We're Just Friends From Work

Even before the Avengers split, Sam had never really talked to Tony Stark. Sure, they had nodded at each other or waved across the room during the successful mission parties, but they had barely said a word to each other besides when Steve introduced them. The only reason he ever had any contact with the genius was to get his wings fixed, and even then they didn't have to be in the same area. He would drop his wings off at the doors of the lab he had never been allowed into or give them to someone Tony was closer to, and a day or two later (sometimes just a few hours), his beloved set of wings would appear at his door in the compound or at his house, depending on where he was at the time. He wasn't sure how Stark knew his address, and he would be lying if he said it didn't freak him out just a little bit, but at the time they had been teamates and he had heard many stories of how Tony always found out what he wanted to know, no matter what. He was also an Avenger, one of Steve's trusted friends, so Sam tried to trust him, too.

Then the Avengers broke up and it all went to heck. Steve and Stark locked horns a lot, but when they worked together, they could be one of the greatest pairs in existence. A pair of strategic geniuses with just the right balance of rational and impulsive. When they worked against each other, it was like the world had imploded. There was too much stubbornness and determination for different things, and compromises were broken down before they could even form because of this little fact. The Accords split them right down the middle and Steve keeping the secret of the real reason for Tony's parents death - something Sam didn't know until months later - only drove a further wedge between them. It took a year of political conflict, meetings, and getting rid of Ross (courtesy of Tony) for those dubbed the 'Rogues' to get back in the States by signing a ratified, edited, and agreed upon version of the Accords, and another six months of forced bonding time and a few battles with villainous enhanced people for them to work more as one unit instead of two separate halves. It was still like walking on eggshells sometimes, but he'd heard Tony and Steve joke around a few times, and it gave him (and others) hope that the Avengers would be alright.

What had shocked him most, though, had been how hard Stark had fought to get the Avengers back together. There were videos of him arguing with Congress, debating with the UN, and there were files upon files of him and Ross's fighting. He had sided with the original Accords, but for some reason he wanted them back together as soon as possible. It puzzled him, but he never asked. He wasn't close enough to him to ask. No one went from, "Hello, my name is Sam Wilson," to "why are you so obsessed with keeping the Avengers together after all that happened?" It was a silent rule; a question he didn't allow himself to ask during their limited conversations.

This lack of knowing each other also led to his current predicament. One of his wings had been broken in yesterday's training exercise and he needed it fixed, but Stark hadn't come up from his 'cave of genius,' as said man dubbed it, in two days. He had only briefly came up to say goodbye to Clint, Natasha, Vision, and Steve before they left for a mission in Europe, leaving Sam with Scott, Wanda, and Tony. Rhodes was visiting his mother and Ms. Potts was in Britain, meaning that Sam had no one who truly knew Tony to deliver the wings for him. This meant he would have to deliver them himself, and he wasn't quite sure he was ready for the task, especially since he was having to psych himself up right outside the glass door that opened up into the downward stairway to Stark's lab, a place he had never been permitted into. He probably looked like an idiot, standing there with his folded wings in his arms and mumbling to himself. Why was he so scared to just go ask Stark to fix his wings? "C'mon, Sam, it's not like he's going to bite you."

"Who bite who?" A familiar voice asked from behind him. Sam nearly jumped out of his skin, turning to see Scott Lang standing a few feet away, his own suit folded up in one arm with the helmet tucked securely under his other. "Woah, man, sorry," the guy said, holding his hands up as best he could while holding his equipment. "I didn't mean to scare you. Why are you talking to yourself out here?" That's when he spotted the wings and a look of realization appeared in his eyes. "Oh, did your wings break?"

"Yeah," Sam replied as his heart calmed down. He felt a little sheepish at having been caught talking to himself over something so simple - it was embarrassing. "One of them. The whole wing nearly broke off, but I wasn't far from the ground." He nodded toward his. "What happened with yours?" He hadn't heard of Scott's suit malfunctioning. "And don't you usually take it to that Hank Pym guy?" He could vaguely remember him mentioning something about Pym Technologies and how the CEO created that suit. He also talked about how he had a crush on the elder man's daughter, but Sam had never asked for details on either thing. While he knew Scott better than Tony, they weren't best friends either.

"I do," Scott replied. "But he's somewhere on a beach right now and I can't get in touch with him. I figured Mr. Stark would be the next best bet..." he trailed off, looking toward the glass door they were standing beside. Before Sam could ask what was wrong, he continued, "though he said to never trust a Stark."

