"Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man's character, give him power." – Abraham Lincoln.
Steve Rogers' Guest Suite, Central Wakanda, Africa
The suit blazer was the first to go.
Flung unceremoniously from the doorway across the entire span of the deluxe bedroom.
It landed on the luxurious king-sized bed. One sleeve dangled off the edge of the bed. Limp. Flaccid. Like the stem of a withered rose. Like a cooked spaghetti.
Colonies of creases bloomed all over the garment. For a moment, they resembled the frown lines that might appear on the foreheads of disgruntled faces. As if the garment was somehow frowning at the owner, expressing its distaste at the owner's ill-treatment.
The dress shoes were next, kicked off and abandoned in front of the door jamb, with one shoe lying on side and overlaying its twin.
Mess. Disorder. Chaos. Untidiness. And disarray. It was truly unwonted to associate Steve Rogers with any such words.
He didn't care.
At that moment, apathy prevailed.
His guilt-induced indifference triumph over his neat-freak propensities.
Socks soon joined the shoes at the door jamb.
And thereupon, his feet were bare against the lush Saxony carpet.
Still clad in his vest, tie, dress shirt and dress pants, Steve padded slowly towards the bed, weary and enervated.
A quick glance at the nightstand clock revealed the time.
10:17PM.
Dinner officially ended 15 minutes ago, when Steve called it a night. After the final toast, Steve had politely excused himself from the dining chamber, claiming physical exhaustion and the desire for some personal downtime. He made no stops on the way back to the suite.
Dinner had been fantastic. And for nearly two hours, he had been showered with blatant hospitality by his kind host. But pleasant as T'Challa's company was, Steve genuinely wasn't game for post-dinner small talks.
Excuses were made, obviously. Said that he was tired. Or that he hadn't want to impose on T'Challa's own time. He'd even told himself that T'Challa might need some private time to grieve for the late King T'Chaka.
But those were just what they were.
Excuses.
And the truth was that Steve just couldn't.
He couldn't stay.
He couldn't bring himself to luxuriate further in his host's generous hospitality.
He couldn't stay and indulge his host's pleasant company.
He couldn't possibly stay for another tumbler of whiskey or for another round of dessert.
He couldn't do all that.
He just fucking couldn't.
His guilty conscience wouldn't allow it.
God. How could he?
How could he wine and dine in a freaking royal palace when every single one of his friends were probably being tortured right this second for information regarding his own whereabouts.
His friends. His family. Those who clearly had his back when he needed them. And God, what the fuck was he doing when it was now the other way around, when they needed him?
And how could he laugh, chat and stargaze when the love of his life was running for her life because of what she'd done in order to save his own sorry ass.
How the fuck could he?
He had no right.
No right at all.
He sat on the edge of the bed with his face buried in his palms.
Somehow, his thoughts went to his dear Ma.
The emotions from his previous conversation with T'Challa were still raw.
He could still feel everything, replay every memory.
The pure love his Ma had shown him throughout his entire childhood and adolescent years.
The soul-stirring moments when his Ma showed him her journal, the journal that saved his life.
The gratefulness and relief he'd felt when his Ma refused to abandon him even though the abandonment was his own request.
The pain of having to grieve for his Ma on his fucking birthday.
The emptiness and hopelessness he'd felt after her death.
The harrowing realization that he had nobody left. No one left. No family left at the age of 18.
And then finally the rekindling of hope when Bucky rescued him from the jaws of forlornness, of loneliness; the day Bucky made him realize that he still had family after all; the day Bucky made him realize that he had a brother all along.
Such bittersweet memories.
He'd told T'Challa about Sarah Rogers; snippets of his past that he'd only disclosed to two other people in the world, people whom he truly loved.
He'd left the memories of his dear Ma to T'Challa.
He'd left the safety of his best friend to T'Challa.
It was a sign of all the trust he'd bestowed upon the new King of Wakanda.
A sign of respect and reverence.
It was, like their final toast at the dining chamber, a sigil of a new friendship.
He could only hope that T'Challa could see everything he'd done.
Over the years, Steve prided himself for the robust control he'd possessed over his own emotions. For years, he hadn't allowed himself to be emotionally vulnerable, partly because it was necessary for the job, and partly because he was always buried in a situation so confounding and perplexing that his feelings were just…numbed. Discovering that he had been hibernating for nearly 7 decades, for instance. And then waking up from said hibernation into the 'future' he knew absolutely nothing about, leading a battle against a hostile extraterrestrial army right after waking up, finding out about Bucky. You see, in the face of all these strange circumstances, Steve always found himself being unable to feel. Dazed. Stupefied. Numbed.
