1963-06-28 - A Wing and a Prayer (pt. 1)
Summary: Howard invites Steve to witness a test of the now-functional wing suit Sam has been testing. Below, David is accosted by mysterious men in Oldsmobiles and the SHIELD contingent intervenes.
Related: Certifiable Genius
Theme Song: None
sam steve howard david 


Over his flight suit, Sam Wilson is wearing an absurdly complicated armature held on by a modified paratrooper's harness. His arms are braced with mechanical struts riveted to servomotors and gears; a large metal housing on his back features radiator vanes, a rocket exhaust, and what look like extended pistons. Cables, pipes, and manifolds like a tangle of metal spaghetti tie the contraption together. The overall effect is that of an engine turned inside out, its internals unfurled into limbs.

Up on the rooftop landing pad of Howard Stark's mansion, Sam moves in the thing with surprising ease. He's been through a few hundred models of Howard's winged flight system, and at this point, it has become second nature to be strapped into it. Still, he turns to Steve with a wry grimace and says, "If this thing explodes again, be ready to catch me." It could be a joke. Maybe.

Turning to the flight harness's inventor, Wilson continues, "But Mr. Stark says he thinks this model is ready to show off. Maybe even ready for deployment." The test pilot shrugs and tugs a pair of goggles up from his neck to cover his eyes. "I agree that the last few dozen have been pretty stable. Mostly improvements needed, rather than fixes. But it can't hurt to have an outside perspective."

*

Steve is standing, arms folded over his chest, with a white t-shirt, jeans, and aviator sunglasses. At Sam's comment, he looks to the sky and tilts his head. "Well," he says, looking back down at Sam, "It's pretty bright. I'll do the best I can, but I never did play much outfield as a kid."

*

"Kid, if It wasn't ready for market, never would have invited Rogers." Howard comments walking out from the elevator leading down to his personal research lab. In his arms a small glowing disk no bigger then a jelly doughnut. There's a familiar light blue glue around the disk itself, glowing the way someone might expect the standard radioactive isotope to glow. It's held outstretched from his body with a pair of tongs, Howard wearing his plain brown suit. "Honestly I'd say we only have a few more hundred prototypes before I'm ready to let you use this thing in combat." As he moves over to Sam, with the small disk ready to be slotted into the open port on the back of the rocket chamber.

*

"Thanks, Rogers. You're a real pal," Sam answers with a snort. He turns his back to Howard, craning his neck to try to watch over his shoulder as the isotope is put into place. Once that has been done, the port locks shut with a solid-sounding thunk, and the 'pistons' on his back slide inward with a pneumatic hiss. Anyone familiar with nuclear reactions is going to have the worrying impression that they might be control rods.

Before that can sink in, Sam hits a thumb switch with his left hand and locks it, and with the whir of a flywheel, a belt-operated series of ailerons extends from his arms. Wilson runs them through their range of motion: they slide over each other like feathers in a wing, and can be moved either independently or, using a couple of sturdy-looking handles, by direct application of arm strength.

"You ever have a flying guy in your Howling Commandos?" Wilson asks Rogers conversationally. "I've heard stories, but none I consider believable."

*

"Yeah, well I'm part of the tough generation," Steve says with a smile. "How do you think I got so tough?"

At the comment about flyers in the HC, Steve can't help but chuckle. "You say flying, I say falling. Either way we didn't have anything like this."

Howard gets a smirk and a nod as he comes out to watch the testing. "If he goes splat, I call finders keepers on his wardrobe."

*

"Trust me if the project got any funding back in the day you would have." Howard says to Steve with a smile on his comment about the suit. A second glance given over it as he makes sure that everything is in order. "Radiation levels within acceptable parameters." Looking over a small dial on the back of this version of the suit.

"Only if I get first dibs on the shoes." A bit of deadpanned humor as he lets the tongs fall to one side. There's a moments pause as he reaches into the pocket of his jacket in order to scribble down a few notes on a small ledger. "Let's run through the standard air show Wilson. Though this time hit the third loop at a 45 instead of the 20 of last time, want to check out the new latching mechanisms stress limits."