The bird themed hero looked at him strangely, his eyebrows coming together in confusion. "What does Pym have against Stark?" He figured if Pym and Stark had an argument it would have been on the news at some point, but he couldn't recall ever seeing it.

Scott shrugged. "Not exactly with Tony Stark, but definitely Howard Stark. Something about idea stealing and rejection, I think?" He didn't sound too confident. "I never got the whole story, but if I ever mentioned the Avengers or just the Stark name, he would start ranting and raving about what backstabbers they are."

"Wait, wait, hold up," Sam said quickly. "He had some kind of argument with Howard Stark, but that somehow reflects on his son?" That just didn't add up. A child shouldn't be blamed for the mistakes or actions of a parent. The man shrugged again, offering up no answer as consideration crossed his face. "Whatever happened between Stark Senior and Pym shouldn't reflect on this Stark. Let's just... try and keep our minds open. Have you ever talked to him?"

Scott immeadiately shook his head. "Besides introductions and battle stuff? Not really. I've been trying to hype myself up in my room just like you've been trying to out here. Heck, we could have done it together."

Sam couldn't help but snort at that, embarrassment fading as he learned someone else had been in the same situation as him. At least he wasn't the only one anxious about talking to Stark over suit repairs. "Well, I've barely talked to him either. Apparently he's nothing like the news shows, by what Steve says."

"So he's not an arrogant, overconfident jerk?" Scott summed up bluntly, leaning against the wall and glancing at the door again.

"Apparently not," Sam said. "Well, hopefully not." He trusted Steve's judgement, he really did, and he did know Stark much better than he did. But at the same time... he'd seen so much on the news, and he'd heard his snarky comments on the battle field. When he risked something, from the mission to his life, he almost always got a reward out of it. He usually knew when to push further and do the impossible, but the times where he failed were disaster. Ultron, for example. That didn't really need any explaining. The world was almost destroyed due to Stark's own creation. Granted, he hadn't known his motives behind creating the AI - he clearly had made others - but the damage was still a mark on the planet and its people. Sokovia was something that hadn't been forgotten and never would be.

"So I guess we need to get down there," Scott said, but he left the words hanging in the air as he made no move to open the door. After a second, he motioned toward it slightly, his eyes basically saying, 'you were here first, so you go in first.' Sam really couldn't dispute that logic and stepped forward, still wondering just why he was so nervous to even push a door open. For a moment, he hoped it wouldn't budge, but it came open soundlessly, revealing a lit stairway downward. After taking a quick breath of confidence, he moved forward and down the stairs, Scott's steps quickly following behind him. The walk down was silent besides their feet hitting the glossy metal stairs and when they reached the bottom, they were met with another hallway. Instead of a regular wall, the one on the right was glass and frosted over. He thought it was safe to assume that just beyond it was Stark's lab.

The two Avengers came across another door a couple more feet away and this one did not come open as easily. Sam couldn't see well through the glass, but he thought he could see flashes of red and hear the faint sound of blaring rock music. After a split second of considering just turning around and heading back upstairs, he knocked on the glass lightly. He didn't exactly expect Stark to hear it, but the music turned off and the door came open on its own. Well, most likely due to Friday, the AI that controlled everything from Stark Tower to everything in the Compound itself. (It took a while to get used to her, but she was, admittedly, quite helpful.) Sam walked in before he could lose his nerve and immeadiately spotted Stark. He was bent over a table where an Ironman suit lay in so many pieces that he couldn't tell if it was a new suit or one that had been beaten up in battle. He was using a tool Sam didn't recognize that lit up with electricity when it touched wires and goggles covered his eyes.

It proved how much he didn't know Tony Stark by the fact that it shocked Sam to actually see him in something that wasn't a suit - cloth or metal. It wasn't like he hadn't seen him in more casual attire - he didn't expect anyone to walk around in a suit all the time - it was just... for some reason he never expected to see him in worn out jeans, sneakers, and a Black Sabbath t-shirt that had seen several years of lab work according to all the stains, his hair curling all over the place instead of slicked back like usual. Not knowing what else to do, Sam and Scott stood a few feet away from where he was working and waited for him to finish. Finally, he did, setting the tool down and looking over at them. "What can I do for you two?" Stark asked, grabbing an oil stained cloth and wiping his hands.

