Bird Costume?

[flylikeafalcon]

Down in New Orleans // Sam & Steve

[Start date: October 9, 2020]

They were one of the last tables to leave as the restaurant was closing. Steve had most of his dinner in a doggy bag for Sam to inevitably eat later or else throw it away, but they were both pleasantly full enough of wine and seafood and bread for now. They ambled down the street in the general direction of the B&B where they were staying, past the bars and clubs that still leaked music into the autumn evening. Only once they'd turned onto a quieter side-street did Steve speak.

"Thank you," he said. If Sam hadn't been waiting for it, he might have missed it for how quiet the words were.

"Any time, man," he said. After a few more steps, he continued, "How are you feeling? Really."

Steve shrugged. Shook his head.

"Okay," he said. "But then I feel like shit for feeling okay."

Steve breathed a light laugh and added before Sam could respond, "Survivor's guilt. I know. Knowing helps. But I still..."

Steve cut himself off and looked away from Sam, across the street. Sam waited a few paces for Steve to continue; instead Steve stopped walking.

"You all right?" Sam said. Steve didn't answer. Sam followed his gaze and had to fight off a grimace. Across the street, illuminated by dark purple neon and electric candles, was a psychic shop advertising seances, crystal ball readings, tarot -- the usual tourist trap stuff.

"That," Sam said, "is a terrible idea."

Steve looked to Sam, brow furrowed.

"Do you think Stephen Strange could do it?"

"That is an even worse idea," Sam said. He set his hands on Steve's shoulders and urged him to turn away from the shop. Mercifully, Steve not only obliged but started walking again.

"Just -- imagine the possibilities here. Seriously. Best case, it doesn't work, but what are you gonna do if it does?"

Steve shook his head. His jaw was tense, his Adam's apple bobbing furiously.

"I know what you want to say," Steve finally said, his voice thick. "But it's not about hanging onto the past. He -- "

Something caught in Steve's throat, forcing a sort of creaking groan out of him. Sam knew that sound intimately: Steve was prepared to choke before he allowed himself to cry on the street. So he waited.

Steve stopped again. This time he tilted his head back as though he could leverage gravity to help him suppress what was clearly fighting its way out of him.

"I was this close" -- he raised a hand with thumb and forefinger barely separated -- "to allowing myself to believe he was my future."

Sam sighed. He genuinely hadn't expected to hear that.

"Okay. Well. We can ask Strange, but since we're in New Orleans...I know a guy who knows a guy. He's supposed to be a genuine Haitian Vodou oungan, but I've never messed with this stuff -- "

Steve was already shaking his head, now in earnest. "No," he said. His voice cracked again.

"No. You're right. I don't know which would be worse...if it didn't work, or if it did."

Sam sighed deeply again. Nodded. He reached an arm around Steve's shoulder -- a little awkwardly, given their height difference -- and prompted him to resume their walk. Steve didn't speak again until they returned to their room at the B&B.

"We talked about marriage," he said. "Sort of. We decided against it then, but I -- do I regret it? I do, but then I think he still would have asked me to -- and I couldn't have done it then. But maybe that would have been better?"

Steve started pacing between the twin beds in the room.

"Why -- why didn't he ask Rhodey? Did he think -- I think maybe he always thought I didn't truly love him. So if we can bring him back, how do we reckon with that?"

Steve stopped pacing, his back to Sam, and clenched his fists -- tightened up in general until he may as well have been stone. Then he raised his hands to his face. His shoulders shook. His back rounded, and then he was sitting on the bed, his back still to Sam, but Sam could hear him struggling and failing to steady his breathing.

"Maybe I didn't love him enough," Steve said. "If I did, he wouldn't have set up the protocol. He wouldn't have asked. I wouldn't have had to kill him. If he had asked, I wouldn't have done it. I would have found another way."

Sam sat on the bed behind Steve.

"Are you looking for my insight or looking to vent?" Sam asked.

Steve's breathing grew more erratic.

"You want to tell me to grant him the dignity of his choice," Steve choked. "That I did it because I loved him so much. I know all that, I know I can't change it -- I know. But it hurts, Sam. I miss him so much I can feel it. A knife in the ribs. All the time. And I put it there."

Sam dipped his head and said nothing.

---

The next morning, Sam and Steve were on their way to a nearby cafe for breakfast when they both heard a young voice yell, "Look! Captain America!"

Both turned, but Steve paused on his way to watch Sam for a beat. Sam shot him a quick "bitch, please" face, but it turned out the kid hadn't been talking about either of them, not directly. A child with dark hair pulled up into a pom-pom topknot was dancing by a massive chalk drawing, almost stomping on the artist in their excitement. From where Sam and Steve stood, the figures looked elongated and distorted; Sam recognized it as that 3D technique street artists use to fool the eye. The kid was seeing the original Avengers in their 2012 uniforms bursting from the sidewalk, almost as real as life.

"Mommy mommy Iron Man!" squealed another child.

The spell broke on both of them.

"Still you, though," Sam started to say, but he swore instead as they turned back around and saw someone standing directly in front of them.

"Sorry," the stranger said, and he looked like he meant it. He was almost as tall as Steve, with skunk-stripe locs pulled back in a loose tie and a musical Haitian voice.

"Oh, shit," Sam said.

Jericho Drumm laughed. "My reputation precedes me?"

"A little. Sorry. I also mentioned you to my friend here last night."

Jericho nodded sagely. "My loa told me. And I'm afraid I can't help you with your particular problem."

Sam's expression must have betrayed his thoughts – then why the fuck are you here? -- because Jericho laughed again and added, "But I know someone who can. She may be one of the few people on Earth more -- as capable as Tony Stark."

Sam looked to Steve. So did Jericho, and only then did Sam realize he’d been talking directly to Sam. Steve’s expression was almost indecipherable –almost, but only because Sam knew to look for the tightness in Steve’s jaw, the way he straightened his shoulders as though bracing himself against a physical impact. But all Steve said was, “Thank you.”

Jericho nodded once, then turned back to Sam.

“I’ll have her get in touch with you,” he said. Then, with a pointed look at Sam, he said, “Now, kisa ou bezwen?”

Sam startled. He understood Louisiana Creole better than he could speak it, and he was pretty sure Jericho was speaking that original Haitian Creole to boot. He shook his head, a little too emphatically probably, and answered, “Uh…pa gen anyen? I’m good, man.”

Jericho considered him, and for a minute there Sam thought he saw something golden flicker through Jericho’s eyes. When Jericho spoke again, Sam understood him perfectly, even though his lips definitely weren’t forming English words.

“You can only give so much of yourself before you become empty. Then who are you helping?”

Sam glanced at Steve, who shrugged. He couldn’t understand Jericho at all, Sam realized.

“It’s okay,” he said to Jericho, though he was still watching Steve, whose expression shifted to one of both confusion and admiration. Then Sam looked to Jericho.

“Did you just vodou me?”

Jericho smiled. “Only a little. So you could speak freely.”

“I appreciate it, but really, I’m fine.”

“I see.” Jericho glanced behind Sam, back to the chalk drawing of a team that no longer existed. “So you’re comfortable in his shadow?”

Sam frowned. “You got balls, man.”

“I apologize. May I offer you something else?”

Sam half-shrugged, growing exasperated. He just wanted some damn breakfast. “Sure, I guess.”

Jericho pulled a small doll from his pocket. It was featureless and made of a course black cloth. As he handed it to Sam, he said, “Tell it your wishes and concerns. And if you need me, tell it. I’ll come.”

Sam rolled the doll over in his hands. Even for having been in someone’s pocket, it felt unusually warm.

“Thanks,” he said.

When he looked up from the doll in his hand, Jericho was gone.

---

Almost as soon as Sam and Steve returned from New Orleans, Sam was notified of an incoming message from a secure source. Steve was back out the door on his way to the garage almost before Sam could ask if he wanted to join him, so Sam didn't push it and instead went to the nerve center alone.

"Sam Wilson. Designation Captain America."

<Voice key accepted.>

The screen before him displayed two dark, handsome faces Sam didn't recognize. Weird. He'd expected either Richard Rider and his crew or Thor. The man on display was older, his expression serious; the woman was younger and was visibly trying to tone down a smirk.

"Captain America," the man said, his voice thickly accented. "My name is King T'Challa of Wakanda. This is my sister, Princess Shuri. Our friend Jericho Drumm tells me you might be in need of her services."

Sam's eyebrows raised of their own accord. That was quick.

"Uh. Yeah. Maybe. Sorry. You said...where are you?"

Shuri's smirk broadened, and even T'Challa smiled slightly.

"Perhaps," he said, "we should have this discussion in person."

---

Sam watched the sleekest, blackest jet he'd ever seen land on the helipad with almost no sound at all, and he had to admit, it was sexy as hell. He didn't hide his admiration as the king and princess of Wakanda disembarked, led by a woman in red and gold. He nodded in deference to the three of them as they approached; the king returned the gesture.

"Sam Wilson," he said. "Thank you for having us."

"Pleasure's mine," Sam said. "Come on in."

---

T'challa followed Sam into the building, through antiseptic white halls, and to a glass-walled conference room with a long, rectangular table. Sam gestured for T'Challa to take the seat at the head of the table; he had to smile as he accepted the seat. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen a table in the Wakandan council room, separating the tribes, but he humored the custom. Okoye stood to his left, between him and the door, and Shuri took the seat to his right. Sam stood for a second, and when Okoye didn't make a move for the seat to T'Challa's left, Sam carefully lowered himself into it.

"Tell us more about Mister Stark's condition," T'Challa said.

---

Sam sighed. If only he knew more than what he'd already told them: integrated nano tech, kill switch, coma.

And the DNR.