*

Sam lip-mimics the phrase 'acceptable parameters' with a sardonic twist of the lip, perfectly in synch with Howard. The only response he actually voices is, "Sure thing, Mr. Stark. You want me to keep it in the choreography when we're showing off for the brass, or is it just for the stress testing?" Judging by his tone of voice, Sam has had enough dangerous but impressive maneuvers added to the air show sequence wearing the sheep's clothing of a 'stress test' that the prospect doesn't even faze him anymore.

"Steve, if you want to look good, you know there are stores that sell clothes here in the future. I can help. You don't have to let me fall to my death," Sam says with a smirk. "And Howard, you have enough shoes. I saw the shoe room."

He reaches up to activate his helmet radio, then extends his wings and squeezes the throttle in his right hand. The rocket exhaust vent opens, releasing a bright afterburn: white and blue, rather than red and orange, and strangely quiet. Still, the thrust is enough to kick up a breeze and lift Sam foot by foot into the air. "Hovering is smooth," Sam says with an approving nod. "Give me the signal when you want to start the sequence."

*

"You know, I really hate shopping though." Steve's comment comes with a wider grin. All joking aside, Steve is damn sure he'll catch Sam should the need arise. Still, he trusts Howard's work. As the engine roars, Steve watches on in interest, eager to see his friend take to the skies.

*

"Yeah but I was thinking about getting a second one." Howard comments tucking the small pen from inside the book back behind his ear for easy access if needed. "You know I mean what kind of a man only has one room dedicated to pointless footwear?" That sly smile crossing his face as he looks back up sealing the small book with a smack of pages hitting each-other.

"The more we can toss in the show, more chance they'll let you keep the suit." His wrist flips around as he looks down towards the watch, still holding onto the tongs. He hovers his fingers over the button to start the stop watch built into his regular watch. There's a long moments silent as the cool breeze blows over the roof of the mansion. That rooftop pool slowly lapping against the walls as the wind carries it back and fourth. "Three. Two. Falcon."

*

Pitching forward from vertical to near-horizontal, Sam opens up with the thruster, forcing enough air over the wings to give him real lift. Other than a bit of flapping for extra altitude, he takes off like a plane, not like a rocket — less danger of blacking out at a critical moment that way.

Within a few seconds, he is putting the suit through its paces. For all its ramshackle appearance on the ground, the armature performs beautifully in the air, combining Howard's inventive gadgetry and flair for the dramatic with Sam's technical practicality and feel for the responsiveness a flier needs in the air. The performance combines airshow mainstays performed in ways airplanes could never match, as well as a number of maneuvers simply impossible in any traditional aircraft. Give the level of flamboyance, there's definitely more Howard than Sam in the choreography.

The adjustment Howard asked for goes off without a hitch. It also, coincidentally, has Sam diving out of the loop at a dramatically canted angle and scudding just a few feet over Howard and Steve's heads.

*

Howard stands tall at the exact spot he needs to be the rush of wind flying just over their heads causing his hair to be completely blown backwards, flooming out to either side. The smile curling up the side of his face as for once it seems he has managed to fix the issue of the bolts coming loose on right right wing. "Now I'm thinking for the final one we paint it a nice sort of deep red, maybe some bright white on the wings to really make it pop, and say 'We're here to liberate.' Maybe throw in some stars and bars." The smile on his face not fading as he sees that contraption of his properly flying through the sky with grace and for once no sign of sudden crash landing.

*

As Sam soars by, Cap's blond hair musses wildly. After the wake of the jet engines has past, it settles down in mostly the same spot. "Golly," he yells at Howard over the noise. "I think it works!"

*

Howard says, "Of course it does! I built it!"

*

Finishing the last series of maneuvers, Sam swoops back in for a landing, grabbing onto the wing handles and using them as air brakes, then hitting the ground at a run. The ailerons slowly retract, and the black man stops only a few feet from Howard and Steve, panting and grinning. The pack is humming and venting steam as it enters a cooldown state Sam insisted was a necessary step after a flight.

"Nothing worse than a couple of sticky actuators," he says to Howard with a nod of approval. Still, as he slides his goggles off, his expression is tense, and he continues with some irritation, "Stars and bars? Really?" He crosses his arms, struts and all, and damn near glares at Stark. "Stick with red and white, add some yellow trim," he instructs the inventor flatly, "and choose your words more carefully."