"My wing broke," Sam said, inwardly cringing at himself. Way to be eloquent, Wilson. "A training exercise went wrong and almost snapped my wing clean off." It was only then that he consciously realized this was the first time he had been in the lab and his eagle eyes quickly drank it in. Brilliant blue holograms floated everywhere, line after line of code covering some while others showed various statistics and systems that Sam couldn't hope to understand. There were tables upon tables filled with tools and other various objects, and six Ironman suits were held behind a glass wall. He would never admit to anyone that he may have fanboyed out just a little when he saw what may have been the second Ironman suit. There'd been so many improvements since then - even he could see that. There was a little, unused kitchen off to the side and three robots mingled around, one of them holding a fire extinguisher for some reason.

Stark moved away from the suit and to another table, swiping his arm across an area to clear it. He knocked some stuff off in the process, but he didn't seem to care too much about it. "Sit it here," he said, guesturing vaguely at the table. "Lang," he called, momentarily startling Sam. He'd completely forgotten the other man was there, honestly. "what's up with your suit? Bring it over." Scott walked up and placed his down with Sam's on the table.

"I don't exactly know," Scott said with a small shrug, folding his hands in his pockets rather anxiously. "It's... malfunctioning." Stark raised an eyebrow and ran his hand though his already messed up hair. "Details, Lang, I need details," he said, not exactly snappish but close. He took the suit from its folded form and spread it out over the table, inspecting the technologically enhanced fabric before turning to the Ant-man helmet, picking it up and flipping it around in the light.

Scott's brain seemed to malfunction for a second and Sam couldn't really blame him. People described the presence of Tony Stark as a whirlwind that could stump the best of people from his sheer attitude or words. This was exactly why he was so nervous about coming down here. "Uh... it takes it a couple seconds longer to change size. It's not that big a deal, but-"

"In the right situation, that can be a horrible thing," Stark finished for him. Scott could only nod. The genius sighed as he inspected the helmet again, then placed it down to look at the Falcon wings. Why did he suddenly feel so nervous about him messing with the machinery? He'd done it so many times. Maybe it was because he was actually watching. Sam didn't really like for people to touch his stuff, even if they were skilled in engineering.

Stark's hands were careful as they extended the wings manually, running his fingers over the mechanisms that had been broken or basically ripped apart, his mouth twisting into a thin line that somehow brought more tension into the already stale atmosphere. Finally, he broke the silence. "I can fix the wings, easy," he said, causing Sam's shoulders to relax. "Give me a few minutes to look at this." He flipped the back hatch of Scott's helmet, revealing a million crossing wires and glowing pieces. He waved his hand in the air and a hologram came into his hand, combusting into a sphere of light that he quickly adjusted to be over the suit.

Silence reigned for a few minutes, the only sounds being the breathing of the three occupants and metallic sounds as Stark used a slim, small tool that Sam didn't know the name of to look around inside the helmet. "I believe I know what's wrong," he said, standing up straight from his hunched position. "A wire or two disconnected, one needs replacing, and this needs a good clean. When is the last time old man Pym took this thing through a dry cleaner?" He asked with a small, disapproving shake of his head. Sam couldn't completely tell if that was a joke, and it seemed like Scott couldn't either.

"Well, uh, I'm not sure... I don't think it's dry cleaner safe," Scott said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Tony snorted out something that may have been a laugh. "I'm just pulling your leg, tic tac. It's not, these ports just need cleaning. Man, you two are a really tough crowd." He opened a drawer beside him and started pulling out tools and parts. "U!" For a second, Sam thought he was talking to one of them and tensed, but then he realized Stark was looking toward the pack of robots he saw earlier. "Get me another coffee, please. Fri has some brewing - thanks, by the way, baby girl."

As one of the robots grabbed the coffee pot off the machine, said AI responded, "You're welcome, Boss, even if I think that drinking so much coffee is not beneficial to your health." Sam thought he saw Stark roll his eyes behind his goggles. He didn't comment on it.

Then the words caught up to him. "Wait, coffee?" He looked at his watch. "Why are you drinking coffee at six in the afternoon?" He might not be a doctor, but that couldn't be healthy. It didn't help that Friday used the words 'so much.'

