There is a haunting beauty that surrounds him, sitting here on the beach in Colombia. The ambience of coastal life so serene, he might've felt a semblance of sanity. Though sanity perhaps isn't applicable to his situation, aimlessly drawing lines in the sand with the nearest driftwood stick. Watching as the sun fades into the horizon where sea meets the sky, the growing ache in his chest thwarted the potential for enjoyment of the view, of his surroundings, of enjoying the man with him. He wished he could enjoy the experience, truly. 

He had no chance.

At the mercy of the CIA intelligence only Shemar could access, Matt couldn't have felt more like dead weight. He understood, as a civilian, there were things he just couldn't know. Being left to twiddle his thumbs on the beach, however, was enough to drive him insane. They'd made zero progress over the last four days, yet Matt tried and tried to lend a hand. Each time Matt brought her up, Shemar had gone quiet, offering short, curt replies. He was working on it, he said. Leave it to him, he insisted.

Matt could just throw himself in the ocean.

Turning to look over his shoulder, his glazed eyes caught sight of him, speaking in hushed but curt tones into his receiver. Rolling his head back to face the waves, his mind seemed to mirror the helpless melt of the sand, back and back again into the crashing waves.

A chirping in his pocket snapped him fully back to the present. With a glance at the caller ID, his eyes locked in and mind cleared. Matt never used to see her name on his phone with simultaneous pangs of guilt, fear, dread, or anxiety. And yet, they'd become such a routine part of checking his phone that he failed to see a day without it. Perhaps it was having to become her surrogate parent, or the fact she was the last sister he had left at the moment—he couldn't believe the ease with which he thought of her as his "only" sister, the "only" sister he had left. 

Either way, the anxiety spilled uncontrollably from his tone as he answered. "Emily? Are you okay?"

"First off, don't freak out."

Now he was truly freaking out.

He jabbed the speaker button as he searched for the Find My Phone app. His spasming hands nearly dropped the phone as he found her location—moving fast over the heart of the African continent. His heart thudded against his ribs, pounding chasms up through his ears.

"Emily—I'm only going to say this once—where the hell are you?" His anxiety betrayed his stern tone, chest trembling as the adrenaline surged in his lungs. "Where the hell is Nick?"

"We sort of followed this lead Nick had, to get to Jaige and—"

"WHAT?" Matt erupted.

By then, all subtleties of their conversation became irrelevant—Shemar and onlookers alike seemed to tune in to the white guy cussing at the ground with a phone glued to his ear. Shemar shuffled over calmly, not unlike a veteran zoologist would approach a wily beast. To no avail, as Matt began to swat the air in Shemar's direction, turning in on himself as he paced the beach. Without another attempt, Shemar's hands raised in surrender, he took two steps back and turned—all while trying to hear the other end of the phone.

"Matt, listen to me—"

"Put Nick on the phone."

"Matt, honestly—"

"Put him on the phone." Matt's every word punctuated with growing rage.

"Wait, listen!"

"I can't believe he dragged you into—"

"Oh my God, just—"

"No! I want to talk to Nick—"

"Matt!" Emily screamed into the receiver. "Shut up for one second!"

Matt nearly dropped his phone, the shock of her tone electrifying enough he actually thought he might've been struck by lightning. Matt seemed to hear the pause in her, perhaps reeling from her outburst as much as she was. Steeling herself, Emily took his silence not as shock-value but rather a reset button, desperately hoping he remained ready to hear her out.

"We found her. She's hurt and getting help in Wakanda. But we found her, Mattie, she's back safe."

Matt fell to his knees. He dropped the phone, allowing both hands free to catch him from face planting in the Colombian sands. The guttural wail ripped from his throat, tearing up his voice as he suffered. The mix of relief and anguish painted an agony so deep, anyone in the vicinity would have thought someone died.

In the time it took for him to fall, Shemar was right there sliding on his knees to meet him. He gripped Matt's shaking hands in his own, trying to meet his eyes as the tears poured out of his eyes.

"Matt, talk to me," Shemar begged. But Matt couldn't control his breath long enough to answer as Shemar soothed long, slow circles across his back. "Breathe, baby, just breathe."

"Hello? Hello?" a voice buzzed nearby.

Shemar fumbled for the now dusty, dirt-covered phone and practically threw it against his ear. "Talk to me."

"Shemar? It's me," Emily's voice crackled through the phone. "You guys need to get to Wakanda. He found her, he found her and brought her back. Jaige is being hooked up to monitors and stuff and they're trying to fix her so you need to get here now, okay?"

"Okay, sweetness, we're coming." Shemar's heart lifted at the news, increasingly audible as Matt's cries subsided though the hyperventilating persisted. "Who found her?"

"The Winter Soldier guy."

His stomach dropped.

Just like that, the elation shriveled into cold pressed fury. Shemar is slow to anger but the dawn of realization, the effect of his crusade on him is insurmountable. The world begins to spin as Shemar looked back on where he failed to carry out justice—in every place he checked, the only common thread has been the Winter Soldier's disrespect. Shemar's ears began to ring, slowly tuning out the love of his life beside him as Emily's words sunk deeper into his skin. His stomach contorted, bile rising in rhythm with quickened breaths.

At every turn, the Winter Soldier had been the bane of his existence. The Hydra stain easily fled S.H.I.E.L.D., Shemar couldn't stop him then. The CIA had seen him disappear yet again, this time destroying the sanctity of headquarters, injuring both the bodies and pride of the proud CIA agents he was grateful to stand beside. For too long, this threat to national security had evaded capture and wreaked havoc.

Shemar's anger began to boil over, unable to stop the deluge of "what-if"—what if she had never met him? What if Jaige had never fallen for this war criminal, would she be safe, with Matt and Emily, with him? A powerful wrath began to emerge in the corners of his mind, tunneling his focus with sharp precision. She certainly never would have fallen from S.H.I.E.L.D's grace, or been on the run for years, or been kidnapped and likely tortured beyond belief.

Whether she believed him or not, Shemar understood with crystal clarity who was to blame for her woes, the reputation of national security—and what would ultimately be Jennifer's salvation: James Buchanan Barnes could not just be detained and imprisoned for life. No, to truly free his country, his family, and the world, Shemar would have to put an end to the Winter Soldier.

With a gentle caress of his back, Shemar lifted Matt to his feet, steadying him by wrapping his arm around his torso. Though unable to say how much Matt could perceive in that moment, they fell into an easy step beside one another.

"She's...she's..." Matt sniffled.

"Come on, angel, we've got a plane to catch," Shemar uttered through clenched teeth.

The Winter Soldier must die. And Shemar would see to it, personally.