This numbing sensation served him well all these while though, it became the tough shell that allowed him to stare unflinchingly at all the weird shit the world had hitherto thrown at him, to face down enemies far beyond the imagination of a scrawny kid from 1940s-Brooklyn. And heck, even to exert a position of authority over a group of super beings with issues. That numbness kept him focused, on the mission, and on keeping the promise he'd made to Erskine decades ago – being a good man.
At present, however, that shell had cracked, if his breakdown at the cliff top that afternoon was any indication. That afternoon, on some Wakandan clifftop, Steve Rogers lost his shit for the first time ever since he took the serum.
And losing his shit wasn't a nice feeling.
It made him feel like he was that kid from Brooklyn again. That scrawny, powerless kid who hated bullies yet couldn't do jack squat to stop them. That little kid plagued with feelings of inadequacy in the face of 'normal' and 'healthy' kids. But at least, that little guy from Brooklyn was still happy, despite all his shortcomings. Because his mother was there, like a flaming torch guiding him through every nook of the labyrinth that was the Great Depression.
His beautiful, strong, and kind mother. Sarah Rogers.
Contrary to popular belief, the person who gave Steve Rogers his strength wasn't Abraham Erskine. Here's the thing, Abraham Erskine only made Steve Rogers stronger. But Sarah Rogers made Steve Rogers strong. Sarah Rogers first taught him strength. Not physical strength, but inner strength, the strength of the heart.
Yes. That little guy from Brooklyn was strong, even before science hauled him to the pinnacle of humankind's evolutionary ladder.
But here's the irony of it all. A sick, twisted irony.
Right now, nearly seven decades after 1940s Brooklyn, the little guy had grown to be one of the strongest human alive. But despite all that log-ripping, chopper-stopping, superhuman strength that he knew he possessed, Steve didn't feel strong at all.
He felt not a single iota of strength.
He felt weak and dejected.
He could ask why.
But he knew damn well why.
It was because the people he loved weren't there.
Bucky went on ice.
His mother was gone.
Peggy had passed.
And Natasha...
Natasha, his partner and friend, the woman he loved.
She wasn't there too.
Not one of them were there.
He was alone.
The scent of peanut sauce became too conspicuous to ignore. After a while, Steve realized that the scent came from his hands. Raising his head from his palms, Steve glanced at the clock.
10:33PM.
He sighed
He must've sat there for quite some time now.
Rubbing his hands once again across his face, he noted the slight stickiness in his palms.
Right.
The peanut sauce.
He stood up from the bed and headed to the bathroom.
Steve lifted his face away from the sink, and with his right hand, he removed the sink plug. Droplets of water slid down the planes of his sculpted face, falling onto his vest, creating dark spots on the fabric. Grabbing a towel, he wiped his face and perused his own reflection on the mirror. His face was once again smooth and perfect. Gone were the cuts and scrapes which covered his right cheek just hours ago.
That brutal fight with Tony in Siberia instantly came to mind.
It wasn't really about the fight, per se, or the physical pain, even. It was the mental torment and anguish that bothered Steve the most. Steve was a loyal man, and to a loyal man, no form of torture could be greater than that which forced him to choose between the people he cared about, or worst, to do them harm. Twice was Steve subjected to this kind of mental torture in the short time span of 2 days. The first was when he nearly had to fight Natasha back at the hangar (thanks heavens he was relieved of that). And the second time was in Siberia, when he was forced to fight Tony in order to save Bucky's life.
As stupid as it sounded, Steve actually held back his strength for most of the fight, well, except during the final moments of the battle when Steve realized that he really had no other choice. For the most part of the fight, Steve had only done what he could to slow Tony down until Bucky could get away. But Tony, on the other hand, fought ferociously throughout the entire battle, with every blow fully intending to kill, despite their years of friendship. That realization pained Steve, because he knew right then, after Tony's attempt at a killing punch aimed at his head, that he had lost yet another friend. In the end, Steve supposed that he couldn't blame Tony, who had just only learnt about the demise of Maria and Howard at the hands of Bucky, a fact, which Steve had kept hidden from Tony for quite some time.
Steve only had himself to blame.
This was all his fault.
