"Some of us think holding on makes us strong, but sometimes it is letting go." – Hermann Hesse, Winner of 1946 Nobel Prize in Literature

Hitherto, Steve Rogers could readily identify at least two downsides of his seven-decade long experience as a human Popsicle. One, you'd be given weird monikers for the rest of your miserable life (stupid Tony). And two, you'd never be able to walk in the tropics again without looking like a, well, Popsicle. Don't believe him? Okay. Picture this. You're in a dessert. A hellish, scorching dessert. And in your hand, you have a Popsicle (sans the wrapper, obviously). Now. Hold that image for 20 seconds, feel the heat of your surroundings. There will be no breeze, no wind, just the scorching sun and your own burning skin (sort of like a natural oven). You'll soon realize that you've begun to sweat, profusely. And now take a look at the Popsicle in your hand. You'll see immediately that it's melting. Droplets of fluid will begin to flow down the Popsicle's body as it melts, just like how droplets of fluid will begin to flow down your own body as it sweats. See the resemblance now? Okay. Good. Because that was exactly what Steve felt like right then as he stood outside the glass door at the WIS Cryogenics Department building's main entrance. Standing there, completely swamped by a wave of sweltering tropical heat, Steve Rogers felt like a goddamn Popsicle on the verge of melting into a puddle.

Steve's conversation with T'Challa earlier had left his mind positively reeling. Aside from being reminded that Sam, Clint, and the rest of his team were currently imprisoned somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic, there was also something else that had Steve on pins and needles.

Zemo had destroyed the Cryochambers back in Siberia. Zemo had blown the Winter Soldiers to crisps. All 5 of them.

Baffling.

What could Zemo possibly gain from that? What else was he involved in? There could be no explanation other than the fact that there was something in the test subjects' bodies that Zemo wanted to conceal. But what was it? What was it that had driven Zemo to go through such lengths? What damaging information could the bodies of 5 supersoldiers (which had been uncovered only recently) possibly contain? Hell, even if the bodies did somehow contain classified information, how would it even relate to Zemo himself? According to Bucky, the 5 Winter Soldiers went as far back as the 1950s, way back into Howard Stark's time. Zemo wasn't even born back then. Heck, Zemo's parents probably hadn't even met yet. So what could possibly be the connection between the Winter Soldiers and Zemo? And how the hell did Zemo even know of the existence of the 5 Winter Soldiers in the first place? None of the intel on the Winter Soldier projects were contained in Pierce's HYDRA files, or else Tony would've found them ages ago. Also, Bucky would've been found ages ago too if HYDRA had included all intel on the Winter Soldier projects in Pierce's files. How did Zemo know?

And what the hell was Zemo's true motive? What could he be trying to hide?

Steve treaded across the large internal compound of the WIS' building towards the gates. The entire building had maximum security, Steve noted. Which was a good thing, considering the fact that the building currently housed his best friend. Pfft, he wasn't even sure if 'housed' was the right word (the whole arrangement was more like those cold storage thingies). But anyhow, security was airtight, too airtight. It was like not even a fly could cross the building's borders without triggering some form of sensor. For a moment, it really made Steve wonder about the kinds of secrets that might be contained in the WIS building. Drugs? Weapons? Vehicles? Jets? God forbid, more supersoldiers? Steve quickly shook off the unwanted dread at his morbid thoughts.

The entire WIS building was surrounded by tall vibranium fences. Security drones equipped with Taser guns floated about the area, constantly scanning for threats and intruders. The whole thing with the drones reminded Steve a little of Tony's Iron Legion protocol. One or two drones floated past him as he walked. They stopped only to hover in front of his face for a second before flying off. Probably doing some facial recognition scans. These mechanical creatures never rest, Steve noted. They could go on all day without stopping. No shift-changes required. Inhumane, mechanical, solar-powered robots. If this was what the distant future looked like, then Steve would unequivocally say that he didn't want to be any part of it. The last time Steve lived in a robotic world, he saw a friggin' city uprooted from the ground, floating in the sky, waiting to be used as an artificial meteorite to wipe out humanity.

So, no. No robots.

There were two gates in total. One on the east side of the building, and the other on the west. Steve headed towards the west gate, the one he had used upon his arrival to the building that morning. At the west gate, Steve stopped, and nodded towards the surveillance camera positioned outside the vibranium security booth. The booth's window slid open to reveal a security guard on duty, as in an actual security guard, human, with flesh and bone. It was quite a surprise that they hadn't used drones for these kinds of positions. Perhaps the policy makers wanted to boost Wakanda's employment rate or something.

Steve handed his visitor's key card to the guard and waited for the gates to open. They were supposed to verify the identity of anything (yes anything, not anyone, it didn't just concern humans) entering and leaving the facility, and log the data into their system. Heck, at this rate, they'd probably even have a computer program scanning through their logs at all times to look for suspicious activity. See? Like he said before, not even a fly could enter or leave without them knowing. What a diligent bunch.

While waiting for the gates, a sudden thought occurred to Steve.

Supposing the working hypothesis was that Zemo destroyed the test subjects in order to conceal something in their bodies, then, surely, the best way to figure out Zemo's real motive would be by first identifying the type of information most likely contained in the test subjects' bodies. That would, in theory, narrow down the list of possible motives.

Okay.

So what type of information, then? Was it the identities of the test subjects? Were any of the test subjects political figures of the past? Or children of important political figures of the past? Was Zemo's motive political? Was it to avoid a political scandal such as that a previous politician (or someone related to a past politician) was actually HYDRA-affiliated?

Another thought came upon Steve.

What if one of the test subjects were biologically related to Zemo? If that were the case, then, surely Zemo wouldn't want anything HYDRA-related to lead back to his own sorry ass, right? What with the secret soldiers now being out in the open and all that. Surely that would be enough incentive to blow the test subjects to kingdom come? But no. No, that wouldn't make sense, since Zemo had destroyed all five of them. It was quite unlikely that all five of them were somehow related to Zemo. Besides, if they were truly blood related to Zemo, would Zemo blow them to crisp in such heartless a manner…? Okay, on second thought, the latter might still be very much within the realm of possibility, considering the fact that Zemo had blown up the friggin' UN just to lure the Avengers to Siberia.

A recent memory flashed before Steve's eyes. Back in Siberia a day ago, Steve remembered Zemo's own words directed at the three of them (Tony, Bucky, and Steve himself)

"If it's any comfort, they died in their sleep… did you really think that I wanted more of you?"

The serum.

What if it was the serum that Zemo had wanted to destroy? Zemo said so himself, back in Siberia, that he despised enhanced beings, and that he wouldn't want any more of them existing in this world. Was that it?

Somehow, Steve's gut told him that things couldn't possibly be that simple.

The retinal scanner beside the gate came to life, and a mechanical voice requested Steve to step forward. Steve did as he was instructed, and a few seconds later, the gate opened to reveal bustling Wakandan streets.

Unfortunately for Steve, he soon realized that all his previous questions only led to more questions. Questions, whose solutions seemed so far beyond his reach right then. The whole incident smelled incredibly funky, it literally had trouble written all over it. Something else was going on, and Steve hadn't a goddamn clue as to what it was. Worst, he didn't even have a team to back him up this time.

He really missed all the times when Natasha was right beside him. They'd go over ideas and insights together, completing each other's sentences… God, he missed those times. He missed Natasha. Period.

