Captain America fic: PSD
PSD
3k words | PG-ish | Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark
Summary: Sam tags along as Steve heads up to Stark Tower.
"You sure you can just show up like this?" Sam asked skeptically as they walked east on 39th Street. "You don't have to make an appointment or anything?"
Steve chuckled, but the amusement didn't reach his eyes. "We'll be fine, Sam. Stop worrying."
It had been three weeks since Steve had been released from the hospital -- which was a week earlier than Sam, fully certified EMT and the guy who'd stretchered a helluva lot of wounded over the years, would have let him walk, but the alternative had been to either disappoint Captain America, which nobody had apparently wanted to do, or risk letting him walk AMA. It had been two weeks since Natasha had given him the file on Bucky Barnes's horrifying history, which had, in hindsight, been the bridge too far for Steve in his physical and emotional recovery because he'd cratered the day after and stayed down for the rest of the week. Which in turn was why it had been one week since Steve had been crashing in Sam's spare bedroom after packing up his own place, what he'd chosen to take from it. Sam wasn't sure Steve had gotten a full night's sleep in all that time and, what he knew of the man, wasn't sure how much longer he'd have to go back to find out when he had. Up close and personal with Captain America was not much like what the hype would have it, boundless energy and unquenchable optimism and whatever Spirit of America the history books had spun into myth and the media had recycled every time it had been needed. Sam had rarely seen someone more in need of a break, however one chose to define it, than the man under Cap's cowl. Which, thank God, Steve hadn't tried to put on since he'd been fished out of the Potomac.
"I'm not worrying," he told Steve as they waited for the light to change. "I got a trip up to New York out of this. We get turned away, I get on the express up to 125th and get me some grub and I'm good."
And he would be good. But he wasn't sure Steve could take another disappointment and from all that Sam had heard and seen and read about Tony Stark, reliability might be his company's stock in trade, but it wasn't a personal motto.
Stark Tower, upon encounter, looked like every other corporate lobby in New York, tasteful and bland and covered in beige marble. Steve walked straight up to one of the receptionists and smiled, holding out a blue card. "Good morning, ma'am. Steve Rogers here to see Tony Stark."
The receptionist, a young Latina with a tasteful brooch where a name tag would've been helpful, accepted the card as she looked Steve over, then looked Sam over, then looked back at Steve. "Is Mister Stark expecting you?"
Steve's smile turned wry. "Probably, yes. But I don't have an appointment, if that's what you're actually asking."
Stark had come to see Steve in the hospital, that Sam knew. It had been a long visit and, according to the nurses (Sam was always on great terms with nurses) not entirely a social call. Or, at least, not entirely a pleasant social call. But it hadn't been Sam's place to ask about it, so he hadn't.
The receptionist nodded and typed in a few things on her computer before handing back the card. "You can go right up, Captain Rogers."
"Me, too?" Sam asked, although he figured the answer would be yes. He was just surprised that Steve had actually been right.
"You, too," the receptionist confirmed and the polite smile she'd given Steve turned into something a little bit more... interested when flashed at him. Sam awarded himself a point for being more attractive to someone than Captain America, then winked back because such good taste should not go unrewarded.
Steve led the way past the reception desk and toward the elevator banks, but they didn't enter into the vestibule, instead making a left turn into a recessed entryway that led to what was apparently Stark's private elevator.
"Good morning, Captain Rogers and Sergeant Wilson," an upper-crust English voice said from somewhere. "Welcome to Stark Tower."
"Okay, that's creepy," Sam announced as the elevator door opened. Steve gestured for Sam to go in first and he took the opportunity to give Steve the side-eye. "How do they know my name?"
"My apologies, Sergeant," the voice answered as the door closed and they started the journey up. "I am Jarvis, Mister Stark's butler."
"Of course," Sam said, because there was nothing else to say.
Sam expected a dude who looked like he belonged on Downton Abbey to be waiting for them at the other end, but there was nobody.
