Sam glances back at Steve before he pulls his flight goggles down over his eyes. Steve has a faint smile tucked into the corner of his mouth, like if he wasn’t so full of angst and woe, he’d be outright laughing. Which had kinda been the point of this whole exercise, to cheer Steve up. Well … that and proving Rhodey wrong once and for all. Sam is the better flyer and this shouldn’t even be an argument. Rhodey’s suit does all the work for him; Rhodey’s just along for the ride. And he may be a colonel in the Air Force and known across the globe as War Machine / Iron Patriot, but Sam is the goddamn Falcon, with nothing but his wings, his quick thinking, and his sharp looks keeping him alive.
Rhodey and Sam have been mouthing off for half the morning – it’s the same argument every time Rhodey comes over. They’ve exchanged insults and challenges over brunch (Rhodey, Hill, Nat, and Sam cooked while Steve hovered, trying to absorb some cooking skills by osmosis apparently), over a few heated rounds of Mario Kart, (Rhodey used Birdo because in a moment of weakness, Sam admitted that Birdo scared the bejeezus out of him and Rhodey is asshole) and then some more mouthing off in quiet furious whispers when Bucky came over after his therapy session to hang out with Steve in what Sam has privately dubbed the Hour of Pain. Not because he doesn’t commiserate with Bucky and Steve’s struggles, but because Hour of Pain is significantly shorter than Hour of the Most Hellishly Awkward Non-Talking, Second-Hand Embarrassment, Regret, and Pain There Ever Was and Ever Will Be.
Honestly, Sam doesn’t think these visits are doing Bucky or Steve any emotional favors. Mostly, they just sit in silence or Steve will ask Bucky if he remembers some small anecdote from their past, and Bucky will either nod or shake his head – will write something on his little notepad if he nods, will look like he’s about to fall apart if he doesn’t. Sam isn’t going to be the one to point out how fucking weird this daily routine is. Hell, weird comes with the territory these days.
What he is going to do is kick Rhodey’s ass in the air. Bucky and Nat left ten or fifteen minutes ago and Maria said she thought Sam and Rhodey were all talk, which has led to this: Sam and Rhodey in the front yard in their hero trappings, ready to duke it out. They haven’t exactly mapped out what will constitute winning the aerial show, but that’s not really the point. The point is SHOCK AND AWE, baby. Fireworks. (That’s what Riley used to say before each mission. He’d kiss Sam and whisper, “Shock and awe, baby,” and then they’d go out and fly like two halves of a whole.)
Sam can’t see Rhodey’s face, but he’s probably grinning. Sam sure is. He winks at Steve and fits his goggles down snugly on his nose.
“Ready when you are, Tin Man,” he shouts, before launching himself skyward. The first couple seconds, all he does is exist. No thoughts, no emotion, just exists. It’s his favorite part. That moment when he’s suddenly airborne, defying gravity and expectations and everything and everyone who ever said It can’t be done. He whoops, pulls his knees up and does a barrel roll through the air before leveling out and climbing higher. He glances back down to where Steve and Maria are standing on the porch. He can just make them out and he does another somersault to impress Steve, to force that smile to the surface.
Once he’s as high as he’d like to go, he scans the area for Rhodey. Rhodey’s up ahead doing some high flying tricks of his own, using his little rocket boots ( or some name Tony’s made up that’s meant to sound high tech rather than bad science fiction-y).
Sam calls out to him and Rhodey turns around – Sam has to admit, the guy’s got speed. But he’s not fighting against the wind with just his abdominal muscles keeping him from going head over heels across the Atlantic.
Sam: 1. Rhodey: 0.
“Why don’t you see if you can keep up?” Rhodey shouts and takes off across the sky and Sam laughs, remembering racing Riley, remembering racing alongside the helicopters just to see if he could. Rhodey’s fast – good goddamn, he’s fast – but Sam can be quick, too. He’s an aerodynamic feat of muscle and machine. It takes a few seconds, but he’s within a body length of overtaking Rhodey, pushes his wings just a little harder, and Rhodey goes into a free fall, shouting, “Catch me, Sam!”
And Sam can’t tell if he’s fucking with him or not, but his instincts kick in and he pulls his arms and legs close and drops like a cannon ball. And the wind is whistling all around him and the adrenaline is running through him like a drug – not that he’s ever tried any of the good ones, but he imagines this is what meth or crack is like, racing racing racing, feeling invincible and free.
But the ground is coming up fast and there’s no way Sam’s going to catch Rhodey.