"James can tell you more than I can," Sam said. "He's next of kin. I know the nano tech was some variation of something called Extremis, and he had it for years before someone hacked it. Unfortunately, I'm not smart enough to understand how they did it or how the kill switch worked."

He looked to Shuri.

"I'm familiar with something an American think tank was working on called Extremis," she said, "but I would expect that Mister Stark improved on it before integrating with it. I would have to see his records."

Sam grimaced.

"That would also be up to Rhodes. And, uh…there's still the ethical dilemma we're up against. This whole trip may be a waste of your time if Rhodes decides to honor Tony's DNR."

---

T'Challa nodded slowly.

"I would expect Mister Stark's friend to honor his final wishes," he said. Sam's brow leapt upward in surprise.

"If Mister Rhodes will accept our assistance, we give it freely," T'Challa said, "but even if he does not, we have other interests to pursue."

T'Challa could almost feel the skepticism begin rolling off Sam in waves.

"What interests?"

"My father has passed," T'Challa said, "and now I am king. For generations, Wakanda had remained isolated, but some…very persuasive counsel has convinced me to consider opening our borders."

Shuri and Okoye exchanged smirks. It had been Nakia, of course, who had made a strong case for joining the global community.

"However," he continued, "I'm sure you can understand why I would forestall an alliance with the United States government. I believe a Wakandan alliance with the Avengers would be more beneficial…and safer."

---

Sam chewed his lip as he considered that. He sure as hell didn't blame T'Challa for not wanting to crawl into bed with the US government, but he barely knew anything about Wakanda or its interests.

He recalled the doll Jericho had given him. For some reason, Sam had kept it, even though he didn't know Jericho from Adam. He just knew, intrinsically, that he trusted what Jericho had said, and he trusted T'Challa now.

(Maybe it was a fam thing. If either of them had been white, he almost certainly would have given them a harder time.)

"I'm not saying no," Sam said, "but we've been burned before. What kind of alliance are you proposing?"

---

T'Challa smiled. Sam was not a statesman, that much was clear, but he was obviously clever and cautious. More importantly, he was transparent -- something T'Challa appreciated in foreign contacts but rarely encountered -- and concerned for his people.

"One of mutual assistance. No trade agreements or any of those tedious political things," he said, smiling. "Scientific, technological, and cultural exchange. Protection."

He watched Sam weigh the offer.

"I'll have to confer with some folks," Sam finally said.

T'Challa nodded. It was the only appropriate answer Sam could have given him.

"Of course," he said. Then he looked to Shuri.

"Perhaps you could get us in touch with Mister Rhodes? I'm sure Shuri is anxious to see this Extremis."

---

Wow. Who knew negotiating an alliance with an Afrofuturistic nation that had been in hiding for centuries would have been part of his job description.

"Yeah, sure," Sam said. He pulled his phone from his pocket and shot Rhodey a text, then rose from his seat.

"Would y'all like a tour of the facility?" He looked pointedly at Shuri, who had been actively surveying the room and everything she could see through the windows as though mentally dissecting it all. She beamed back.

"Yes!" she said, already on her feet before T'Challa could respond. The king also stood and nodded at Sam to lead the way.

Wild, thought Sam as he led his three guests out of the conference room.

[flylikeafalcon]

Can You Tell Me Where He’s Gone? // Sam, Sharon, and Steve

Sharon and Sam all but carried Steve into the darkened studio apartment, dropping him on the couch almost as soon as they cleared the threshold. Sam had his trauma kit open on the coffee table by the time Sharon locked the door and turned on the lights, and then they fell into silent but tandem lockstep to get Steve to drink some water while Sam checked his vitals. Steve looked like he was either concussed, dehydrated, or in shock; he either couldn’t or wouldn’t focus on Sam even as he flashed a light directly into his eyes or manhandled his leaden limbs to check his pulse.

“How does he look?” Sharon asked from the kitchenette window.

“He’d look better if he could answer you himself,” Sam said, and just as he’d hoped, Steve’s brow furrowed in response. Sharon entered just as Sam cracked a smile.

“What’s so funny?” she snapped. Steve tried to turn around on the couch to follow her voice, and within seconds, she was on the couch next to Steve.

“Hey,” she said softly. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Steve dropped back on the couch and squinted at her, then up at Sam, then closed his eyes and nodded.

Some time later, Sam awoke on the couch to the murmur of Steve’s and Sharon’s voices. He stayed put as the two of them shuffled around, then eventually the shower kicked on and Sharon crossed the studio apartment to the couch. Sam pushed himself upright, grimacing only a little at the soreness through his limbs from both the break-out and the shitty couch, and Sharon settled down next to him with a sigh. They sat like that in silence for a while until Sharon rolled her head against the back of the couch to smile at Sam.

“He’s talking again,” she said. “Drank a lot of water. We probably don’t need a hospital.”

Sam nodded. He was pretty sure they couldn’t have dragged Steve into a hospital even if his life had undoubtedly depended on it.

They watched each other for another moment until Sharon finally said aloud what they were both thinking.

“I don’t think he’ll let either of us stay with him.”

Sam shrugged with one shoulder. “Has he said anything about what happened in there?”

Sharon shook her head.

“Then he’s gonna at least gimme that before he’s gonna get me to leave,” he said, and that pulled a small smile out of Sharon.

“Sounds fair.”

The shower turned off, and they both fell silent. He heard Steve open and close the medicine cabinet, and then, another minute or two later, Steve emerged from the bathroom in a pair of sweatpants and a cotton hooded jacket. He gave Sharon and Sam a thin-lipped smile, and Sam waved him over. Sam and Sharon then scooted apart to make room for Steve between them; Steve wavered where he stood before he slowly, almost warily crossed the studio and lowered himself onto the couch. As one, Sharon laced her arm through Steve’s and lowered her head to his shoulder, and Sam dropped a firm hand on Steve’s knee.

“You wanna eat first,” Sam said, “or you wanna talk?”

Steve inhaled slowly, but he slid one hand over Sam’s and the other into Sharon’s.

“Neither,” he croaked, “but if I have to pick...”

Steve talked. It took a while -- Steve didn’t talk about himself much on a good day, and his voice was still hoarse from lingering dehydration and disuse -- but Sam and Sharon got the gist of where Steve had gone after they’d returned him to the Raft, what the Interface situation had been about, and how Stark had ended up there. When Steve fell silent with some sense of finality, the apartment was met instead with a low growl. Sharon lifted her hand, taking Steve’s with it to land high on his stomach.

“I’m going to go get you something to eat,” she said. He only nodded again, so she rose from the couch and pressed a kiss to his temple on her way out. With Sharon gone, Steve curled his empty hand into a fist and slid it into the pocket of his jacket, but he kept his other hand on Sam’s.

“Gotta question for you,” Steve said.

“Sure.”

Now Steve was almost hyper-focused on Sam, and Sam got the sense that as much as Steve didn’t want to ask whatever he was about to ask, it was also probably one of the most important favors Steve may have ever given voice to.

And Steve was definitely struggling to ask it. He inhaled deeply again, held it, and then, in a low rush, “You ready to be Captain America?”

Whatever Sam had expected, it hadn’t been that.

“...excuse me?”

Steve shook his head and almost seemed to deflate.

“You’ve already done your time. You can say no. But I can’t...I don’t know if I’m the right fit anymore. Or. Not right now. Not for a while.”

“Okay. So take a break, man. You gotta lay low, anyway, until we can officially nail Ross.”

But even as he said it, Sam could feel the seed taking hold. Yeah, Sam had retired from the Air Force only to join the Avengers’ second string, then retired from the Avengers only to end up back on the US government’s roster -- but now that Ross had been revealed as a treasonous monster, Sam was undoubtedly out of the job again, and he apparently wasn’t ready to leave a life of action and rescue behind. And maybe the Avengers as they’d been before were dust, but there could be another iteration. While Steve took it easy, Sam could be That Guy -- probably not half as iconic, not even a captain, but still, a presence in the city that he sure could have used as a kid himself, someone who could keep holding entities like the government accountable for their bullshit.

Sam’s thought process must have read on his face, because Steve actually smiled.

“You don’t need my permission,” Steve said, “but you have my support if you decide to go for it. And the shield, if you can find it.”

Sam had to laugh at that. “Sure, man. I mean, I know someone managed to spring everyone’s stuff, but we’ll see how you feel about parting with the shield after we get it back to you.”

Steve’s smile immediately faded.

“Don’t. Keep it or give it to Stark.”

Sam clammed up. He could argue with Steve about it when he had the shield in-hand.

“Yeah. About Stark. Should I call him, or -- do you want to go see him...?”

Oof. Steve grimaced and closed his eyes.

“Is he okay?”

“Uh. Yeah, well -- last I heard from Rhodes, he’s about in the same shape everyone else was in. You both looked like you’d gotten shot at some point, or pretty damn close, but they kept you alive, so. You know. He’s probably doing about as well as you think he is.”

When Steve’s eyes opened, Sam could see that they were rimmed with red, even as Steve trained his gaze up toward the ceiling.

“So,” Sam added carefully, “maybe not that great. But we got you a burner with his number, Rhodes’s, Sharon’s, Natasha’s, and mine. You can call him.”

“Mm.” Steve blinked a few times. “I should probably clean up first. Didn’t see a razor in there.”

That sounded like it was about more than just a shave and a haircut, but Sam once again decided to file that away for later.

“Yeah, we had to hustle a little bit to get this place ready,” Sam said, pulling his phone free to text Sharon. “Might have missed some of the small stuff. I have some scissors, though. I’ll text Sharon to pick up shaving supplies, and then we can trim that mess while we wait.”

“They really teach you everything in the Air Force,” Steve said dryly, and a bubble of joy and relief burst in Sam’s chest.