Tossing the wet towel onto a wooden shelf, a bitter chuckle escaped Steve's lips. As much as Steve hated it, he couldn't help but realize that Zemo had probably won. Zemo had made pawns of every single one of them. Zemo had played them and had gotten them right where he wanted them to be. The only question was whether there was more to Zemo's plans. Was tearing down the Avengers Zemo's only objective? Or was the Civil War just the onset of something worse?
With a sigh, Steve did a quick damage assessment of his team.
Natasha, on the run. Everyone going after her. Not sure if she can be safe with the whole world after her, not just her enemies, but also the government and the alleged 'good guys'. I doubt I can find her when she doesn't want to be found. I miss her…God…I miss her so much… I hope she's okay…
Barton. Locked up. His family at home, waiting for his return. Goddamnit… Steve's grip on the edge of the porcelain basin tightened at the thought of Laura and the kids back at the farm. This was all on him. All because he had mishandled the entire situation and played right into Zemo's game.
Sam. Locked up. Shouldn't have dragged him into this. Now there's even a risk of bad people gaining access to the EXO-7.
Wanda… Locked up. She must be scared shitless. Dammit, she's just a kid, she doesn't deserve this. No teenager deserves this. Worst, I fear what they'd do to her to prevent her from using her powers, seeing that she is the most powerful one among the group. I hope they don't torture her or harm her… Christ.
Lang. Locked up. Heard he's got a daughter at home. And his suit… it's a dangerous weapon if it falls into the wrong hands…
Rhodes… near crippled according what T'Challa had told me on our flight from Siberia to Wakanda.
Vision. Physically fine. Emotions, unknown.
Tony… physically fine also. But must have taken a big hit emotionally, finding out about the death of his parents this way. Plus, with Pepper not being by his side… this is bad…
In other words, the team was in total shambles. He had failed his team as their Captain, again.
Steve had no clue how long he had been staring at the basin. The water had long since drained out.
Steve only snapped out of it when his Ma's words came back to him. Just when he needed them the most.
"Listen close, Steven… You ALWAYS stand up." Those same words had fueled Steve for years, had driven him to live beyond his physical shortcomings, had motivated him to enlist for the army and fight for his country. And now, they had strengthened Steve's resolve to stand up, and to make things right again.
"You won't be alone." Peggy had once told him, when he was about to take the HYDRA jet for a time-travelling plunge into the ice. Guess she was right after all. His Ma and Bucky were always with him in spirit.
Thanks Ma. Time for me to fix this.
Steve left the bathroom and headed towards the telephone on the nightstand beside the bed. Through the PBX system, he rang the front reception of the building.
"Good evening, Captain. How can I be of service?" said the receptionist who picked up after the third ring.
"Good evening. Ma'am, I was wondering if there's somewhere in the building where I can get a pen and a stack of paper, and perhaps also a couple of envelopes, those use for standard deliveries I mean." said Steve.
"Yes, definitely. We do provide them here upon request."
"I see." Steve hesitated for a while, "Um… I know this might sound like a bit of a strange request, but I'd like you to ensure that the paper and envelope are standard."
"I'm sorry, Captain. But I don't quite follow."
"I need the envelopes and papers to not contain any form of insignia associated with Wakanda. And they should also not be products which are specific to Wakanda. In other words, the recipient should not be able to trace the source of the delivery back to Wakanda."
"That does sound a bit strange, Captain."
"I believe it's for Wakanda's own safety and protection, Ma'am."
"Will some standard Double A brand A4 paper fit your requirements?"
"That'll do, Ma'am."
"Alright. I'd have someone send them up to you shortly. Is there anything else that I can assist you with, Captain?"
"No. That would be all, Ma'am. Thank you."
Steve hung up.
10:42PM Wakandan Time
Royal Dining Chamber, Wakandan Palace, Central Wakanda, Africa.
One thousand six hundred and fifty two.
That, was the total number of great warriors that Wakanda had produced over its epic history. They were by no means average soldiers running around shooting guns. Far from it. These were fearless and skilled warriors who were taught to wield weapons before they even knew how to read and write. These were Kings and Commanders who had led legions into victorious battles. These were men and women who were literally the physical incarnations of the Panther spirit among mankind.
One thousand six hundred and fifty two of Wakanda's unique versions of Miyamoto Musashis, and T'Challa knew every single one of them – their skills, their personalities, their mentalities, their guiding principles, their hobbies, their achievements, their lineages, heck, even right down to their choices of beverages. Yet, none of them were anything like Steve Rogers, as T'Challa had concluded after his 2-hour dinner session with the supersoldier.