"Mister Stark is on the southern deck, Captain," Jarvis announced from nowhere and everywhere and Sam couldn't help but look around for who was speaking. "If you need direction, I shall provide it."
"I remember where it is, Jarvis," Steve assured. "But thank you."
"You are very welcome, Captain."
Sam gawped shamelessly as he followed Steve through the apartment -- which was an utterly inadequate noun to use -- until they came to a glass sliding door that slid open as they approached. Sam could see Tony Stark on a lounger under an umbrella with a laptop open in front of him and a tall drink with a paper umbrella on the tiny table to his side.
"Well look what the cat dragged in," Stark greeted them, taking off his sunglasses but otherwise not moving. "You look significantly less beaten to hell than the last time I saw you." Then he turned his gaze to Sam, who didn't flinch but it was a near thing. He handled gunfire just fine, but being up close with famous people was still very weird. "And you I've never seen, so I don't know if you're improved or not."
Steve made a noise. "Tony, this is Sam Wilson. Sam, Tony Stark."
"How do you do?" Sam asked, holding out a hand to shake and, after first cocking an eyebrow, Stark did.
"I was lying, actually," Stark said. "I've seen you before, although not in the flesh. Video footage, photographs, your entire SRB... I take who runs with my people seriously."
It was Sam's turn to cock an eyebrow. "This guy your people?" he asked, since the alternative was to ask what the fuck Tony Stark was doing running a background check on him. Or if Steve was his people, where the hell had he been that Steve and Natasha had turned up on Sam's porch that morning when Stark would have been a lot more useful.
"He is, although he still considers himself a free agent," Stark confirmed easily. Casually. Like a man who had had ownership of people for a long time. Which Sam supposed he had. Stark looked up at Steve. "You change your mind about bunking down here yet?"
Steve shrugged. "If I can get what I came here to ask you, then I'm not going to be bunking down anywhere for a while," he answered. "At least not long term."
Stark's entire face lit up, like this was the greatest game ever and Sam's heart sunk a little because this was one topic Steve had little patience for bullshit with. "Ooh, a favor. I like Captain America owing me things. What do you want? A new uniform? A new bike? Actually, yes to both but that's not what you're here for. Surprise me."
Steve shook his head, maybe a little annoyed but more likely resigned. "Can we do this inside?" he asked. "It's windy out here."
"And what has that to do with the anything?" Stark asked, then tilted his head. "You don't think we're being spied on up here, do you? I can assure you we're not."
Stark waved his arm expansively, as if to prove his point, but Sam couldn't see anything that would except for the fact that they were a hundred stories up, which wasn't actually that much of an impediment to either paparazzi or police.
"I figured we were safe up here," Steve replied, like he thought he was being talked down to. He probably was. "It's a file of papers, Tony. It really is just the wind."
Stark sighed dramatically. "Fine, be practical," he said, closing the laptop and leaving it on the lounger as he got up. The drink, however, he took. Sam thought he was a lot shorter in person than he looked like on TV.
The three of them went inside and Stark led them to a sunken living room, decorated like a magazine spread without a single thing out of place or a mote of dust anywhere. Stark dropped back on one couch with his arms outstretched, not spilling his drink, and Sam waited for Steve to sit down on the other before sitting himself.
"This is from Natasha," Steve began as he went into his backpack. "It's nothing she released on to the internet. It's nothing that's ever going to be on the internet."
"Everything's going to be on the internet," Stark assured, leaning forward to put his drink down as Steve pulled the thick folder free. He wiped off his hands on his pants before accepting it when Steve offered it to him. He didn't open it up, just looked at the writing on the file, which was in Russian. "What is this?"
"My worst nightmare," Steve answered simply and Sam marveled at how much pain was in those three words. Stark looked like he heard it, too, and his cavalier bullshit seemed to dim a few watts. "There are translations in the back if you need them."