“Oh, we’re gonna have to get a professional for that hair,” Sam said, “but I do know a thing or two about beard upkeep.”

A pause, and then: “Where is ‘here’? West Side?”

“Yeah. Hell’s Kitchen.” Sam bobbed his head side to side in apology. “We thought you might want to stay in the city, but Brooklyn seemed too obvious, and...uh. You got evicted when word got out that you’d been arrested. But the Avengers are still upstate, so you can probably hide in plain sight here.”

Steve didn’t respond.

“If you...want?” Sam added.

“Sorry,” Steve whispered. “Makes sense. Thank you.”

“Hey.” Sam gave Steve’s knee a solid shake. “We’ll get you home. I promise.”

Steve smiled the saddest goddamn smile Sam had seen on him since they’d met but said nothing else.

[flylikeafalcon]

dark-dimension-clea‌:

justatrainingexercise‌:

flylikeafalcon:

Sam looked from the wizard duo to Jim, who didn’t look like he was going to answer her questions right away, and back to the wizard duo. She wasn’t on fire anymore and, for her part, didn’t look like she was going to punch Sam, though he kept his distance a little bit as he lowered his hands.

“Right now, we have…three for sure, including the two of us. All baseline humans.” Sam made a what can you do? face. “And I think one high-powered guy coming in?”

“The Vision,” Jim supplied through his hand.

“Right. Yeah,” Sam said. “And Jim got all the floor plans and shit from, uh” – Sam took another half-step back – “the person who was actually involved in designing the torture floors. We’re meeting tomorrow to hash everything out.”

Sam glanced to Jim again. Jim didn’t add anything.

“I think that’s about all I’m supposed to tell you right now?” Sam ventured. Jim cocked his head in what Sam figured was a I would fucking think so look.

Man. Jim had really liked this polo. But while Sam talked, Jim shucked it, haphazardly folded it, and pressed it to his nose with as much pressure as he could stand considering his nose was also clearly broken.

“Nothing personal,” Jim said stiffly. “We came here in good faith, but we need to keep our intel close to the chest. We’re meeting at a private residence in Brooklyn. If you want the address, we’ll give it to you, but that’s about all I think we’re prepared to offer right now.”

Jim could feel Sam giving him a don’t be petty face, but he kept his attention on the woman.

“Except,” Jim conceded, “that the place is rife with power dampeners, including magic. Without someone on the inside, you’ll have a hard time getting in there.”

Jim opened his free hand. Take it or leave it.

“Right now, we have…three for sure, including the two of us. All baseline humans. And I think one high-powered guy coming in?”

“The Vision.”

Clea stopped her pacing to turn and stare at Sam like he’d suddenly sprouted an extra limb.  She desperately waited for him to clarify, to tell her more would be coming, but that genuinely seemed to be everyone they had. Four people against an entire prison.

Oh, AND all the information they were working off of was given to them by the person responsible for the more horrific torture going on in the prison.  That particular detail made Clea’s blood boil.

How did they get the floor plans? Were they even viable? Did the perpetrator have a change of heart, or did they make some sort of deal in exchange for information? It could  have just as easily been some sort of elaborate trap, meant to deliver them all directly to the prison…

The sorceress sighed in exasperation, shaking her head. “Oshtur protect us.”  She went back to pacing, if only to try and clear her mind. A horrible sense of dread was starting to creep up on her, so strong that Clea felt as though it would overtake her if she stopped for  even a moment.

She caught a glimpse of Wong, who was watching her with a concerned expression. She turned away quickly, not wanting to meet his gaze. He knew, he knew she was cracking.

“No, Sam Wilson. The existence of worse crimes does not  clear Colonel Rhodes of his own. He knows what he did.” she shot back, venom apparent in her voice.

Clea composed herself, then continued. “I am not going to ask you how you acquired these floor plans, because the answer will likely just make me angrier than I already am.” she started. What the sorceress really wanted to know was who their informant was, but she knew she’d never get that from them. Not after she’d  made her intentions so abundantly clear with Rhodes.

“Though I am assuming that you verified it with a more reputable source?”

Even if the information was accurate, however, their situation was still far from ideal. Humans were terribly frail creatures to begin with, and the three that they had had no powers to speak of. The Vision sounded fairly capable, but Clea didn’t know anything about them.  There was no way for her to compare their power level with that of the others when she didn’t even know what their damn powers were. For all she knew, Sam’s definition of ‘heavy hitter’ was barely above the human average.

Everything about this screamed that it was a horrible idea,  but it was also the BEST and ONLY idea they had. Maybe she was starting to go insane, but the sorceress was willing to take the risk if it meant saving Stephen from that horrible place.

Hopefully she and this Vision person would have enough firepower to get the job done.

Colonel Rhodes was holding his shirt to his nose now, an image that was providing Clea with an extreme amount of satisfaction. She didn’t particularly appreciate his tone, or his threats regarding the magic dampeners, but he could make petty jabs, if he wanted to.

The sorceress took the hand that was offered to her, squeezing it tightly. Not enough to break bones, but enough that it would make Rhodes mildly uncomfortable. “Well, you two certainly could not do it alone either,” Clea smirked at the Colonel “…If a single punch felled you. So I suppose we are both ‘in the same boat’, as they say.”

Clea let go and turned away, taking the brief moment of privacy to rub the fatigue from her eyes. She realized just how tired she really was, now that the adrenaline was fading from her system. Her outburst had been draining, both emotionally and physically, and she hadn’t slept in days…

But she was the sorceress supreme of three dimensions now, and who had time to sleep when you had to protect three worlds from possible destruction?

“Go, before you fall over and I have to drag you upstairs. I’ll finish up here.”

Wong. He was speaking to her telepathically. She shot him an annoyed look from across the room, but he just stared her down until she finally looked away.

“Fine.” she conceded, but she wasn’t happy about it.

Clea turned back to their guests. “I have a few matters that I need to attend to. Wong can take the address and show you out.”

“Gentlemen.” she bowed politely, then vanished up the stairs.  

Once she was gone, Wong approached Rhodes and Wilson to collect the address. “We’ll be in touch.” he said.

With a gesture, the shattered remains of the front door reassembled themselves. Another gesture, and the doors opened on their own.  

Rhodes stared at Wong. “Hey, before we go…“ he started, pointing towards his bloody nose. “…would you mind?”

“Yes. Now get out of my house.”  

The doors slammed behind them.

[cinematiclub]

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[flylikeafalcon]

dark-dimension-clea:

flylikeafalcon:

justatrainingexercise:

In hindsight, Jim would wonder why he didn’t expect this. He couldn’t remember the last time talking down a superhuman or metahuman or synthezoid had worked out well for him, if it ever had.

Of course, this time, he was unarmed. He and Sam both were. They’d arrived in good faith, and at best, Jim had anticipated getting turned away – not for the whole goddamn house to quake as the head of the woman in front of him erupted into flame.

“How DARE YOU?”

“Now, hold on – ”

And then the woman was gone. Jim had about enough time to look to the man before someone grabbed him and flung him with ferocious force into the wall. 

“ARE YOU A TERRIBLE LIAR OR JUST A COMPLETE FOOL?”

Jim had to suck in a breath against the dull pain that grasped his chest on impact and took hold of her forearm. Even though he could still feel the wall against his back, he wasn’t looking at the mansion behind her anymore as her voice continued to fill what felt like all of space and time.

Offhand, Jim didn’t recognize the woman in the cell, but he didn’t need to know her to see that she was very pregnant and that the conditions she was being held in were grossly inhumane. He knew it was in he Raft, and somehow – maybe thanks to whatever magic this sorceress was using to show them this – he knew it wasn’t a fabrication.

He’s also seen Steve with his own eyes. Twice. Despite the budgeting and resource suggestions he’d made, he knew now that the people in the Raft were being underfed and largely neglected. Tony, Sam, and Sharon all knew it, and so did these two sorcerers. Present situation aside, Jim knew this was promising; he’d been in enough combat situations by now to keep his head, and he was still confident that they could band together on this if she’d just let him get a word in.

“YOU DID THAT, SO HOW DARE YOU STAND HERE AND TELL ME YOU DIDN’T KNOW ABOUT THE TORTURE.”

She slammed him into the wall again, and he was about ready to break her hold when she, quite literally, beat him to the punch. A fist to the face was no joke from a baseline human, but this woman was clearly a little to the right on the bell curve and clearly knew what she was doing: she nailed him square in the nose, forcing his eyes to water and pain to rocket up between his eyes.

Okay. Now he was pissed.

Ohh, shit. Oh, shit. There was a lot going on that Sam was not prepared for, starting with a glass door fucking exploding and culminating in a fiery witch woman decking Jim in the face. And the whole time Sam just fucking stood there, his body frozen while his heart raced, so wildly thrown off by the sudden activity that he felt like he was fucking short-circuiting.

Not here. Not now. Jim needs you.

“Wait,” Sam said. To him, his voice sounded like it was coming from half a mile away, but it was enough to get him moving, get him focused. “Hey, whoa, okay – ”

He made it to Jim and the woman and tried to wedge his way between them. Jim, to his credit, made it easier by lacing his own fingers together and dropping them hard on the inside of her elbow, forcing her to loosen her hold on him enough for Sam to pull Jim free. He let Jim stagger off to tend to his profusely-bleeding nose as he faced the woman.

“Okay, don’t trust him,” Sam said, his hands raised, palms out, in supplication. “That’s cool. I’m still not sure I do, either. But listen – regardless of what any of us did or didn’t do, we’re trying to fix this now. If you don’t want in, that’s cool! That’s cool. You can beat the shit out of us afterwards. But seriously, it’s just a handful of us against an entire federal prison. We need you, but more importantly, so does whoever you have on the inside.”

