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thirtysomethingloser92 · 1 month ago

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Chapter 1: Oh Lights Go Down, In The Moment We're Lost And Found

Summary: After multiple failed attempts at retirement, you keep getting pulled back into action by Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes. Despite the constant bickering and teasing, there’s an undeniable tension between you and Bucky—something everyone else sees except the two of you.

When a new threat involving stolen Inhuman tech emerges, you reluctantly join Bucky and Sam for one more mission. As the stakes rise, your playful banter with Bucky deepens into something more, and the emotional walls you’ve both built finally begin to crumble.

Warnings: Swearing, Violence, Smut.

It was one of those perfect days—the kind where the sun streamed in through the open kitchen window, warm and golden, making everything feel just a little bit softer. The faint hum of the city was distant but present, a reminder of the world outside your quiet little corner. The breeze carried in the scent of blooming jasmine, and you were happily chopping vegetables, pretending—for just a moment—that you were just an ordinary person, living an ordinary life.

But, of course, that illusion was shattered by the two men currently sitting at your kitchen table.

“You’ve been retired what? Three times now? Or is it four?” Sam Wilson asked, his voice full of teasing amusement.

“I think it’s three,” Bucky Barnes replied, deadpan, not even bothering to look up from where he was unceremoniously slouched in his chair, arms crossed over his chest.

You couldn’t help the grin tugging at your lips as you turned from the counter. Sam was lounging back in his chair, arms behind his head, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. Bucky—ever the grump—was giving you that familiar raised eyebrow, though there was a glint of something in his blue eyes that suggested he was enjoying this more than he let on.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, you cocked a hip and pointed your knife at them. “I’d still be happily retired after the first time if a certain bird brain and tin man would stop knocking on my door and learn how to handle their issues without me holding their hand every time.”

“Oof.” Sam put a hand to his chest and gave you a mock wounded look. “That’s cold.”

Bucky, unbothered, just smirked. “You’re not wrong.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you turned back to the cutting board, the rhythmic chop, chop, chop of the knife filling the brief silence. “It’s true though, isn’t it?” you called over your shoulder, not letting them off the hook just yet. “Let’s review, shall we?"

You held up a finger, turning slightly to glance at them. “The Flag Smashers. You two could’ve handled that without me. No problem.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh. And who was it who saved your ass when you got blown off that truck?”

“I had it under control!” you shot back, but the grin on your face gave you away.

“Right,” Bucky muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Looked real ‘under control’ when you were flying face-first into traffic.”

You snorted but continued your list, holding up a second finger. “Then there was that terrorism thing in Cairo. Again, easy pickings. You didn’t really need me for that.”

Sam leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I dunno, I seem to remember you saying something about ‘missing the thrill’ when you punched that guy through a brick wall.”

You paused, remembering the satisfying crunch of stone under your knuckles. “Okay, maybe I missed it a little,” you admitted with a shrug, “but that’s not the point.”

Bucky’s lips quirked, but he stayed silent, watching you with that same unreadable expression he always wore when you got into these conversations—half annoyed, half amused, and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“And then,” you continued, holding up a third finger, “there was that mutant with the glowy cards and the cool accent who was doing all those heists in New Orleans.” You paused for dramatic effect, stabbing the knife into the cutting board. “Now, I’ll admit, that one was a bit... sticky.”

Bucky snorted softly. “A bit?”

Sam gave you a pointed look. ”He blew your ass to hell.”

You gave Sam a grin. “And I still managed to get his number afterwards,” you turned to look at both of them “But the point still stands—you two are perfectly capable without me.”

Sam shook his head, laughing under his breath. “Yeah, maybe. But things are more fun with you around.” He winked, leaning back in his chair again.

You rolled your eyes, scoffing as you turned back to the vegetables. “I’m not here for your entertainment, Sam. I’m retired. Retired,” you emphasized, as if you hadn’t had this exact argument before.

Bucky finally chimed in, his voice dry as ever. “You keep saying that, but here you are. Again. Inviting us inside.”

You threw him a look over your shoulder. “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t feel obliged to if you two weren’t so damn persistent.”

