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He's a wing down and a man short. Sam knows that all that keeps him hanging with the likes of Mystery Man and Captain America are the wings and without one, he's got to ground himself before he becomes more of a liability than a help. If you'd told him last month that he'd be staging an air assault against S.H.I.E.L.D and their souped up helicarriers, he'd have told you that you were insane and given some recommendations for good psychiatric care at the VA but Sam isn't laughing now and he's thinking that he's the one in need of good psychiatric care.

But damn, it feels good to be fighting the good fight again and it feels even better to know that Captain America himself is depending on him. It feels better than flying sky high with nothing but a set of metal wings strapped to his back and Sam had been pretty sure there was nothing that compared to the exhilaration of that.

Except this.

He takes a landing that isn't so much graceful as functional through one of the blown-out windows of the Triskelion and starts pulling at doors, trying to find the best escape route. Since most of the good guys are technically Hydra's guys at this point, Sam's not sure who to trust. He wrenches open a utility door that looks promising; maybe it heads down an old, unused maintenance hallway and he can find a way out without tripping all the guards from here to Arlington.

The decor doesn't seem to match the door. Instead of the utilitarian metal and concrete that's the hallmark of most government buildings, this one leads to plush carpeting and warm, cheery decor. It looks like a damn vacation compared to where he just came from and Sam cranes his neck to see around the corner as best he can, hoping he doesn't get shot while he's pulling his worst Roadrunner impersonation. That would be a damn mess. Rogers would probably try to spin it during his funeral that he died a hero but he thinks at least Romanoff would be snickering in the background. Can't get anything past her. He doesn't get shot (this time) and decides that maybe it's worth the risk. The halls seem empty of personnel, friendly or not, and maybe it's a chance to get the hell out and get somewhere that he can coordinate back with his team.

He likes the sound of that, being part of a team again, and grins to himself as he carefully works his way down the hall, trying to look as nondescript as possible. That's a little hampered by the twisted, broken wing attached to his back but maybe anyone he runs into will be so damn shocked that they won't notice he's only half a bird right now. Maybe.

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"We can work on that. I've been training with Captain America," Sam says, flashing a broad grin at Jemma. If there's anything he is good at, he's definitely good at PT when it's not compared to a super soldier.

"I mean, if you want. Makes me feel a lot less helpless."

If she's allowed to work with both Sam and Sif, then she might become a fiercesome warrior to be reckoned with. "Can we please start at the very, very beginning, where you might start with a lazy child?" she suggests hopefully, given that she's not an athlete by any means, if her failed field exam is any inclination.

"If you think that's what you can handle, sure," Sam says, skeptical.

"But you're probably not that bad. Nobody can be that bad."

"I'm pretty bad," Simmons promises because her physical stamina really isn't something to marvel at. "I'm a scientist. I spend my days looking down a microscope. Ask me to take a look at an eye chart from a distance away," she boasts heartily, "and I will have no problem with that."

"Well, we can start slow. A little cardio, a little strength training. Maybe a little hand to hand? Just enough so you can defend yourself," Sam decides.

There's no point in turning her into a super soldier or anything but everyone should have a few skills just to keep them safe if something comes up.

She wished that she had known those sorts of things a few weeks ago, not that she would really know what to do with skills like those. "Well, anything you can offer me is more than I've ever been given." After all, it's hardly as if she's come very far and she would like to be better. Not May or Coulson or Hill, but better.

"Maybe you and the Lady Sif could train me together?" she suggests hopefully, thinking it would be a marvelous display.

"She's here? Yeah, sure," Sam says, his eyes lighting up a little at the prospect of meeting one of the famous Asgardians. He's relatively new at this whole superhero gig and he doesn't know everyone yet. It's going to be fun putting names to faces, that's for sure.

"If she wants to train with a punk like me, that is."

Simmons smile is broad and without worry, now, so happy to be in a position to learn and improve. It's enough to make her forget about the issues at home and she's exceptionally pleased to have someone as wonderful as Sam Wilson giving her the chance to train and work with them. "So long as you both promise not to get so caught up in proving your worth to each other that I get forgotten," she insists.

"Not a chance. First and foremost, there to train you," he promises. The idea of training someone who isn't a superhuman is kind of appealing, honestly, because there's no real keeping up with Steve and even Natasha has higher level training than Sam ever got in the Air Force.