"You sure you'll be fine?" Sam asked. "I could still come with."

"No, you have things to do here," Steve said. "I'll only be gone for a few days. Besides, Maria is there – I doubt even Stark can get me into any real trouble on her watch."

"Good point," Sam said, a little reluctantly. "But you be sure and call me if something comes up and you need me after all. There isn't anything I'm doing in wrapping up things here that's so important that I can't give you a hand if you end up needing one."

Steve smiled at him. "I will. I promise."

"Good. You do that. Look after yourself properly while you're away, all right?"

"Sam, it's only three or four days."

"I know, but I worry about you. You have this bad habit of throwing yourself in the path of danger, not to mention off of tall objects. I won't be around to catch you in New York."

Steve gave him an amused look. "I'm sure Stark would be glad to do so if it becomes necessary. I'll be fine. Promise."

"You keep saying that, but I'll believe it when I see you back here safe and sound and ready to set out on your friend's trail."

"Which is something Stark can help me with, so... the sooner I get to New York, the sooner we can set out."

Sam nodded, and Steve turned away, climbing onto his bike and lifting a hand in farewell before driving off. Sam watched until he was out of sight, then headed indoors to grab a few things he needed before heading down to the VA. He had a few loose ends to take care of there, before he and Steve set out in search of Bucky.

While part of him regretted giving up his job here, even if in theory it was only temporarily... most of him was looking forward to the search. It was good to be back in the game again, even if it wasn't the game he'd started out in.

There was a bike courier sitting on the stairs of Sam's front porch when he got home later that day, reading something on a tablet, a large parcel resting between her feet. She looked up at his approach, then slipped her tablet into a belt pouch and rose to her feet. "Mr Sam Wilson?" she said. "Extra-special delivery for you."

"It must be, for you to be willing to sit around waiting to deliver it," he said.

She grinned. "I'm being very well paid to sit around until you show up and take delivery," she said. "Like a four figure tip if I get it into your hands today."

"A four fi... wow. Who the hell is spending that sort of money on me?"

"Well, it's a Stark Industries originating address, so I could take a guess," she said. "Anyway, I just need you to show me some ID – though you certainly match the picture supplied – and then sign here."

Sam shook his head and took out his wallet. "When did this become my life," he muttered to himself, then did as she'd asked.

"Thanks!" she said cheerfully as she put her bike helmet back on. "Have a great day, Mr Wilson – you and whomever your benefactor is have already made mine."

He watched her hop on her bike and cycle away, then bent down to pick up the bulky-looking parcel. It was lighter than he'd have expected something that size to be, but of an oddly familiar weight. He paused for a moment, feeling a surge of anticipatory excitement, then hurried indoors, dropping his things on the nearest surfaces and hurrying into the kitchen in search of a knife or scissors to cut through the packing tape.

A few minutes later, he was sliding a familiar-looking piece of equipment out of its protective foam packaging, whistling appreciatively as he took in the streamlined shape of it; an upgraded model of his old EXO-7 wings. EXO-9, according to the markings on the packaging material; the hardshell casing itself was unmarked.

There was a small but bulky envelope tucked in behind the webbing on one of the front straps, 'Sam Wilson' scrawled on it in messy handwriting. He opened that first, raising his eyebrows as he saw that it was a very compact hard-shell electronic device of some sort, about the size of a USB key or a tube of lipstick, with a small grill in one end and a red button at the other. Mentally he shrugged, and then pressed the button.

"Hello Sam Wilson," Tony Stark's very recognizable voice spoke from the device. "Consider this your invitation to join the Avengers. I'll be sending you a care package of paperwork and a few additional toys with Cap after he visits me in New York, but the wings are yours whether or not you decide to sign up for our elite boy band of superheroes. Well, mostly boy band, both Natasha and Pepper would kick my ass if I didn't acknowledge that we have female members. And I'm sure Hill would be happy to assist. Anyway, if you're going to hang out with Cap you'll need your wings, so, consider them a bribe or a gift or a signing bonus, I don't care, just keep 'em and make good use of them. All Stark Industries locations have received a standing order to assist you with repair or replacement if it becomes necessary, though the once-a-year refuelling of the Arc reactor I'm powering these babies with can only be done by yours truly. Actually they'll probably run for more than a year, just better to have the core replaced before you find yourself running out of power at a critical moment in flight. Voice of painful and rather brown-pants-inducing experience on that, okay? Looking forward to meeting you face-to-face some time. Ciao!"

The device popped in half along a previously unnoticed seam, revealing two small earbuds and a rolled up bit of paper. Unrolling it revealed 'comm link and backup comm link' scrawled on the paper in the same messy handwriting as had been on the envelope.