Sam folded his arms across his chest with a smirk. “Persistent? Is that what we’re calling it now? I thought you liked the action.”

You pointed the knife at him, eyes narrowing. “I like peace and quiet, Wilson. Two things I seem to get a lot less of whenever you two show up at my door.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Sam quipped, grinning. “You light up every time we drag you back in.”

Before you could fire back, Bucky gave a small snort and muttered under his breath, “You love doing this.” Your eyes flicked to Bucky in surprise. There was something in his tone—something so confident, like he knew you better than you knew yourself. The bastard probably wasn’t wrong, but you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of admitting it. Instead, you shot him a mock glare, trying to keep your voice as dry as possible.

“I love retirement, Barnes. You should try it sometime,” you retorted, pointing your knife at him for emphasis. “I even have an actual job now. You know, normal people stuff.”

Bucky’s lips quirked into the faintest hint of a smile—one of those rare, fleeting things you only caught when he wasn’t trying so hard to be the world’s grumpiest super-soldier. “Not my style,” he said, his voice low and gravelly.

You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath, “Clearly.”

Sam, who had been watching the two of you with an amused smirk, cleared his throat loudly, cutting through the banter. “Anyway, we didn’t come here to talk about your third failed retirement,” he said, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in his eye, “Anyway, I’m still waiting for my invitation to come over for dinner one night now that you have all this time on your hands.”

“You’re not getting one,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “And besides since when do you two just casually drop by my house on a perfectly good Saturday?” Sam leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he gave you a pointed look. “Fury called me,” he said, his tone casual but carrying that undercurrent of ‘you know where this is going.’

You arched an eyebrow, glancing over your shoulder as you continued slicing vegetables. “Oh yeah?” you said, clearly unimpressed. “And what does Ex- Director Fury want this time?”

Sam’s smirk widened, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Apparently, you’re not picking up the phone. He’s been trying to get ahold of you.”

You scoffed, not even bothering to look at him as you tossed the chopped peppers into a bowl. “Yeah, because, again, I’m retired, Sam. Retired as in ‘not doing whatever he wants me to.’” You punctuated the sentence by slicing into a tomato with a little more force than necessary.

Sam chuckled lightly, shaking his head. “You might wanna reconsider picking up the phone this time.”

You paused, glancing at him with a skeptical look. “Oh? And why’s that?”

Sam exchanged a brief glance with Bucky before turning back to you. “Someone’s been stealing Inhuman tech—experimental stuff.” His usual lighthearted tone was gone, replaced by something serious. “It’s not just some minor operation either. Whoever’s behind this is organized. Big time.”

You shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, as if the weight of what Sam was saying wasn’t already sitting heavy in the pit of your stomach. “And what does that have to do with me?” you asked, your voice steady, though your mind was racing.

Bucky, who had been leaning back with his arms crossed, quietly watching the conversation unfold with his usual stoic expression, finally raised an eyebrow. That subtle shift in his demeanor said more than words ever could. He’d always been the silent type, but after everything you’d been through together, you could read his moods with almost unnerving precision. “You’re really gonna make me spell it out, huh?” His voice was low, carrying that familiar gravelly edge, but there was something else there too. A challenge.

You turned to him, already fighting the grin that was pulling at the corners of your mouth. There was always this tension between you two, a strange mix of camaraderie, banter, and something deeper that neither of you ever fully addressed. You leaned casually against the counter, crossing your arms, meeting his gaze with a wide-eyed, innocent look that you knew would get under his skin. “Uh huh,” you nodded slowly, clearly enjoying the moment. “Because you know what I’m going to say.”

Bucky’s lips twitched, and for a fleeting second, you thought he might actually smile—one of those rare, almost disarming smiles that made your stomach clench and your heart stutter. “You’re going to say you’re retired,” Bucky deadpanned, though you could hear the faintest edge of frustration in his voice. He knew you too well by now, knew the games you liked to play when you didn’t want to be dragged into something.

You pointed at him with the knife you’d been using, your grin widening in triumph. “Exactly,” you said, savoring the moment.

Sam rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the smirk tugging at his lips. “Alright, we get it. You’re retired. But this isn’t just some random mess we’re asking you to clean up. This is big. And it’s gonna get worse if no one steps in.”