Plagued by dejection and gloom, Steve began dragging his feet in the direction of his visitors' suite (T'Challa had been kind enough to provide Steve with top notch accommodation for free). Naturally, the stifling afternoon heat was of no help at all in lifting his spirits. For every five steps he took, he hoped and prayed for a much needed gust of wind, hell, even a light breeze would do, but none came. Instead, he was left with a skin-melting sensation all over his body, and a cranky mood. Soon enough, he could feel drops of perspiration collecting in his eyebrows, dropping onto his shirt, dropping onto his arms. Almost as if it was raining, he thought, a little amused. Perhaps there was a modicum of truth after all in that silly old saying about walking around with a gloomy storm cloud above one's head.

Then again, there was a silver lining to everything, he realized. Steve couldn't even begin to describe the relief he had felt when T'Challa told him regarding the task force's failure in apprehending Natasha. The relief had been monumental, like as if he could finally breathe properly again. And even better, T'Challa had agreed to provide Natasha with protection and refuge if she ever needed it. Just like what he had done for Bucky.

Speaking of Bucky…

For some unknown reasons, even the knowledge that Bucky was in safe and capable hands failed to allay Steve's heavy heart. Steve knew he had done everything he possibly could to protect his friend. And this now, here, in Wakanda, was undeniably Bucky's best circumstance thus far. This was Bucky's best shot at being safe, Steve knew that. There could be no safer place that Bucky could be in than right here in Wakanda. No one could get to him so easily if he was here. Not HYDRA. Not the taskforce. Not the government. Bucky was safe. All very reassuring thoughts. So why wasn't Steve relieved at all?

Plus, Steve knew that Bucky was innocent. Bucky was a victim. So in a way, Steve had done the right thing. Protecting Bucky, uncovering Zemo's plot, going after the Winter Soldiers? All of those were the right things to do. Okay, admittedly, there were one or two things that Steve could have handled a little better, but regardless, everything he had done hitherto were all done with the right intentions. So where was that sense of fulfillment, that sense of satisfaction which would usually come after knowing that he had done the right thing? Somehow, this time was just different. This time, Steve felt no peace at all despite knowing that he had done the right thing.

It was vexing, to say the least.

Because for the very first time in Steve Rogers' life, doing the right thing felt wrong.

Everything felt wrong.

Just, wrong.

Like a mismatched jigsaw piece that couldn't possibly fit into the larger puzzle of his life.

Where was all his sense of purpose? His sense of duty? Why did he feel so weak? So lost?

Lost. He felt so lost, like as if he no longer had any form of control in his life; like as if he was in the middle of a giant lake with no land in sight, just letting the waves push him to wherever they intended him to go.

He was drifting.

He felt heavy, and yet so empty at the same time.

What a strange sensation.

They often say that nature does wonders for the soul.

And it just so happened to be true in Steve Rogers' case that afternoon. Mother Nature came to Steve's rescue. Somewhere along promenading the busy streets of Central Wakanda, Steve felt his soul slightly revitalized.

Perhaps it was the beautiful afternoon sun, or maybe it was the pleasant tropical scent wafting in the air (the smell of damp leaves, sodden twigs and earth was omnipresent in Central Wakanda), but there was just something in the Wakandan ambience that afternoon which pulled him out of his misery; something which made the afternoon heat a tad bit more bearable. And almost immediately, Steve found the notion of self-confinement in an empty suite positively revolting. The afternoon was just too beautiful to be wasted indoors. What was he supposed to do back in an empty suite anyway? Sleep? Stare at walls? Yeah, well, unlike a certain redhead, Steve Rogers seriously couldn't find anything appealing on any goddamn wall worth staring at. A lazy afternoon stroll sounded like the better way to go.

Besides, an excursion would serve as the perfect opportunity to take his mind off things, clear his head a bit. He could use the time to distract his mind and let it rest until he was ready to start figuring out his next move. He knew he would have to deal with whatever fallout which had befallen his friends. But for that, he also needed a clear head. He needed this.

Bypassing the route to his guest suite, Steve strolled towards Central Wakanda's commercial area, which was conveniently located right at the heart of town. He figured it to be the smartest way to start off, since there was this massive direction board (and a huge map of Central Wakanda) located there, which he could then use as a guide. After perusing and memorizing the map, he quickly moved on to his next stop.

His next stop was a flea market of some sort. Some kind of bazaar. The place was buzzing with activity by the time Steve got there. Store owners were shouting and yelling at the top of their lungs in some local tongue which he hadn't any inkling of. A group of street performers tapped away on their huge drums while another bunch plucked diligently at some weird-looking stringed instruments. There was also a man among the crowd, who was juggling ten balls while balancing 3 bottles on top of his head. It was… normal. Not that juggling ten balls while balancing bottles was the usual definition of 'normal'. But this was life. These people had actual lives to live. They had lives worth living. They were all so… happy. And carefree. These people truly lived.

All of a sudden, looking at the scene surrounding him, looking at the lives of the strangers around him and the pure joy surrounding these people, Steve realized something. He realized that this, was what the Avengers were truly meant to fight for. This was why they fight, to preserve the lives and freedom of these people. To preserve joy and happiness in the world. To preserve freedom. Now, that, was why they fight. That was their true calling. That was supposed to be what the Avengers Initiative was all about. The Avengers were meant to be the sentinels of freedom. Not as tools in some bureaucratic agenda.

One particular store in the flea market caught Steve's eye. It was the only store with an English name:

THE OUTSIDERS

The store turned out to be a distributor of miscellaneous goods, goods pertaining to other cultures outside the borders of Wakanda, hence the store's name. Steve scanned and took in the entirety of the store, and found many things of interest to him. But he also thought it strange when he found no signs of the store owner's presence. At one corner of the store, Steve saw a myriad of booklets on display. Each booklet for sale featured each country from the outside world. Steve spied the booklet which featured the Unite States of America, and was quite surprised to see his own face plastered on the booklet's front cover. A national symbol. A hero. A Captain. Those titles which were already lost to him. The world no longer saw him as a hero, but as a fugitive. To the eyes of the public, Steve Rogers was probably nothing more than a failed science experiment. He was Captain America no more. And what good was Steve Rogers if he wasn't Captain America anymore? Was there even a place in the world for him other than being Captain America?

Steve's hand seemed to possess a mind of its own when it crawled its way towards the booklet featuring Russia. Without much restraint from his brain, his fingers picked up the booklet. Dreamily, Steve's hand caressed the booklet's front cover, his fingers hovering over the mosque-like printed figure of the Kremlin.

Nat…

Where are you?

Are you safe?

I miss you…

Find me…

Or let me find you…

Let me touch you…

So that I know that you're okay…

Steve flipped to a random page, and saw the figure of a beautiful woman clad in a leotard.

A ballerina.

Natasha…

I love you.

Steve dropped the booklet like as if its surface had suddenly scalded his skin. He let out a ragged sigh and tore his gaze away from the booklets' corner.

Get a fucking grip, Rogers.

The store was quite large. On the walls, there were huge racks with printed T-shirts on display. There were also bags and, hell, even slippers. Steve's sight fell on the store's trinkets section next. There, he spotted something quite ornate. It was a bunch of wax figurines. All exquisitely manufactured. They were all relatively small (compared to an actual wax sculpture of someone), probably about the same size of his palm. Most of the figurines, Steve noticed, were of historical figures, some of which he could readily recognize (thanks to Natasha's many history lessons). On the display rack, he easily spotted figurines of Albert Einstein, Richard Feynman, Isaac Newton, Stephen Hawking, Charles Darwin, Neil Armstrong, Gandhi, Leonardo Da Vinci, Mozart, Beethoven, Mark Zuckerberg, Bill Gates, Bruce Lee, Elvis Presley, the Beatles, Martin Luther King Jr, Marilyn Monroe, and hell, even Adolf Hitler. But the next bunch were the ones that actually brought a genuine smile to Steve's face. They were a bunch of special figurines singled out from the main collection and placed in their own section.