The rotation of the dining chamber had stopped. All was dark, except for the dimly lit dining booth where T'Challa was still seated in. When Steve left around 40 minutes ago, T'Challa had dismissed all the kitchen staff, claiming that he would take care of the post dining maintenance of the chamber all by himself. Much to the dismal of the Head Chef, of course, though the King's orders were firm and precise, that all staff were to be dismissed immediately, and the King was not to be disturbed for the remainder of the night. In truth, T'Challa merely desired some solitude to mull over the interesting character that was America's Golden Boy.
Admittedly, there was a hidden agenda behind T'Challa's dinner invitation tonight. It was, of course, T'Challa's attempt to learn more about Steve, some form of character assessment, if you will. Like everyone else in the world, T'Challa was well versed with the tales about The Living Legend, about how the supersoldier had rallied the Allied troops in a victorious battle against Red Skull and the Axis powers, and about the various stunts and heroics he had performed throughout the Second World War such as the act of single-handedly defeating an entire HYDRA blockade which ended up saving the lives of over a thousand men. Yes, Captain America was, indeed, badassery personified, that much T'Challa knew already (after all, the media had made it pretty much impossible not to know). Though, those weren't the kinds of information that T'Challa was looking to ferret out through his dinner invitation. Instead, it was the man behind the shield that T'Challa was keen in learning more about. T'Challa wanted to learn more about the real Steve Rogers.
Well, as it turned out, T'Challa's task was made easy by Steve himself, who, for the entire evening had been nothing but forthcoming. Needless to say, the touching story about his mother which Steve had willingly shared took T'Challa by genuine surprise. T'Challa could tell that the story was very personal, and there was no doubt that it was a story that very few people had had the privilege to hear.
In the end, T'Challa found the evening to be rather…oxymoronic. Because the evening was, well, insightfully perplexing. That's right, insightful, yet perplexing at the same time; perplexing, yet in an insightful way. True indeed, T'Challa had learnt a great deal about Steve in 2 short hours; that was the insightful part, obviously. But at the same time, T'Challa was also utterly baffled that such a guy like Steve even existed in the universe. Well, perhaps in the 1940s there might still be a glimmer of hope, but in the modern world where evil thrived? Statistically unlikely.
T'Challa leaned back against his seat in the dining booth, aimlessly toying with his left sleeve. His mind, however, remained ferociously at work, pondering endlessly about what made the Star Spangled man so special.
The image of a warrior which T'Challa was so accustomed to (if the 1652 certified badasses from the history of Wakanda had any say in the matter) could be identified via four traits: courage, skills, leadership, and honor. And from such a preliminary analysis, T'Challa could already identify the substance which made Steve so exceptionally noteworthy: it was because Steve had something aside from the four afore-listed traits, it was a fifth trait that Steve possessed which made him so darn special.
The all-encompassing and unwavering morality which shone from within Steve like a glaring beacon.
That, was the fifth item.
In other words, Steve's entire existence oozed morality, from the way he spoke to the way he carried himself. Heck, this supreme morality of Steve's had even manifested itself in Steve's unique combat style. Steve had adopted a combat style, which, T'Challa suspected, was made deliberately non-lethal. T'Challa had seen the footage showing Barnes' attempted escape on the helipad, where Steve did the near impossible by pulling a chopper back to earth using only the strength of his left bicep. As a scientist, T'Challa was able to perform a rough estimate of the amount of force which Steve's biceps had to generate in order for him to pull off that stunt. What T'Challa discovered was astounding. His calculations had shown that Steve's biceps must have a load lifting capacity of at least 3000 pounds to be able to pull back the helicopter. That alone, was roughly 10 times stronger than the strongest of normal humans. Therefore, it was entirely possible for Steve to kill a man with a single punch had he really intended to. Though, surprisingly, reality had shown otherwise. Time and again, most of Steve's adversaries managed to walk away with merely shattered bones or crippled limbs, but still very much alive. Which led T'Challa to the inevitable conclusion that Steve must've been holding back his true strength during combat situations. It became evident to T'Challa that Steve must have gone through great lengths to refrain himself from killing, even when he was up against the worst of his enemies. That, per se, was enough proof of the depths of Steve's morality.