Stark snorted dismissively. "You don't do graduate work in engineering, especially during the Cold War, without knowing Russian and German," he answered, flipping open the folder, the verso of which were the photos of the Winter Soldier in his cryostasis tube and then the headshot of Sergeant James Barnes. "What the... Jesus fucking Christ, Rogers. What is this?"
It was a rhetorical question and Steve treated it as such, sitting patiently and waiting as Stark skimmed the pages and then started back at the begining for a more thorough reading. Sam watched him, too, but he spent most of the time looking around the apartment, what he could see of it from the couch, and marveling. It all must have cost more than Sam had ever made in his life all put together, but it wasn't tacky or show-offy or gaudy; it was tasteful and low-key and simply just nicer than what Sam had ever seen before. And Tony Stark, sitting in his Black Flag tour shirt and worn jeans, looked not a whit out of place amidst all of it.
When Stark finished, he closed the folder and held it on his lap, rubbing his face with one hand.
"He's alive," Steve said quietly. "I'm pretty sure he's the one who pulled me out of the Potomac. But he's on the run and I don't know how to find him. I don't know where to look. I have to find him, Tony."
Sam had come up to New York with Steve because he'd been sure that Stark either wouldn't see Steve or wouldn't help him if he did see him. He had wanted to make sure that someone had Steve's back because Steve wasn't ready to handle too many more setbacks right now. Sam had been part of the Winter Soldier story since before they'd found out he was really Bucky Barnes, had seen Steve literally and physically torn to pieces over each relevation, and he was vested in this for a million different reasons. He and Steve had had many conversations over the last month-plus about Barnes, even before Steve had gotten out of the hospital, and yet he'd never heard Steve as broken by events as he had just now.
Stark exhaled loudly and nodded. "I'm gonna need a few days," he said. "You got anywhere you need to be?"
Sam had to be back at work tomorrow, but the question hadn't been aimed at him. Steve shook his head no.
"Okay, so you'll stay here, we'll sort through this, see what I can dig out of dear old Dad's files. You talk to Peggy yet?"
Steve shook his head no. "I... I don't think she needs to know about this just yet. Maybe if it has a happy ending, Bucky can go see her. But otherwise it's just another burden and I don't think she'll be able to add anything. She knew Bucky well; if she'd known he was out there, she would have done something. Or she would have told me so that I could."
Sam knew the real reason, which was part of what Steve had said, but also that Steve didn't think he could bear it. He considered it weak of himself to be afraid of watching her fall apart, which Sam had told him was bullshit, and this would be one more stressor for her. Which probably wasn't bullshit.
"No problem," Stark assured and Sam didn't think he was imagining the gentleness in the tone. "I have almost everything the SSR and SHIELD ever cranked out and what I didn't have, Natasha dumped online."
Stark ended up shooing them out for a few hours so he could work, so Sam took Steve up to 103rd to a Puerto Rican place for lechon and mofongo and pasteles (and rice and beans) and Steve made them walk back downtown because even he was stuffed afterward. They went back up to Stark's place using a different route than before, a private one, to find him back outside with the laptop and a different drink, no umbrella.
"Okay, so I've set up a program so that if Barnes is anywhere a camera can see his face, we'll know," Stark announced when they returned. "We won't know in real time, but it will give us a lead on where he's been."
"How broad is the coverage?" Sam asked. They didn't even know if Barnes was in the country anymore.
"Global," Stark replied, not looking up from his screen. "And between what's in this file and what's in Barnes's file from '43, we have enough photos to get decent results from partial profiles and other angles that normally give up a lot of false positives."
Stark had questions for the both of them, mostly about Barnes's arm but also about how he moved and, in Steve's case, what Barnes sounded like when he spoke. But them he dismissed them again and Steve went over to the railing to look out over the city and Sam let him be for a few minutes before walking over to join him. If Steve wanted to talk, good. If not, it was a helluva view.