You tilted your head, still playing coy, the edge of mischievousness in your voice. “And you two can’t handle it? I mean, you’re Captain America and the Winter Soldier,” you said, gesturing lazily toward them with the knife, before going back to slicing. “Seems like you’ve got things under control.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed slightly, and you could feel the shift in the air between you. His tone dropped, that low, no-nonsense voice he used when he wasn’t in the mood for games. “It’s not about whether we can handle it. It’s about what’s coming, and the fact that you’re in the crosshairs whether you like it or not.”

You paused, your hand hovering over the apple for a split second, the playful façade slipping just a little. The truth in his words hit harder than you wanted to admit. You’d been out of the game for a while, sure, but that didn’t mean the game was done with you. And if Bucky was worried—really worried—then you knew this was serious. He didn’t show fear, not easily.

Your eyes met his again, and there it was—that unspoken connection. You trusted him with your life, had done so countless times before, from that first chaotic fight in Bucharest to every mission since. He’d saved you more times than you could count, and you’d done the same for him. But it was more than that. After every battle, every moment where it felt like the world might crumble, it was Bucky who sat beside you in the quiet, his presence a steady reminder that you weren’t alone in this “Crosshairs?” you repeated, your voice softening just a fraction, though the tension in the room seemed to coil tighter.

Sam nodded, his tone quieter now, but still sharp with purpose. “If they’re stealing Inhuman tech, it’s only a matter of time before they come for the source. People like you.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in slowly, wrapping around you like an uncomfortable blanket. You wanted to roll your eyes, to laugh it off, to tell them both you weren’t interested. But deep down, you already knew where this was headed. You always did. It was the same old tune, the same pull of inevitability. They came to you when things got bad, and this time, it sounded worse than usual.

Still, old habits died hard, and you weren’t about to make it easy for them. You never did.

“So, let me get this straight,” you said, raising a hand as if to clarify, the sarcasm dripping from your voice. “You two are here because someone’s stealing tech, and now you think I’m some kind of target?”

As you spoke, you caught movement out of the corner of your eye. Bucky leaned forward slightly, the intensity in his gaze pinning you in place before you could look away. His eyes—usually so guarded, so stoic—held a flicker of something different. Something raw. Fear. The sight of it made your chest tighten.

“We don’t think,” Bucky said, his voice low, almost strained. “We know.”

For a second, the air seemed to shift as the room narrowed around just the two of you. That flicker of fear in Bucky’s eyes, so out of place on someone like him—someone who had seen more war, more blood, more death than you could ever imagine—hit you harder than you expected. You could handle your own fear, push it down, bury it deep where it couldn’t reach you. But seeing it in him? That was something else entirely.

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face, trying to shake off the weight of his words. “Of course you do,” you muttered, dropping your hand and crossing your arms again, leaning back against the counter. You could feel the tension rolling off Bucky in waves, but you weren’t ready to let them drag you into this. Not yet. “And let me guess, Fury wants me to do something about it?”

Sam shifted uncomfortably in his chair, giving you a look that was a mix of apology and expectation. The kind of look that told you everything you needed to know, with just a hint of regret. “It’s not just Fury,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “You know we wouldn’t be here if we didn’t need you.”

You couldn’t help the dry laugh that escaped you, shaking your head in disbelief. “You two realize how ridiculous this is, right? I’ve been out of the game for how long now? And suddenly I’m supposed to jump back in because Fury says so?”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, his expression hardening as he leaned back in his chair, arms folding across his chest in that familiar, defensive posture. You knew that look. The one he used when things were getting serious—when he was drawing a line in the sand. “It’s not about Fury,” he said, his voice edged with a quiet intensity. “It’s about protecting people. And you know that.”

His words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, the kitchen felt smaller, quieter. The intensity in his eyes was enough to make your stomach twist, the weight of his gaze settling over you like a storm cloud. Bucky wasn’t one to dance around the truth, and you knew that. He was right, of course. He always was when it came to this kind of thing, and it irritated you to no end. But that didn’t mean you had to like it.