Once again, Stark raised an eyebrow as he took the pitcher of coffee from the bot, patting it on the claw as he did. "I don't tell you how to live your life," he said, pouring the hot, brown liquid into a nearby mug. "If I were, then I would tell you to not put your milk in before your cereal. Yeah, I saw you, you aren't slick." His lip quirked up in an amused smirk, which widened further when Scott gasped dramatically beside him, whispering, "treason."

Sam rolled his eyes, amusement bubbling up in his chest as he tried to fight back a smile. "It was one time! I forgot to put the cereal in."

Scott pressed a hand to his chest like he'd been physically wounded by the remark. "You don't just 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 that, Samuel. It's a way of life," the man replied. "I don't know if I can look at you the same again." Sam couldn't help it- he laughed. "You think this is funny, man? This is treason, I tell you, 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧!" He tried to stop laughing, but Scott's face made that really hard. Stark snorted into his coffee before basically downing it all in a gulp. He refilled it quickly before he finally took off the goggles that had covered his eyes. That definitely helped Sam stop laughing considering that there was such darkness under them, making him almost look like a raccoon. The slight paleness to his face made them stand out like bruises.

Scott also noticed. "Dude, I think you need more than coffee. You look like you need sleep." The previous nervousness was gone after the joke they pulled, replaced with slight shock and a little bit of worry that Sam couldn't help but reflect.

Tony rolled his eyes as he started on the broken wing, determinedly looking down. "Lab light," he replied curtly. "Makes everyone looks worse. What's Maximoff up to?" The change in subject didn't go unnoticed by Sam, but he didn't feel like he was allowed to call him out on it. Scott, however, looked a little ready to push, so he quickly interjected with an answer: "Last I saw her, she was watching Full House in the livingroom. She's still a little bumbed about Vision having to leave without her."

Tony hummed for a moment as he replaced different wires and bolts, fingers moving deftly over the machinery without a second thought. It was a little bit like magic as he weaved it all together again seamlessly. "Any word on how Barnes is doing?" Sam blinked, a little taken aback. Tony paid for the therapy the former Winter Soldier was going through and had Bucky use one of Tony's own private jets for routine flights between the States and Wakanda ("Less pollution," the genius had said. "All my jets run on arc reactor power."), but to ask about how he was doing? Why would he want to know, anyway? Especially after what happened in the Siberian bunker...

"I thought you would know," he replied after a few extra seconds of processing.

Stark rolled his eyes for the third time, though there was a slight wince afterward. Did he have a headache? Or was it mental pain? "I pay for it. I don't ask questions."

"He's doing alright by what Steve says," Scott interjected, sitting down at the bench across from Tony as the other man worked. "They're slowly getting the trigger words out of his brain. Soon he can join the roster." He was cautious in his optimism. Everyone on the team was aware of how the Winter Soldier had killed Tony's parents. One of the things Sam disagreed with Steve on was the fact that he hid that he knew for two years. He kept such a huge secret from one of his best friends - people may not believe him, but the Captain had said those exact words. Tony was one of his best friends, right there with Bucky. It was hard to see that with all the fighting and arguments, but then there were the golden moments where they worked like a well oiled machine, knowing what the other was thinking before anyone else. The trust was broken during the Avengers Civil War, as the media dubbed it, but it was building back up. Sam really couldn't blame Tony if he was still upset, even if the billionaire had already said he had separated Barnes from the Winter Soldier. Watching your parents die on video after so many years of thinking it had been a car accident and having the face of the murderer standing right beside you... that wasn't something anyone could get over easily.

"Hey, that's great. We can have our duo of super soldiers back, together again. It'll be the greatest reunion since the 1940s. Heck, it could be a show, starring- oh gosh darn it-" he yanked his hand away from the wing and Sam was supsrised to see some blood on his palm. "Hand slipped," Tony muttered to himself, grabbing a cleaner rag and pressing down on the cut before either of the other heroes could see it.

"Do you need a bandaid? Or bandages?" Scott asked, sounding mildly alarmed.

The genius quickly shook his head and wrapped the rag around his hand, tying the fading, worn ends together. "Nah, I'm good. Just- tired, I guess." He downed some more coffee before turning back to the suit like nothing had happened. "As I was saying, it'll be good to have our pair of enhanced human beings back. Rogers won't be moping around here and we'll have an extra powerhouse to go intimidate the pizza guy."