It was only when Sam turned around to look behind him that he realized that he was standing where the Battle of New York had ultimately ended.
New York from on high was amazing. He'd been up to the top of the World Trade Center before it had fallen and this was like that, so high up that you could see the shadows of the clouds over neighborhoods, see all of New York at once, it felt like. It made him miss flying all the more, the last Falcon wings destroyed in a noble fight, but destroyed nonetheless. Not that the Pentagon would have let him keep them, but he would've liked to get one last cruise with them before handing them back.
When Steve's shoulders lost a bit of their tightness, Sam spoke. "You going to be okay here?"
"Yeah," Steve assured, sounding drained. "It'll be nicer than a hotel."
"Or my spare room," Sam agreed. "Which is still open to you when you're done with this."
Steve nodded and Sam suspected that he thought he wouldn't need it anymore, that from here, he would go out looking for Bucky Barnes and not stop until he was found. Which likely wasn't the truth and Sam wasn't sure how he'd deal with that.
Steve ended up walking back down to Penn Station with him so he could go buy toiletries and some clothes, since he hadn't brought any. Sam directed him to Macy's across the street rather than the K-Mart next to the entrance and they shook hands and promised they'd see each other in a few days and Steve would pass on anything he got from Tony or otherwise.
The following morning, Sam was at his desk at the VA when there was a courier package delivery for him. He was utterly mystified until he saw the Stark Industries logo in the corner, at which point he was instead just somewhat mystified. But inside the envelope was a blue plastic card, like the one Steve had shown the receptionist at Stark Tower. It had Sam's name and photo on it and a data chip embedded into the lower right corner. "For next time," it said, unsigned but obvious in its origin.
"What's that?" Gomez asked, prairie-dogging over the cubicle wall.
"You know those chips they stick on dogs so they know who the owner is?" Sam replied. "This is the people version."
Which was maybe unkind on the face of it, but Sam got the feeling Tony Stark would actually think it was hilarious and completely accurate if he'd overheard.
Also posted at DW.
3k words | PG-ish | Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark
Summary: Sam tags along as Steve heads up to Stark Tower.
"You sure you can just show up like this?" Sam asked skeptically as they walked east on 39th Street. "You don't have to make an appointment or anything?"
Steve chuckled, but the amusement didn't reach his eyes. "We'll be fine, Sam. Stop worrying."
It had been three weeks since Steve had been released from the hospital -- which was a week earlier than Sam, fully certified EMT and the guy who'd stretchered a helluva lot of wounded over the years, would have let him walk, but the alternative had been to either disappoint Captain America, which nobody had apparently wanted to do, or risk letting him walk AMA. It had been two weeks since Natasha had given him the file on Bucky Barnes's horrifying history, which had, in hindsight, been the bridge too far for Steve in his physical and emotional recovery because he'd cratered the day after and stayed down for the rest of the week. Which in turn was why it had been one week since Steve had been crashing in Sam's spare bedroom after packing up his own place, what he'd chosen to take from it. Sam wasn't sure Steve had gotten a full night's sleep in all that time and, what he knew of the man, wasn't sure how much longer he'd have to go back to find out when he had. Up close and personal with Captain America was not much like what the hype would have it, boundless energy and unquenchable optimism and whatever Spirit of America the history books had spun into myth and the media had recycled every time it had been needed. Sam had rarely seen someone more in need of a break, however one chose to define it, than the man under Cap's cowl. Which, thank God, Steve hadn't tried to put on since he'd been fished out of the Potomac.
"I'm not worrying," he told Steve as they waited for the light to change. "I got a trip up to New York out of this. We get turned away, I get on the express up to 125th and get me some grub and I'm good."
And he would be good. But he wasn't sure Steve could take another disappointment and from all that Sam had heard and seen and read about Tony Stark, reliability might be his company's stock in trade, but it wasn't a personal motto.