Steve chuckled.

It was a collection of figurines featuring the founding members of the Avengers. The 6 veterans. Himself. Natasha. Tony in his Iron Man suit. Clint. Thor. And the Hulk. The Avengers' figurines, Steve noticed, were a little bit different from the rest. Because on the back of each Avengers' figurine there was this little pin with a metal chain attached to it. An interesting feature.

Somehow, his naughty fingers (magically) ended up caressing Natasha's figurine. He picked it up and studied it. The figurine was modelled based on Natasha in her full Black Widow combat suit.

Damn. It looked just like her.

And upon further scrutiny, Steve realized that it was the newest version of her catsuit, the same one she wore when they fought against Ultron last year. Steve then inferred that the creator must have based it on the Natasha from a year ago during Ultron's reign. Which would make sense, considering the design of the figurine's combat suit, and also the fact that the figurine had short hair. Regardless, the figurine was beautifully made. Whoever made it was highly skilled, no doubt. As a fellow artist, Steve could truly appreciate the beauty of it. The attention to detail, for instance, was absolutely astounding. Despite its relatively small size, the figurine had most of Natasha's telling features captured. The fiery red hair, the sparkling green of her emerald eyes, the plumpness of her lips, the fullness of her chest and backside, the glowing blue of her batons, the metallic glint of her Glocks holstered on her thighs, the curviness of her figure. God, even as a figurine, Natasha Romanoff was gorgeous.

A gorgeous figurine based on a gorgeous woman.

God bless whoever that made this.

"It's a masterpiece, isn't it?" A thickly accented male voice sounded from behind him.

Steve turned around and saw a middle aged man with a girl standing beside him.

Must be the store owner.

"Indeed it is, sir. It's stunning. Did you make these?"

"No, I didn't. But my daughter did." said the man as he pushed the girl a couple of feet forward. The girl stumbled a couple of steps ahead towards where Steve stood.

To say that Steve was materially impressed would be a severe understatement. Because that girl looked so young, too young. She seemed to be barely ten of age, yet she possessed such astounding artistic genius. Wow.

"I'm Steve." Steve held out his hand towards the little girl.

The girl took his outstretched hand rather shyly before shaking it.

"Hel…Hello. I know your name already." The girl blurted out abruptly before darting backwards to hide behind her father.

The girl's father laughed and smiled proudly at his daughter, "Sorry, Captain. This one's a little shy. And she's a big fan."

The man muttered a few words to his daughter in local tongue before he pulled the girl from behind his back and pushed her forward once again.

This time, Steve crouched down so that he was at eye-level with the girl, "Hi, Ma'am. May I know your name?"

"Adanna."

"Adanna. A beautiful name for a beautiful young lady. It's really nice to meet you, Miss Adanna. I'm Steve Rogers."

"I… I know." The girl blushed furiously.

Chuckling, Steve waved Natasha's figurine in front of the girl's face and asked, "Did you make this?"

"Yes."

"This is really beautiful, Adanna. I adore it."

The girl's blush deepened, "Thank you."

"How old are you, young lady? If I may ask."

The girl looked up at her father instead of answering.

"My little Adanna is turning twelve this year, Captain." said the man with yet another proud grin.

Still a little dazed, Steve stood up slowly from his crouching position, "Twelve… So young." Steve's gaze went back to the figurine in his hand and said, "And she's really talented."

"She is isn't she?"

"How much can I get one of these for?" Steve asked.

"For the special Avengers figurines we sell them at an equivalent price of 15 US dollars per piece."

Knowing that the store accepted foreign currencies (God knows why though. It wasn't like they have much foreign visitors here in Wakanda), Steve brightened up.

"I'll take it."

At that, the man murmured something to his daughter. The girl disappeared to the back of the store seconds later.

"Just this one?" asked the man strangely.

Steve stared at Natasha's figurine affectionately, his eyes tracing every curve and every feature of the beautiful wax figurine.

"Yeah… just this one."

Steve looked back up only to discover the other man's knowing stare directed at him.

"So the Black Widow. She is dear to you?"

Steve smiled wanly, "Yes, she is. Very."

"Lovers?" the man smiled back.

Steve felt a slight twitch in his eye.

Probably some dust. Or pollen. Yeah. Just dust. Nothing else. Right.

"No. Not lovers. Just… very close friends." Steve replied with a light shake of his head, it took every ounce of his willpower to keep the sadness out of his voice.

"She's her favorite too, you know?" remarked the man.

"Pardon?"

"The Black Widow. She's my daughter's favorite."

Steve smiled a little at that, "I see. So the Black Widow has a young fan. I'll make sure to let her know…"

If I ever see her again… Steve thought sadly.

The man let out a sigh.

"It took Adanna the longest time to finish The Black Widow's figurine. 2 months, Captain. 2 months."

"How about the rest?"

"The rest only took her 2 weeks."

"2 weeks for each figurine?" Steve asked, slightly shocked.

"Yes."

Yet the little girl dedicated 2 long months just for Natasha's figurine. Four times longer than the other figurines. That itself, spoke volumes of the young girl's admiration of Natasha.

Steve's gaze fell onto the figurine on his hand. Well, he wasn't that surprised, really. Considering the sheer amount of details which contained in that one small item on his hand. Every single one of Natasha's most ravishing features were there on the figurine. The curvatures and topographies of her face. The curves of her body, of her legs. Even the color of the figurine's irises matched perfectly.

So beautiful.

Steve nodded, "Just by looking at her outstanding work, I can see that your daughter truly looks up to the Black Widow."

"She does. She always said that the Black Widow inspired her to be stronger after…" The man's voice turned sad at the end.

"So there's a back story…" Steve remarked warily.

Steve stared at the other man, waiting to see if the latter was willing to divulge. The man seemed hesitant.

After a good ten seconds of awkward silence, Steve decided to put the man out of his misery, "You don't have to say anything you don't want to, sir. This clearly concerns your daughter's private life. I'll respect that."

The other man waved him off and began talking, which made Steve realized that it probably wasn't because the man didn't want to talk about it, but because the man himself was still trying to find the right words for it.

"Adanna… when she was 8 years old, she was... assaulted. Sexually."

Steve felt his jaw clench.

"I'm sorry." said Steve, his face wore a grim expression.

Steve saw guilt flash in the man's eyes.

"It was my fault. I left her alone at the store one late evening. Then a man came in and just…"

Steve nodded in comprehension of the unsaid words. In fact, Steve had hoped to spare the other man from having to actually say the words. Those words which had undoubtedly haunted the man's sleep every night. Having once failed Bucky, Steve could totally relate to that type of pain. That haunting guilt. All the nightmares. But Steve expected this guy's experience to be infinitely worse. The guilt behind failing one's own child, one's own flesh and blood; that was pretty much insurmountable.

"Was he ever caught?"

"Caught 2 days after the incident by the royal guards. The late King T'Chaka made sure of the culprit's exile and imprisonment. He was locked up in a prison somewhere outside Wakanda."

"How did Adanna fare afterwards? Did she ever recover?"

"Not mentally. She became closed off ever since that incident. It pains me greatly to see her go through such ordeal."