You wanted to argue, to push back, but the words caught in your throat. Because deep down, you knew what he was saying was true. You always did.

Sam stood up from the table, walking over to where you were standing. His expression softened as he spoke, his voice low and sincere. “Look, we’re not asking you to suit up and start playing hero again,” he said, his gaze locking onto yours with that maddening calm that always made him seem so reasonable. “But this is bigger than just a couple of stolen gadgets. If they’re after Inhumans, you’re not gonna be able to sit this one out.”

You held his gaze for a long moment, the familiar pull of responsibility growing heavier with every word, pressing down on your shoulders like it always did. Sam had this infuriating way of making things sound so logical, so reasonable, and yet utterly impossible to refuse. It was like he knew exactly which buttons to push, how to make you see the bigger picture.

Bucky didn’t even need to say a word. The fear you’d seen in his eyes earlier still lingered, a shadow that hadn’t quite gone away. It wasn’t something you were used to seeing from him—Bucky, who had stared down gods and monsters without flinching. But if he was worried, *really* worried, then this was far worse than they were letting on. You could feel it in the air, the way neither he nor Sam had cracked a joke, hadn’t tried to lighten the mood even once. This was serious. And if they were here, asking for your help, it meant they were out of options.

You let out a long, resigned breath, feeling the weight of their silent expectations pressing down on you. “I’m not un-retiring,” you finally said, holding up a hand in warning, preemptively stopping any celebrations before they even started. “This is just a favor.”

Bucky stood, his expression softening just a fraction. You could see it—how hard he was trying to hide the flicker of relief that crossed his face. But you caught it. He was too easy to read, at least for you. “Right,” he said, his voice quieter but steady. “Just a favor.”

You shot him a look, raising an eyebrow. “Exactly. A favor,” you repeated, making sure he knew where you stood on this.

Sam, clearly feeling the shift in the room, clapped you on the shoulder, a wide, triumphant grin spreading across his face. “See? We knew you couldn’t resist,” he said, his tone smug, as if he’d just won a bet.

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you turned back to the counter, picking up your knife to finish chopping the vegetables you’d abandoned earlier. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. After this, I’m going back to my actual job. You know, the one that doesn’t involve me getting shot at.”

Sam snorted, leaning casually against the kitchen island, arms crossed, that damn smirk still plastered on his face. “Yeah, sure. You keep telling yourself that. We’ll see how long that lasts.”

You gave him a sidelong glance, one that said, I’m not in the mood for your bullshit, but Sam just grinned wider. It wasn’t the first time you’d tried to retire, and he damn well knew it. He also knew how impossible it was for you to stay away whenever things went south.

Bucky, now standing with his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, leaned back against the wall, giving you a sidelong glance. His voice was low, teasing, though there was an undercurrent of truth in it. “You won’t stay gone for too long. You never do.”

You paused, the knife hovering over the cutting board for a second longer than necessary, letting his words hang in the air. He wasn’t wrong, and you both knew it. It wasn’t the first time you’d tried to step away from the chaos, and it wouldn’t be the first time you got pulled back in. But that didn’t mean you had to admit it aloud.

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered under your breath, not looking up as you resumed chopping. “Don’t get ahead of yourselves.”

Sam chuckled, pushing off the counter to grab an apple from the fruit bowl. “Oh, we’re ahead of ourselves? You were ‘retired’ for what, two years before you got involved with S.W.O.R.D.?” He took a bite of the apple, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

You shot him a dry look, not stopping your chopping. “Oh, that was a mistake and a half. Ever been mindfucked by a grieving woman who can rewrite reality on a whim? Not exactly on my Top Ten list of fun experiences,” you grumbled, the memory still a sore spot. “Definitely not a fan.”

Sam raised his eyebrows, still chewing, clearly enjoying the banter. “And how long did you swear off helping people after that? Because if I remember right, you said you were done—and then, what happened? I asked you to help with the Flag Smashers, and next thing I know, you’re right back in it. Then someone else came knocking, and BAM, there you go again.”

You glared at him, pointing the knife in his direction, the sharp edge glinting under the kitchen light. “All you’re proving to me,” you said, deadpan, “is that I’m a pushover who can’t set boundaries.”