Stark Tower, upon encounter, looked like every other corporate lobby in New York, tasteful and bland and covered in beige marble. Steve walked straight up to one of the receptionists and smiled, holding out a blue card. "Good morning, ma'am. Steve Rogers here to see Tony Stark."
The receptionist, a young Latina with a tasteful brooch where a name tag would've been helpful, accepted the card as she looked Steve over, then looked Sam over, then looked back at Steve. "Is Mister Stark expecting you?"
Steve's smile turned wry. "Probably, yes. But I don't have an appointment, if that's what you're actually asking."
Stark had come to see Steve in the hospital, that Sam knew. It had been a long visit and, according to the nurses (Sam was always on great terms with nurses) not entirely a social call. Or, at least, not entirely a pleasant social call. But it hadn't been Sam's place to ask about it, so he hadn't.
The receptionist nodded and typed in a few things on her computer before handing back the card. "You can go right up, Captain Rogers."
"Me, too?" Sam asked, although he figured the answer would be yes. He was just surprised that Steve had actually been right.
"You, too," the receptionist confirmed and the polite smile she'd given Steve turned into something a little bit more... interested when flashed at him. Sam awarded himself a point for being more attractive to someone than Captain America, then winked back because such good taste should not go unrewarded.
Steve led the way past the reception desk and toward the elevator banks, but they didn't enter into the vestibule, instead making a left turn into a recessed entryway that led to what was apparently Stark's private elevator.
"Good morning, Captain Rogers and Sergeant Wilson," an upper-crust English voice said from somewhere. "Welcome to Stark Tower."
"Okay, that's creepy," Sam announced as the elevator door opened. Steve gestured for Sam to go in first and he took the opportunity to give Steve the side-eye. "How do they know my name?"
"My apologies, Sergeant," the voice answered as the door closed and they started the journey up. "I am Jarvis, Mister Stark's butler."
"Of course," Sam said, because there was nothing else to say.
Sam expected a dude who looked like he belonged on Downton Abbey to be waiting for them at the other end, but there was nobody.
"Mister Stark is on the southern deck, Captain," Jarvis announced from nowhere and everywhere and Sam couldn't help but look around for who was speaking. "If you need direction, I shall provide it."
"I remember where it is, Jarvis," Steve assured. "But thank you."
"You are very welcome, Captain."
Sam gawped shamelessly as he followed Steve through the apartment -- which was an utterly inadequate noun to use -- until they came to a glass sliding door that slid open as they approached. Sam could see Tony Stark on a lounger under an umbrella with a laptop open in front of him and a tall drink with a paper umbrella on the tiny table to his side.
"Well look what the cat dragged in," Stark greeted them, taking off his sunglasses but otherwise not moving. "You look significantly less beaten to hell than the last time I saw you." Then he turned his gaze to Sam, who didn't flinch but it was a near thing. He handled gunfire just fine, but being up close with famous people was still very weird. "And you I've never seen, so I don't know if you're improved or not."
Steve made a noise. "Tony, this is Sam Wilson. Sam, Tony Stark."
"How do you do?" Sam asked, holding out a hand to shake and, after first cocking an eyebrow, Stark did.
"I was lying, actually," Stark said. "I've seen you before, although not in the flesh. Video footage, photographs, your entire SRB... I take who runs with my people seriously."
It was Sam's turn to cock an eyebrow. "This guy your people?" he asked, since the alternative was to ask what the fuck Tony Stark was doing running a background check on him. Or if Steve was his people, where the hell had he been that Steve and Natasha had turned up on Sam's porch that morning when Stark would have been a lot more useful.
"He is, although he still considers himself a free agent," Stark confirmed easily. Casually. Like a man who had had ownership of people for a long time. Which Sam supposed he had. Stark looked up at Steve. "You change your mind about bunking down here yet?"
Steve shrugged. "If I can get what I came here to ask you, then I'm not going to be bunking down anywhere for a while," he answered. "At least not long term."