As an expert martial artist, however, T'Challa could approach the problem from an entirely different angle, and yet arriving at the exact same conclusion as before. By the time he was only 15, T'Challa had known almost every form of martial arts there was to know, including the deadly ones, which could kill even when performed by someone whose strength levels lie way below peak human strength levels. Needless to say, with his superhuman strength, Steve could, in theory, increase the lethality of his attacks by hundred folds had he chosen to adopt such martial arts into his combat arsenal. Yet, not once had T'Challa observed in Steve's unique combat style any traces of these lethal forms of martial arts. Absolutely nada. Instead, Steve's fighting styles consisted mostly of boxing, parkour, and gymnastics. Being himself highly trained in the latter two, T'Challa had a pretty solid idea of what they entailed: excellent body and muscle control. Immediately, it became evident to T'Challa how Steve did it, how Steve had the ability to restrain his strength to such non-lethal amounts during a fight so as to refrain from killing his opponents. T'Challa had no doubt that it was made possible through Steve's intensive training in parkour and gymnastics, which ultimately granted Steve the perfect control over his body, and by extension, the perfect control over his strength! That was how Steve had always managed to avoid using his full strength during a fight. Clearly, this showed that Steve had made a conscious choice to be a protector instead of a killer; which was, again, quintessence of his morality.
Just days ago, T'Challa himself had nearly been consumed by the urge to kill; by revenge, by vengeance –he had wanted to take Barnes' life for allegedly causing the death of his father. So he knew how difficult it was to resist the lure to cross that line and submit himself to the urge to kill. And yet, Steve managed to do it so effortlessly all the time.
Once again, the profound depths of Steve's morality baffled T'Challa, completely.
Which led T'Challa to another equally perplexing question: What was the source of Steve's morality? As far as T'Challa could tell, it definitely wasn't because of Steve's childhood circumstances, well, not directly, at least. There were millions of other kids born during the Great Depression, living the same life as Steve did, yet none of them could hold a candle to Steve when it came to morality. In fact, through his anthropological studies, T'Challa knew that when subjected to hardships and sufferings, civilizations were more likely to undergo a moral descent rather than an enlightenment. Survival of the fittest. That was the principle which every human innately abide by. In the face of sufferings and hardships, morality would be tossed aside to ensure survival. Yes, people would kill for shelter, for food, for clothing, and on the more extreme end? Resorting to cannibalism, where people would actually kill each other and consume the flesh of the dead in order to survive. So how, then, could a guy such as Steve Rogers seemingly pop out from a society blighted by absolute poverty and hardship? A society, which, anthropologically speaking, was destined to go down a path of utter moral descent? The first thought that had crossed T'Challa's mind had something to do with the positive influence of Steve's mother (yet another person with outstanding morals) on Steve's childhood. Indeed, a parent had a potent psychological influence on a child, a well-established fact. But was that all? Could there be other answers?
Another plausible answer to the question, T'Challa surmised, had to do with the physical weaknesses which Steve was born with. Steve's prior physical weakness must have given him the capacity to truly understand compassion, and to sympathize with the weak, simply because he himself was (or used to be) one of them. Besides, the lack of physical strength had likely made Steve turn towards another form of strength, namely, the inner strength, or the strength of the heart, so to speak.
What was the true answer, then? That question had been playing in T'Challa's mind like a broken record for the past 15 minutes. In the end, T'Challa conceded that he had no clue as to what the real answer was. It was a complete enigma to T'Challa what had been the source of Steve's outstanding morality. Would the answer have neuroscientific components? Did the secret of Steve's morality lie in specific neural pathways in his brain? Was it a born trait? Or was it an acquired trait?
So many questions. Yet T'Challa could offer no answers.
Being at the zenith of morality was one thing, possessing a downright indomitable will to act upon said morality, however, was another thing altogether. Steve's unstoppable tendency to live by the highest of moral standards was, in T'Challa's opinion, the other thing which made Steve so special. T'Challa remembered the time when he had first heard about Captain America. To T'Challa, it was an unforgettable memory for a 9-year old. That morning, young T'Challa was seated at the breakfast table, awaiting his father's arrival. When T'Chaka arrived at the table, however, the first words that he said to T'Challa was, "T'Challa, do you know what day today is?"
Naturally, young T'Challa's curiosity was piqued.
"No Baba, what day is today, Baba?" Young T'Challa had asked his father.
"It's the 4th of July, T'Challa. A very special day…" was what T'Chaka had told young T'Challa that morning.