It may be the first time Sam has forgotten to throw in a 'sir' or a 'Mr.' when speaking to Howard.

*

Howard slowly raises a brow at the sudden shift. There's a pause as he clicks down the timer in order to get a read on just how long it took that run-through. His own attention down on the watch. He flicks back out the notebook, before sliding the pencil out of his ear in order to jot down the time. "Not sure if the yellow would really work." There's no apology for the slip-up, just letting it slide off his back like water. "Though I could see some silver mixed in for the goggles working out. If I stopped to think about everything I said, I wouldn't have any time to actually work."

*

Howard's less than effusive response to Sam's valid offense has Steve try and step in to play peacemaker of sorts. He raises his hand, palm up towards Sam and shakes his head as if to say, 'not worth it." The fingers sort of splay out as he lowers his hands slowly in an effort to keep his friend calm.

*

"Yellow's optional," Sam says, voice still icy. He looks over at Steve, lips tight, then gives a reluctant shrug. It's far from the first time he has had to let something like this slide, and he's certain it won't be the last. Still, it wears on him. He changes the subject. "It's the Red Tails color scheme that's important. Tribute to Dad, and maybe a bit of a way to leave my mark on the project." Left unsaid: he's not actually going to get any of the credit, so a 'signature' in the form of a meaningful color scheme isn't a bad compromise.

"So, should I start taking it off, or do we need to run more flight tests?" He's been wearing the Falcon flight armature up on Howard's sunny rooftop for a while now, and while he's pretty used to it, it is heavy.

*

"You want Red Tails I'll do the whole thing up like one of their planes." Howard comments slapping the book back shut again as he stuffs it back into the corner of his pocket. "Least I can do for the help. Though I'm not sure if the brass would let us get away with slapping a half naked nurse on the wing or not." He pauses for a moment hmming before speaking again.

"Let me make a quick adjustment then we'll send you one last time around, I think I can fix the actuator problem with a little tweak." Visibly not letting the fox-pas get to him, as he moves a bit closer with the tongs flipping round the multitool into wrench mode. It's one of his less glamorous inventions that might still catch on someday. "Rogers, how you feel about tossing the old star on the back of each wing, doing it proper."

*

"To be honest, I think we should do whatever Sam wants. It'll be him that's flying it, and I think that a tribute to the Red Tails is something that I'd stand behind." Steve doesn't understand any of this business about actuators, so he just stays mum there.

"Besides, aren't stars already taken?"

*

Howard says, "p It's set in the CIVIL WAR of course there's going to be some slavery going on in the background and a heaping helping of IC racism, doens't mean we let it eat the ooc. It also can't just be completely stripped out. Yeah I want a nice fun spaghettie western with good guys in white hats bad guys in black but even those still touched on the issue from time to time!"

*

Sam sits still while Howard messes around with the actuators. "I'm not sure I'd be okay with being a walking pinup board, myself," he says, trying to bring back a light tone, "no matter how good it would be for SHIELD morale. And I think we'd actually get in trouble for marking me up as a U.S. Air Force craft without approval. Better stick with something that isn't specific for now."

He gives Steve an appreciative nod for the support, then smirks. "What makes you think they wouldn't intentionally paint these things up to match the Cap outfit?" he asks. "I mean, I might not look as good as the dancers you carted around in Europe, but a theme is a theme."

*

"Fine, fine, just ruin my fun why don't you." Howard works steadily on the calibration doing a number of fine measurements. "Anything wrong with wanting people to know it's America coming for them a mile or forty off?" A knowing smirk and lighthearted laugh coming from the aging man. "I had my way we'd have a whole team of people done up in stars and stripes. Some group cohesion."

Howard falls silent working on the project for a few moments before finally coming back up to a proper stand. "Of course if you two were interested I'd invite you to a little team I've been trying to get together. More people I can drag in, more chance I can get Tony to sign on." There's a slight bit of pain in his expression just barely more then a seconds twinge of regret as he mentions his own sons name.

*

"Nothing's wrong with that, Howard. Sam and I were just talking about how envious he is of my fashion sense. So I figured he'd want to step out on his own," Steve jokes, calling back to their earlier conversation. "Well, thanks Howard, but I'm still trying to decide whether I want to join up with SHIELD." A conversation with Sousa has him on the precipice of going out on his own.

