"WHY IS THE AIR FORCE ASKING ME TO DO SOMETHING?"

Nicky had been called out of his room by Terran, who had been adamant that they be alone when he told him the news. It had taken much of convincing, as Nicky was happy to cling close to Rhett, who had been living with them for almost three months now, and was starting to get a little enamored.

Terran smiled down at Nicky, almost eighteen and in his summer term before his second year of college, and it didn't surprise him that the boy, studying to be a psychologist, was confused as to why the military was asking him for blueprints.

"I have contact there," he began, Nicky raising his eyebrows in surprise, "I have connections everywhere, shush. Now, they asked me to help them out, since they're not really inclined to ask anyone else due to political reasons because...people hate mutants. Anyways! They got into contact with me in ways you don't need to worry about, and I mentioned that I have a little genius in my complex, and they're willing to pay you and put you through school."

Nicky blinked. "You're shitting me."

Terran grinned, shaking his head. "Nope. Under and graduate, I'm talking the full-ride. If I were you, I'd take it, but if you don't wanna, I totally understand."

Nicky chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, glancing up at Terran worriedly. He wanted to take this. He had to take this, there was no way he could say no, it was too good to be true. That was why he paused.

"Are you shitting me?" he repeated, now more of a question, genuinely unconvinced of the man's truthfulness. Terran had never had a track record of doing that to him, but he had to make sure.

Terran shook his head. "I promise you, I'm not joking. And I'm still gonna help you—"

"I'll take it if it means you'll stop paying," Nicky interrupted, pouncing at the opportunity to get out of his debt with Terran.

The man caught on—because he always did—and gave him a sympathetic smile, sighing softly. "What did we talk about...?"

Nicky puffed out his cheeks, blowing air out and rolling his eyes. "It's not any problem for you to pay for me to go to school, because you're already well off enough that it's no problem, and everyone has side jobs that makes it so we don't ever worry about financial needs at this point, 'so stop worrying, Nicky.'"

Terran snorted at Nicky's voice, the boy raising his voice when he probably should have lowered it, and he reached out to ruffle his hair. "So. You wanna take it?"

Nicky nodded eagerly. "Yeah. What do I have to do?"

º º º

Nicky yawned, moving so he could lean on his back and face the ceiling, rubbing his face and stretching. He had been working on his school work and the blueprints for hours, and he was extremely tired.

The door opened and he turned, raising his eyebrows in acknowledgement of Rhett who was cradling a bowl of popcorn. The man had been experimenting with a lot more modern snack foods, but he always went back to his roots. He always talked about the food and supply rations—Nicky wished he had known him back in sophomore year when he had to write that research paper, he honestly did—and so the man was taking advantage of his opportunities.

"You finally gonna tell me what you're working on?" Rhett asked, raising his eyebrows and settling down on the bed that always got hit by the door when Terran tried to burst in and open it all the way, only a few feet away from Nicky.

Nicky nodded, motioning for Rhett to sit next to him, reaching out and popping a piece of popcorn into his mouth, the blond frowning and pulling the bowl out of his reach. Rolling, his eyes, Nicky spread out his blueprints, motioning to the sketches.

"They wanted something that could potentially go undetected, but still be able to get the intended mission done, and it had to incorporate the soldiers—it's this whole thing," Nicky explained, cutting himself off for the details he knew Rhett didn't quite care about, "And so I had to find the average size, weight, and whatever of average soldiers, because they wouldn't give me any, and after that I got to thinking, because they didn't know what they wanted, only that it could work, and I've never been in a modern war, and neither has anyone here, including yourself, so I can't really come from experience, you know?"

Rhett nodded, eating another piece of popcorn. "You're really excited about this, aren't you?"

"I'm getting paid to do what I've been doing for years, of course I'm excited," Nicky scoffed, "And this is completely anonymous, but I'm getting paid, there's this whole transaction thing that Terran's taking care of that has nothing to do with me, it's great. Anyways!" He clapped his hands, reminding himself of his initial point.

