The whine of the Quinjet’s engines drops to a low hum as they approach the facility. It’s well-hidden in plain sight, one of those abandoned factory complexes that litters the Rust Belt: four vast, crumbling brick buildings surrounding a courtyard of cracked pavement and tangled weeds. It looks just like the places that Sam and his boys used to break into in high school, well-buzzed on cheap malt liquor and playing at being urban explorers--like a piece of Americana abandoned to the elements. It doesn’t look like anyone’s set foot in here in years.
Coulson’s intel is usually good, though, and he has to admit it makes a damn good disguise.
Steve is standing, strapping into his parachute. His hands are quick and sure, and Sam’s pretty sure he’s not using it as an excuse not to look at them. Or not only that. He hasn’t said much after that little revelation he dropped on them, and Steve is usually quiet before missions, focused and turned inwards, but not like this.
“Steve,” he says quietly as the hatch opens up, and he knows the words, he knows his lines--he’s a professional, and it’s not like he’s never seen a case like this--but then Steve looks up at him, tense like he’s braced for a blow, and Sam can’t make himself say them.
“Be careful,” he says instead, and Steve relaxes enough to give him a tiny smile.
“Always am,” he says, and actually grins at Sam’s disbelieving bark of laughter. And then he’s stepping smoothly out onto thin air, twisting like an acrobat into the breeze, and it’s too late to say anything else.
“I hope like hell he knows what he’s doing,” Hawkeye mutters as the hatch closes.
“He’s an idiot.” Stark is standing too, fully armored with his faceplate up. There’s a muscle jumping in his jaw. “When the hell does he ever know what he’s doing?”
“He has us,” Hawkeye says, and Stark snorts.
“My point exactly.”
Banner is hunched over his tablet and doesn’t say anything. It’s hard to tell, from Sam’s angle, what he’s reading. If he’s reading anything at all, and not just avoiding the conversation. Natasha is the only one who looks calm.
“He’ll be fine.” Her tone is even, brooking no disagreement. “Sit down, Stark.”
He turns on her. “Don’t--”
“Sit. Down.”
Stark doesn’t sit. He leans against the bulkhead, folding his arms. In the armor, it looks faintly ridiculous. “I suppose you knew about this.”
“No. I didn’t.”
“But you guessed.”
“I--” She pauses, looks down briefly. When she looks up again, there’s no apology in her face. “I had my suspicions. It wasn’t any of my business, so I didn’t ask.”
“But you would have used it,” Stark says. “Wouldn’t you.”
She lifts a shoulder. “If I had to, yes. So far, I haven’t.”
For some reason, that’s what makes Stark relax. “Fine. That’s just fine, you’re always such a pleasure to work with, Natasha.” He glances at Sam. “You ready to play, Icarus?”
His voice is sharp, mocking and brittle. He’s angry, Sam realizes--angrier than he’s letting on, and worried too. Sam puts on his most disarming smile as the hatch opens again. “Hope you can keep up,” he says.
”You hope I can--” Stark snorts, flips the faceplate up. “Very funny. Let’s do this.”
Re: FILL 4/? to burn your kingdom down
The whine of the Quinjet’s engines drops to a low hum as they approach the facility. It’s well-hidden in plain sight, one of those abandoned factory complexes that litters the Rust Belt: four vast, crumbling brick buildings surrounding a courtyard of cracked pavement and tangled weeds. It looks just like the places that Sam and his boys used to break into in high school, well-buzzed on cheap malt liquor and playing at being urban explorers--like a piece of Americana abandoned to the elements. It doesn’t look like anyone’s set foot in here in years.
Coulson’s intel is usually good, though, and he has to admit it makes a damn good disguise.
Steve is standing, strapping into his parachute. His hands are quick and sure, and Sam’s pretty sure he’s not using it as an excuse not to look at them. Or not only that. He hasn’t said much after that little revelation he dropped on them, and Steve is usually quiet before missions, focused and turned inwards, but not like this.
“Steve,” he says quietly as the hatch opens up, and he knows the words, he knows his lines--he’s a professional, and it’s not like he’s never seen a case like this--but then Steve looks up at him, tense like he’s braced for a blow, and Sam can’t make himself say them.
“Be careful,” he says instead, and Steve relaxes enough to give him a tiny smile.
“Always am,” he says, and actually grins at Sam’s disbelieving bark of laughter. And then he’s stepping smoothly out onto thin air, twisting like an acrobat into the breeze, and it’s too late to say anything else.
“I hope like hell he knows what he’s doing,” Hawkeye mutters as the hatch closes.
“He’s an idiot.” Stark is standing too, fully armored with his faceplate up. There’s a muscle jumping in his jaw. “When the hell does he ever know what he’s doing?”
“He has us,” Hawkeye says, and Stark snorts.
“My point exactly.”
Banner is hunched over his tablet and doesn’t say anything. It’s hard to tell, from Sam’s angle, what he’s reading. If he’s reading anything at all, and not just avoiding the conversation. Natasha is the only one who looks calm.
“He’ll be fine.” Her tone is even, brooking no disagreement. “Sit down, Stark.”
He turns on her. “Don’t--”
“Sit. Down.”
Stark doesn’t sit. He leans against the bulkhead, folding his arms. In the armor, it looks faintly ridiculous. “I suppose you knew about this.”
“No. I didn’t.”
“But you guessed.”
“I--” She pauses, looks down briefly. When she looks up again, there’s no apology in her face. “I had my suspicions. It wasn’t any of my business, so I didn’t ask.”
“But you would have used it,” Stark says. “Wouldn’t you.”
She lifts a shoulder. “If I had to, yes. So far, I haven’t.”
For some reason, that’s what makes Stark relax. “Fine. That’s just fine, you’re always such a pleasure to work with, Natasha.” He glances at Sam. “You ready to play, Icarus?”
His voice is sharp, mocking and brittle. He’s angry, Sam realizes--angrier than he’s letting on, and worried too. Sam puts on his most disarming smile as the hatch opens again. “Hope you can keep up,” he says.
”You hope I can--” Stark snorts, flips the faceplate up. “Very funny. Let’s do this.”