Afterwards, T'Challa was told by his father about what made the 4th of July so special, about the birth and the life of the world's first superhero, about the defeat of the Nazis during the Second World War and about America's Independence Day. It was the first time ever that T'Challa was told about things which lay beyond the walls of Wakanda, so, naturally, he was intrigued. Much more stories were told to him by his father that morning, but the one story which had stuck with him even until now was the story about how Steve had relentlessly enlisted for the US army despite the obvious physical frailties he was born with. T'Challa (both young and adult) was simply amazed by Steve's willingness to lay down his life in order to protect, serve, and to fight for what was morally right. Instead of using his physical limitations as an excuse to run away (something which lesser mortals would probably do), Steve had proven himself worthy of a hero by enlisting. And that wasn't all, Steve had enlisted over and over again for four times despite being repeatedly denied his chance to serve. Four times. Four. That was how willing Steve had been to do what was right. Damn, what a guy.
Eventually, in his deep musings, T'Challa's mind treaded towards another interesting subject, a scientific problem, in fact. One that had baffled the best minds on Earth for several decades now.
The Supersoldier Serum.
It was no big secret that the only successful SSS formula was lost with Erskine's death. Ever since then, numerous attempts had been made to rediscover the formula, only, most of the attempts appeared to bring more harm than good. During his early 20s, T'Challa himself had made diligent studies into these attempts, but merely as a scientific interest, since Wakanda had no intention whatsoever in creating an army of supersoldiers.
The most notable failed attempt was the one made by Doctor Bruce Banner, who thought that Gamma radiation was the key ingredient to the perfect serum. Well, that attempt, needless to say, did not end well. At all.
And then there was another serum which was administered to a British Special Ops commando, Emil Blonsky. As a result of the serum, Blonsky ended up with super-rapid healing with the accompaniment of severe physical and mental distortions. The subject's state was rendered infinitely worse after being exposed to Bruce's Banner's blood, which ultimately transformed Blonsky into a grotesque Hulk-like monster named The Abomination. Obviously another failed attempt.
Next, there was the more recent attempt, called the Extremis virus. The formula was part of an attempt to revolutionize gene therapy. It was designed to allow the human body to regenerate damaged tissues to the extent that severed limbs could be regrown in an instant. The resulting formula, however, gave its test subjects capabilities beyond what it was designed for. Test subjects of the Extremis formula were shown to exhibit superhuman physical strength, superhuman reflexes and even the ability to generate high amount of heat within their bodies. Most test subjects, however, experienced major side effects due to the instability and volatility of the formula. Among the recipients of the Extremis formula, there was only 1 known survivor, namely, Miss Virginia Potts of Stark Industries. The rest of the test subjects ended up being blown apart from within their insides. Yes, like a human bomb.
The attempts which T'Challa would consider to be the closest to a success, however, were the Winter Soldier Variants of the SSS, first created by Arnim Zola, and later recreated by Howard Stark. And among all the recipients of this variant, the most successful test subject was James Buchanan Barnes, the First Winter Soldier. As a result of the Winter Soldier serum, Barnes was granted enhanced physical strength with no negative side effects. However, there were no observable changes whatsoever in terms of Barnes' personality, character and intelligence. The only aspect enhanced in Barnes' case was his physical strength.
T'Challa briefly recalled the conversation he had had with Barnes when they were all aboard his personal jet bound for Wakanda. T'Challa saw them limping out of the HYDRA facility in Siberia, and had offered to take both Steve and Barnes into Wakanda.
"Those soldier in the chambers, do you know them?" T'Challa had asked Bucky.
"They were HYDRA's most elite death squad. Those were a bunch of mean sons of bitches I'm tellin' ya'. Highest kill count in HYDRA's history even before the serum. I've fought them after they took the serum, as a test. It was a cage fight. They wanted me to test the abilities of each of the test subjects." Bucky had replied.
"And the result?"
"They were strong."
"How strong?" T'Challa had inquired out of curiosity.
"There were 5 of them. There was 1 guy in particular who was stronger than I was. Probably on par with Steve. Maybe even stronger. The other 4 were significantly weaker."
"So the experiments were successful?"
"No. There were still side effects. All of them were mentally unstable, and vulnerable to various forms of aggression. After the cage fight ended, those guys… they went berserk, completely out of control. They tried to kill each other and the handlers. It was nuts." was what Bucky had told him.
After recalling that conversation with Barnes on the jet, the answer came to T'Challa like a flash. And immediately, T'Challa understood Erskine's reasoning in choosing Steve to be the recipient of his serum instead of other allegedly 'superior' men.
The answer was crystal clear.
There was no complete formula. There never was. The problem never was about whether the Serum could perfect the man. Not at all.