"I thought long and hard and realized that, when in a war zone, no one expects an attack from above. We've only ever experienced attacks like those when they come from helicopters or jets or something, and those we can hear very well, and they never land, only drop bombs. But if  it's small, compact, and holds a person? Then that person's got the element of surprise and all their other skills and assets if I make sure the design works with it."

He paused, waiting for Rhett to understand. He chose specifically to wait, because while the man hadn't been in this century long, he and Nicky had watched enough movies that he would be able to, at least, pick up this particular hint.

He didn't have to wait long before Rhett, blinking, deadpanned, "You made a jet pack."

"I made a jet pack with controllable wings!" Nicky cheered, "They're gonna test them out for a bit, make sure they work, but once we get that all sorted...yeah, real life people are gonna be using these. You know how insane that is?"

Rhett raised his eyebrows in shock, nodding. "Yeah, it is insane. Isn't that nervewracking for you? To be responsible to create something that holds the life of a person in its hands?"

"The wings don't have hands, but they do have backpack straps," Nicky pointed out, and laughed when Rhett scoffed, nearly shoving him off the bed.

"What're they gonna be called?" Rhett asked, leaning back on his hands.

"I'm working on that," Nicky hummed, glancing over to the stack of books he had borrowed from the library, the one on top being a book on birds of prey, since he wanted to be clever about it.

"I'm thinking Falcon."

º º º

"Nicky, it wasn't your fault."

Nicky was holed up in the place he had gotten with Rhett back when the man first showed up, still in Brooklyn. He had been hiding in his room for the past week, crying and hating himself for everything he had ever done. Rhett had intercepted him just before he called Hank McCoy to tell him that he would no longer be working with him, a job that he had just acquired.

The man sighed as he heard Terran's voice through the door and he wanted to make something soundproof so he wouldn't have to hear him, but his stomach churned at the thought of what happened the last time he decided to make something.

"Look, you didn't kill him," Terran sighed, "That wasn't on you. He was shot out of the sky."

"I made the wings," he hissed, and the man sighed again, and it made Nicky furious.

"Look, just let me in, please? We need to talk, I have messages to relay to you," Terran sighed, groaning loudly when Nicky made a high pitched whining sound, "Nicky, please. Come on. Look, I won't read the messages, just let me in."

Sighing, Nicky lifted his head from his pillow, crawling to the foot of his bed, reaching out and straining, just able to unlock the door. He forced Terran to let himself in, moving back to his pillow, smothering himself with it.

Terran stepped in, sighing at what he saw. "Okay, we're not doing that. C'mon. C'mere."

Nicky shook his head, curling into a ball and Terran sighed, the bed sagging under his weight. After a few minutes of waiting, he gave up, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the series of messages he had been asked to relay to Nicky.

"This envelope," he said, placing it onto the bed, "Is filled with letters from his family. I screened them, they're all thanking you for giving their son an opportunity to serve his country the way he always wanted. They didn't want him to go into the air force, but he had been so passionate about it, and while they're beyond broken over his death, they would rather he have died happy than died with regrets."

Nicky felt tears well up in his eyes, but he blinked them away, his chest aching with the force of the pain he had felt over the past week.

"This one," Terran said, holding up another envelope, "Is a formal invitation to his funeral. They want you there. You don't have to give a speech or really speak to anyone, but they would like you there just to know that you were able to see his face in person once."

Nicky's body shook as he finally began to cry, his entire body reacting violently to the idea of going to the funeral of the man he had helped kill, yet needing to go there nonetheless. He needed to go.

He didn't move, but Terran knew he was listening. So he pulled out the last envelope, opening the letter inside, beginning to read.

"I don't know your name or where you're from, since that's classified information," he read out, and Nicky took a deep breath, his heart racing, "And I don't know if you know me. I was the other test pilot for your wings. I was a part of the 58th Rescue Squadron, but I'm not anymore. I can't go back. I'd say it was because of what I saw, but, honestly, it was because I can't go back without thinking of him. I watched him go down.