Steve's hand rested on the man's shoulder in a firm grip, "Sir, whatever it is, I believe that your daughter will fully overcome it one day. The fact that she's now back in this store helping you run it? I think that's saying a lot. I mean, this store is where it all happened, and yet she's still here. Instead of running away, she chooses to face her demons head on. That takes a lot of courage and strength. You should be proud, sir. Your daughter is a strong girl." said Steve with unmasked admiration for the young girl.

The man's eyes misted over.

Steve threw him a reassuring smile and said, "And besides, she does seem fine now, sir, wouldn't you say? A little shy, but she seems okay."

"Yes she does." The man paused slightly, "And I believe I have the Black Widow to thank for all that, Captain."

"Really now?" Steve's eyes lit up gleefully, gratefully filing away that information for future use – mainly when he needed to convince Natasha that she wasn't the monster she thought she was.

"Indeed. Adanna told me herself that the Black Widow inspired her to be stronger, and to overcome whatever obstacles thrown in her way. In fact, shortly after she came to know about the Black Widow, my little Adanna bounced back, Captain. Started devoting her time to making these figurines." the man gestured across the rack with all the figurines.

"And at the same time she also found her talent." Steve nodded appreciatively, feeling proud of the little girl, even when he was barely acquainted with her.

For a moment, neither men spoke.

"Fascinating isn't it, Captain, what one person could do to change the life of another even without knowing it…" said the store owner.

Amen to that.

Just then the little girl emerged from the back of the store carrying a big tray containing a bunch of card-sized metal plates. The metal plates reminded Steve of the scaled up versions of his military dog tags.

The man procured a piece of paper and a pen from God knows where (Steve wouldn't know, because he was too busy staring at the little girl with new found admiration).

"Now Captain, would you care to write down your inscription?"

For a moment, Steve looked confused, "Excuse me?"

"You see that metal chain at the back of the figurine?"

Steve stared down at his hand and turned the figurine around.

Something clicked in the good Captain's mind.

"Right. I see. So that's what the chain is for… To attach those metal plates onto the figurine?" Steve stole a quick glance at the tray containing the plates on the little girl's hand.

"That's correct. If you would write down your message, I could have it engraved onto one of the metal plates by the end of today."

In a heartbeat, Steve agreed and took the pen and paper. It took him a couple of moments of quiet thought before he began writing on the paper.

"So I'd come by the store tomorrow then? To collect the figurine." said Steve when he passed the pen and paper back to the man together with the required cash for their transaction.

"I'd do you one better, Captain. I'd have it delivered to your accommodation. You're staying at one of His Highness' Guest suites, I presume?"

"Yes, sir."

"Alright then. It should be there at the front reception by tomorrow morning."

"Thank you, sir."

"One last thing before you go, Captain. You have to choose the metal plate you want your message engraved on."

Adanna held out the tray to Steve. The latter perused the options with fascination. The choices were quite diversified and they came with numerous sizes and shapes. There were those with the most basic shapes: squares, circles, ovals, ellipses. Then there was one which took a shape resembling a cloud. And then there was-

Steve's eyes lit up.

This is it.

Without a second's hesitation, Steve made his choice. It was a metal plate with a shape resembling the outline of a pair of wings – angel's wings. The wings would complement Natasha's figurine aesthetically. But more importantly, it'd add metaphorical meaning to the whole gift.

"Good choice, Captain." the owner remarked with a smile.

Steve nodded and turned to leave, but stopped short at mid-turn, as if an idea just hit him.

He slowly turned back to face the owner, his expression nothing but serious.

"Just now, you mentioned something about how one person could change the life of a complete stranger…" Steve said.

"I did."

"Sir, if I were to give you and Adanna the chance to change the life of a complete stranger for the better, would you agree to it?"

The man frowned, "I'm afraid I don't quite understand, Captain. What are you suggesting?"

"You said that the Black Widow inspired Adanna greatly. So if you don't mind, I was thinking maybe Adanna could leave a message or something for her hero? You could include it together with the package you'll be delivering to my suite tomorrow, and then I'll pass the message along to the Black Widow for you when I meet her. " Steve turned to smile at the little girl.

The girl's father stared blankly at Steve, which immediately had Steve panicking, fearing that he had somehow crossed a line and committed some kind of faux pas.

Steve added quickly, "It doesn't have to be long or anything. I mean, it could be a simple handwritten message, or a drawing, or even that same metal plate engraving."

"Adanna? What do you think?" The man turned to his daughter.

The shy little girl whispered something unintelligible into her father's ear.

"She wishes to know how her message could possibly change the life an Avenger."

Steve nodded. A fair question, I suppose.

"Our jobs…" Steve sighed, "Sometimes to us, it feels like nothing we do ever make any difference. And more recently, people are even happy to call us villains and vigilantes instead of heroes. It's like, all that we ever did was making things worse rather than better."

"We both know that's not true, Captain. The Avengers saved the world. Twice."

Steve threw a smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"And that's why Adanna's message will mean a lot to the Black Widow, to all of us, even. It really helps to be reminded that what we do really does make a difference in people's lives. A good difference."

The owner nodded in understanding.

Steve continued, "Look, I can't exactly go into too much details here. But I think among all the Avengers, the Black Widow's the one who needs these kinds of reminders the most. Natasha… She's a wonderful woman who's had a very tough life. Most of the time, she finds it hard to see the good in herself. So if… if Adanna's willing to leave a message, then it'll serve as a reminder to Natasha, to all of us, really. If you do that, then I can assure you, it'll mean a lot to Natasha."

"I'll do it." said the little girl resolutely.

Steve smiled in relief and crouched down, "Thank you, Ma'am. I really appreciate that."

"You're welcome…"

For a while, Steve paused, as if thinking hard about his next question. Then his expression turned playful, "Say, Adanna, would you like to meet your hero one day?"

The little girl's eyes lit up, "Really?"

"Of course. I'll even tell her all about you when I meet her. And we'll come visit you when the time's right. So, what do you say, Miss Adanna? Excited to meet the Black Widow?"

"Oh, yes! That's great! Baba! I can't believe this is happening…" the little girl pulled at her father's sleeves, her eyes filled with unshed tears of joy.

Her father smiled and chastised her for her rudeness, causing the girl to tamper down her excitement and return her attention to Steve.

"Thank you so much, Captain. I truly look forward to meeting her."

Steve chuckled and patted the girl's head, "I know. And please, it's Steve."

"Will she really come see me?"

Steve smiled a little, "Trust me little miss. She most definitely will."

The girl squealed, "Oh, I'm so happy…"

"Good. So until we meet next time, promise me that you'll take good care of yourself and your daddy, okay?"

"I promise."

Steve stood back up and extended his hand to the owner, "Thank you for all this."

The latter shook the extended hand, "You're welcome. It is I who should be thanking you, Captain. It's been a long while since I've seen Adanna this happy."

"You have a wonderful daughter. Take good care of her until we meet next time."

"I know. And I will. Enjoy your stay in Wakanda."

Steve nodded, "See you around, then. Mister…" Steve laughed, "Sorry, how rude of me, I didn't even ask for your name…"

"Nkululeko."

"Mr. Nkululeko..." Steve paused, "That's a Xhosa name, right?"

"That's correct, Captain."

"What does it mean?"

"Freedom."

Mr. Nkululeko unfolded the paper and began reading its contents:

To: NATALIA ALIANOVNA ROMANOVA,

HUMANITY'S BRIGHT JEWEL.
A PARAGON OF FEMININE STRENGTH.
AN INSPIRER OF YOUNG GIRLS.
AN ADMIRATION OF MEN.
A LOYAL PARTNER.
A LOVING AUNT.
AN AVENGER.
AN ANGEL.
A LIFE SAVER.
MY BEAUTIFUL HERO.