“Rhodes!” he shouts into his comm and Rhodey laughs before engaging his stupid, little rocket boots and Sam doesn’t have tech like that, so he has to unfurl his wings faster than he’d like and pull himself back up and it tears a yell from his lungs that he’s going to regret Rhodey overheard.
Rhodey’s laughing and zipping back toward the sun and Sam doesn’t even catch his breath, just rasps, “Asshole.”
Sam: 1. Rhodey: 1.
“Think Hill saw how cool you look?” Sam shouts, because he’s not above emotional battery to win.
Rhodey’s comm is silent a half beat, before he says, “Shut the fuck up, Sam” and they both know it’s now Sam: 2. Rhodey: 1.
Sam does a few more flips and turns, and yes, even, a very elegant and technically sublime pirouette.
And now it’s Rhodey’s turn to throw a low blow. “I guess Steve let slip he’s really into ballet?”
But Sam is ready for this and he lobs it back easy, “Yeah, his kink is tutus.”
Rhodey groans, but he brought this on himself and he jets across the sky as if he can get away from the wonderful image Sam’s just put in his head. Sam can’t decide if that’s quite a point, so he strikes it as a noble 0.5. He’s still ahead.
But then Rhodey recovers. He puts his hands out in front of him and turns on those little propulsion things and he starts to spin like a top, so fast he’s just a gray blur. And it looks fucking cool, even if Sam half thinks Rhodey’s gonna fill his helmet with puke any second now from the motion sickness. Rhodey pulls out of the twirl gracefully and says, “I’m a regular Misty Copeland, aren’t I?”
“Who?” Sam asks and just from Rhodey’s posture, Sam can tell he’s giving him judgy face.
“You’re never gonna woo tutu-loving Steve if you don’t know the illustrious Ms. Copeland,” Rhodey says, his tone full of mocking concern.
“Thanks for the romantic advice, buddy. To return the favor, I’ll give you some flying lessons.” And then Sam bolts across the sky as fast as his wings can carry him, with Rhodey in pursuit, yelling that he’s the best, goddammit.
And without even acknowledging it, they both know they’re racing back to the house and the one who gets there first, takes the gold. Rhodey is closing Sam’s lead fast and Sam is fighting against the wind as it is. He doesn’t have any psychological grenades to throw back at Rhodey: the guy’s ridiculous crush on Maria (which is totally reciprocated, but Hill and Rhodey are both too professional around each other to do anything about it, but Sam’s not going to say anything because that is an open invitation to throw rocks at his glass house) was the only thing in Sam’s arsenal. And so it comes to this: skill against skill. Man against machine. Beauty against age.
“I can hear you, you dick,” Rhodey shouts, interrupting Sam’s narration as he pulls ahead and drops into Sam’s yard, seconds before Sam’s own feet touch down.
Steve and Hill are sitting on the steps talking, but they look up at Sam and Rhodey’s commotion.
“I win,” Rhodey says, popping the front of his helmet open.
“The hell you do!” Sam shouts. “I let you get ahead of me so you wouldn’t go home too dejected. Couldn’t have you losing Mario Kart and this. Would’ve been too much for you.”
Rhodey smiles. “Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he says.
“You guys looked good up there,” Maria says. She’s looking at Rhodey, so she doesn’t see when Sam makes kissy faces and rolls his eyes.
“Tin Man here was just reflecting my glory. I looked good; he was a poor reflection.”
Hill raises a brow. “Some mighty big talk, Wilson. Mighty big.”
“Yeah, well…” Sam shrugs, starts unbuckling his wing pack. “I’m gonna shower. But you guys should stick around. Steve hasn’t been keeping up with his pop culture list. Thought we might do some 90s action movies. I’m talking Bad Boys, The Matrix, might throw in one of the Die Hard sequels if we’re feeling adventurous.”
“What do you think?” Rhodey asks Hill. “Should we stick around?”
“Mission Impossible should definitely be on the list,” Hill says. “I’m a little concerned Sam’s in charge of Steve’s education if Mission Impossible isn’t on the agenda.”
Sam rolls his eyes, pats Steve’s shoulder as he passes him on the stairs. “It takes a village – and all that,” he says. “You up for it, Steve?”
Steve looks up at him and smiles, a real, honest-to-goodness smile. “Yeah, Sam, sounds fun.”
Sam grins.
Okay, so Rhodey won the race, but Sam got a smile out of Steve, and man, it’s gorgeous.
Rhodey: 1. Sam: Infinite.