"I know it's not your fault. I think I'm writing this too early on, because it hurts so much that I just want to blame everyone. But I can't, and I don't. I just blame myself. I blame myself for not being there in time, and I blame the bastard who shot my best friend. But I don't blame you, because all you did was make the tools we used. You didn't do anything else.

"I don't know why I'm writing this, if I'm being completely honest. Maybe because I can't feel okay, so I figured I'd try to help someone else feel okay. I'm planning on doing that, actually. Working with vets with PTSD. I don't know why I'm telling you this. Maybe because I don't think you'll ever read it. Maybe because I'm just really fucking sad.

"So I'm writing this to you to let you know that no one blames you for the death of Riley. My best friend and wingman, in every sense. That was supposed to be a joke. It didn't sound as funny to me as it should have. That used to be our joke. No one blames you, and I don't. I want to, but I can't, because it makes no sense.

"Signing off. Samuel Thomas Willson."

Nicky jolted upright, staring at Terran in abject horror. He had never heard the names of the test pilots before, only hearing Riley's because he had been informed that he had been shot down. His stomach turned as he stared at Terran, begging to know that it wasn't the Sam he was thinking of.

"I saw his picture," the blond said, looking at him with the most sympathetic of looks, "It's that kid from your class."

Nicky nearly threw up. He gagged, and Terran pulled him in for a hug, rubbing his back as he sobbed. He sobbed, because Riley died before he could even drink. He cried, because he had just cost Sam Wilson his best friend. He cried for so many reasons, because he had never felt so much guilt.

"Are you gonna go the funeral?" Terran asked, when Nicky had finally calmed down and cried all the tears he had had left to cry.

The young man nodded, sniffing. "I have to."

º º º

As promised, he hadn't had to speak to anyone, nor say anything. In fact, the only time he stepped out of the shadows was to fall into the line and look down at Riley's face, like the family had wanted, carefully placing a small badge next to the ones pinned on his breast pocket. He was most likely breaking some kind of code or unsaid law, and was probably coming off as exceptionally cruel, but he had created a small set of wings, similar to the man's own. It just seemed right.

He had stayed throughout the entire duration, and well after everyone had left. He had just stood there, vaguely aware of the military send off and the tears and the speeches. He had been aware of all of it. He watched the casket be lowered and everything.

But he couldn't bring himself to leave. He just stood there, not even anywhere close to the headstone, just numb. He had no idea what to do.

Then he heard the sound of someone crying. 

Finally lifting his head from where it was bent, he found that there was still one person who had not yet left. A very familiar person, and one that he wasn't even surprised to see, yet still surprised all the same.

With a sigh, Nicky walked over to him quietly, coming to stand a little behind him, to one side. Sam just sniffed, trying to hide the fact that he was crying, but didn't stand from where he was kneeled.

Nicky just reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

Sam sniffed, wiping at his eyes. "It's fine. He wouldn't want me to cry."

"But it's okay if you do," he replied, "It's healthy."

Sam laughed bitterly. "Yeah. You know, I'm training to say that kinda thing to people. Tell them that it's alright to cry and feel upset and hurt and all that. But damn, it's shit to hear it. Doesn't do anything."

Nicky shrugged, though the man couldn't see him. "Maybe not right away." He didn't dare say anything else to ruin it, just to let the man sit with it.

After a few moments, he pulled his hand away. "I'm sorry for your loss."

As he began to walk away, Sam called out after him, eyes never leaving the headstone. "Did you know him? Riley?"

Nicky sighed and shook his head, not daring to glance back. "No. But I should have."

○ ○ ○

Sam stared at Nicky as the man finally finished explaining the entire story. All about his job, the complex, the EXO-7 Falcon wings, everything. It had taken over an hour, but he had gotten everything out, holding nothing back. 

By the time he had finished, the weight of his lies had finally gone, he had told his truth everyone who he had explicitly lied to, and he was just done.