Know that you are loved, Natasha.

Always.

From: Your partner and friend, S.G.R.

He smiled. And showed the paper to his daughter.

Seconds later, Adanna smiled too. Brightly. Happily.

It was the most beautiful smile he had ever seen on his daughter's face.

Rock climbing.

That, was what Steve ended up doing by the time late afternoon came. Safe to say that Steve's lazy afternoon excursion into Central Wakanda took quite a sizable turn. Don't worry. You haven't missed any memos.

He'd gladly fill y'all in on how he got to that point.

It began after Steve left The Outsiders, when the flea market lost its appeal. Thing was, Steve had a flashback. Something about the atmosphere of that bazaar had reminded him of their failed mission in Lagos a few days ago. He remembered every detail of that mission. His battle with Rumlow took place in a setting which bore much resemblance to Central Wakanda's flea market. So Steve had fled the market towards the edge of town, away from the hustle and bustle of town, away from the painful reminder of their failed mission.

That was kinda how Steve ended up somewhere near the vicinity of the Wakandan rainforest. That area, however, was like a ghost town. The exact opposite of the flea market. At first Steve had thought it to be a recreational area of some kind, but there were neither signs of life nor signs of any recreational facilities. There were no benches around, no playgrounds, no nothing. The only thing he could see were tall fences which formed the boundary between the rainforest and that area.

The entire region was dead. Blighted by inactivity and abandonment. It almost felt godforsaken.

You see, Steve would've undoubtedly given up this whole outdoor excursion thing had he not spotted something at the tall fences. It was a little gate with a sign board on top of it:

JUNGLE TREKKING

And all of a sudden, Steve had a completely different idea of how he should spend the remainder of the afternoon, and said idea would involve nature. A lot, of nature. Well, duh, he'd certainly pick Mother Nature over staring at walls anytime. Thrilled with his discovery, Steve had then swiftly returned to his suite and packed a backpack for his impromptu jungle trekking expedition. His backpack contained a bottle of water, a compass (Captain America liked things old school, plus he kinda destroyed his smartphone since smartphones were traceable) and a towel. Oh right, he had even brought his sketchbook and colored pencils along with him, just in case his artistic whims decided to pay him a visit.

And shortly after that, Steve found himself standing amidst the most beautiful tropical rainforest he had ever seen. Not that he had seen a lot of tropical rainforests before. Amid his trekking, Steve felt a sudden, but not totally unwelcomed, surge of nostalgia (trust him, these random flashes happen a lot when you have a super eidetic mind). Back in the war, he sure had his fill of wading through thick forests for hours and sometimes even days on end. Obviously, the circumstances back then were completely different. Jungle trekking in war zones warranted extreme caution on his part as the Howling Commandos' leader. One mistake would either mean leading his team right into an enemy ambush or stepping right onto a landmine; but this? This was peaceful, tranquil and pleasant. As nice as this was though, Steve still kinda missed his war days. The days spent raiding HYDRA bases and kicking HYDRA asses? And not to mention having a bunch of guys whom he saw as family. Be pretty hard not to miss, right? Yeah, and jungle trekking in the woods? He could do that all day. Totally. But no. Jungle trekking didn't last, well, not for long anyway. Because something else in the middle of the rainforest caught his attention.

It was a cliff.

The tallest cliff in the entire rainforest area. A cliff which would give him a 360 degree panorama of Wakanda. Perfect spot for a sketch. He briefly wondered the reason he hadn't notice the cliff when he was admiring the view from the Cryogenics department lobby that morning. Then it hit him. The mist, of course. The mist had cleared up by noon, revealing said cliff and most of Wakanda's natural beauties surrounding it.

It really didn't take long for Steve to decide to climb up that cliff. One glance at it, and he was a goner straight.

And…there you have it.

That was how a supposedly simple and effortless excursion turned into a hardcore rock climbing activity. In his defense though, climbing that cliff wouldn't be all that difficult for a Super Soldier, so technically, it still was an effortless excursion, by definition. Pfft, honestly? The climbing part wasn't even remotely a challenge for Steve. He barely broke a sweat. His enhanced strength, agility and his perfect body control enabled him to climb all the way to the top without the use of any climbing gear. The part that was a tad bit tricky, however, was the planning required to find a suitable climbing path; well, unlike his other super friends, Steve couldn't fly, so if he wanted to get on the cliff top, he would need to find a sequence of protruding rocks that he could actually grab onto as he climbed. The planning part took Steve nearly 15 minutes. And the climbing part? Took Steve just under a minute.

Then again, what he saw as he stood on the clifftop was definitely worth all 16 minutes of his efforts.

The view from the cliff was nonpareil. Definitely a sight to behold. It was indeed gorgeous when viewed from the lobby, have no doubt, but seeing the Wakandan vista this up-close and sans the mist? Absolutely no competition. Tall, majestic and evergreen tropical trees pervaded the entire region. Lianas and various species of climbing vines unknown to Steve adorned the trees branches and tree trunks, giving the rainforest a certain lively and 'brightened-up' feel. Flowers of miscellaneous colors blossomed everywhere, and in great abundance; on the trees, on the shrubs beneath the trees and even on some of the vines; rendering the otherwise monochromatic forest infinitely more captivating. The moist tropical air did wonders by glistening almost every surface available in the forest, giving the entire scene a glossy and satiny appearance. For a good minute or two, the mighty Captain America was rendered speechless. He stood at the edge of the clifftop, mouth agape, taking in everything while his eidetic memory ingrained every bit of information into his brain. At that point, Steve was certain that nothing could come remotely close to the level of beauty which the Wakandan rainforest possessed – except maybe the beauty of a certain redheaded spy. Just when Steve thought that the view couldn't possibly get any better, the clouds in the afternoon Wakandan sky aligned themselves in just the right way to create beautiful God's rays. God's rays. Friggin' God's rays. Steve watched the warm rays streamed between the tiny gaps formed by the clouds, making it seem as though the rays radiated from one single point in the sky. Absolutely. Gorgeous.

But wait, Wakanda had more to offer.

The moment Steve closed his eyes to enjoy his rare moment of peace, his auditory senses took over. He was alerted to the sound of water splashing and flowing. Not a very distinct sound, just a hushed and slightly muffled sound (probably due to the thick forests). Anyway, it didn't take long for Steve to locate the source of the sound. It was a beautiful waterfall which led into a small stream somewhere on the left side of the cliff, barely noticeable due to the trees' obscuration. Taken in its entirety, the experience was close to divine perfection.

If only there was somebody he could share it with…

God, Nat… you have no idea how much I wish you are here with me right now…

There it was again. That familiar sense of longing, of yearning, and of craving, which he had felt ever since Natasha walked away from him that day at the cemetery. He remembered everything from that day, right down to the finest details. Every juncture, every sensation, every visual, every sound, and every smell, he had all of them ineradicably implanted in his memory.

"You should be honored. That's about as close as he gets to saying thank you…"

Steve remembered hearing her sultry and alluring voice the moment she entered the cemetery grounds, luring him, making his legs move involuntarily towards her in quick strides.

The rest of the memories from that day came flooding back into Steve's mind.

He remembered the brief brush of their hands when she handed him Bucky's file;

The light scrape of her beautifully manicured nails against the back of his palm. The trail of goosebumps her touch had left on his skin;

The feminine floral scent of her cologne as she leaned in towards him;

The gentle caress of her beautiful lips on his right cheek; so soft, warm and arousing;

The elegant 'smooching' sound produced as her lips left the surface of his cheek;

God, he missed her so fucking much.