Sam nearly choked on his apple as he laughed. “Pushover? Nah. You’re just bad at saying no when it counts.” You opened your mouth to argue, but Bucky cut in before you had the chance. His voice was calm, though you could hear the teasing edge in it. “Come on, Sam. Give her some credit. She lasted a whole eight months this time.”

You narrowed your eyes at Bucky, but he wasn’t looking at you. His attention was on Sam, the corner of his mouth twitching in that almost-smile he tried to hide. He was joking—he always did when things got tense—but there was something else in his eyes. That glint of worry he couldn’t quite mask, even behind the banter. It was subtle, but you’d learned how to read him, how to see the way his shoulders tightened when he was anxious, the way his brow furrowed when he was thinking too hard. And despite his attempt to keep things light, you could tell this mission wasn’t sitting right with him. He was worried—about you.

“Eight months is impressive,” Sam chimed in, nodding sagely, as if you weren’t standing right there. “I mean, that’s gotta be some kind of record, right? For someone who’s addicted to saving the world?”

You groaned, setting the knife down with a little more force than necessary. “You two are the worst,” you muttered, but the faint smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. You couldn’t stay mad at them, not really. “I should never have let you in.”

Bucky gave you a knowing look, his voice soft but still teasing. “You didn’t really have a choice. We would’ve just broken in.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was something about the way he said it, the way his voice softened around the edges when he was talking to you. It made your heart skip, just for a moment, a flicker of something more beneath the surface. You’d known Bucky for a long time now—long enough to understand the walls he kept up, the distance he tried to maintain. But lately, there had been cracks in those walls. Little moments where the tension between you wasn’t just about the mission, or the danger, or even the banter. It was something deeper, something you hadn’t quite figured out how to deal with.

“Exactly,” Sam said, grinning as he leaned casually against the counter. “You can’t get rid of us that easily.”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest, trying to focus on anything but the way Bucky’s presence seemed to fill the room. “You say that like it’s a good thing.”

Bucky’s expression softened, just enough for you to notice. He stepped forward, closing the distance between you both ever so slightly. His voice dropped a little lower, and there was a quiet sincerity in his words that made your heart do that annoying little flip again. “It is a good thing. Because you know we’d do the same for you.”

The way he said it, so matter-of-fact, yet layered with meaning, made warmth spread through your chest. You knew he would. You didn’t doubt it for a second. Bucky wasn’t the type to say things he didn’t mean, and when it came to you, he always seemed to mean more than he actually said. You’d felt it in the way he looked at you after missions, the way his hand lingered on your arm just a little too long when he was checking to see if you were okay. The way his gaze would soften, as if he was seeing something in you that even you hadn’t fully grasped.

“Yeah, well,” you said, tearing your eyes away from his intense gaze and looking back down at the cutting board. You needed a distraction, something to ground you before you lost yourself in whatever was simmering between you and Bucky. “Just don’t expect me to make a habit of this.”

Sam chuckled from his spot by the counter. “Don’t worry. We’ll send you a postcard when we’re out saving the world.”

Bucky’s lips twitched into that almost-smile again, and for a brief second, the tension that had been weighing down the room seemed to lift. His eyes lingered on you, and you could feel the warmth of his gaze even with your back turned. It was like he was saying something without saying anything at all. And it made you wonder, not for the first time, what it would be like if you just stopped pretending there wasn’t something more between you.

“Sure,” you said, the sarcasm thick in your voice. “I’ll frame it.”

Sam grinned, tossing the apple core into the trash with a smirk. “Even better. You can hang it next to your retirement papers.”

You groaned, turning back to the vegetables, the familiar banter easing some of the tension in your chest. “I hate you both.”

But as you went back to chopping, the knife moving rhythmically over the cutting board, you couldn’t stop your mind from drifting back to Bucky. The way he’d looked at you just a moment ago, his expression soft, his voice low and full of unspoken promises. It was ridiculous, really. You were supposed to be retired, supposed to be out of this life. Yet here you were, roped back in by the same people who always pulled you under—and by the man who, despite all your best efforts, had found a way into your heart.

Because the truth was, you didn’t really hate them. Not even close.