"Huh," Sam said, a little impressed. He held the earbuds in the palm of his hand for a moment, then slipped them both into one of the utility pouches on the wings' harness. Digging around in the packaging the wings had come in turned up a technical manual for them. He grabbed a jug of orange juice out of the fridge, and returned to the living room to settle down in his favourite chair to read over the manual and familiarize himself with any differences there were between these wings and his previous set. Stark being Stark, he felt confident in thinking that there was likely to be a lot more differences than just them now being arc reactor powered.

Sam settled the wing pack in the front seat, strapping it in place with the seat belt like the precious baby it was, then walked around the front of the car and settled into the driver's seat. He needed someplace where he could try out the wings in privacy, without setting off half the radar in the Washington area. Luckily he still had contacts in the air force, and a few phone calls the night before had gained him access this morning to a decommissioned airfield a little over an hour's drive away, with the additional benefit that his use of the airspace over it wouldn't raise any alarms; unidentified objects in the sky tended to draw a harsh reaction from local air defence given events of the last fifteen years or so.

There was a lone guard at the small gatehouse beside the locked entrance to the property, who checked his ID and then opened up the gates for him. "Mind if I watch?" the guard asked.

"Aren't you supposed to stay in the gatehouse?" Sam asked.

"Leave it to do rounds a few times a day, make sure no one's come in through the fence somewhere and messed around any," the guard said, and pulled a tablet from one pocket, thumbing through a menu and then holding it up so Sam could see the screen; a security camera view of the front gate. "There's an app for watching the gate while I'm away, if anyone actually shows up I can be back here in a couple of minutes." He shrugged. "Place barely needs a guard. Get maybe one visitor every couple of months; it's not like there's anything more important here than a few mostly empty buildings and a lot of decaying asphalt."

"Damn, things sure have changed since I was in," Sam said, shaking his head bemusedly. "Sure, you can watch as long as it's not interfering with your own duties."

"Awesome," the guy said, smiling.

Sam drove in and parked near the airstrip, then got out the wings, checking them over carefully before strapping them on. He pulled on his goggles, shook himself out and gave the straps a final tug to make sure everything was settled and secure, then glanced around. He could see the guard in the distance, making his rounds in a little golf-cart sized vehicle, some sort of miniaturized jeep. He grinned and shook his head, crouched, and then leapt for the sky, wings snapping to full spread and repulsors – smaller and more powerful than the tiny jets his old wings had utilized for lift – kicking in to launch him upwards.

He aimed for air space first of all, climbing pretty much straight upwards for a couple of minutes before levelling off, then began a careful series of exercises, from simple gliding circles to twisting swooping dives as he tested the capabilities of the new wings, whooping in exhilaration at how fluidly they reacted. He'd loved his old wings, known them and their capabilities like the back of his hand... these were better. They felt were more like a part of him than a separate tool, an extension to his physical body instead of a burden attached to it. The exhilaration didn't end, not until after he'd touched down again over half an hour later, the wings smoothly retracting into their hardshell casing.

The guard was sitting in his mini Jeep nearby, eating a sandwich. "That looked damned fun," he said, smiling.

"It was," Sam agreed, grinning widely at him. "It most surely was." He hated taking the pack back off, giving it another inspection before putting it away in the car again. He grabbed a bottle of Gatorade out of the console, twisting off the cap and chugging back half of it. "Warm day for it though."

The guard nodded, already folding up the waxed paper from his sandwich, clearly preparing to leave. "Usually is out here. I better get back to the gate. Thanks for letting me watch."

Sam nodded. "No problem. I'll be right behind you," he said, leaning back against the side of his car and lifting his bottle. "Soon as I've finished this."

The guard nodded. "Don't hurry on my account," he said, and drove off, back in the direction of the gates.

Sam stayed where he was, finishing his drink and waiting for himself to relax again, the post-flight high slowly giving way to a certain amount of tiredness as the adrenaline faded. It'd be good to get back home again, he thought. Shower and change, get supper in the oven, do post-flight maintenance on the wings. Maybe hit the sack early tonight; he'd been running short on sleep ever since Steve and Natasha had shown up at his place. Probably as good a time as any to erase a little of that sleep debt. Especially since he'd likely be running short again as soon as Steve got back from New York.

He tossed the now-empty bottle into the passenger-side wheel well, and headed out, raising a hand in farewell to the guard as the man waved him on through the gate.

He'd dropped his things in the living room, and was headed to the kitchen before he realized that there was something off about his house. He couldn't have said what was out of place – a sound or the lack of one, something moved a little from where it had been when he'd left the place earlier that day, or what – but as he walked into the kitchen he was suddenly certain that someone had been here while he was gone. Might even still be here.

Sam didn't break step, just dropped his empty bottles into the recycling bin and opened the fridge door, taking out a few things and setting them on the counter, ears straining for any whisper of sound.

A smell, he realized, that was what it was. Antiseptic cream, hospital soap, something medicinal or antibacterial in nature... he was reaching for the knife block when a red dot appeared on the back of his hand.