"Yeah," Scott chuckled lightly, but his heart wasn't completely in it. Not because he wasn't into the joke, but Sam could see his eyes trailing Tony's hands. Taking a closer look himself, he could now see they were slightly shaking and moving slower than they had been. He wasn't sure if it was because of the mention of Barnes (he did actually sound a little happy about his possible return) or because he was tired. That was plain to see without him saying anything. In the last five minutes, it looked like the bags under his eyes had gotten darker.

"You know, Mr. Stark-" Scott started, but was cut off by said man's reply: "Just call me Tony. Mr. Stark was my dad." There was a slight air of steel to his voice that shocked the ant themed hero into silence. Sam decided to take over as his friend's brain tried to get back on track. "Tony," he waited until the guy glanced up at him in acknowledgement, "we could come back later if you're too tired-"

He didn't even get to finish before Tony was shaking his head in an almost frantic motion, jaw set in a firm line. "No, no, I'm fine. I'm not going to sleep any time soon and this will be a nice change of pace from Ironman suits and paperwork. Come back in about three hours and I should be done, maybe just two but I'll have Friday call you then, capishe?" Sam was ready to argue, but he had seen that stubbornly determined look in his posture and face enough times to know he wasn't backing down from this. "Alright, fine," he held his hands up in surrender. "I need to go call Steve anyway. You coming, Scott?"

"If I could," the man looked at Tony, "do you think I could stay down here for a while? This place is neat." There was a gleam in his eyes that spoke more than his words. He was still fanboying out over the lab.

The philanthropist tilted his head considerately before shrugging. "Sure. I don't mind. Just don't break anything or set something on fire." There was a beeping noise and Stark's eyes widened considerably, his head whipping around to the robot that held the fire extinguisher. He was coming toward them at a rather fast pace, waving the red piece of safety equipment around almost dangerously. "Wait, Dum-E, no, I'm not on fire. Dum-E-!" He held his arms up over his face just as the robot came and doused him. After a few seconds of firing the white foam, he beeped in a way that Sam understood as satisfaction. Scott and he had managed to move out of blast radius, but Stark was basically covered. He sighed, a mix of frustration and amusement on his face. "Good boy, Dum-E."

There was a moment of silence, and then the other two men busted out laughing. Tony rolled his eyes as he shook off the foam like a wet dog, mumbling curses under his breath. The bot beeped a couple times before moving back over to join the other two, one of which Sam had yet to learn the name of but kept dropping near everything he picked up. It was probably associated with that, like, maybe, butterfingers or something equally as silly yet endearing. "Get out of here, Wilson, before I throw this wrench at you!" Tony called, waving the tool around in a playfully threatening manner as Scott fell down from his bench with full stomach laughter.

Sam was still wheezing as he walked through the door. "It's Sam to you, and you couldn't hit me if you tried!" He jested before shutting the door, the sound of something hitting the thick glass following behind him and only prolonging his fit of laughter. He finally made his way upstairs, shaking his head and smiling to himself. That wasn't so bad. In fact, it had went really well. Better than he could have imagined or dreamed about, actually. Sure, Tony was terse at first, but he'd opened up faster than expected. His smile dropped a bit when he thought about the bags under his eyes. Tony had been in the workshop for a few days, hardly coming out unless Steve or someone from the Original Avengers told him to, but he just assumed that he went to bed after they did. That didn't appear to be the case. It wasn't his place to ask questions, but that didn't mean he couldn't be concerned for his coworker, his teammate.

He made it up the stairs and down the hall to the livingroom where Wanda was still watching TV. He didn't know her too well, but he considered her both his teammate and friend, like Scott. He knew both of them better than others due to being on the same side in the Avengers Civil War. She was curled up in the corner of the long leather couch, knees pulled to her chest and chin settled on them as she watched Michelle be the sassy little girl that she was back in the 80s, the lights dimmer than usual as the screen casted a blue glow over the room. The young woman seemed to be in her own little world and he decided not to bother her. Trying not to be much of a distraction, he walked behind the couch and into the fully stocked and equipped kitchen that was so technologically advanced he sometimes wondered if the waffle maker would come to life.

He got himself a can of Sprite before calling Steve to check up on the mission progress, settling on the barstool at the island counter and taking a sip of his soda. The dial tone went through his ears three and a half times, then a voice that definitely wasn't the Captain's answered, "Hey Sam," Natasha said over the line. "What's up?"