And when it came to Bucky, you weren’t sure you could ever stay away. No matter how hard you tried to convince yourself this was just another mission, another favor, something about him always pulled you back in. It was frustrating—but also undeniable.

You cleared your throat, trying to shake off the warm, fuzzy feelings creeping into your chest. The last thing you needed was to get all sentimental in front of them. “Alright, enough with the bromance,” you said, your voice cutting through the air, aiming to bring things back to the task at hand. “What’s the plan?”

Sam straightened up immediately, slipping back into his familiar role with ease. He was all business again, though the grin from your little exchange hadn’t quite left his face. “We’ll brief you on the way. Fury’s got intel, and we’ve already got a lead on where they’re keeping the stolen tech.”

You raised an eyebrow, gesturing between the two of them as if the absurdity of the situation had just dawned on you. “Oh, you’re ready to go right now?” There was a playful incredulity in your voice, as if the sheer audacity of them showing up at your doorstep and expecting you to drop everything hadn’t fully hit you until this moment.

Bucky shrugged, utterly unfazed, his tone casual. “No better time than the present.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh, pointing to the food on the counter as you turned back toward the stove. “I’m cooking, Barnes. I’m not wasting this. Saving the world can wait until I’ve finished dinner.” You waved a hand dismissively, like the fate of the world was no bigger than an afternoon errand. “Pull up a chair,” you added, turning back to the chopping board, resuming your task as if you hadn’t just agreed to help them thwart a major global threat.

Behind you, Sam and Bucky exchanged a look. Sam’s eyebrows raised slightly, and he passed Bucky a knowing grin—the kind that said, See? Told you she’d come around. Bucky, for his part, gave Sam a small, soft smile in return, one of those rare, almost imperceptible expressions that only those really close to him would ever notice.

They missed you. And now that they were here, in your kitchen, it was more apparent than ever.

“Well, you heard the lady,” Sam said, pulling out a chair and plopping down at your kitchen table, clearly amused by the sudden shift in pace. “Guess saving the world can wait for dinner.”

Bucky, after a moment’s hesitation, followed suit, settling into the chair beside Sam. His eyes lingered on you for a second longer than usual, something unspoken passing between the three of you as the earlier tension faded into something warmer—something more familiar. “You always did have your priorities straight,” he muttered, his voice teasing, but with a hint of genuine admiration.

“Damn right,” you replied without missing a beat, not looking up from your task as you tossed some vegetables into the pan. The sizzle filled the quiet as you added, “I’m not about to burn a perfectly good meal just because Fury’s got his knickers in a twist.”

You could hear Sam chuckling behind you, and you imagined the way he was probably shaking his head—half-amused, half-impressed by your ability to turn life-threatening situations into something routine.

“So, what are we having?” Sam asked, leaning back in his chair, clearly settling in for the long haul now that dinner was on the agenda.

You shrugged as you stirred the pan. “Stir-fry. Something simple.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, the barest hint of a smile playing on his lips. “You’ve gone soft. I seem to remember you used to cook meals that could feed an army.”

You threw a look over your shoulder at him, your eyes narrowing playfully. “That was back when I was an army. Now I’m just a humble civilian, remember?”

Sam snorted, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, right. ‘Humble civilian’ my ass.”

You smiled, shaking your head as you turned back to the stove. “Believe what you want, Wilson. I’m retired. This is me living the quiet life. I even mowed my lawn the other week.”

Bucky leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms, giving you a long, considering look. His gaze was steady, unblinking, as if he were trying to read between the lines of your words. “You’re really gonna stick with that story, huh?”

You waved the spatula at him, eyes narrowing again, but this time there was a playful edge to it. “I told you already: this is just a favor. One time only.”

Bucky’s lips twitched into that almost-smile again, this one more visible than the last. He leaned forward slightly, casting a quick glance at Sam before turning back to you. “You know we don’t believe that for a second.”

Your eyes flicked up from the pan, meeting Bucky’s for a brief, charged moment. There was something about the way he looked at you—something that made your heart beat just a little faster. You hated how easily he could do that to you, how effortlessly he could make you feel like the world outside didn’t matter as much as the small, quiet moments like this.