*

Somewhere down below is a fairly unassuming young man. He's dressed in a plaid button-down and a pair of kakis. The thick-rimmed glasses give him that classic nerd look. He's one of the many around him walking that couple more blocks to central park to enjoy the weather. It just so happens that this path takes him right by the mansion of the wealthiest industrialist in the world, likely. Both of his hands are tucked into his pockets as he walks along casually, minding his own business.

There are certain people in the crowd, however, watching the young man. Odd little occurrences at first. A gesture from one non-descript white male in a suit to another. Apparently minding one's own business is never quite enough.

Suddenly, out of nowhere one of the bystanders rushes forth and grabs David, pinning his arms behind his back. "H-hey!" he shouts out. A black oldsmobile is weaving through traffic and fast-approaching.

*

"Team?" Sam looks at Howard, puzzled. "Some kind of SHIELD research group, or just a publicity team?" The latter strikes him as more likely from Stark, but he can't imagine being invited to one. Then Steve puts his own affiliation with the Department in question, and Wilson gives him a look of confusion. "Wait, what? I thought…" He trails off. He thought that since he was assigned as Steve's assistant slash 1960s acclimation coach, the man's affiliation with SHIELD was assured, but even as he thinks it, he realizes it's a foolish thing to say. Of course he would get assigned to a marginal job like playing native guide for an unlikely asset. His mistake was in assuming that Carter's sympathy meant this job would be any different from his last one.

*

Howard flips back shut the multitool the device turning small enough to fit into the pocket of his suit jacket. "What, bored of me already Steve?" He looks over towards the two for a moment. "I'm not going to force either of you two join, but I'd like to extend the offer. Something very big is coming, and I'm getting a group together to help st-" He trails off at the sound.

His brows furrow for a moment as he moves off towards the edge of the building. It wasn't often someone screamed for help right outside of his mansion, and as he looks over the side he does so just in time to catch sight of the young man being taken. "Ah hell, why can't people get kidnapped in front of someone else's mansion."

*

"It's not you, Howard. It's SHIELD having old Nazis come to work for them. Choice or not." Steve had that conversation with Sousa recently and it did not go well. Let's hope Peggy is able to talk some sense into the people at NATO.

But as soon as Rogers puts together what's happening below, he doesn't hesitate.

Captain America leaps off of the roof of the mansion and hurtles towards the ground with outstretched arms. His hands miraculously catch one of the flag poles that jut out from the mansion and the force pulls him into a wide 360 circle.

On the second pass, Steve lets go and vaults through the air, coming to a hard landing upon the sidewalk. Some light skin abrasion and a knee torn out of the pants is nothing any mother in this country knows about, and the Captain gives it just as much worry as he begins to run towards the young man who is being attacked.

*

The young black kid does eventually come to his senses, figuring out what it is that's going on here. While he struggles with his arms pinned, his assailant is forcibly trying to push him towards the street. The light crowd walking their ways towards central park in the area casts a collective look to the scene unfolding before their eyes. While David certainly can fight, the guy holding him appears to be stronger and larger than him and definitely has the advantage of surprise.

The Oldsmobile screeches to a halt just nearby, followed by another that's also in route. Without his choice of mansions to get kidnapped in front of, David is just left to look on in horror. "What do you people WANT from me?!?!" he screams out, still jerking and struggling in an attempt to break the hold. Another of the 'bystanders' approaches him from the flank in order to help his compatriot, but where Steve drops down cuts off his path and makes the man-in-a-suit flinch noticably and blink in awe.

*

"Kidnapped?" If anything could snap Sam out of his reverie, that would be it. He follows Howard and peers over the edge of the roof, already pulling his goggles up. Some unlucky black kid, shanghaied in the middle of the street, with Sam Wilson nearby in a wingsuit? Hell no.

Mere moments after Steve makes his leap, he's got air support from a man in a flying contraption only Howard Stark and Leonardo da Vinci would be crazy enough to imagine. Making a quick tactical assessment, Wilson swoops toward the Olds, pulling up at the last second so that his boots slam into the hood, denting it noticeably. He draws his service sidearm, points it at the windshield, and yells, "SHIELD agent!"

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