The more Sam talked, the more he felt himself returning to his body, which seemed both a blessing and a curse considering he could also get an ass whooping the longer they stayed there. If the other guy jumped in, Sam and Jim were definitely fucked, but Sam wasn’t ready to leave yet. Even if these two decided not to join Sam and Jim, he wanted them to be prepared for whatever might happen afterwards, especially if they failed.

Clea felt cartilage and muscle shift beneath her fist as it made contact with the Colonel’s nose, followed by an audible crack that seemed to echo endlessly through the Sanctum’s foyer. The force reverberated through her fingers and up to her elbow, bringing a tingling sensation along with it that she couldn’t quite dispel. It didn’t hurt, not yet at least; she suspected it would once the adrenaline wore off.  

Rhodes, on the other hand, was bleeding profusely onto both the sorceress and himself. His eyes were watering as he reeled from the hit, but he didn’t cry out in pain.

She wanted him to. She wanted an audible confirmation that he was suffering just as much as Stephen was in that moment. He deserved to, Clea told herself. It was justified.

But that thought, that need for violence, still made her feel horribly similar to her uncle.

When she became queen of the Dark Dimension, she banished her mother and father for their crimes.  She should have hated them for what they did, but it had hurt her so immensely that she’d been unable to finish the spell without assistance. Clea had empathy for monsters then, so why couldn’t find it now?

"Wait.”

“Hey, woah, okay–”  

The other human- Sam Wilson- was talking behind her, but she could barely hear it over the sound of her blood rushing through her ears.

“Clea, that’s enough.” Wong was calling out to her too, but wasn’t actually making any move to stop her- in fact, he hadn’t moved from his original position over by the staircase at all. By the tone of his voice, it sounded like he cared more about the shattered window than Rhodes’ nose.  

Good. Then they were on the same side.

All the sorceress wanted to do was keep punching Rhodes until she couldn’t feel her hand anymore. He was the source of all her pain,  and she wanted him to feel everything she had over the past seven months. All the anger, fear, and sorrow she had to keep bottled up inside so that she could pretend to be strong for her people.

Stephen was the first person, human or otherwise, who ever bothered to show her real kindness. Losing him felt like losing a part of herself, and she need to do something to try and take that piece back.

Clea roared when someone- Wilson- moved between her and Rhodey, trying desperately to keep her hold on the one person she could punish for all this, but her body betrayed her. She lost her grip when he struck her elbow; enraged, she tried to lunge after him, only to be blocked by Wilson.

“Move.” She hissed. The Flames of Regency continued to flicker over her head, but energy was beginning to pool around her fingertips as well. Clea didn’t want to hurt Sam, but she would if he kept standing in her way.

Wong must have noticed her escalating, because he finally approached and placed a hand on Clea’s shoulder. She turned to look at him, his presence grounding her in reality.  

It took her a few moments to realize that he was purposely radiating a calming aura around her, but by then the effects were already taking hold.

“listen – regardless of what any of us did or didn’t do, we’re trying to fix this now. If you don’t want in, that’s cool! That’s cool. You can beat the shit out of us afterwards. But seriously, it’s just a handful of us against an entire federal prison. We need you, but more importantly, so does whoever you have on the inside.”

He was right, and the sorceress knew it.

She wanted Stephen back more than she wanted to keep throwing punches, and they needed Rhodes and Wilson if they had any chance of freeing her husband.  

Clea slowly unclenched her fists, and the Flames of Regency eventually vanished from above her head. She couldn’t help but be calm now, even as she stared at Rhodes from across the room with a look of utter contempt.

There were splatters of his blood on her clothing and arms, from where it had sprayed out of his nose. She’d never really seen this much human blood before, not since the Cloak of Levitation came home covered in it..

No, she couldn’t think about that right now.

The sorceress hadn’t escaped the fight unscathed either, however. Her knuckles had been sliced open by the punch as well, speckling her hand with her own blood. It was purplish-blue in colour, much brighter than the deep crimson liquid splattered around it.  

Clea closed her eyes “Fine.” she said, turning around so that she could pace the foyer. She was calm now, so there was no need for Wong’s aura anymore. And It was a distraction from her more unpleasant thoughts- not a good one, but it would have to do for now.  

“You say a handful. How many people is that, specifically? What advantages do we have going in?” Clea asked. She’d led a rebellion and stormed a fully armed castle before, she could take down a human prison - granted she had the right tools.

“Do you have any useful information? Floor plans, shift changes- anything.”

Sam looked from the wizard duo to Jim, who didn’t look like he was going to answer her questions right away, and back to the wizard duo. She wasn’t on fire anymore and, for her part, didn’t look like she was going to punch Sam, though he kept his distance a little bit as he lowered his hands.

“Right now, we have...three for sure, including the two of us. All baseline humans.” Sam made a what can you do? face. “And I think one high-powered guy coming in?”

“The Vision,” Jim supplied through his hand.

“Right. Yeah,” Sam said. “And Jim got all the floor plans and shit from, uh” -- Sam took another half-step back -- “the person who was actually involved in designing the torture floors. We’re meeting tomorrow to hash everything out.”

Sam glanced to Jim again. Jim didn’t add anything.

“I think that’s about all I’m supposed to tell you right now?” Sam ventured. Jim cocked his head in what Sam figured was a I would fucking think so look.

[flylikeafalcon]

Now the Ground Begins to Quake // Sam, Rhodey, & Tony

[flylikeafalcon]

thefuturistknows:

justatrainingexercise:

“Okay,” Jim said. “You’re being paranoid. He might be on hunger strike or some shit, but he’s not being starved.”

Jim turned his eye warily to the guards lining the room, then nodded to Tony and flipped his face plate back down. When he responded, it was through their internal comms.

“Prisons aren’t designed to keep people comfortable, Tones,” Jim said, solemn and serious. “But we can touch base with Hill. As far as I know, she’s still involved in Raft operations. Either way, he does kinda look like shit.”

Behind the face plate, Jim closed his eyes and sighed, then took off for the Avengers facility. The Raft was already sinking back into the Atlantic almost as soon as they cleared the hanger doors, and Jim couldn’t ignore that some of his certainty in the Raft’s inner workings was going down with it. He was still sure that signing the SHRA, building the Raft, and even bringing Steve in (both times) were all the right play, but maybe he’d gotten complacent. He’d trusted Maria to keep him in the loop with the day-to-day, but had he really had reason enough to?

“This is bad, man,” Jim said. “We have one HYDRA guy who can still talk, and if it’s Steve’s word against his, I don’t know that Ross will give Steve the benefit of the doubt. The best thing we can do is find him a really, really good lawyer and try to get his trial to happen sooner rather than later.”

Try. Unacceptable. Tony was well past trying, and Jim knew it. Do or do not and all of that.

Hunger strike, Rhodey offered. It sounded a lot like Steve, and it didn’t. Too passive for him, or maybe suitably extreme. It certainly wouldn’t have been the most potentially self-sabotaging form of resistance Steve had put on until now. Was he resisting or was he giving up – Tony couldn’t even really tell with him anymore, with the way he’d surrendered so easily today. (”Find another Captain America,” Steve had said.) It seemed terribly self-defeating to be so opposed to a law, and then still yield to its consequences. Then again, that was what Tony himself was doing, in his own way.

He tried to keep his attention on the numbers and coordinates and status updates on his HUD as he flew away with Rhodey, leaving the sinking prison and Steve behind. The HUD made the world look like a video game sometimes. Sometimes, Tony still uselessly wished he would wake up one day and this would all turn out to have been some feverishly drawn-out nightmare scenario he’d concocted. Or maybe Rhodey would suddenly turn off the TV and say no more games for the night. Might be just some Pollyannaism, but as Tony recalled it, everything seemed to be way easier when it was just him and Jim.

“The best thing we can do is find him a really, really good lawyer and try to get his trial to happen sooner rather than later.”

“Yeah. How many times have they hit the snooze button on this trial again?”

Tony didn’t need an answer for that. He sped off like he could somehow outfly everything about this situation, though he knew that technically they were just flying directly toward even more of a headache. He touched down on the landing pad at the Avengers facility a few seconds before Rhodey, enough to have sent his own empty armor away.

“Let’s be careful with Sam, yeah?” Tony said as soon as he knew Rhodey could hear him. “He’s getting sort of frisky and I think I have even less of a hold on him than I ever had on Steve.”

Sam knew the exercises, the meditations, the self-talk, yadda yadda yadda -- and he was trying to keep his head, he really, really was. But he was sore and exhausted and hated, fucking hated being kept in the dark, and he was just as pissed at Steve as he was at Rhodes but hey, Steve wasn’t there, so Sam was going to have to address this shit first and that irked him because he knew that really, if Steve hadn’t run off on his own, if he had just called Sam --

Sam stopped pacing and forced himself to take a breath. Hold. Exhale. Whew.

And then Rhodes and Stark walked in.

“All right,” Sam said as he crossed the room to meet them. “I know I’m projecting some shit onto y’all. I’ll cop to that. But I’m dying here. Are we supposed to wait for permission to find the people who broke into the Raft and set this whole thing up? ‘Cause you and I both know that the longer we wait -- ”

“Sam, I get it,” Jim said, but that was all Sam needed to throw all his woosa exercises out the window.

“No, man, I don’t think you do. The ink is still wet on my registration so I could go on a mission that shouldn’t have happened if your boss knew what the fuck he was doing. He’s wasting our time and everyone’s money on locking up good people -- civilians, man! Kids! -- while ex-HYDRA insurgents are still running around! They broke into your fucking prison, man, and they killed people, and our people are paying for it. So why the fuck are we here and not actively searching for them, huh? Is it just Ross’s dick I gotta suck?”