But that didn't mean he was out of it just yet.

"You made my wings?" Sam asked, finally able to find his voice.

Nicky nodded. "Yeah. I always kept the specs. I told Diana, the girl that had a version of them during that one fight during Coney Island with Spider-Man? I told her that I hacked Tony to get the specs, it was easier that way."

Sam rubbed his mouth, shaking his head. "Why didn't you tell me? I mean—look, I'm gonna need to just think this over for a bit, okay?"

Nicky licked his lips and nodded, bowing his head and avoiding Sam's gaze, looking clearly pained, but accepting of his statement. 

"I'm not mad," Sam clarified, and Nicky raised his head carefully, as if expecting Sam to turn it around on him, but the man did no such thing, "I'm really not. I just...look, I just need a second to think this over, okay?"

Nicky nodded, glancing towards the work he still needed to do for Reed, the man having texted him to make sure that everything was still okay, as he hadn't gotten an update in a few days. Sam caught his gaze and, deciding that it was best, left the room, closing the door behind him.

Sighing, he rubbed his mouth, looking towards the couches where Steve was sketching Rhett who was working on another couch. It was a Saturday, but the man was working incredibly hard, which was admirable, if not sad how Steve sighed loudly every few moments, trying to get his attention.

"Sam, if you're not busy, you think you can entertain him for a bit, I'm really busy," Rhett sighed, not looking up from his work.

Steve made a face, but turned to look up at Sam, immediately frowning at the man's expression. "What happened, what's wrong?"

Sam sighed, running a hand through his short hair. "Ah, it's just...I was talking with Nicky, he told me some...stuff. Did you know?"

"About him being so much more than just a psychologist? Yes, but that's all I was told by him or Rhett, other than that, I know nothing," Steve said, motioning for Sam to sit down. The man glanced over towards Rhett, wondering if they should leave, but the teacher simply motioned for them to keep talking, still not looking up from his work.

"He made and designed my original wings," Sam sighed, sitting down and settling in, "And can also hack into security cameras and basically break every civil rights law pertaining to privacy. He also comforted me at my best friend's funeral, and didn't think once to mention it to me."

"He thought you'd hate him if you found out, not to mention it would lead to questions as to why he was there, which would lead you to hate him more if he found out," Rhett explained, catching his attention, "I've thought over why he didn't tell me, and it's kind of why I hid everything from Steve. He didn't want me worrying about him, he didn't want you hating him, and I didn't want Steve to hate me."

"How did you feel when you found out?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow towards Rhett, whom he had heard about when Steve had first found out back in December.

"If you remember our phone call, I was pretty upset," Steve sighed, looking over towards Rhett, "But I didn't hate him. I mean, I was angry, after what he had told me, I thought of all the things that could have happened if it hadn't, and I was hurt because he didn't tell me. But I didn't hate him. It'll just take some time."

"But I've already forgiven him," Sam said, "That's not the problem. Honestly, I just...I didn't realize just how bad it is?" He looked over to Rhett. "I mean, I knew he was still in love with that guy, but I didn't think it was that bad."

"I don't think he's in love with him anymore," Rhett said, finally raising his head, "I think he just wants him back so bad that it's manifested back to that love he'd had since he was sixteen. I mean, he never got the closure he needed, so the feelings sat and morphed. He's not in love, but he's still convinced he is, which is a whole different love altogether. It's a process."

Sam sighed, shaking his head. "I wanna help him. But I don't know how."

"It's not your responsibility to help him," Rhett sighed, going back to his work, "Just like it's not mine. But I still do, so if you're willing to take it on, I suggest you just take it slow and try not to feel too obligated. You're his friend, not his therapist."

Steve bowed his head in shame, as he had taken Sam for granted in that regard. The older man simply reached out and pat his back, letting him know that it was all water under the bridge by that point.

