The hard binding of the journal pressing into the flesh of his thighs, as he ran his timeworn fingers against the pages.

The paper that faintly fluttered beneath the weight of his palm, was nearly as aged as Steve was. It creased like the lines on his face, and the original color had faded over the years just as Steve's had. But the paper itself told the story of a life that was long and eventful. One filled with struggle and pain and sights that the man who lived it could never unsee. But within all of the tribulations, there was love and hope and moments of pure joy woven within the makings of the story. The paper itself spoke volumes as though they were the words, as each page lacked the hand-written story. Instead, filled solely with illustrations. For the pages that had been tightened by long ago dried residue of raindrops or possibly teardrops, told of the moments where the characters faced a time of trouble and sadness. And the pages that were perfectly kept, as though what was printed on the page was something to be protected at all costs, told of the good times. The moments that made the rougher pages worth living. The way the paper of each page presented itself, foreshadowed the emotion that was to encapsulate that sheet. But it was the illustrations upon that page that truly told the story.

Steve Rogers ran his index finger gently over the indentation that the pencil sketched across the sheet had left, his skin absorbing the sensation of the drawing he had sketched long ago. The feeling in which he let flow from his hand when he created the pieces, was still as strong as it was the moment he sat with this very book and pencil way back when. The grey of the lead softly brushed against the now yellowed paper, swept outward as the shading extended itself into a swoop of lace that blew around the body of beaded white. The detailing at the end of the fabric was extensive, as it glinted in the sunlight that beamed through the cracks in the barn ceiling. The edge of the thin and laced fabric touched against the smoother canvas of a sheer white arm that sparkled as though a million tiny diamonds lined her skin. And as the wrists of her sleeves were also wrapped in lace, they extended out to the very beginning of her hand, exposing the soft tan nature of her flesh that hugged a bouquet of perfectly pink peonies to her chest. The petals not touching against the beaded details around her neckline, but almost seeming to whisper against the fabric. 

The side of the thin veil shielded the edge of her face that was towards Steve as he gazed upon his newly wedded wife, and the narrow rays of sunshine made her cheekbone twinkle as though she had lined her flesh with a glinting glitter. And as her eyes looked downward at the train of her gown brushing against the ground, the black swiped lashes fluttering against her skin like that of butterfly wings, wasn't enough to hide the beauty of her eyes from his view. The deep green shade was brought out by the stems of the flowers that were wrapped in a blush pink fabric, shielding her palms from any imperfections on the stems. They were as captivating as the first moment Steve had ever looked into them. And now, as she was adorned in a heavenly white and her soft auburn tendrils were twirled upward, except for a few loose strands that sculpted her face in breathless curls, they seemed stronger. There was an even deeper pull to them as he stood in front of his wife. And when her eyes finally lifted and the smile that toyed at the pink hued edges of her lips met the evergreen shade of her spellbinding orbs, he felt as though he could crumble at her feet. Forever at her mercy for she held a strength over him, that would always be his greatest weakness. 

Steve felt his lips curve upward into a warm smile, as he gazed at the wide sparkling eyes sketched across the page he had flipped with arthritis ridden fingers. And even as the drawing was missing the rich shade of green that belonged within the irises, he could see it. Just as the next page he turns to is missing the soft powder pink shade from it's shape, his mind sees it as clear as the day he had drawn it. As clear as the day he had lived it. For the creases slowly came to life as they cascaded down the edge of the page in a bumpy line, before curving into a half circle and wrapping back around. The soft material that swaddled itself around the squirming being, was a pale shade of pink that reminded Steve of the fairy floss that he used to consume at Coney Island with Bucky when they were younger. The untucked side of the blanket fell upon the bare skin of Steve's bicep as his arms cradled the little gift safely, afraid to let it go or even relax a single muscle in his body incase he might drop the precious bundle. 

