Ｒｅｔｒｏｕｖａｉｌｌｅｓ

。①❶

The woman sits discreetly at the precipice's base fiddling with the hem of her skirt. She has requested that Steven meet her here on a personal matter regarding a certain topic. The need for a good heart to heart is desperate and the feeling is mutual.

The chosen location for the rendezvous is Paley park; a flourishing place backlit with a waterfall that cascades a calming rush and plateaued on the former location of the once popular Stork Club – a prime hotspot in the 1940's.

Set by one of the pearly white tables, her sandwich untouched, she observes attentively as the streets tide passes though; the current made by the hustling citizens but going both ways. The aura of a carefree perspective and confidence that radiates off the majority only ravels tighter the mystery to her that is contentment.

Can she ever become as comfortable in her skin as they are? Or is the person she is too tampered with to be altered any further? She can correlate with them, blend in if necessary, but her soul screams the truth – the truth that she is different. Not special, not unique, but indifferent. Another expendable crate of damaged goods.

With this belief she resigns to it, hiding both herself and the truth. In a place so dark, sometimes even the devil can't find her.

"Earth to Gabrielle."

The woman blinks twice before her eyes trail up the arm that waves a hand in her face.

"Oh- hey Rogers. I'm sorry I- I got carried away."

"Hey." He smiles, taking a seat beside her. "It's okay, you're not breaking any bylaws by daydreaming."

She scoots an inch, snatching her meal from off the table and offering him a fair sized portion of her lunch. He thanks her but rejects it remarking that he had already consumed his morning carbs. The length of time takes it for the chatter to develop an intensifying atmosphere is not long.

"Mind my asking how your date went?" is Rogers' first, near innocent inquiry.

Gabrielle's brows furrow as she finishes a giant spitball of the crumpled, paper packaging. "My date?"

"Yeah you said you were going out with some girl and that she was really nice. I'd guessed you two were partners and knew each other well already."

"I had a date? I had a date... oh bon sang,"* She slaps a palm to her temple. "I can't remember."

"Just last night. You're a bit distant this morning is something wrong?"

"I don't know."

"Are you okay Gabrielle?"

"It all rests on that of probability."

"Wha-"

"I'm fine Steven," She snaps suddenly, showing a partial view of another. "perfectly fine."

The captain has never been a fan of ambiguous acts of equivocation. The formula his existence thrives on is to devise a plan, understand the rules and follow them. He's not accustomed nor overly fond of blindly picking an uncharted trail and trekking the territories therein, acquiring knowledge as he goes.

Gabrielle behaves as if now she is a different person, embodying a whole new set of memories. Like she doesn't know he is, who she is, or what either of them are doing here.

"The thing is Steve," Gabrielle pulls him from the daze, speaking again. "I put myself out there for the purpose of not giving people the inkling I live a lonely life. The wit, the charm; it's all a façade but I do so to protect them – to protect myself. But I'm... I'm... brisé. An eccedentesiast."

He murmurs quietly. "Broken. One who hides pain behind a smile."

Gabrielle giggles softly. "Oh you speak French now do you." It at least causes a small but sincere grin to stretch her mouth.

Steve laughs lightheartedly. "Thank an Algerian pirate."

"Ugh what am I saying... you of all people know what it is like to be the odd man out. To be unmade."

"We all have a demon and angel on each of our shoulders Gabrielle." consoles the commander. "And there lives a monster inside each of us. Sometimes they win. Doesn't mean we continue to let them."

The woman flits her focus to a flying diversion that bolts up into the sky as a streak of grey and loose feathers, leaving behind the walkway it perched picking crumbs up from not moments ago.

"What they say about your life flashing before your eyes is true." The female mutters with a taint of despondency in her voice.

"What are you trying to say? You know your future?"

"I have no future Rogers." She conveys in a low, solemn tone. "Tell me, when the day comes, are you prepared to look death in the eye? Will you be ready to finally hold your hands high in surrender with no plan for escape and accept that this is how you end?"

Steve need not look far for his answer. "I did that. I plunged a plane into the ice and it cost me 70 years of life; lost. But now? No, I'm not ready to do that. Not while there's still HYDRA out there."

"No." Gabrielle's demeanour is scolding. "Because you are a soldier and you don't stop fighting until the war is won. Not all battles end in victory, some you must lose. Some you must let the enemy have."

"I fight for freedom and you don't get that by giving in."

"Freedom..." She scoffs, something she has not done before (well in front of him) until now. "a tantalising sentiment on a tongue that is tasteless. Hope, peace, unity; they are the world's greatest lies. They don't exist, never have and never will. Utopia is an unreachable end Steve."

"At least when I die it will be with the legacy that I put others above myself. Devoted everything I was to my country."

Gabrielle sighs sadly. "When I pass I shall be buried on a sunny day, there will be no rain, no procession of black because the sky will not cry for me and I will not be missed."

"Don't say that." he chides. "Am I no one?"

She gives him but a dismal smile. "You're... You're someone."

Lifting her leg a bit she pulls out an object from beneath her right side. "I believe this is yours." Handing it to him she finds his frown unbecoming. "You disappointed I'm giving you back your book?"

Steve is hasty to reassure her. "Not at all." But it does somewhat feel like receiving a gift you gave though his leaving of it was not intentional at all.

She sits silent, looking at him expectingly. Taking the cue he turns the first page. On it is written the digits: 18-5-21-14-9-15-14. "Your number?" he questions.

"You'll know when to use it."

"What do you mean?"

Gabrielle scuffles closer, caressing in her palm a cheek she alarms him by the warmth of her hand. She pecks his jaw, whispering her goodbye before leaving him. "You'll know."

French: *oh damn it