But you couldn’t let him know that. Not yet.

“Believe what you want,” you said, turning back to the stove with a shrug that you hoped looked more nonchalant than you felt. “I’m not getting dragged back into this mess for good.”

Sam, ever the opportunist, jumped in with a grin. “Sure, sure. And next week, when one of your buddies call, I’m sure you’ll be… what? Mowing the lawn again?”

You shot him a look. “I’m serious, Sam.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, clearly not convinced. “Just like you were serious when you said you were done after getting shot in Madripoor.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but Bucky beat you to it, his voice cutting in with that same calm, steady reassurance. “Just a favor. We get it.” His tone was teasing, but there was something behind it—something softer, like he was trying to meet you halfway.

Your eyes met his again, and for a moment, the room felt smaller, more intimate. There was a warmth in his gaze that made you feel seen in a way you weren’t sure you were ready for. It was the kind of look that made you want to say more than you should, the kind of look that made you wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was something more than friendship between you two. Something you’d both been dancing around for far too long.

But before you could say anything, Sam’s voice broke the moment. “So, what’s for dessert?”

You blinked, the spell broken, and turned back to the stove with a sigh of exaggerated exasperation. “Dessert? I’m already feeding you dinner, Wilson. What more do you want?”

Sam grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Just checking. You know, in case we need to carbo-load for the world-saving we’re doing after this.”

Bucky chuckled, his eyes still lingering on you for just a second longer before he leaned back in his chair as well, arms crossed. “If she’s making dessert, we’ll be here all night.”

You shot them both a look. “You’re lucky I haven’t thrown you both out yet.”

But the truth was, you liked having them here. You liked the way Sam’s laugh filled the room, bringing with it a familiar sense of ease, and the way Bucky’s quiet, steady presence grounded you, even when he wasn’t saying much. It was the kind of silence that wasn’t uncomfortable, but comforting—a reminder that some bonds didn’t need words. You liked the way this felt—like home. And maybe that was the real reason you could never stay away.

Because when it came to Bucky—and Sam, too, if you were being honest—it wasn’t just about the missions, or the thrill of saving the world. They weren’t just your team. They were your family.

Even if you’d never admit that out loud.

The three of you fell into a comfortable silence after that, the only sound the soft sizzle of the food cooking and the rhythmic clinking of utensils against plates. The smell of stir-fry filled the kitchen, warm and inviting, and for a few minutes, it almost felt like the old days—back before everything got so complicated. Before you’d decided to walk away. The banter, the easy camaraderie, the way you fit together like puzzle pieces—it was all still there, just buried under layers of time and distance, waiting for moments like this to resurface.

As you plated the food and set it down in front of them, you couldn’t help but glance between Sam and Bucky, feeling that familiar, strange warmth again. There was something about seeing them here, sitting at your table, that stirred something deep inside you.

And maybe—just maybe—you’d missed the thrill, too. The adrenaline, the missions, the way the world always seemed like it was on the brink of something big, and you were the one who could tip the scales. You had walked away from it all, but now, standing here with them, it didn’t seem quite as distant as it once had. It felt close, tangible, like it was pulling you back in before you even realized it.

Sam took a bite, nodding in approval. “Not bad. Definitely better than MREs.”

Bucky grunted his agreement, though he was already halfway through his plate, eating with the quiet efficiency of a man who’d spent too many years not knowing where his next meal would come from. You watched the two of them for a moment, leaning against the counter with your arms crossed, suddenly feeling like an outsider in your own kitchen. But it wasn’t a bad feeling—it was one of contentment, of seeing the people you care about in a rare moment of peace.

“So,” you said, breaking the silence, “are you two gonna brief me, or are you just here for the free food?”

Sam wiped his mouth, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “Oh, we’ll brief you. But first…” He paused, his expression shifting slightly, the teasing glint in his eyes softening into something more genuine. “Thanks for this. For helping. We know it’s not easy being dragged back in.”

Bucky, who had been quiet as usual, nodded, his gaze meeting yours. His expression was softer than it usually was—unguarded, almost vulnerable, in that way he sometimes got when he was trying to say something he wasn’t quite sure how to put into words. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice low but sincere. “We appreciate it.”