On the contrary, it was about whether the man could perfect the Serum.
In other words, the final ingredient required to complete the formula was the man himself.
How absurdly simple the solution turned out to be, T'Challa thought to himself from within the dimly lit dining booth. A chuckle soon escaped his lips as T'Challa sought more corroborative evidence for his theory. The SSS was designed to amplify what was already within the recipient. Hence, in principle, good becomes better, and bad becomes worse. That was why Steve was the only perfect byproduct of the SSS! It all was because of Steve's innate goodness, and his unwavering morality that Project Rebirth was a complete success! Steve, therefore, by definition, was the superior man which had completed the SSS. And boy did Steve Rogers ever perfected the Super Soldier Serum like nobody else. Steve had not only been granted enhanced physical strength as a result of the serum. It turned out that even his intelligence, his courage, his charisma and his character was given a tremendous boost as well.
Seemingly on a roll, another thought registered in T'Challa's mind.
T'Challa realized that his theory could, in the same way, explain the reason why James Buchanan Barnes was the only Winter Soldier who did not experience any detrimental side effects from the Winter Soldier serum! It was simply because Barnes' innate qualities exceeded those of the other 5 Winter Soldier candidates! That, was why Barnes' had shown no ill side-effects at all from the serum whereas the other five succumbed to aggression.
Satisfied with his reverie, T'Challa crossed both arms across his chest.
The act drew T'Challa's attention onto something stored in his left pocket, which he immediately recognized as the gift Steve had presented to him just before dinner.
Reaching into his pocket, T'Challa pulled out the envelope.
From the envelope, he procured a piece of A4 paper, twice folded along the axes of symmetry. The paper contained an elegant colored sketch.
At first glance, T'Challa could tell which part of Wakanda the sketch was featuring. Well, it would had to be the view seen from the top of Wakanda's tallest cliff. T'Challa had to admit, the sketch was very well-done, especially in the little details. Occupying the entire vertical edge on the right side of the paper was the Giant Panther statue, which T'Challa assumed was the main subject of the sketch. The rest of the sketch contained sceneries from the rainforest, which acted as a decent background.
T'Challa continued to inspect Steve's artwork, but focusing his attention on the background sceneries of the rainforest instead of the Panther. The lianas and tropical trees were captured in exquisite detail, even the flowers adorning the lianas and the shrubs were included in the sketch. Near the center of the sketch was a water fall, the only waterfall in the entire rainforest, in fact. T'Challa knew that waterfall very well, it was the main setting in most of his treasured childhood memories.
A smirk formed on T'Challa's lips at what he saw next.
There it was, the final piece of 'confirmation' T'Challa needed.
His eyes glinted in delight.
There in the sketch, standing on the waterfall's left, was the unmistakable figure of a red-headed woman. There could be no question as to the identity of the woman featured in the sketch, none at all.
T'Challa smiled, refolded the paper and placed the paper back into the envelope. Ever since his conversation with Steve at the lobby of the Cryogenics Department that morning, T'Challa had had an inkling regarding the good Captain's feelings towards the Black Widow.
Admittedly, T'Challa sort of came across that hunch by chance.
Earlier that morning, T'Challa had hoped to be present at Barnes' procedure. However, due to unforeseen circumstances, he had been delayed. Upon his arrival at the Cryogenics department, he saw Steve standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of the lobby, staring out into the view, seemingly lost in thought. But from that, T'Challa knew that Barnes' procedure had already ended. Therefore, as an attempt to be a decent host, T'Challa had walked over to Steve and initiated a conversation instead of heading straight into the Cryogenics lab.
And it just so happened that T'Challa had mentioned Romanoff's name somewhere along their conversation – it was when Steve asked him about Ross' knowledge into recent events. Then all of a sudden, gone was the calm and charismatic demeanor of the Captain at the mention of Romanoff's name. It was replaced by the demeanor of a man with anxiety issues, much to T'Challa's amusement. It was, quite frankly speaking, obvious, judging from the way Steve's shoulders tensed up, and his eyes widened, all because her name came up in the conversation. Amusingly, Steve's overall composure reminded T'Challa of a deer caught in headlights, or maybe of an anxious spouse awaiting news outside his wife's delivery room. But still, T'Challa was a wise and unimpulsive man, so he hadn't really leaped into any conclusions straight away. There were other possibilities, of course. For instance, it could be that Steve's feelings towards Natasha were, in principle, merely that of brotherly concern. Two people could still platonically care about each other. More data would be required to make any further inferences. Hence, T'Challa had decided to seek out more confirmation.