[flylikeafalcon]

justatrainingexercise:

dark-dimension-clea:

Clea had to admit, she was somewhat surprised when James Rhodes and his companion didn’t immediately object to her opinion of the Avengers. It was a  harsh thing to say, yes, but it was also an honest view of their current reality, and not something the sorceress  was willing to ignore. It certainly wasn’t easy, for these men to accept that they had been just as much a part of the problem as their enemies had been, but it was necessary if they were going to be working together. It was interesting to see that Rhodes seemed humbled, not offended, by her words.

“We just learned about the torture ourselves… but I helped design that prison.”

The mood in the Sanctum instantly shifted.

Clea froze at the words, a shiver passing through her as her blood ran cold.  Wong turned away from the two men with a disgusted look, shaking his head. Whatever interest they may have had in these possible allies was gone now, and replaced with a flurry of emotion that neither of them could properly identify.

James Rhodes, the human standing in front of the two sorcerers, had designed the prison. He was  personally responsible for what was being done to prisoners of the raft, and yet he stood there and claimed to just be finding out about the torture now? It was almost laughable, how little self awareness he had.

“I know you have no reason to trust us…“

Rhodes was talking, but Clea couldn’t hear him anymore over the deafening roar of her own thoughts. What had he done to Stephen, under the justification of keeping him imprisoned? Capturing sorcerers was difficult enough in her home dimension, and they had access to magic themselves. What were these humans doing to him, without the aid of spells or hexes?

She’d seen what they’d done to Jane Foster, a pregnant human, In Loki’s memories. It was horrific, and whatever they were doing to hold a magic-user as powerful as Stephen was likely even worse than that. 

And the man responsible for it was standing right in front of her.

 “We understand if you don’t want to risk it. We’ll still get your people out. We wouldn’t say no to whatever firepower you’re packing, though.” 

Firepower? She’d show them firepower.

Clea’s eyes flashed as the flames of regency suddenly appeared above her head, surrounding her face with a crown of living fire.

“How DARE YOU?”

 The house itself seemed to shudder as Clea spoke, the light fixtures overhead flickering and swinging wildly overhead. Behind her, the frosted glass in the front door cracked and shattered under the mystic pressure.

“Clea, the house.”

Wong sounded displeased about the damage to the Sanctum, but she didn’t care. Months of rage and grief and dispair were pouring out of her now, and all she wanted to do was make the person responsible pay. 

The sorceress teleported behind Rhodes and slammed him into the wall, the drywall cracking behind him from the impact.

“ARE YOU A TERRIBLE LIAR OR JUST A COMPLETE FOOL?”

The entire foyer changed as Clea pulled them all into the most vivid of the memories she took from Loki’s mind:  a pregant Jane Foster, Now the All Mother of Asgard, sitting in her cell. She looked underfed and sickly, surrounded by freezing cold water. 

“YOU DID THAT,” she yelled, grabbing Rhodey and slamming him into the wall again for emphasis. “SO HOW DARE YOU STAND HERE AND TELL ME YOU DIDN’T KNOW ABOUT THE TORTURE." 

Clea punched him in the face. She could have hit him with magic, if she wanted to, but that was too impersonal for this; she wanted to feel it.

In hindsight, Jim would wonder why he didn’t expect this. He couldn’t remember the last time talking down a superhuman or metahuman or synthezoid had worked out well for him, if it ever had.

Of course, this time, he was unarmed. He and Sam both were. They’d arrived in good faith, and at best, Jim had anticipated getting turned away – not for the whole goddamn house to quake as the head of the woman in front of him erupted into flame.

"How DARE YOU?”

“Now, hold on – ”

And then the woman was gone. Jim had about enough time to look to the man before someone grabbed him and flung him with ferocious force into the wall. 

“ARE YOU A TERRIBLE LIAR OR JUST A COMPLETE FOOL?”

Jim had to suck in a breath against the dull pain that grasped his chest on impact and took hold of her forearm. Even though he could still feel the wall against his back, he wasn’t looking at the mansion behind her anymore as her voice continued to fill what felt like all of space and time.

Offhand, Jim didn’t recognize the woman in the cell, but he didn’t need to know her to see that she was very pregnant and that the conditions she was being held in were grossly inhumane. He knew it was in he Raft, and somehow – maybe thanks to whatever magic this sorceress was using to show them this – he knew it wasn’t a fabrication.

He’s also seen Steve with his own eyes. Twice. Despite the budgeting and resource suggestions he’d made, he knew now that the people in the Raft were being underfed and largely neglected. Tony, Sam, and Sharon all knew it, and so did these two sorcerers. Present situation aside, Jim knew this was promising; he’d been in enough combat situations by now to keep his head, and he was still confident that they could band together on this if she’d just let him get a word in.

“YOU DID THAT, SO HOW DARE YOU STAND HERE AND TELL ME YOU DIDN’T KNOW ABOUT THE TORTURE.”

She slammed him into the wall again, and he was about ready to break her hold when she, quite literally, beat him to the punch. A fist to the face was no joke from a baseline human, but this woman was clearly a little to the right on the bell curve and clearly knew what she was doing: she nailed him square in the nose, forcing his eyes to water and pain to rocket up between his eyes.

Okay. Now he was pissed.

Ohh, shit. Oh, shit. There was a lot going on that Sam was not prepared for, starting with a glass door fucking exploding and culminating in a fiery witch woman decking Jim in the face. And the whole time Sam just fucking stood there, his body frozen while his heart raced, so wildly thrown off by the sudden activity that he felt like he was fucking short-circuiting.

Not here. Not now. Jim needs you.

“Wait,” Sam said. To him, his voice sounded like it was coming from half a mile away, but it was enough to get him moving, get him focused. “Hey, whoa, okay -- ”

He made it to Jim and the woman and tried to wedge his way between them. Jim, to his credit, made it easier by lacing his own fingers together and dropping them hard on the inside of her elbow, forcing her to loosen her hold on him enough for Sam to pull Jim free. He let Jim stagger off to tend to his profusely-bleeding nose as he faced the woman.

“Okay, don’t trust him,” Sam said, his hands raised, palms out, in supplication. “That’s cool. I’m still not sure I do, either. But listen -- regardless of what any of us did or didn’t do, we’re trying to fix this now. If you don’t want in, that’s cool! That’s cool. You can beat the shit out of us afterwards. But seriously, it’s just a handful of us against an entire federal prison. We need you, but more importantly, so does whoever you have on the inside.”

The more Sam talked, the more he felt himself returning to his body, which seemed both a blessing and a curse considering he could also get an ass whooping the longer they stayed there. If the other guy jumped in, Sam and Jim were definitely fucked, but Sam wasn’t ready to leave yet. Even if these two decided not to join Sam and Jim, he wanted them to be prepared for whatever might happen afterwards, especially if they failed.

[flylikeafalcon]

dark-dimension-clea:

justatrainingexercise:

After another minute or two, the door opened again, and this time an otherworldly-looking woman greeted them.

“We are open to discussion, if you’ll follow us inside.”

Jim and Sam exchanged another glance to establish that they were, in fact, ready to trust the two strangers in the mansion, and then Jim unfolded his arms and nodded.

“Thanks.”

He followed her into the foyer with Sam close behind, careful not to turn around as the door shut behind them. Inside, the mansion looked as ornate and old-fashioned as Jim might have expected, especially compared to Tony’s more postmodern aesthetic. He spared a moment to assess the staircase before them, but as best as Jim could tell, it was just the four of them present in the front room, so he turned back to the mansion’s occupants.

“I probably didn’t make the best first impression,” he said. “We’re not here on behalf of the government. We’re here on behalf of the Avengers. How much do you two know about the Raft?”

“Thanks.”

Clea nodded, then turned to lead the two men into the main foyer. They seemed to be assessing the room as they entered, particularly the stairs, though that was to be expected; this was unexplored, possibly hostile territory for them. It would be foolish not to consider the possibility of an ambush, or any other unforseen dangers that the Sanctum might hold. She would be doing the same thing, if she was in their place.

“We’re the only ones here, if you’re worried about others being present.” she said. The sorceress doubted the humans would simply take her word for it, but it was better to show honesty, if they were going to be working together. “Everyone else was captured, or they fled after my husband was arrested.”

Wong was standing off to the side, arms crossed as he observed the two men now standing in his foyer. He didn’t look happy to be letting them inside, but he and Clea didn’t have any other options. Not if they wanted their people back.  “We lost our last sorceress, Illyana Rasputin, two weeks ago.” he added. “We don’t know her current location, but its likely that she’s on The Raft.”

The tention in the Sanctum was palapable, when the Colonel spoke again. “I probably didn’t make the best first impression. We’re not here on behalf of the government. We’re here on behalf of the Avengers.“

That was a lie. A beautiful one, meant to bring comfort, but a lie nontheless. The truth was that the second the Registation Act became law, the Avengers stopped being protectors of the common people, and became weapons instead. They were simply tools of the Government now, arresting eachother to spread fear and distrust.

 Clea smiled at the Colonel, but there was no joy behind it, only sorrow.

"It makes no difference to me what you call yourselves. The Avengers are registered. An Avenger arrested my husband, and nearly killed him in the process. You may not agree with what has been going on behind closed doors, and I understand how that feels, but you cannot simply seperate yourselves from the government you have been serving for months now.”

The sorceress looked away, shaking her head. This was becoming dangerously personal for her now, even more so than it already had been, but she couldn’t let the guilt from her own past mistakes distract her from saving Stephen.

“How much do you two know about the Raft?”

 They knew next to nothing about it, all things considered. Just the terrible things she had heard from Loki, but it was neither recent nor useful information. Knowing what they were doing to her husband and not being able to act was worse than not knowing anything at all. It was eating her up inside, she couldn’t sleep without seeing his face….