"Freeze," someone said, male, voice gravelly. "Hands above your head. Slowly."

"All right," he said, as calmly as he could manage, and did as told, moving very slowly indeed as the red dot vanished, doubtless pointing somewhere rather more vital now.

"Turn around."

His first thought on catching sight of the man holding a gun on him was that he'd seen hamburger that didn't look as chewed up, the man's face and arms were a mass of fading bruises overlaid with what had to be hundreds of scabs, from tiny ones not much worse than a bug-bite in size to a few pretty serious cuts, the worst stitched closed. Then he looked at the features, not the injuries, and recognized who it was; someone he'd only met a couple of times and that briefly, but who'd made a pretty strong impression in both cases. "Rumlow."

Rumlow grinned briefly at him, more a baring of teeth than any expression of amusement. "Wilson."

"Here to try and kill me again? Or Steve? He's not here, you know," Sam said, mind racing as he tried to think of any way to escape, watched for any opening the other man might inadvertently give him.

"I'm not here to kill either of you," Rumlow grated out. "Tempting as the thought might be, I have other priorities right now."

Sam raised his eyebrows a little. "Priorities? What sort of priorities? Your side lost, you realize. Sure, there's still some of you left, like any nest of cockroaches... but Hydra is done as a major player. Everyone knows about you now, everyone is looking out for you and wiping you out."

"Fuck Hydra," Rumlow said. "You're right, they're pretty much finished now; oh, give it a decade or two, people will forget and they'll spring back up again, as strong as ever, but for now? Only the true believers will be sticking it out, and I sure as hell am not one of them."

Sam snorted. "You sure sounded like one back at the Triskelion."

Rumlow shrugged, just slightly. "I believed enough. But I'm also enough of a realist to accept that their day is over for now. And there's a debt I owe... something I need to repay."

"A debt? To who? Captain Rogers?"

"Fuck him too. No, not to Captain my-shit-don't-stink Rogers. Someone else. But much as I hate to admit it, I need help; your help, or the Captain's help, it doesn't matter."

"And you think pointing a gun at my face will convince me to help you?" Sam asked, unable to keep the disbelief out of his voice.

"No, the gun will make you listen long enough to agree to help me despite how much you might happen to hate my guts," Rumlow said. "It's the Soldier. I know where he is, and I mean to rescue him."

Sam just stared at him, silently, stunned. "The Winter Soldier," he finally said. "You plan to rescue him. Why."

"I told you – I owe him. A debt of honour. I'll go after him alone if I have to – but there's a much better chance of success with help. Your help."

Sam stared at him a moment longer, then shook his head in disbelief, dropping his hands and turning his back to lean heavily on the edge of the counter, ignoring the gun still pointed at him. "Fuck. When did this become my life!?"

"Getting involved with the super-powered has a tendency to send your life off the rails."

"Voice of experience?" Sam asked, turning his head to look over his shoulder at Rumlow.

"Yup. You on board to at least hear me out now?"

"Does it mean you'll stop pointing that thing at me? In which case, hell yeah."

"Good," Rumlow said, lowering the gun, flicking the safety back on before tucking it away in one of the pockets of the loose cargo pants he was wearing.

Sam eyed him thoughtfully a moment, then opened the fridge door again. "I was about to make some food. As much as I don't particularly want you as a dinner guest, I suppose I might as well make enough to feed you too. Beer?"

Rumlow gave a short snort of laughter. "Sure, why not," he said, and caught the bottle Sam tossed his way.

Sam cracked open a bottle for himself, thinking that it was possibly a bad sign that cooking dinner for a man here to abduct-slash-recruit him at gunpoint was far from the weirdest thing that had happened to him since Captain America lapped him on the Mall.

Sam set down the large platter of loaded chicken caesar salad in the middle of the table, sliding a soup plate, knife and fork over to where Rumlow sat at one side of it before seating himself at the other. The other man remained silent as they each served themselves a generous helping of salad, and the garlic bread Sam had made to go with it.

Sam speared up some of the salad, then gestured with the laden fork at Rumlow's injuries. "Surprised to see you up and around, didn't think you'd survived having a helicarrier and half a building dropped on you."

"I was lucky, for a given value of luck – ended up in a pocket in the debris, shielded by some fallen beams and a pile of mangled furniture. Lots of cuts and bruises, some cracked ribs. Rescue dog sniffed me out before things got too bad."

"Dehydration?"

"A little."

"Huh. Hospital?"

"Briefly. Broke out as soon as I could, before they put a real guard on me."

"So why my help? Or Steve's, for that matter. You know neither of us are likely to trust you."

"I don't need your trust, just your assistance. Rogers would help because of who the Winter Soldier was. You'll do it because the Captain would want you to. And because it's your job, isn't it... helping soldiers when they come back home."

"He's been a long, long time away from home."

"Not as long as some people think. He's been in the wind here in the US before, up in New York. Brooklyn, in fact."