But there was a sensation that overflowed from Steve as he stared down at the small baby wrapped in pale pink that slept soundly in his comforting embrace, and from the moment he witnessed her emerge from her mother that had been so strong through all of the pain, he hadn't been able to get rid of the smile that spread across his lips. It was like someone permanently stitched the love sick grin onto his face. But he didn't care. Because looking down at the flawless little face, with her tiny blue eyes scrunched closed tightly and her nose twitching as though a small rabbit, Steve didn't think it was possible to look at his newborn daughter and not smile. 

The smile he wore the day she was born, had hardly left his face all the years he watched her grow up. And even now, as Steve ran his trembling fingers over the pencil sketched images of her beautiful face throughout the years, that same smile widened across his lips. He could still see the way her princess dressed twirled and blew in the wind as her giggles drifted through the air as she played with her imagination in the nature of their home. He could still feel the way her arms wrapped around him when she needed the comfort of her father's embrace. He could still see the way she looked just as beautiful as her mother did on her wedding day, the way she rested her head against his chest as he swayed with her close as their song played on her special day. And he could still see, even as it was only faded images in black and white, the bright joy on her face as she visited with her own bundle that would later call him Grandpa. 

Steve felt as the sun began to touch against his cheek as it's rays sparkled between the blowing tree branches. And as his fingers spun around the circular shape against the stiff page, he could see the way the sunlight glinted across this very object on the day he drew this picture. His skin spun around and around as he traced the perfect circle that the pencil had so impeccably shaded as the vibranium was almost the exact same hue. The sunshine shimmered against the smooth metal, as it touched against the inner rings, and Steve's hands slid against the object with a moment of bitter sweetness that made his chest tighten a little. His heart was heavy to hang up the shield that had been with him since the very beginning, but as he listened to his future laughing loudly from the backyard, there was a peace that came with the sadness of letting go. 

As his hands grip tightly to the sides of the round shield, another set wraps around Steve and glides smoothly over the backs of his hands. Covering his clenched flesh with a softer pair of hands that made it possible to loosen the grasp. Her clear glazed oval nails curving into the open space between his own fingers, and pressing the tips of her fingers against the cool metal. And looking at the way her hands looked on top of his own, holding the shield with him, he realized he didn't have to do this all alone. That what he was giving up wasn't for nothing, that what he was getting in return, was everything.

"I thought I might find you out here," A sudden voice snaps Steve of his daydreams and turning his head to the left, he closes the journal with his hand. Feeling the metal of his wedding band press against the hard leather cover of the book. And with happy and still slightly tear filled eyes, he watches his wife slowly stride through the summer grass over to him, with a soft smile presenting itself across her lips. "underneath your favorite tree."

Steve hums softly as he smiles back with a warm smile, before turning his head back and rests it against the smooth bark of the tree he. His fingers running up and down the indented leather cover as he stares out at the land rolling out in front of him. And he can feel her gaze upon him and the journal she herself had reminisced through, like the warm rays of the sun. 

"What has you smiling a smile like that Steve Rogers?"

Her question itself prompts his smile to grow as the wrinkles around his eyes crease in the weight of his grin. And as his aged fingers grip tighter to the sketchbook that was nearly a time capsule of his life and all of the moments that meant something to him, he beamed at the answer. "Everything." 

A/N: First off, I want to send a big big thank you to CapsInCaps for sharing this idea with me, and allowing me to run with it. I hope that I met any of your expectations and made you proud!
It took me some time to really find my groove with this one shot. Needing to find the right music and where to start the direction of the story. But once I did, the descriptions just started to flow. I wanted to seamlessly intertwine the sketches Steve had created into the memories he has of those very moments, and I feel I was able to achieve that! I also really liked the GIF at the top because of Steve's eyes and his soft smile, because I think no matter the scene in this one, his admiring eyes and loving soft smile are always constant. (Also, it's just so swoon worthy!) I hope you all enjoyed this one, and the nostalgic and softness to it that has been different than some I've written in the past! Thank you again CapsInCaps for this amazing and beautiful idea!!💙