“We know that its hidden somewhere in the ocean, and that its imprenetrable to magic.” she said, trying to maintain her composure, and to keep the anger out of her voice.

 " ….We also know about the the things that they do to the prisoners there, the torture.“

"It makes no difference to me what you call yourselves. The Avengers are registered. An Avenger arrested my husband, and nearly killed him in the process. You may not agree with what has been going on behind closed doors, and I understand how that feels, but you cannot simply separate yourselves from the government you have been serving for months now.”

Sam openly raised an eyebrow at Jim. He wouldn’t throw Jim under the bus, but he also wasn’t above reinforcing his point that the SHRA wasn’t copacetic anymore, if it ever had been to start with. To his credit, Jim did look humbled; if he was going to convince these two that the Avengers could get them into the Raft, he was probably going to have to own up to the depth of his involvement.

“How much do you two know about the Raft?” Jim asked.

“We know that its hidden somewhere in the ocean, and that it’s impenetrable to magic….We also know about the the things that they do to the prisoners there, the torture.”

Jim nodded, more to himself than to anyone else, and crossed his arms again.

“We just learned about the torture ourselves,” Jim said. “But I helped design that prison, and I had a chat with one of the people who was involved in the...with the torture. We’re going to have an opening in a couple weeks to get everyone out, but we need all the help we can get.”

There it was. For the first time since he had lost his cool on Jim and Stark, Sam was starting to feel the bridges rebuild between them -- or, at least, as though there was potential for repair eventually. For now, he trained his gaze on the sorceress and nodded in accord with Jim.

“I know you have no reason to trust us,” Jim continued. “Frankly, I don’t think most of the Avengers roster will trust each other for a while. But...”

Jim stalled and looked to Sam, seemingly unsure of how to put into words the appeal he was trying to make. Sam, of course, was quick to pick up the thread. This was sort of his expertise, after all.

“We understand if you don’t want to risk it. We’ll still get your people out. We wouldn’t say no to whatever firepower you’re packing, though.”

[flylikeafalcon]

dark-dimension-clea:

justatrainingexercise:

“Yeah. Well.” Jim scrubbed a hand over his face, then popped his seat belt loose and opened the driver side door. “Let’s go see if these people will help us fix it.”

They approached the front door in lockstep. Jim pressed what looked to be the doorbell. They heard the deep tones of the bell through the door, and then they waited. After almost a minute, Jim and Sam swapped glances, and Jim shrugged.

“There’s no magic password or something, is there?” he said. Sam smiled, and a weight lifted that Jim only now seemed aware was there. It was almost disgusting that he cared about Sam’s approval, but with Tony almost certainly at the Raft (where else would the dumbass have disappeared to this time?), it was steadily becoming more obvious to Jim that he could probably afford to build a few more bridges.

“Dunno,” Sam said. “I’ve always wanted to open a door with ‘open sesame.’”

And then the door opened, just enough to reveal a broad and wary-looking man.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m Colonel James Rhodes,” Jim said. “This is Sam Wilson. I understand you know someone in the Raft. We were hoping to talk to you about that.”

Jim could almost feel Sam rolling his eyes as he leaned over to get a better look at the guy in the door.

“What Jim means is that we want our people back, and we bet you want your people back, so let’s get our people back, you know, together. We could use all the firepower we can get.”

“I understand you know someone in the Raft. We were hoping to talk to you about that.”

Wong narrowed his eyes at the Colonel’s words, clearly not interested in whatever conversation the man wanted to have about Stephen or The Raft. It sounded like a thinly veiled threat more than anything else, or some kind of ploy to gather information in order to further incriminate them. Clea was already wanted on multiple accounts, and while there wasn’t any notable proof that he himself was involved in Stephen’s relocation efforts, he was still illegally harbouring unregistered superhumans in his home.

Speaking to someone who clearly worked for the US government might as well have been a death sentence.

Wong was on his way to uttering a quick ‘No thank you, goodbye’ and slamming the door in their (unwelcome) guests’ faces, but one of the men- Sam Wilson- leaned in just far enough to keep him from doing so.

Clea could only see the faintest outline of the humans through the door, but she saw well enough to know that one of them was getting too close to Wong, and to the inside of the Sanctum. She didn’t like what they were saying before, and she liked it even less now that they were advancing on the door.

Wong visibly tensed as he stared the other man down; behind him, he heard the faint hiss of Clea swearing in her native tongue, and the sound of a blade being unsheathed.

“What Jim means is that we want our people back, and we bet you want your people back, so let’s get our people back, you know, together. We could use all the firepower we can get.”

Wong raised an eyebrow. Were…they offering to help break Stephen out of prison? And casually standing on the front stoop while doing it? His gaze briefly flickered over to Clea, who stared back at him with a similarly confused expression. He turned back to the two men.

“I see.” Wong said, then shut the door on them.

“I can’t tell if they’re trying to trick us into letting them past our defences, or if they’re actually foolish enough to announce their battle plans in public.” Clea said, turning to Wong. She still had her dagger out, but she looked more bewildered than battle ready at that point. It was like they were asking to get themselves arrested, if this wasn’t just some elaborate ploy to earn their trust. 

Wong sighed, shaking his head. “I honestly don’t know. I don’t recognize them, and after what happened to Stephen, I’m not willing to put my trust in strangers.”

Clea looked over at the door; the two humans were still out there, waiting. "Do you think this has something to do with Illyana’s disappearance?”

“I pray to the Vishanti that it doesn’t.. but it’s entirely possible. ” He’d been hoping that she’d just been called back to Limbo,  but even he knew that they’d never get that lucky.

“Well, I suppose there’s only one way to know for certain, isn’t there?” The sorceress asked, and  then tucked her dagger back into her belt.

She placed her hands on her temples, taking a few steps towards the door as she muttered a quick focusing charm under her breath. Humans never bothered to build up any mental barriers, so a simple psychic pass over their minds would likely be enough to know the pair’s true intentions.  

Upon entering, Clea was hit with more information than she’d been expecting to receive. Their minds were troubled, burdened by specific thoughts and memories that all too easily bubbled to the surface.

They knew about what the Raft truly was, about the torture she’d learned about from Loki months ago, but had been helpless to stop. They were registered, and felt guilty over arresting a friend…Steve Rogers. She knew him, he had helped Stephen relocate unregistered superhumans. He was a good man.  

Tony Stark was missing as well, likely arrested and taken to the Raft. Clea wasn’t exactly surprised. As much as she wanted to hate him for what happened to Stephen, she had been inside his dreams before, and had seen the kind of man that Tony was. He was haunted by his past, but wanted so desperately to make up for it, and to improve the world he lived in.

The man supported the registration of superhumans because he thought that was what was best for the world. It was the humans running The Raft who warped the narrative to convince Tony that the questionable activities he saw taking place were necessary for ‘the greater good’. That, or he risked losing his own freedom by defying them.

Clea knew this because she’d done the same thing, at least until she’d had the courage to defy Dormammu and escape the Dark Dimension. She had witnessed horrific things, and suppressed them in favour of blindly following the narrative of a benevolent god who had saved her people. She didn’t act out against any injustices she saw because she was terrified of what would happen to her if she did.

The sorceress had put quite a bit of thought into this, after months of crying herself to sleep and trying to find someone, anyone, to blame for what had happened. One of Tony’s men had nearly killed her husband,yes, and they’d brought him to that horrible place….but hating Tony Stark for his actions  would only make her a hypocrite.

The whole process only took a few moments, and Clea was left trying to shake away the wave of foreign thoughts and feelings from her head. Wordlessly, she turned back to Wong and nodded. He returned the gesture.

Together, they approached the front door and opened it.

“We are open to discussion, if you’ll follow us inside.” Clea said.

Sam frowned at the now-closed door, then turned to Jim, who didn’t look too amused himself.

“Think we came on a little strong?” Sam said dryly. Jim did that thing where he inhaled deeply and held it, nostrils flaring a little as he determined the most diplomatic thing to do, but didn’t say anything. It was usually kind of funny, but Sam was more than kind of tired of diplomacy by now.

Sam raised a hand to knock again, then stopped when Jim turned to him.

“What’s the call, Colonel?” Sam said. Jim’s nostrils flared again.

“Yeah, I probably shouldn’t have led with that,” Jim said, a little more humbly than Sam had honestly expected considering Sam had been joking. “Force of habit.”

Sam had to smile at that. It was getting harder and harder to hold a grudge against the guy the more time Sam spent with him, and Sam usually wasn’t one to hold grudges to begin with.

“I guess we’ll give them a minute, then?” Sam said. Jim crossed his arms and gave Sam a one-shouldered shrug, and then the two of them turned back to the door.

[flylikeafalcon]

dark-dimension-clea:

The Enemy of My Enemy || Rhodey, Sam W, Clea

Clea and Wong both froze when the doorbell suddenly went off one day, the old chimes echoing eerily thoughout the Sanctum Sanctorum. They hadn’t heard the sound in months, not since the SRA had passed and Stephen had started working in secret.

The two remaining residents wordlessly met in the foyer, where two shillouettes were faintly visible through the frosted windows of the front entrace.

The sorceress quickly scanned them. “It’s two humans, no traces of magic.” she said, looking over at Wong. “Should we answer?”

It was a difficult question. The passing of the SRA meant they were both fugitives of the law, and could potentially be arrested at any given moment. So far no one had been brave enough to try and target the Sanctum directly, but they both knew that could change in an instant.

However, this was still the home of the earth’s Sorcerer Supreme. It was their duty to assist anyone who came in search of aid, especially with the difficult times they were currently living in.

“Yes, we should.”

That didn’t meant they shouldn’t ensure their own safety first, however.

