domarzione | Captain America fic: Escape Velocity

Escape Velocity
2200 words | PG-ish | Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanova

In which Sam gets his wings, Steve trades on the legacy of Captain America, Natasha dusts off an old outfit, and the utter insanity that is government bureaucracy ends up saving the day despite itself.

"We are both going to end up at Leavenworth for this," Sam muttered as they joined the queue of cars waiting to enter Fort Meade. They had intentionally chosen a busy gate at a busy time of day and there were half a dozen vehicles ahead of them waiting to show ID and get searched before being allowed to proceed.

Steve smiled. "Considering what's gone on the last few days, I think we both get shot instead," he said, eyes still on the LCD billboard by the gate. It ran base announcements, mostly, along with the temperature and weather forecast. There was a 40% chance of showers today, which was probably better odds than them stopping HYDRA if he were honest about it. But he was an optimist by nature, which was why he wasn't carrying an umbrella.

Sam had been drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel, but stopped and gave him a baleful look.

"Not by the MPs," Steve offered. Sam's glare deepened, expressing how little succor he got from that assurance, but then he started to laugh.

"History has greatly downplayed just how batshit you really are," he said, shaking his head. He was still smiling, though, and Steve thought he understood why. Recognized it in himself, that giddy awakening after the long slumber of grief.

Sam's war had been different from his own in more ways than time and technology could explain. But Steve had still recognized in Sam the way he had carried every failure with him, every loss bearing him down further than each victory bore him up, until there came a great loss from which there had been no recovery. At least not right away. Sam had changed his battlefield, but the weight had followed. Until now. Steve knew better than to think that his arrival in Sam's life had been either catalyst or completion of that weight-shedding. He'd had nothing to do with it save for being in the right place at the right time for Sam to notice on his own that he'd healed.

He was a little jealous, perhaps, because he still felt so weighed down on his own after seeing what had been behind the sequence of curtains at SHIELD that had finally revealed HYDRA at the end. But mostly he was glad for Sam, glad enough to accept Sam's help even when he knew what kind of danger awaited them. He hadn't been joking about the getting shot, which in the grand scheme of things was probably one of the better outcomes.

"History made of me what she needed," he said with a shrug. "I spend a lot of time now disappointing people."

Including Alexander Pierce, who should have perhaps known better. But right now, Pierce's ignorance was Steve's own bliss; being constantly underestimated had its advantages and here, at least, one of those advantages was his life.

"Only the people who deserve it, " Sam said as he eased the car forward a few feet and braked again.

It was Steve's turn to smile.

They had another ten minutes before it was their turn to present their IDs and wait for the MP with the mirror on a stick to check the car's undercarriage. Both of them carried identification that would get them on base without needing an invite or a reason; the only problem would come from what SHIELD had done when they'd branded him a rogue.

"Is there a problem, Corporal?" Steve asked when their IDs weren't immediately handed back after being tapped against the reader.

A pause, then a strangled noise from the MP. "Yes and no, sir. It seems you've got a flag on your file. We're supposed to detain you, sir, and wait for CID."

The corporal sounded baffled, which was exactly the reaction Steve was hoping for. Communication technology had progressed beyond his wildest imaginings, but it didn't actually make it easier to communicate. SHIELD had relationships with both Homeland Security and the Department of Defense, but loose ones that came with no ability to make demands that would automatically be met. Usually that was a recipe for frustration and duplication of efforts and a lot of inter-agency squabbling. Right now, however, it was the perfect smokescreen.

SHIELD might have put out a capture-or-kill order on Captain America, but they couldn't actually expect any other agency to follow that order, at least without providing a damn good reason. Which they had not because they did not. And judging by what they had provided, which was nothing in the way of specifics, they had instead given everyone a perfectly plausible reason to ignore the request entirely: common sense and its application to military bureaucracy.

"Give that here," another voice, one belonging to a Staff Sergeant according to the ACUs that came along with it, commanded. Corporal Martinez handed over the reader. "Jesus H. Christ on a pogo stick. Captain America is not a wanted criminal. What did those idjits do... They probably want some other Steve Rogers and just slapped the flag on the first name on the list. I'm sorry about that, sir, we'll get this cleaned up."

"Don't spoil my fun, please," Sam said as he accepted the IDs back from Corporal Martinez. "I like the idea that Captain America might really be a bank robber or a car thief. You steal any cars, Cap?"

Neither of the MPs could see the sly laughter in Sam's eyes.

"Not since 1945," Steve replied on cue. "Statute of limitations is probably up by now on that, though."

The MPs laughed and the gate was lifted for them to proceed. Sam shifted the car into drive and Steve gave a short wave in farewell as they moved on.

During the planning over breakfast, Natasha hadn't been a fan of a break-in that began with a polite knock on the front door and the presentation of proper credentials in their own names. It gave SHIELD a firm location for Steve in real time, not to mention proof that he'd survived the attack at Camp Lehigh, and it also made Sam's involvement clear and undeniable, which in turn made him a target.

But Steve had won that argument quickly by pointing out that it was very likely that SHIELD already knew that they'd survived because they would have looked for bodies and the shield and, finding neither, would assume escape rather than vaporization. And Sam's involvement would be obvious the first time he spread his wings, which would likely be sooner than later. Possibly this afternoon. "You're just uncomfortable with the lack of disguise," he'd told her and she hadn't been able to deny it convincingly.

