Couldn't fly anymore, so the best thing he had was running.
Sam had barely been discharged from the Air Force for three months before he was contacted by SHIELD. In truth, there'd been a phone call soon after he got back from Afghanistan but the hard, listless feeling of the EXO project being completely discontinued without any hope for it starting up again and the long slog of his second tour working as a normal pararescue had him sick of the protocol, the stakes and a hungry-slow food chain.
Turned out that three months was just about as much time as he needed become completely bored out of his mind. So when SHIELD came making the rounds again with an opportunity on a special Ops team, he didn't jump for it but he did proceed warily forward.
STRIKE wasn't too bad. They had their hazing same as any other unit and they hit hard as he was finding out with every hand-to-hand training session but everything was efficient, order was kept and kept strictly. He wouldn't say it was something of a relief aloud, but it was after the listless wandering in an apartment that didn't feel like home again and the barracks back overseas that held too many haunting memories.
He figured it was a good sign that he'd gotten Rumlow's attention. There was no fuss in being pulled away from yet another spit-shine session. Out in the open they went at it hard, barely noting the downpour that started aside from adjusting to the slip of mud around their boots. He'd been thrown down twice at least, done the same once in return when Rumlow came up short. Sam wiped a slide of rain from the side of his mouth with a damp patch of his STRIKE uniform sleeve.
Did I wear you out-?
The taunt was just about out of his lips before Rumlow was issuing another challenge and taking off. Sam was left scrambling to grab his discarded jacket, swiped as he started following after and pushing a burst of energy into his stride.
Rumlow got the lead but Sam closed it, his grin bright in the bruised overcast above as he passed. "On your right."
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Sam had barely been discharged from the Air Force for three months before he was contacted by SHIELD. In truth, there'd been a phone call soon after he got back from Afghanistan but the hard, listless feeling of the EXO project being completely discontinued without any hope for it starting up again and the long slog of his second tour working as a normal pararescue had him sick of the protocol, the stakes and a hungry-slow food chain.
Turned out that three months was just about as much time as he needed become completely bored out of his mind. So when SHIELD came making the rounds again with an opportunity on a special Ops team, he didn't jump for it but he did proceed warily forward.
STRIKE wasn't too bad. They had their hazing same as any other unit and they hit hard as he was finding out with every hand-to-hand training session but everything was efficient, order was kept and kept strictly. He wouldn't say it was something of a relief aloud, but it was after the listless wandering in an apartment that didn't feel like home again and the barracks back overseas that held too many haunting memories.
He figured it was a good sign that he'd gotten Rumlow's attention. There was no fuss in being pulled away from yet another spit-shine session. Out in the open they went at it hard, barely noting the downpour that started aside from adjusting to the slip of mud around their boots. He'd been thrown down twice at least, done the same once in return when Rumlow came up short. Sam wiped a slide of rain from the side of his mouth with a damp patch of his STRIKE uniform sleeve.
Did I wear you out-?
The taunt was just about out of his lips before Rumlow was issuing another challenge and taking off. Sam was left scrambling to grab his discarded jacket, swiped as he started following after and pushing a burst of energy into his stride.
Rumlow got the lead but Sam closed it, his grin bright in the bruised overcast above as he passed. "On your right."