Clea pressed herself against the wall, out of view of the open door, but still within arm’s reach of Wong if these ‘visitors’ decided to become hostile. Her hand hovered over the sheathed dagger on her thigh, her body temsed and ready for a fight.

The front door, once open, would be their only entry point into the Sanctum; the dozen or so specialized wards that surrounded the old brownstone would prevent them from trying to enter elsewhere, or breaking the door down once it was sealed. So, in theory, all she and Wong had to do was keep them on other side of it. 

The sorceress had learned from her own rebellion, however, that things rarely ever happened according to plan. She really hoped the humans hadn’t figured out how to break past their wards, otherwise this situation was bound to get far messier than they wanted it to be.

Clea nodded to Wong and he nodded back, before slowly opening the door of the Sanctum. He kept it partially closed, his body blocking the theshold.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

Truce notwithstanding, the ride to the magical mystery mansion was decidedly tense. Sam kept his eye on the passing buildings to their right in search of the sigil that was supposed to be on the front of this building, and Jim likewise kept his attention to the left. Only once they found it did either of them speak.

“Ready?” Jim said as he parked along the curb near the gate. Sam cocked his head and nodded.

“Sure, man,” Sam said. He loosed his seat belt and moved to open the door, but Jim turned in his seat toward Sam, prompting Sam to stay put.

“Hey,” Jim said. “I’m on your team here.”

Sam dropped his head against the headrest but kept his eyes on Jim.

“I know, man,” Sam said. “But Hill isn’t, and we thought she was. If even half of what she told you is true, then we all really fucked up.”

Jim dropped his gaze for a moment. It had almost become his default since he’d returned from his visit with Maria Hill in DC, during which time Stark had once again disappeared, and while it wasn’t particularly uplifting to see, Sam did appreciate that Jim had the humility not to defend the Raft or the SHRA to Sam’s face anymore.

They still had a lot left to do, though, and Jim said he had it on good authority that the people they were paying a call on were so opposed to the SHRA that they had done a good bit of covert rescue-and-relocate missions before one of them had disappeared. All Jim had said he had to go on were the files Maria had sent him, but that seemed like more than enough to go on to try and rally together a rescue mission.

[flylikeafalcon]

Now the Ground Begins to Quake // Sam, Rhodey, & Tony

[flylikeafalcon]

thefuturistknows:

justatrainingexercise:

Wow. Jim was very not in the mood for this.

“I very much doubt it since he just established himself as a flight risk,” Jim said. “He – ”

“Oh, hell no,” Sam interjected, “let’s not act like he would have left if a bunch of HYDRA thugs hadn’t broken in – ”

“Sam,” Sharon said firmly. She locked eyes with Sam, and Jim openly frowned as they had some kind of silent conversation that he couldn’t follow.

Fine. Two could play at that game. He swiveled around toward Tony with full intent to roll his eyes or otherwise express his frustration, but as soon as he caught sight of Tony, Jim’s defenses dropped.

In truth, Jim was tired and torn. Bringing Steve back to the Raft was a decision that had been made for both of them when Jim had registered and Steve hadn’t, whether Jim liked it or not – and he certainly liked it less and less as he watched Tony fall apart behind the scenes and Sam get in his face in the middle of the Raft hanger. But the fact that Steve still thought he had the right to act as a free agent – leaving the facility, stealing a government helicopter, flying into foreign airspace unannounced – was proof positive that he needed to be reigned in. Just because he couldn’t level a building like the Scarlet Witch didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous.

Right?

Jim was sure he telegraphed all of that to Tony before he blinked slowly and cocked his head in a gesture that read “let’s get this over with.” They all clearly had some shit to air out, and if Sam wanted to do that here and now, Jim wasn’t going to back down.

But when he turned back to Sam, he and Sharon were already pulling back.

“We’ll meet you at the upstate facility,” Sam said shortly, and then he turned on his heel and returned to the jet Sharon and Rachel had flown in. After a beat, Sharon gestured for Rachel to follow, and the two of them joined Sam.

Jim waited until they were in the air before he turned to Tony again.

“I can go deal with this if you wanna get some rest,” he said. As much as he wanted Tony to back him up, he also knew Tony was already juggling enough bullshit on the front lines. Seemed like the least Jim could do was handle the in-fighting backstage.

“I’ll be fine! Finish the job.”

Tony followed Steve’s gurney until an armed soldier gestured for him to stop. Great, so the military was officially, openly involved in Raft duty now. That shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Steve disappeared behind a barrage of other security people whom Tony had initially assumed to be there for the Hydra captives, not Captain America.

It’s because he’s a super-soldier. That’s why. He couldn’t afford to think this was about anything else.

He allowed his helmet to retract completely, making a deliberate effort to inhale and exhale full breaths. Sam and Rhodey were arguing behind him. His mind was being blocked out of the security systems of the prison somehow. He should be able to hack back in given proper time and resources, but all this was indication that Ross had been serious about cutting Tony off.

“Jim. Will they let us see him?”

Tony was looking neither at Sharon nor Rhodey, but he still tuned in for Rhodey’s response as if that was a naïve question he had just asked himself. He already knew the answer. He still had to close his eyes when he heard it.

He turned just in time to catch Rhodey’s glance, then he looked at Sam and Sharon then back again and they were all quiet for a second and this is where Tony should come in and say something self-assured and practical and right. But nothing came to him. It was such a stupid thing to worry about at this stage, whether he’d be able to live up to his image, but it seemed like the lies were all he still had and he couldn’t even do them any justice.

Sam, Sharon and Rachel headed toward the jet. Tony’s eyes followed them, and then the aircraft as it took off, and new alarms starting going off inside his head. Sam could very easily end up being the next Steve Rogers in this story. Tony bit the inside of his cheek and just for a second his expression reflected the fear inspired by that scenario before it settled back onto something more neutral when he focused back on Rhodey.

“I can go deal with this if you wanna get some rest.”

Tony shook his head, pursed his lips, and under different circumstances he might have even smiled.

Jim. Jim was something he still had, besides the lies.

He wasn’t sure he could take up Rhodey’s offer, though – Ross would most likely want to talk to him soon, and even if he didn’t, Tony wouldn’t let Rhodey take any of this heat on his own. He looked over his shoulder for a moment, then stepped up toward Rhodey, only stopping when he was close enough to talk to him using barely more than whispers.

“You saw him,” Tony said. He broke eye contact and looked down and then to the side, and Am I crazy? he wanted to ask. Am I crazy or are they really starving him? “They know everything we know. About him. About his body, about what he needs. Why’s he—” Not getting it? Tony swallowed back the rest of the question once he couldn’t get it out. “You’d tell me if I was losing my mind, right? If I was being paranoid? Right?” He couldn’t stomach the image of Steve being purposely and deliberately starved. “Tell me I’m just being paranoid.”

By unspoken agreement, Rachel took the helm of the jet, leaving Sharon and Sam to themselves by the loading ramp as it folded into the jet’s belly. Neither of them bothered to take a seat as the jet rose through the hatch at the top of the Raft; instead, Sam folded his arms and looked to Sharon.

“This is bullshit. You know it’s bullshit.”

Sharon smiled sadly.

“Yeah. But Rhodes knows the game better than any of us...”

“Uh-uh,” Sam said, stepping in close. “You saw him, Sharon. You saw the shape he’s in. I’m not saying Rhodes is on it, but there’s probably more going on then he knows about. Could be a SHIELD-HYDRA thing all over again.”

They fell into a tense silence for a moment as the rest of Sam’s statement went loudly unspoken: and if he does know what’s going on -- if he is in on it -- I’ll get it out of him.

Then Sharon lowered her gaze and shook her head.

“We have to trust Rhodes. And Hill. The whole reason they were brought in was to keep things above board, wasn’t it?”

“Seriously? You’re siding with them now?”

“I’m not siding with anybody, Sam!”

“Bullshit! You gave Steve that intel, you knew he would act on it, you didn’t tell any of us -- do you know what they’re doing to him in there? Huh? You know anything I don’t?”

Sam stood his ground as Sharon stepped back, though he did feel a pang of guilt as she glared at him with wounded eyes. But he was sick and fucking tired of signing up for causes only to learn they were a farce, and he had to know how real this one was.

“He made his choice, Sam,” she finally said. “You don’t get to pin that on me. He wouldn’t.”

Sam sighed, dropped his chin, nodded.

“Yeah. Okay. All right. You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m...yeah.”

He sighed again, and this time he actually felt himself deflate a little. He was still looking toward his feet when Sharon stepped back toward him and lay her hands on his still-crossed arms. After a moment, he unfurled his arms and raised his hands palm-to-palm with hers. She laced her fingers through his, and he nodded again.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

“I know,” she said. “Me, too.”

He shook his head. “Don’t be. We’ll figure this out.”

This time, Sharon sighed. “I need to drop Rachel off at HQ.”

“Oh. Yeah. Right. Do you need to head back, too?”

“I should. But if you need me to go with you...”

Sam shrugged. “Nah. We’re just gonna talk.”

Sharon raised an eyebrow.

“I promise,” Sam added sincerely. “Call me when you clock out.”

[flylikeafalcon]

Now the Ground Begins to Quake // Sam, Rhodey, & Tony

[Immediately follows the events of Various Methods of Escape.]

It was with no small amount of chagrin that Sam stood by as the Raft personnel wheeled Steve away, and he made that chagrin clear when he turned to Jim.

“You feel good about throwing him in here twice?” he said. 

Jim’s face plate was up before Sam had finished his sentence.

“There’s a full medical ward here, Sam,” Jim said, as close to nose-to-nose with Sam as he could get in the War Machine suit. “This is literally what you signed up for.”