Still standing on the cliff's edge, Steve's right hand inadvertently travelled to his right cheek, seeking out the exact spot where Natasha's lips had occupied 2 years ago when she had kissed him. The texture of her lips all too vivid and stimulating, instantly rekindling the strong romantic feelings he felt for Natasha; feelings, which he had allegedly 'let go' of.

Another chance at love gone…

Gone.

His right hand abandoned his cheek and found its way onto his chest, settling itself right in front of his heart. An unconscious attempt to physically soothe the tightness which had been building up in his chest at an alarming rate from the very moment his mind began recalling Natasha's farewell at the cemetery. The open palm resting on his chest soon transformed into a clenched fist, clutching relentlessly, bunching up his shirt as Steve's breaths turned ragged and heavy. His vision slowly turned blurry. The moment Steve felt a stinging sensation pulsating in both of his eyes, he knew that he was in trouble. Serious trouble. Because he didn't think he could stop his emotions, not this time. The potent and forceful emotions which he had suppressed and kept mostly to himself over the years…

The anguish of falling in love with someone he couldn't possibly have, someone completely out of his league;

The agony of watching from afar the woman of his dreams loving another man;

The pain of watching his chance at love cruelly taken away from him for a second fucking time;

The pain of having known about the decades-worth of horrors Bucky had gone through… all because of his own failure.

He failed Bucky. And because of that, Bucky suffered. Innocent people died.

Howard and Maria perished because he had failed Bucky. The countless of innocent lives Bucky had been forced to take. All those happened because Captain America's serum-infused ass wasn't quick enough to grab onto Bucky's reaching hands on that God-forsaken train carriage.

The time he had lost while he was under.

The people he had lost to fate; his mother, his father;

The people he had lost to time; his Commandos.

Peggy…

The stabbing pain he'd felt when he carried Peggy's coffin towards the altar;

Steve's vision turned into a complete, watery blur. He could no longer see the cliff, the view, the God's rays. Everything was a blur. God, everything hurt. Everything ached right down to his bones.

"What made you so SPECIAL?" The Red-Skull's words came back to taunt Steve.

Nothing.

There was nothing special about him. He was just some kid who got lucky, some kid who was at the right place and the right time. He was a fucking nobody. A nobody, who would've undoubtedly led a useless and trivial life had it not been for Abraham Erskine's gift to him; the serum, Steve Rogers' dumb luck.

"You're a laboratory experiment, Rogers. The only thing SPECIAL about you came out of a BOTTLE…" Tony's words rang through his ears, stirring up another wave of emotions in him.

Heck…even with the serum, with all these powers that he was given for free, he was still a failure.

He failed.

He failed in finding love, twice.

He failed to save his best friend. The same best friend who didn't need no serum to save him thousands of times from bullies.

Heck, he even failed in his mission, HYDRA never did die with the Red Skull.

He couldn't even fulfill the purpose that he was created for.

He never did stop HYDRA.

He failed.

And the whole world suffered at the weight of his failure, because as HYDRA lived, innocent people died. Good people died.

Arnim Zola had been right after all.

"We won…Captain. Your death amounts to the same as your life, a zero sum!"

A zero sum…

A ragged sob escaped the confines of Steve's lips. That uncontrollable, powerful, and unstoppable first sob.

That was it.

Captain America's breaking point.

Nobody could possibly stand a fucking chance against decades of pent up emotions, not even Steve Rogers. A catharsis was happening whether Steve liked it or not. Heck, he probably needed the release. And he had more than earned his right for it.

The floodgates opened.

One sob led to another, and each sob more intense than its predecessor. Somewhere between the third and fourth sob, Steve's shoulders began shaking violently. Tears followed thereupon, torrents of them, gushing down his cheeks, leaving a glistening trail on his sculpted face. For 5 minutes, his ability to think (or to do anything for that matter) failed him. He was entirely powerless against the raging emotions he had accumulated over the years. Around the seventh sob, it finally dawned on Steve that there really wasn't much point in fighting his emotions anymore, and that this was one battle that he couldn't possibly win. Heck, he barely had the energy to open his eyes. This time, his emotions triumphed over him, completely and utterly vanquished him. So, Steve did the only thing he could do at that moment. He stood at the cliff's edge and just cried, and cried, and cried, and cried… until the tightness in his chest slowly dulled away, until his face became numb from all the contortions it was subjected to, until all his heaves became dry and devoid of air.

Things would have been a lot easier if Steve could just forget. Problem was, Steve had every single one of those events clearly and accurately committed to memory. Those vivid memories fueled and intensified his emotions, making them extremely difficult to ignore. Fucking eidetic memory. There were times where he was this close to volunteering himself for that 'mind-shredder' thingy HYDRA had used to brainwash Bucky. Just so he could forget. Just so he could take a goddamn break from all his pain for once.

Pull yourself together, Rogers. You're stronger than this. Steve thought to himself as the sobs slowed down. He swiped harshly to remove the remnants of tear streaks on his cheeks. Time to get his shit together and soldier on. This was so not the time to fall into a depressive emotional breakdown, not right then; not when his allies were trapped in prison, all counting on him to rescue them; and certainly not when the love of his life was out there, running for her life because of him. People needed him. And Steve Rogers wasn't about to become the guy who let people down. Not again. Not ever.

Get your act together, Rogers.

Deep breath in slowly for 4 seconds. Hold the breath for a second. Breathe out slowly for 6 seconds.

A little tip Steve picked up from a SHIELD psychiatrist who had done his psych evaluation before he officially became a SHIELD agent. The sobs ceased. Good, next up, he needed to do something to calm his tumultuous emotions. He had read somewhere on the internet (it was Psychology Today, in fact) about the vast benefits of wishful thinking, and one of them was that it had calming effects. Deciding to give the idea a try, Steve let his imagination roam into fantasy world…

In his mind, Steve envisioned Natasha in a white, knee-length sundress, standing directly under the waterfall – the same one he discovered before his epic sobbing streak commenced. Steve pictured deluges of water streaking down her figure, soaking her dress completely, and thus revealing the smooth and alabaster skin underneath the now-see-through fabric. The drenched fabric cling deliciously to her body, accentuating every bit of her voluptuous curves, not that it made any difference now that the dress was completely see-through. La-la-land-Natasha raised both arms above her head to push her long red hair back while tipping her head upwards, revealing a column of elegant and beautiful neck. Steve imagined her damp and beautiful red tresses tumbling over her shoulders, falling onto the smooth skin between her shoulder blades. Her eyes were closed, and her lips slightly parted, thereby giving her countenance a blissful and relaxed air; a look so unlike her usual I-can-kill-you-in-a-thousand-ways-using-just-a-paperclip comportment. A soft and feminine sigh emanated from her parted lips, an act which disrupted the stream of the water flowing from her top lip to bottom lip, causing a couple of water droplets to stray away from the main stream. All of a sudden, la-la-land-Natasha's eyes were on him; her blissful expression slowly morphed into a sly, seductive and playful smirk. She sashayed towards him, that seductive smirk never leaving her face. As she walked, her lips moved as if she was uttering the same word over and over again. Ah, she was saying his name. Steve eyeballed the movements of her luscious lips in slow motion, trying to memorize the way those lips moved. It was a wonder how an imagined act as simple as saying his name could be such a huge turn on. Then again, this was Natasha he was shamelessly fantasizing about, he highly doubt that there was anything that the woman could do without spurring some sort of sexual fantasy in his mind. He watched her lips slowly pursed at the beginning of the word she was uttering, an indication that the word began with a labial consonant–

Whoa, wait a minute. My name doesn't begin with a labial consonant.