Stark's entire face lit up, like this was the greatest game ever and Sam's heart sunk a little because this was one topic Steve had little patience for bullshit with. "Ooh, a favor. I like Captain America owing me things. What do you want? A new uniform? A new bike? Actually, yes to both but that's not what you're here for. Surprise me."
Steve shook his head, maybe a little annoyed but more likely resigned. "Can we do this inside?" he asked. "It's windy out here."
"And what has that to do with the anything?" Stark asked, then tilted his head. "You don't think we're being spied on up here, do you? I can assure you we're not."
Stark waved his arm expansively, as if to prove his point, but Sam couldn't see anything that would except for the fact that they were a hundred stories up, which wasn't actually that much of an impediment to either paparazzi or police.
"I figured we were safe up here," Steve replied, like he thought he was being talked down to. He probably was. "It's a file of papers, Tony. It really is just the wind."
Stark sighed dramatically. "Fine, be practical," he said, closing the laptop and leaving it on the lounger as he got up. The drink, however, he took. Sam thought he was a lot shorter in person than he looked like on TV.
The three of them went inside and Stark led them to a sunken living room, decorated like a magazine spread without a single thing out of place or a mote of dust anywhere. Stark dropped back on one couch with his arms outstretched, not spilling his drink, and Sam waited for Steve to sit down on the other before sitting himself.
"This is from Natasha," Steve began as he went into his backpack. "It's nothing she released on to the internet. It's nothing that's ever going to be on the internet."
"Everything's going to be on the internet," Stark assured, leaning forward to put his drink down as Steve pulled the thick folder free. He wiped off his hands on his pants before accepting it when Steve offered it to him. He didn't open it up, just looked at the writing on the file, which was in Russian. "What is this?"
"My worst nightmare," Steve answered simply and Sam marveled at how much pain was in those three words. Stark looked like he heard it, too, and his cavalier bullshit seemed to dim a few watts. "There are translations in the back if you need them."
Stark snorted dismissively. "You don't do graduate work in engineering, especially during the Cold War, without knowing Russian and German," he answered, flipping open the folder, the verso of which were the photos of the Winter Soldier in his cryostasis tube and then the headshot of Sergeant James Barnes. "What the... Jesus fucking Christ, Rogers. What is this?"
It was a rhetorical question and Steve treated it as such, sitting patiently and waiting as Stark skimmed the pages and then started back at the begining for a more thorough reading. Sam watched him, too, but he spent most of the time looking around the apartment, what he could see of it from the couch, and marveling. It all must have cost more than Sam had ever made in his life all put together, but it wasn't tacky or show-offy or gaudy; it was tasteful and low-key and simply just nicer than what Sam had ever seen before. And Tony Stark, sitting in his Black Flag tour shirt and worn jeans, looked not a whit out of place amidst all of it.
When Stark finished, he closed the folder and held it on his lap, rubbing his face with one hand.
"He's alive," Steve said quietly. "I'm pretty sure he's the one who pulled me out of the Potomac. But he's on the run and I don't know how to find him. I don't know where to look. I have to find him, Tony."
Sam had come up to New York with Steve because he'd been sure that Stark either wouldn't see Steve or wouldn't help him if he did see him. He had wanted to make sure that someone had Steve's back because Steve wasn't ready to handle too many more setbacks right now. Sam had been part of the Winter Soldier story since before they'd found out he was really Bucky Barnes, had seen Steve literally and physically torn to pieces over each relevation, and he was vested in this for a million different reasons. He and Steve had had many conversations over the last month-plus about Barnes, even before Steve had gotten out of the hospital, and yet he'd never heard Steve as broken by events as he had just now.
Stark exhaled loudly and nodded. "I'm gonna need a few days," he said. "You got anywhere you need to be?"
Sam had to be back at work tomorrow, but the question hadn't been aimed at him. Steve shook his head no.
"Okay, so you'll stay here, we'll sort through this, see what I can dig out of dear old Dad's files. You talk to Peggy yet?"