“I signed up to save my dumbass friend,” Sam said, jabbing a finger at the door through which Steve had just been taken, “and this kinda the opposite of that.”

“How? He’s fine in here -- ”

“He’s lost at least fifteen pounds!”

“-- it’s prison, not the goddamn Ritz!”

They were both almost shouting now, which Sam only noticed when Sharon took hold of his arm.

“Jim,” she said. “Will they let us see him?”

[a-man-outof-time]

Various Methods of Escape // Steve, Tony, Rhodey, Sharon, Sam

[flylikeafalcon]

luckyagent13:

It turned out that there weren’t many people Sharon trusted with this particular mission, but there was one, and she’d hardly even had to talk him into it. He had filled out the preliminary paperwork while Sharon had arranged for transportation, and by the time they were in the air, Sam Wilson was as good as a probationary government enforcer. Now he was silent in the pilot’s seat, Sharon to his left in the copilot’s.

“You okay?”

Sam’s hands flexed around the yoke of the plane.

“We’ll find out when we get there.”

“Steve will be fine. He always is. I’m asking about you.”

Sam shrugged sharply with one shoulder. Behind them, Sharon’s field partner, Rachel Leighton, pretending not to be eavesdropping as she double-checked her gear, though Sharon knew damn well Rachel was listening in.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been dragged out of retirement. Didn’t regret it the first time.”

Sam hadn’t turned to look at her, so she likewise returned to gaze to the windscreen.

“I should have gone with him.”

Sam sighed and dropped his shoulders.

“Me, too.”

Sharon looked to Sam again. This time, he returned the gesture.

“But like you said, he’ll be fine. Always is.”

The hanger appeared to be empty when Sam, Sharon, and Rachel reached it. Worse, the door to the runway was open; both Sharon and Rachel had to raise their hands against the sudden onslaught of Alpine light. Thankfully, Sam’s goggles saved him the inconvenience of being temporarily blinded, and he immediately re-deployed Redwing for a bird’s eye view.

“Infrared shows a dissipating heat trail,” Sam said. “Plane took off maybe twenty minutes ago. No one else in the hanger but us.”

Sharon swore. Sam shared the sentiment.

“We should get back to Steve,” Sharon said. “Round up the bodies we do have.”

“Yeah.”

They returned to find their surprise sixth man slung over Jim’s shoulder in a fireman’s carry; in his other hand, Jim held the Minigun that had been torn from his shoulder. Somewhat to Sam’s surprise, Tony was carrying Steve in a bridal carry.

Sam nodded to Tony. “He okay?”

Tony didn’t look away from Steve, though when Steve tried to turn in Tony’s arms to face Sam, Tony rotated his stance for him. Sam thought Steve might have smiled, or tried to, but he also gave Sam a thumbs up, so Sam let it go and turned to Jim and Sharon instead.

“We should have room for everyone on the jet,” Sharon was saying. 

She was standing only a few paces from one of the dispatched soldiers. To Sam’s eyes, at least three of them definitely didn’t look like they were going anywhere, and the last two had been tied together back-to-back. It’d be a tight fit, especially if either Tony or Jim decided to ride along as well, but do-able.

“Let’s load ‘em up, then,” Jim said.

Sam carried one body on his shoulders, while Sharon and Rachel carried another together on their way out. Sam then went back with Jim to collect the last three. Tony conspicuously stayed behind, though he hadn’t left the jet by the time Sam and Jim returned, as Sam had expected he would have. In fact, Tony hadn’t even set Steve down yet, though it looked like either Sharon or Rachel had set up a cot pretty much right at Tony’s feet.

Sam raised his eyebrows at Tony. Next to Sam, Jim raised his face plate.

“We have to take him back to the Raft, Tones,” Jim said on a sigh.

Sam almost strained his neck snapping his gaze between Jim and Steve and back again.

“He needs a hospital,” Sam said.

Jim sighed, more roughly this time, and it occurred to Sam that Jim and Tony had likely been discussing this privately for the past several minutes.

“We outnumber you,” Tony said, confirming Sam’s suspicions. “Democracy wins the day.”

“I don’t remember any of us putting this to a vote,” Jim said, but there was no fire in it. “We have to drop off these guys first, anyway,” he added, nudging the sniper guy with the toe of his boot. “We’ll figure it out from there.”

Jim made his way to the front of the jet to confer with Sharon and Rachel, leaving Sam with Tony and Steve. Sam raised his eyebrows at Tony, but Tony wasn’t looking at him.

“You’re gonna hafta put him down so I can take a look at him,” Sam said.

For a moment, Tony didn’t move. Then he slowly turned and lowered Steve to the cot. He stayed on one knee next to him and made no indication that he planned to step aside, so Sam grabbed the med kit and hunkered down at the head of the cot.

“You look like shit,” Sam said. Steve coughed out something like a laugh.

“Well, you saw the other guys,” he said. “Schmidt and Rumlow?”

“Got away. Five out of seven ain’t bad, though, plus the bonus guy.”

Steve frowned. “Another super-soldier?”

“Oh, yeah. Ripped my damn pack apart.”

Sam glanced over at Tony. “Sorry,” Sam added.

“More where that came from,” Tony said, his voice exceptionally flat.

“Sam,” Steve said, suddenly urgent. “What are you doing here?”

Sam pulled on a pair of gloves and opened an antiseptic wipe.

“Ross cleared me to come on the grounds that I finish my registration as soon as we get back. This is gonna sting.”

Steve frowned, then squeezed his eyes closed as Sam lifted Steve’s head to clean the scalp wound on the back. Still silent, Tony reached over to cup his hands under the base of Steve’s skull, allowing Steve to relax and Sam to use both of his hands.

“Thanks,” Sam said to Tony, and this time he wasn’t surprised by Tony’s silence. He was probably arguing with Jim again, so Sam didn’t push it and turned his full attention back to Steve.

“So besides this nice cut and your broken nose, what else you got?”

Steve followed Sam’s lead and tabled the registration conversation, at least for the moment. 

“Couple bruised ribs, maybe a fractured tibia. Bullet graze on my right side? Wasn’t really paying attention.”

“No, I bet you weren’t,” Sam said with a dry laugh. “Jesus, I’m glad you’re alive.”

“Me, too,” Steve said.

A heavy silence fell, but Sam took the opportunity to set Steve’s nose and wipe his face clean of blood before he started talking again.

“You trying to steal our look?”

Steve frowned in inquiry.

“The stubble. You’re gonna have to clean that mess up if you want to compete with this.” Sam gestured at his own chin as he stood to shuffle around the cot to Steve’s right. He thought Tony might have laughed, but that might have just been the suit shifting as he gently lay Steve’s head back on the cot.

“Doesn’t suit me, I don’t think,” Steve conceded. Sam settled in to take a look at the wound on Steve’s side.

“Pretty shallow,” he said. “I’ll stitch it anyway, but knowing you, it’ll be gone in a couple days.”

Sam’s gaze traveled to Steve’s hands, which were resting high on Steve’s stomach. 

“Nice bracelet,” Sam said. He looked pointedly at Tony, and this time, Tony looked back, but before either of them could say anything further, Steve’s hand appeared between them, the bracelet dangling from his fingers.

“If I’m going back to the Raft,” Steve said, “you have to take this. I don’t have anywhere to hide it, and Ross can’t have it.”

Finally, Tony lifted the face plate.

“Most people are more subtle about re-gifting,” he said, but he took the bracelet from Steve.

Steve laughed, a little weakly, and let his hand fall back to this chest. He looked like he was ready to sleep.

“I’ll expect it back, then.”

Sam wasn’t sure what was happening -- or if he was comfortable with it, all things considered -- but he filed it away for later as he lifted Steve’s shirt to take a look at Steve’s ribs. He already suspected he was going to have some choice words for Rhodes when they got to the Raft, especially if Jim actually thought they were going to leave Steve there instead of taking him to a proper hospital; he could wait until then to figure out what Tony was playing at, too.

[flylikeafalcon]

Phone Call: Sam and Sharon

Sam: I'd say Hi, but every time I hear from you, it's because the government has done something stupid.

Sharon: [sighs harshly] I think I got Steve arrested.

Sam: ...come again?

Sharon: I had a lead on someone he's been looking for, a SHIELD agent that turned out to be HYDRA --

Sam: Yeah, Brock Rumlow, I know.

Sharon: I didn't think he'd run off by himself! I thought he'd at least tell /you/.

Sam: He might have if I hadn't retired.

Sharon: Sam. Please. The only reason I know he got arrested in the first place is because Rhodes just called --

Sam: And how would Jim have known?

[tense silence]

Sharon: He conducted the arrest.

Sam: Uh-huh. Did he happen to tell you where Steve is?

Sharon: No. The Raft is the only superhuman detainment center that's been announced to the public, but there are at least two more that Jim is "contractually obligated" to keep under wraps. Depending on how dangerous Ross thinks Steve is, he could be at any of them.

Sam: Okay. Great. Thanks for letting me know.

Sharon: Sam --

Sam: This isn't your fault, okay? Steve did Steve. We'll get him out.

Sharon: Sam. You need to stay out of this or you could end up in there with him.

Sam: That's hilarious.

Sharon: ...

Sam: I'm just going to talk to Jim. I don't do the guns a-blazing thing anymore.

Sharon: [laughs sadly] Only because you don't have guns to set ablaze.

Sam: Uh, better believe I'm still packing heat. Not enough to take on Jim, though.

Sharon: Oh, God --

Sam: That was a joke, I'm joking. Hey.

Sharon: Yeah?

Sam: I'll keep you posted.

Sharon: ...okay.

Sam: It's gonna be okay.

Sharon: Okay.

Sam: Call you soon.

Sharon: Bye.

[spacegamora]

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