And… that was the point when Lala Land came crashing down into reality.

Bruce.

That was the name imaginary-Natasha was uttering, not Steve, but Bruce. Ouch.

So much for wishful thinking.

Note to self. Unsubscribe Psychology Today newsletters.

Releasing a deep, animalistic, growl of frustration, Steve ran both hands through his blonde hair. Damn, he needed a distraction. Desperately. But what the heck was he supposed to do in the middle of a freaking rainforest? It wasn't like he could just find another thing to look at, like say, the trees. What, as if starin' at green, leafy trees was gonna help him with his 'situation' here. Speaking of leaves, maybe he could ask Natasha to pose for him without a single stitch while using only those green leaves to cover herself. He bet she'd look so beautiful that way. Then again, Natasha would look beautiful in literally anything because it was her body that made her beautiful, not her clothes. Huh, on second thought, maybe she should just lose those leaves altogether, that way he could see her–

He was losing his goddamn mind.

Come on, Rogers. Think. Distraction. Distraction.

Why don't you just do a sketch, dummy. Steve's inner voice taunted.

Sketch. Right. After all, that was his reason for climbing all the way up the cliff in the first place. But he also needed a sketch subject. So he searched, frantically, for something, anything at all, something from the scenery that he could use as his sketch subject. No more redheaded sketch subjects, obviously, if he wished to keep his sanity intact.

Nope. No can do, brain. Stay away from sexy and beautiful redheads. AT ALL COSTS. Think of red headed hulks instead…yeah that could work. Or think about a red headed Thor. Yup, that'd probably work too.

5 minutes later, Steve found his 'AHA' moment. The Panther statue. He could totally sketch that. Why hadn't he thought of that before? Right. Because he had been shamelessly fantasizing about a certain someone, and not to mention sobbing uncontrollably like a damsel in distress before engaging in said fantasy. Not one of his finest moments, safe to say. He began glancing around the clifftop, looking for a good place to sit and work. Once again, nature didn't disappoint. He found a large boulder near the center of the cliff that sufficed to give him a good view of his sketch subject. So he jumped on top of the boulder, took out his sketching tools from his backpack and started working…

And boy did sketching work wonders for an emotionally distressed man.

The moment his pencil touched the paper, everything else faded away from Steve's mind. The burden of protecting the world, the things and people that he had lost, his immediate surroundings; basically, everything else in reality dwindled. He was completely in the zone; his sole focus right then was not to live in reality, but to recreate reality on his sketchbook right down to the finest details. That was the reason Steve loved sketching so much. Because it brought Steve peace of mind. It took away his pain, worries and all other emotional consequences of life. It made him forget the evil of the world, at least temporarily. When he was that sickly kid overwhelmed by feelings of inadequacy, he would sketch himself as a mighty warrior going into war. When he was sick of being an American mascot, he had sketched a cute monkey dancing on a unicycle. When he was in love with a woman, he would sketch a portrait, two portraits in fact, of said woman to show her how beautiful she was. Both portraits were decidedly, in Steve's own artistic judgements, the best artworks he had ever created (because of the sheer amount of emotions that he had poured into the process of creating them). He had gotten those two sketches framed as soon as they were completed and had waited for the right time to give them to Natasha. The right time eventually came during that one time when he knew Natasha was returning from a solo mission in her former neck in the woods. Therefore, before Natasha returned to the compound, he had snuck into her room and placed the 2 sketches on her nightstand along with a bottle of the finest vodka he could find at the time. Steve knew that the mission would be tough on her, so he felt compelled to remind her that she wasn't the monster she so often claimed herself to be; he wanted her to see herself through his eyes, to see how beautiful and good she was in his eyes. And judging from the high spirits that Natasha was in even days after her receipt of his gift, Steve was pre-tty sure that those two sketches did the trick.

Sitting on that ridiculously large boulder, Steve sketched furiously. His right hand pausing only to swap color pencils from the bundle he held on his left hand. Unlike most artists, Steve didn't need to take his eyes off the paper to refer to his sketch subject. Courtesy of his eidetic memory, a quick 1-minute study of his subject sufficed for Steve to memorize all the details he needed for his sketch. Line by line, and curve by curve, the initially blank paper transformed into a lifelike sketch of Wakanda's symbolic Panther. Steve's artistic talents together with his eidetic memory would have given most contemporary artists a run for their money. However, Steve had never considered exploiting his talents for anything other than as a temporary getaway from the burden of being an Avenger. Finding inner peace for himself or helping others find peace through his artwork; those were the 2 reasons Steve did art. Any reasons other than those two would diminish the meaning and value of art in Steve's opinion.

It wasn't until dusk that Steve finally lifted his gaze from his sketchbook. Perhaps it was the constant rumblings and growls of his stomach that finally ended his artistic trance, he wasn't too sure. He gave his work a quick once over and frowned in dissatisfaction. Something was missing. Of course, to a non-artist, it was an exquisite sketch. But artists, Steve included, were always nitpicking on non-existent details that they claimed 'distinguish a good piece of art from complete junk'. Much frowning and glowering ensued until Steve could no longer ignore his hunger. Glancing around the cliff, Steve took in his surroundings and noticed streaks of orange rays permeating the sky.

It's gonna get dark soon. Better get a move on.

Meh. He figured he could do a final touch up on the sketch later, if ever. At least he had gotten what he needed from the activity: peace of mind, temporary respite from his emotional turmoil over recent events… and over the unfulfilled physical attraction he felt towards a certain redheaded–

Nope. Uh-uh. Dangerous waters there, Rogers. No more redheaded women, remember? Redheaded hulks. Redheaded hulks. Gingerlocks Thor. Gingerlocks Thor.

GRRRRRRR!

Apparently, Steve had more pressing matters at hand right then – the tummy tantrums of a hungry super soldier. With one swift motion, Steve stuffed his things into his backpack and leap down from the boulder he was sitting on. As he stood by the cliff's edge, Steve was confronted by a choice; either to: (A) climb his way down using the same path he came up or (B) jump straight down from the cliff top to the bottom. Neither was an issue for him. Option A would be safer, naturally. But option B would be more time efficient. Ultimately, it was Steve's tummy that helped him make the final call – by growling so loudly that Steve could have sworn the sound resonated through entire central Wakanda. The sooner he could get back into town, the sooner he could actually alleviate his hunger. Option B it is then.

He leaped.

Steve winced the moment his feet hit the ground; a sharp pain shot through his entire upper torso.

Right, gonna have to take it easy on the ribs until they fully heal. Steve noted to himself.

He could have taken up T'Challa's offer by utilizing Wakanda's medical facilities to speed up his healing. But honestly? He wasn't really in the mood to deal with lengthy medical procedures or nosy doctors bombarding him with questions about the serum flowing in his veins. Besides, he felt almost at 100 percent other than those broken ribs courtesy of Tony's repulsor beams.

When the pain subsided, Steve started making his way back towards Central Wakanda along the same path he had used for his prior jungle trekking activity. By his estimations, it would take another 15 agonizing minutes or so before he could reach that little gate that brought on the whole journey. So in order to take his mind off his hunger, Steve began working on a plan to infiltrate the Raft. Almost immediately, Steve realized that his mission posed 2 major challenges.

