Sam Wilson [MCU] (
on_your_right) wrote in
all_inclusive2014-05-05 05:58 pm
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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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Sam whistles lowly. "Goddess? You aim high." Still, he thinks that if anyone could land a goddess, it would be Steve.
"I'm guessing this is one of Thor's crew?" Sam knows only a little bit about Asgard and the various people who come in and out of it and he knows they are a hell of a lot stronger than regular humans.
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That might have been the key to it, now that he thought about it.
He nodded, "She is." A fact which spurred on the thought that he likely needed to speak to Thor about it, out of common courtesy rather than in asking for permission to be interested in the other man's friend. Somehow he was sure Sif might just knock him into next week if he thought of asking someone else permission to speak to her. "Her right hook is a thing of beauty, Sam, and you should see her move."
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"That sounds like a keeper to me." Steve deserves to be happy and Sam thinks he's pretty glad to see him talking about someone the way he's talking about Sif. It's good for him to have something to focus on other than the mission.
"So what do you think she thinks about you? That's the big question."
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"I-" Where he began to answer, he broke off with a twist of a grin and a shake of his head, all but flush with self-deprecation as he began again. "If I know one thing about women, it's that I don't know a damned thing about women." He had forgotten nothing of the disappointment on Peggy's face after he had solidly planted his foot in his mouth and been none the wiser on exactly how he had proved himself to be a jackass like all the rest. "Sif respects the shield and thinks I'm pretty fine as a dame, but beyond that? Don't have a clue."
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"You could always do the crazy thing and just ask her outright. She sounds like someone who might appreciate being direct and not skirting around it like most women like," Sam suggests. "Worst she can do is say no, right?"
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"Well," he began, drawing the word out as he set an elbow on the table and leant into it. "Last time I offended a woman I was interested in, she shot at me. Three times." Not that he could blame her, in retrospect, but it had been a hell of a shock at the time. "I've seen Sif toss a heavy bag across the room like it was made of cotton candy."
That was not even mentioning the complication of her being the friend and comrade of a friend of his. One who had, upon their first meeting, attempted to kill him with a hammer blow that might've made a Steve smoothie out of him had he not had his shield handy.
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"Do you want back up?" Sam asks, wondering if he should volunteer for this or not. It isn't something he really wants, being pulverized, but he guesses that he can take one for the team so Steve can get a shot at a woman he wants.
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At the offer, Steve grinned widely, more than a little self-abashed for thinking even for a second of taking his friend up on that. "No, I-" he paused to give a laugh before shaking his head. "I should be able to handle this, right? I mean," he leaned on his elbow and sobered his expression as part of the joke. "I did knock out Hitler over 200 times, right?"