Which he did, by throwing out a little test to Steve during dinner. Somewhere along their dinner conversation, T'Challa had deliberately mentioned the de minimis 'confrontation' between Natasha and his personal bodyguard, just so he could watch Steve's reactions to it.
T'Challa chuckled once more at the thought of how Steve had taken the bait like an obedient guppy. The worried look had been back on Steve's expressions, his unsubtle attempts to coax more information about the lady via a series of questions directed back at T'Challa. Very amusing indeed. Then again, in principle, even that little test wouldn't be enough to establish the fact that the Captain held romantic feelings for the master spy.
The last piece of confirmation was the one that truly sealed the deal.
The 'mysterious' red-headed woman appearing in Steve's sketch. That was the final piece of clue T'Challa needed to convince himself of the truth of a certain proposition: that the soldier was totally in love with the spy.
As for the Miss Romanoff's feelings towards the Captain, T'Challa couldn't yet be sure. Though T'Challa suspected that she cared for the good Captain more than just a friend, judging from her actions at the hangar. Clearly, Miss Romanoff must have held a considerable regard for the Captain, that much T'Challa could be certain. For Miss Romanoff to sacrifice her freedom and liberty like what she'd done back at the hangar, it had to be due to some sort of sentimental regard she'd held for the good Captain. It had to be. There could be no other logical explanation. And considering the lengths that she'd gone through, and the amount that she had willingly sacrificed, T'Challa would even go further to claim that whatever regard she held for Steve was a fierce one.
Nevertheless, the nature of this regard was, quite frankly speaking, still indeterminate. Heretofore, T'Challa had yet to observe any evidence from Miss Romanoff's behavior which could indicate her regard for the Captain to be a romantic one. And for obvious reasons, T'Challa also knew that pulling fruitful tests on Miss Romanoff would be a much more daunting task compared to whatever that he'd tried on Captain Rogers tonight.
After all, unlike the good Captain, Miss Romanoff didn't wear her heart on her sleeve.
T'Challa smiled to himself.
It would be interesting indeed, to see how the relationship of those two evolve.
Though if their relationship did manage to evolve into something more, there was one thing that T'Challa could be damn sure of: It was going to take a long, long, long time.
Considering how utterly headstrong and stubborn those two were.
The smile on T'Challa's face faded when he felt vibrations in his pocket. He removed the device from his pocket.
10.51PM
UNKNOWN CALLER ID
He did not like this.
The only people who had access to his private number were the Dora Milaje members and a selected few of the royal servants. The fact that he had specifically requested not to be bothered for the remainder of the night was even more worrying. It could mean either of the following two things: that the nation was in trouble, or that his security had been compromised.
The call was dropped before he could pick up.
5 seconds later, the phone rang again. From the same number. This time, T'Challa swiped his thumb across the screen.
The Black Panther spoke harshly into the phone "Who are you? Identify yourself, and explain how you got this number."
The dining booth went silent as T'Challa listened to the voice on the phone.
His eyebrows shot up suddenly.
"Oh really? I'm quite impressed." T'Challa's tone turned amused.
Another stretch of silence ensued.
"Are you in Wakandan airspace?" T'Challa asked next, his eyebrows remained arched in dubiety.
"Hah! Incredibly wise of you to call ahead first. Wouldn't want your jet to end up in flames." said T'Challa.
The person at the other end of the line seemed to have said something amusing which caused T'Challa to laugh heartily.
"Can I get an ETA?" asked T'Challa as he began to walk away from the dining booth.
T'Challa nodded, "That should be enough time."
"I can have a limo on standby at the airport by then." he added seconds later.
"You on your own?" T'Challa asked.
T'Challa began descending the winding staircase towards the ground floor while nodding away at something he'd heard on the other end of the line.
T'Challa stepped off the stairs onto the ground floor.
He halted his steps suddenly, his tone turned dead serious.
"I'd advise you to avoid taking the south-east trajectory. Heavy artilleries lie in that area."
"Circle around to the north, I will send a drone to guide you in."
"Go off stealth mode. And make sure that your jet's transponder is accessible."
"The drone will send a ping to your jet's transponder once it is within range. Just be on the lookout for it."
T'Challa smiled, "Don't worry, all that can be arranged, I'm sure."
There was a 5-second long silence.
"Well, for what its worth, Miss Romanoff, welcome to Wakanda."