One, information; he would need data, in particular, the blueprints of the entire prison facility in order to work out mission details such as the locations of the best exits, the location where his allies' battle gears were likely kept, security loopholes of the prison facility, ways of getting to his team that draws minimum attention, and etcetera. He thought about asking T'Challa for help on that front, but ultimately decided against the idea because Steve knew T'Challa's true goal – which was to form a good relationship between Wakanda and the rest of the world. Hence, Steve wouldn't risk asking Wakanda's help for a personal mission that could potentially render Wakanda an enemy to the rest of world; which would clearly be against the will of its King. Worse, if the government somehow found out that Wakanda had aided him in his little prison-break mission, what are the odds that the government would also start speculating about other kinds of help that Wakanda had offered to him? (Help such as hiding his brainwashed assassin buddy, for instance.) Odds would be pretty damn high, surely. So, nope, definitely not letting Wakanda anywhere near the mission.

Two, he needed a good way in. Yeah… Steve knew that this was going to be a tough one. Well, in principle, if he could just remotely control the Raft's systems, then this particular challenge would be non-existent. But unfortunately, Steve did not yet possess the skills to execute such advanced cyber-attacks. Hence, it seemed that his only way in would be to actually sneak into an authorized vehicle and infiltrate the facility when the Raft's system recognizes that vehicle; literally knocking on the enemy's front door and barging in. BUT, Steve would then have to know which vehicles were authorized, where each of those vehicles were located, and how he could gain access to such vehicles. Heck, he would even need to know the Raft's detailed daily schedules because surely, the guys in the Raft's control room would only authorize a vehicle if the vehicle was expected to arrive based on some sort of schedule, right? To complicate matters even more, attributes of the vehicles such as serial numbers, manufacturing numbers, their model type; all those information would need to match precisely with those listed in the schedule before they even get authorized for entrance. This ultimately reduced the problem back to the first challenge: INFORMATION. Steve needed those data; access to those schedules, the complete list of all authorized vehicles, everything. Without information, there was really not much that Steve could do.

Steve briefly entertained the idea of launching an assault on the Raft from the outside in order to force the authorities to evacuate the facility. Which could, in theory, provide enough distraction for him to sneak in and rescue his team. But in the end, Steve had deemed the idea as overly risky. Well, because Steve didn't want to risk damaging the Raft because he hadn't yet known how the Raft worked – again due to the lack of intel. Hitting the wrong places and risk drowning everyone inside the facility? Nope, definitely a no go. In fact, Steve suddenly thought of another risk that came with the assault plan. What if the prisoners in the facility actually escaped amid the forced evacuation? Those incarcerated in the Raft were among the world's deadliest criminals, their escape would undoubtedly bring all sorts of mayhem to the world, and that was something that Steve wouldn't chance, not even for the sake of his friends.

At any rate, those were basically the problems that Steve had to solve if he were to successfully infiltrate the Raft. Besides, he would also need a vehicle to transport his allies to a safe-house once he had gotten them out of the facility. And yes, he would also need to find a safe-house; but he already had one in mind – Clint's farm, whose coordinates he still remembered. For the transportation, he figured he could use the same quinjet he had flown to Siberia. Maybe have it hidden somewhere on land. If all else failed and he couldn't solve the aforementioned problems by the end of the week, Steve also had a 'last-resort' plan formulated. Well, that plan was rather, ahem, 'unrefined' and perhaps a tad bit old-school. It would involve Steve stealing a boat and driving it out towards the area within 1 kilometer of the Raft; Steve would then have to camp out on the boat and wait until an authorized vehicle tries to enter the Raft. Then Steve would quickly swim over and sneak in while the vehicle is making its entrance. A bit inefficient and contingent, but it would work; since it's pretty much just a matter of time because surely, there had to be vehicles entering or leaving the facility at some point, right? Though even the 'last-resort' plan could be better executed if Steve could just get his hands on the Raft's damn schedules. In essence, information was what Steve really needed. Nobody could make bricks without clay the same way no tactician could formulate a good battle plan without sufficient data.

The little gate leading into Central Wakanda finally came into sight; a sign of salvation from his growing hunger. Whatever it was that stumped his rescue plans so far, he would find a way. He always did. He had to. But the thinking would have to wait until he had stuffed his stomach with plates of exotic Wakandan cuisine. Wait any longer and he might actually begin hallucinating, or worse, pass out due to hunger.

The hunger of a supersoldier whose metabolism ran at least 4 times faster than the fittest and healthiest of all adult human beings?

Only a fool would trifle with that.

Steve Rogers' Guest Suite, Central Wakanda, Africa

The instant Steve came through the bedroom door, he did something that every hungry person would do: food hunting. He remembered having a pack of energy bar stashed somewhere in his battle suit's utility belt. Objectively, he knew that the meagre energy bar wouldn't make much of a difference. But at least something was better than nothing, right?

Well, apparently, the notion of 'something' had gotten a whole lot more prolific when Steve's sight landed on the nightstand in the bedroom. A huge comb of bananas sat atop said nightstand. Strange. He hadn't notice the fruit when he left his room earlier that afternoon. Perhaps his tummy tantrums at the clifftop really was heard by some God-sent Wakandan Samaritan who then snuck in a fine comb of bananas for him, Steve thought amusingly.

Anyway, his inquiries were answered when he strode over to the nightstand. Underneath the fruit was a golden envelope with Wakanda's insignia printed on its bottom right corner. Steve's first impression was that it was an invitation of some kind. Steve slowly opened the envelope to reveal its content: a piece of high quality paper with glittered edges which contained a very brief message.

And an invitation it was. A royal one, in fact.

CAPTAIN ROGERS, JOIN ME AT THE ROYAL PALACE FOR DINNER TONIGHT. 8 PM

T'CHALLA

So the bananas must've been brought here along together with the invitation, Steve inferred as he munched heartily at the fruit. Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, he noted the time as 6.30 PM. Another one and a half hour to go. Plenty of time for him to shower, change, continue working on his rescue plan and perhaps finish up that comb of bananas that looked too delicious to be left uneaten. But first, Steve had to decide whether he would actually accept the invitation. Not that he was overreacting or anything, but this situation warranted extreme caution. This wasn't some random get-together with his barbershop quartet, it was a friggin' invite to a dining session with the King of Wakanda himself. Come to think of, did he even own anything remotely appropriate to wear to such upscale meetings? Showing up in his full Captain America battle suit would be plain ridiculous after all. Well, he supposed he could wear the same 3-piece suit that he had worn to Peggy's funeral – luckily for Steve, said article of clothing was currently stashed neatly in his duffel bag somewhere. That's one problem solved. And what about things like Royal etiquette? The last thing Steve wanted was to commit some sort of faux pas which would potentially lead to him making a royal (pun intended) fool out of himself. Though he supposed he could always stick to his 1940s chivalry… after all, nothing could possibly go wrong with good ol' manners right? Problem number 2 solved. Putting aside the reasons not to attend, Steve's mind shifted to the reasons he should make the invitation instead.

One, declining a royal dinner invitation would probably be an act of extreme discourtesy to T'Challa who had been nothing but kind and helpful to him. Two, some company would certainly do Steve some good – the last time he was alone, he ended up nearly losing his mind over a certain redheaded lady. Three, it certainly wouldn't hurt to see the interiors of Wakanda's Royal Palace, once in a lifetime opportunity and all. Four and most importantly, it would be a wonderful opportunity to further strengthen his rapport with Wakanda, after all, Steve and T'Challa did get off the wrong foot when they first met.

After much pondering on Steve's part, his initial fears and doubts slowly subsided and he was finally convinced that the decision was indeed a no-brainer. Et Voila! It was then decided that America's Champion would make an appearance in the abode of Wakanda's Chieftain.