Natasha was waiting for them when they arrived at the building where the wings were being stored. Or, rather, Natalie Rushman was because Natasha really wasn't comfortable working under her own name in the light of day and this was the only cover she could muster on such short notice. It at least had the benefit of a plausible reason for their actions built right in.

"Any chance you found time to warn Tony that we are about to make him an accessory to the theft of government property?" Steve asked as he shook Natasha's -- Natalie's -- hand in polite greeting and then gesturing for her to precede him and Sam up the walk.

"And spoil the surprise?" Natalie, who had a much chirpier voice than Natasha, replied with a smile. "He likes surprises."

"Surprises aren't good for him. He's coming off of heart surgery," Steve reminded her, although not with any censure because she wasn't wrong. Tony wouldn't mind, would probably mind more that he hadn't been actually involved.

"I sent a message to Pepper Potts," Natasha allowed as she bent down to retrieve her fallen pen. "I do know how things work there."

Natalie, all smiles and suit blouse just that little bit too tight, presented herself, Captain Rogers, Technical Sergeant Wilson, and a packet of paperwork (courtesy of an hour in a dingy copy shop in a bad part of DC) to the sergeant at the desk and explained that they were there on behalf of Stark Industries to take custody of the EXO-7 belonging to Project Falcon. The expected confusion proceeded to occur, requiring the summoning of officers of increasing rank and much close examination of the provided paperwork, which was completely in order despite there being no corresponding copies in-house and nobody seeming to know why the EXO-7 hadn't been prepped for transport.

"That was our request," Natalie chimed in, smiling winsomely. "We wanted to make sure we had everything before the crates were sealed. Mister Stark is still a little upset about what happened with the shipments from Project Gearwinder."

Two of the majors made awkward faces and Steve pegged them as the ones on the receiving end of Tony's wrath.

"Sergeant Wilson was a Falcon pilot," Natalie went on, gesturing with her hand -- near her bosom -- toward Sam. "He's going to do the final inventory so we know nothing's missing."

"Sirs," Sam said, all proper deference of an enlisted man well trained not to speak until spoken to.

"And you, Captain Rogers," Colonel Moseby prompted with a cynical expression. "Are you here to carry the crates?"

Steve smiled. "No, ma'am. I'm officially here as an escort for Miss Rushman because of the sensitive nature of the project. Unofficially, I think I'm really here to grease the wheels with a little well-timed glad-handing. Although according to the MPs at the gate, I might really be here to commit a felony."

Which then required explaining that there had been a stop-and-hold flag on his ID, which in turn reminded everyone that mix-ups happen even more frequently in the computer age than they did back in the days of typewriters, which then circled back to Project Falcon and why nobody at the storage facility had any record of the prototype being loaned to Stark Industries.

It took another twenty minutes and some CYA paper-signing by Miss Rushman on behalf of Stark Industries, but then Steve and Sam and Natasha were led to the vault that served as the crypt for Project Falcon and offered an array of boxes for packing.

Sam breathed deeply and let out a happy sigh as he opened the crate containing what looked like a jetpack.

"I used to think that everyone would have one of these now," Steve said as he watched Sam work, Natasha using Natalie's charms to pry more information from their escorts -- and keep everyone too distracted to do something like call a superior officer. "Flying cars, jetpacks..."

Sam huffed a laugh. "Not quite the future the Jetsons promised us," he said. "But this ain't half-bad. Not half-bad at all."

He was smiling like he was reunited with an old friend. Or maybe just the memories of old friends.

It took the better part of an hour to get everything packed and checked and then moved to the SUV Natasha had 'borrowed' for the day. Steve rode with her, Sam followed behind in his car, and they drove up to Maryland to find a quiet spot to prepare the next phase of their plan to stop Project Insight.

While Natasha sat in the SUV and worked the phones to find Sitwell, Steve was out in the empty field watching Sam perform checks on the Falcon wings, a methodical procedure he'd clearly committed to memory and just as clearly loved to perform. Sam addressed the parts by endearments, praising them for their pristine condition and flattering them for their excellent form, and he refused to look ashamed when Steve finally started laughing at the performance.

"Keep it up and you get no joyride," Sam warned, unable to look properly stern or threatening because he was still smiling. He stroked the hard cap of the pack's cover. "He doesn't mean it, baby."

"He most certainly does," Steve assured. "And you're calling me crazy."

Sam sniffed indignantly and turned away.

Natasha was done with her business and standing next to Steve when Sam jogged to the other end of the field and, with a graceful gesture not unlike a conductor readying his orchestra, he extended the wings.

"Wow," Natasha said, sounding honestly impressed. "They're prettier than I thought they'd be. Hope they work."

They did, in more ways than one, perhaps. Sam took off with no lead-in, no warning, just one second he was earthbound and the next he was soaring up into the sky, turning sharply and flying low and executing a nifty maneuver to change direction before coming in for a graceful landing right in front of Steve and Natasha. He looked lit from within, alive in a way he hadn't been an hour ago, and Steve smiled back at his wide grin. He'd accepted the burden of Sam's offer to help them without hesitation, but he could wear it a little easier now.

"Come on," he said, gesturing with his head toward the cars. "We've got havoc to wreak."