"Hey Nat," he replied, spinning around in the chair once. "Nothing really. I actually just took my suit to Tony to get it fixed," he said.

"Oh?" she replied, more interest showing in her voice than he was used to.

"Yeah. Scott's actually needed fixing, too, so we headed down there and guess what? They ganged up on me over putting milk first instead of cereal one time." He rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help but smile at the memory. That smile quickly turned into a petulant scowl, however, as Natasha responded with, "well, that is an Avenger's level offense. You should be ashamed of yourself, Sam. What would your mother say?" He could just imagine her shaking her head right now, Clint probably somewhere listening to the conversation and trying not to laugh.

"She'd probably jump right into this joke you guys are pulling. Seriously, is it Prank Sam Day?" He asked with a hint of exasperation that couldn't hide his own amusement. "Anyway, how's the mission going?" They spent the next twenty minutes talking over mission details. They were supposed to be back in three days, if everything went according to plan. Knowing the rotten luck that came with the title of Avenger, he doubted that would be the case.

"Scott and Tony aren't blowing anything up, are they?" Natasha eventually asked after they went over strategies to get rid of the Hydra base located in a rural part of Italy.

"Considering I can't feel any explosions, no," he said, letting out a small chuckle. "But they could be doing anything down there. I'd never actually been in his lab until today." He could hear Natasha shuffling things around on the other side, papers rustling and cabinets closing. "I was wondering if you would ever be able to enter his 'cave of genius,'" he could practically hear the air quotes around her words.

"It surprised me when the door opened," he admitted. A thought then struck him and he just had to ask. "I know this might be out of boundaries, but..." he trailed off.

"You aren't going to ask me out, are you, Wilson?" She asked, obviously teasing.

He couldn't help but sputter. "No, no- I was just wondering if he usually stays down there for long periods of time. I hadn't seen him much in the two days before I took my suit down there and he looks kinda... run down." Sam didn't know any way else to describe him besides 'maniacally sleep deprived.' The red head was quiet for a few seconds too long and he started to get nervous. "I know it's none of my buisness, I'm just-"

"Worried," she finished his sentence accurately, silencing him. "Yeah, we've all been there. Tony doesn't sleep much sometimes. He'll run on coffee and willpower until his body gives out on him. I can't tell you why - that would be a breach of Tony's trust and I know you understand that - but just... please keep an eye on him. It's not my place to ask that of you, but none of us are there to help him right now." He could feel her stress over the phone line and that wasn't a familiar feeling when it came to dealing with Natasha. She didn't often show her emotions, much less radiate them. He suddenly understood that he was being trusted with something, with someone, and his heart pounded faster in his chest.

He took a rather deep, calming breath before responding, resting his empty can on the table. "I'll keep an eye on Tony. Don't you worry. He's in safe hands whenever he does fall on his face," Sam assured her. He thought he heard her let out a breath of relief, but it could have easily been his imagination.

"Thank you, Sam. I know Tony can be... a bit much, but don't take it personally." There was a vague sound of someone else talking and Natasha quickly bid him goodbye. Before he could say a word, the call ended, leaving Sam to think about the new information he had received. Or, more precisely, the information he hadn't gotten. He stared down at his phone for a long couple of seconds, but he was soon interrupted by Wanda's voice.

"Stark is a grown man. He doesn't need anyone watching him," she said, making him jump. He hadn't realized she'd walked into the kitchen until now. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun and she was dressed in a grey t-shirt and jeans, much unlike her usual attire and making her look a few years under her actual age. She grabbed a water bottle out of the fridge, resolutely not looking at him as she sipped it. He tried not to notice the red tendrils slowly making their way around her hands. "He can stay down in that lab for all I care," she muttered under her breath as she screwed the cap back on.

Sam wasn't surprised by her reaction in the slightest. Her and Tony had a history - a long, tragic history that started before they even met. He knew very well the story of how one of his missiles had hit her home, killing her parents while a dud one sat near them for three days. It was a horrifying story, something no one should ever have to live through, but she had. He couldn't exactly blame her for her reaction either, but he also believed they should have talked it through with a therapist a long time ago, especially since they had been living under the same roof and working on the same team for over two years now. Their inability to work together was a crucial weakness in the Avengers, one that quite a few standard villains had intentionally (or accidentally) taken advantage of, and they also needed to solve their problems before one of them went mad. It would bring consolation to Wanda's mind, anyway.