"Give him a few, then go back in and talk," Rhett suggested, "I hear communication is key to a relationship. I've witnessed first hand how screwed up some people can get because they just didn't talk."

Steve raised an eyebrow. "Diana?"

Rhett nodded solemnly. "Diana."

Sam shook his head, settling into the couch and pulling out his phone. "I swear to God, everyone just keeps talking about Diana. She's a cute girl and all, but damn, you'd think there weren't any other people around here."

º º º

There was a knock on the door a few hours later.

Nicky turned around in his seat, watching as the door opened to reveal Sam who inched his way inside, taking a seat at the foot of the bed. Nicky didn't move from his position, unsure of exactly what to do, and Sam didn't seem to know either.

"I don't hate you," Sam said, "Like you know. And I wanna help you, you know...figure all this out. I know I can't fix you, apparently you've already explained that to a lot of people, including a particular teenage girl whose name I hear all the time now, I swear, it's like she everywhere..."

Nicky laughed at that, shaking his head. "Yeah, she was actually a really important part of my life last year, she helped me meet Tony and figure out a lot about—"

"Yeah, I get it, she's Jesus reincarnated, that's not my point," Sam said, dismissing the tangent quickly, Nicky laughing some more, "My point is that I still wanna be there to help you. 'Cause I was already doing that before I got tangled up with Steve and all that so...you know, you're a psychologist, but who helps you?"

Nicky gave him a sad smile. "You know, I've never really had a lot of people help me. I mean, Rhett did, and everyone in the complex did, but it's not as if I've really had all that much support in my life, besides people paying for my necessities. The only people actually worried about my well-being were people that I fell in love with, but never got anywhere with."

"You sure you were in love with them, or just loved them?" Sam asked, "'Cause there's a difference. I mean, it's not even a sexual thing, it's a romantic one. You love someone, so you care for them. You're in love with someone, so you wanna be with them, whatever that means to you, but there's a deeper meaning."

Nicky sighed. "I know I was in love with them because they're the only people I honest to God thought I could sleep with and actually want to. You know?"

Sam hummed. "Well, can't really argue if you already know. But I think you gotta figure out the distinction between those things, 'cause you've been deprived of a lotta love, man."

Nicky grinned, the same way Diana and Harry grinned when he told them that 'they were pretty depressed'; it was the grin of someone who found it funny, because the other person understood just how not funny it actually was, but wasn't being insensitive about it. Only seldom few people could do it, and it shocked him that Sam could.

"I don't hate you, man," Sam sighed again, "I'm too tired to. And I already spent all these years dealing with all these feelings, I don't think finding out you were the guy that comforted me after a funeral is really reason for me to wanna rip your guts out."

"It could be, I don't know you all that well," Nicky mumbled, shrugging, "Maybe you really hate the fact that I knew all this stuff about you, but never said anything, you know?"

Sam stretched, leaning back on the bed. "I'm way too chill for that, man. Maybe Steve or Tony or something, but not me. I'm way too chill."

"You bought out an entire troupe of girl scouts because they called you cool," Nicky pointed out.

"They deserved every penny, they were doing the Lord's work preaching about equality and teamwork like that, I have great respect for our new generation of women," Sam declared, sitting back up from where he had been lying down.

He watched as Nicky laughed harder than he expected him to, the younger man clutching his stomach and shaking from the force of his laugh, making no sound, he was laughing so hard. It was a bright scene to see from a man whom no one would blame if he never smile again.

There was no way Sam could hate him. In fact, maybe,  just maybe, he was learning to love him.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Let's just make it clear, he doesn't love him yet, he's not in love with him yet, it's like Nicky's healing process, you know?

I wanted more conversation between Sam and Nicky to try and figure out the feelings, but Sam had already been chill about the wing thing, so it was all a matter of him trying to come to terms with the knowledge, so there wasn't much I could write, but there was still some stuff, it'll be fleshed out more.

I had Sam call all of us out about our love for Diana, like, it was cold blooded and I love that I did that, because I feel so called out.

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!