Steve shook his head no. "I... I don't think she needs to know about this just yet. Maybe if it has a happy ending, Bucky can go see her. But otherwise it's just another burden and I don't think she'll be able to add anything. She knew Bucky well; if she'd known he was out there, she would have done something. Or she would have told me so that I could."
Sam knew the real reason, which was part of what Steve had said, but also that Steve didn't think he could bear it. He considered it weak of himself to be afraid of watching her fall apart, which Sam had told him was bullshit, and this would be one more stressor for her. Which probably wasn't bullshit.
"No problem," Stark assured and Sam didn't think he was imagining the gentleness in the tone. "I have almost everything the SSR and SHIELD ever cranked out and what I didn't have, Natasha dumped online."
Stark ended up shooing them out for a few hours so he could work, so Sam took Steve up to 103rd to a Puerto Rican place for lechon and mofongo and pasteles (and rice and beans) and Steve made them walk back downtown because even he was stuffed afterward. They went back up to Stark's place using a different route than before, a private one, to find him back outside with the laptop and a different drink, no umbrella.
"Okay, so I've set up a program so that if Barnes is anywhere a camera can see his face, we'll know," Stark announced when they returned. "We won't know in real time, but it will give us a lead on where he's been."
"How broad is the coverage?" Sam asked. They didn't even know if Barnes was in the country anymore.
"Global," Stark replied, not looking up from his screen. "And between what's in this file and what's in Barnes's file from '43, we have enough photos to get decent results from partial profiles and other angles that normally give up a lot of false positives."
Stark had questions for the both of them, mostly about Barnes's arm but also about how he moved and, in Steve's case, what Barnes sounded like when he spoke. But them he dismissed them again and Steve went over to the railing to look out over the city and Sam let him be for a few minutes before walking over to join him. If Steve wanted to talk, good. If not, it was a helluva view.
It was only when Sam turned around to look behind him that he realized that he was standing where the Battle of New York had ultimately ended.
New York from on high was amazing. He'd been up to the top of the World Trade Center before it had fallen and this was like that, so high up that you could see the shadows of the clouds over neighborhoods, see all of New York at once, it felt like. It made him miss flying all the more, the last Falcon wings destroyed in a noble fight, but destroyed nonetheless. Not that the Pentagon would have let him keep them, but he would've liked to get one last cruise with them before handing them back.
When Steve's shoulders lost a bit of their tightness, Sam spoke. "You going to be okay here?"
"Yeah," Steve assured, sounding drained. "It'll be nicer than a hotel."
"Or my spare room," Sam agreed. "Which is still open to you when you're done with this."
Steve nodded and Sam suspected that he thought he wouldn't need it anymore, that from here, he would go out looking for Bucky Barnes and not stop until he was found. Which likely wasn't the truth and Sam wasn't sure how he'd deal with that.
Steve ended up walking back down to Penn Station with him so he could go buy toiletries and some clothes, since he hadn't brought any. Sam directed him to Macy's across the street rather than the K-Mart next to the entrance and they shook hands and promised they'd see each other in a few days and Steve would pass on anything he got from Tony or otherwise.
The following morning, Sam was at his desk at the VA when there was a courier package delivery for him. He was utterly mystified until he saw the Stark Industries logo in the corner, at which point he was instead just somewhat mystified. But inside the envelope was a blue plastic card, like the one Steve had shown the receptionist at Stark Tower. It had Sam's name and photo on it and a data chip embedded into the lower right corner. "For next time," it said, unsigned but obvious in its origin.
"What's that?" Gomez asked, prairie-dogging over the cubicle wall.
"You know those chips they stick on dogs so they know who the owner is?" Sam replied. "This is the people version."
Which was maybe unkind on the face of it, but Sam got the feeling Tony Stark would actually think it was hilarious and completely accurate if he'd overheard.
Also posted at DW.