But he couldn't say that. Just as he knew what they probably should do, he knew that you couldn't force people to talk through their issues. Right now, they were less explosive staying apart in the Compound. "It's just precaution for the team," he said calmly, treading carefully with his words as if he were walking on thin ice. It felt like the room had gotten a lot hotter in the last few seconds. She fiddled with her water, eyes locked on the liquid sloshing around in the bottle, a million emotions going through her eyes. For a moment, that anger faded away, replaced by sadness and regret as she chewed at her bottom lip. "It's just so he doesn't completely face plant during battle."

She didn't respond, just turned to the window. These were times where Sam truly didn't know what to do. Wanda was clearly upset and hurting, and not just because Vision had to leave, but there wasn't anything he could think to say in order to help her. Before he could even try to come up with something, his phone rang again. He barely looked when he answered, expecting it to be Natasha or Steve. It wasn't. As soon as the phone was to his ear, he heard Nick Fury say, "There's going to be trouble in Los Angeles. Since SHIELD is stretched too thin, I need you and whoever else is available at the Compound on it. I understand Rogers has a crew with him on a separate mission."

"Sir," Sam said, sitting up straight as his military and Avengers training kicked into high gear, though he almost fell out of his chair with the sudden movement. Wanda turned back to him, eyes both alarmed and curious at the same time. "What kind of trouble? There's only four of us on duty and-" he was cut off by the infamous SHIELD director. "We aren't sure, but our intel says it's most likely an assassination attempt or ambush by Hydra. Three days from now, there's going to be a conference in Los Angeles and we got Stark an invite. It's going to be full of the world's top business people and scientific minds. Basically, a room full of powerhouses that Hydra would love to destroy. We also have information that there are inside agents tracking the airspace and the names of standard plane passengers, meaning that none of you should fly there."

"What are we going to do? Pack together in a car?" It was the most likely solution, but he could already feel the tension and dread building in him. All four of them locked in a car for about three days? That was going to be one of the worst situations possible at the worst time. He felt like banging his head against the marble table when the man replied, "Yes, that's exactly what you're going to do. And be as inconspicuous as possible headed there - and not just by putting on a hat, you idiots. Worst disguise ever." He didn't give Sam a chance to respond to that. "When you get there, I don't care what you do. Put your heads together and solve this crap. Perferably without casualties." The line cut and a second later he heard two sets of footsteps making their way to the kitchen, Tony and Scott soon appearing with determined looks on their faces, a bandage now wrapped around the former's hand. Friday must have notified them that Fury called.

Sam stood as the other three gathered around the island. He didn't fail to to notice how Tony and Wanda kept as far away from each other as possible with Scott caught in the crossfire of their silent fight. They didn't even look at each other, but their body language was completely defensive, not making the smallest eye contact. The genius of the group typed away on a tablet in his hands, most likely getting things set up with his fiancee Miss Potts, his company, and Steve if his own phone buzzing on the table was any indication. With the Captain gone and Sam part of his second in command, he had to be the leader this time. Tony didn't seem to want to be, as he looked at him instead of the group.

Trying to pretend like his heart wasn't trying to beat out of his chest, he crossed his arms. "We need to get to Los Angeles, California in three days time and we can't fly. Fury's orders. Stark, do you have a car that's not flashy and doesn't have your name on the plate?"

Tony nodded. "Yes. I have one for missions just like this. It's a Honda." He grimaced.

Sam nodded back, the slightest bit of anxiety easing. One less problem to deal with. "Good. We leave first thing in the morning. Pack up, get some sleep, and then we'll head out." He looked each of his teamates in the eyes. It was easier to read them on this - none of them were happy about the situation, though Scott was less tense about it than Tony and Wanda.

As they dispersed, Sam couldn't help but sigh quietly. There was almost no trust between this facet of Avengers. He knew Scott best, but he hadn't fought beside him much outside of the feud. Wanda and Tony were a ticking time bomb together that he hoped wouldn't go off while they were in an enclosed space. They didn't know how each other's brains worked or their fight patterns - four people with extremely different skillsets, strengths, and weaknesses. Best case scenario, this ride helped them to get to know each other better. Worst case scenario, they all died before they got to Los Angeles. It would certainly make the headlines if they did, but it wouldn't be the dumbest way to die.

There was only one thing for certain: he was going to haunt Fury if he was a ghost by Saturday.