You shrugged, trying to play it off like it was no big deal, though the warmth in your chest told a different story. “Don’t thank me yet. I’m not un-retired, remember? This is just a one-time thing.”

Bucky caught your eye, and for a moment, something passed between you—something unspoken, something you weren’t ready to acknowledge just yet. His expression was unreadable, but there was a challenge in his gaze, a quiet understanding that made your heart skip a beat. “Sure,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “Whatever you say.”

There it was again—that invisible pull between the two of you, the one that had been there for as long as you could remember. It was subtle, but undeniable, like the gravity that kept you orbiting around each other, no matter how hard you tried to break free. You could tell yourself this was just a favor, just one mission, but deep down, you knew better. You knew that Bucky’s presence in your life was something you could never fully walk away from.

Sam chuckled, pushing his empty plate aside. “Alright, let’s get to it. Here’s what we know…”

As they began to lay out the details of the mission—Fury’s intel, the stolen tech, the possible locations—you listened intently, your brain shifting into tactical mode almost immediately. It was like slipping into an old, well-worn jacket. You hadn’t realized how much you missed this—the strategizing, the planning, the feeling that you were part of something bigger than yourself.

But even as you focused on the details, you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t going to be as ‘one-time only’ as you’d planned.

Because the truth was, you liked this. You liked the way Sam’s voice filled the space, the way Bucky’s quiet presence anchored you. You liked the sense of purpose that came with being part of something this important, and the way you felt like you belonged when you were with them.

Maybe you were exactly where you needed to be.

And as Bucky’s eyes flicked over to you again, his gaze lingering for just a moment longer than necessary, you couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same. <><><><><><> The night air was crisp, the kind of cold that settled in your bones, made worse by the biting wind that whispered through the trees. The cabin where Nick Fury was staying loomed ahead, isolated and quiet, nestled deep in the woods. It was larger than you expected—more of a lodge than a cabin really—with dark wooden beams and wide windows that reflected the sliver of moonlight hanging overhead. The gravel driveway crunched beneath your feet as you stepped out of the car, the sound jarring in the otherwise still night.

“Four and a half hours I’ve just spent in that car with the two of you,” Bucky began, pulling your duffle bag out of the trunk with more force than necessary. His breath came out in misty puffs, and you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched as he spoke. “I keep forgetting how much of a nightmare it is.”

You climbed out of the passenger seat, stretching your legs as the cold air hit your face. “What? You saying my singing’s bad?” There was a feigned offense in your voice, but Bucky’s expression didn’t soften.

“I’m saying in the kindest way possible to not quit your day job,” Bucky replied, slamming the trunk shut with a thud that echoed into the night.

Sam, ever the mediator, moved around to stand beside you, his boots crunching on the gravel as he grinned. “Hey, I think it was great.”

You smiled, grateful for the support. “Thank you.”

“Talent recognizes talent,” Sam continued, with a smugness that made you laugh out loud.

Bucky rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he slung your bag over his shoulder. “If you two are done patting each other on the back, Fury’s waiting.”

The three of you made your way toward the cabin, the soft glow of a light from inside spilling onto the porch. The door was solid, old wood, and the cabin itself had a rugged charm to it, like something out of a survivalist’s dream. It was the kind of place that felt cut off from the rest of the world—a perfect hideaway for someone like Fury. Away from prying eyes, away from the chaos of the world he spent so much time trying to control.

You hadn’t seen Nick Fury since Tony Stark’s funeral. That day had been a blur of pain, loss, and finality—a day that felt like the end of an era. The memory of it was still heavy in your chest, the weight of it never fully lifting. You’d slipped away after the service, disappearing into the background, telling yourself you were done. Done with the missions, the wars, the endless fighting. You deserved peace, you told yourself. You deserved to walk away.

But now, standing outside Fury’s door, that certainty felt like a distant memory.

You paused on the porch, your hand hovering just above the railing as you glanced back at Sam and Bucky. The two of them were already making their way up the steps, their shoulders brushing as they moved in sync, like they had done this a thousand times before. You, on the other hand, felt a strange tightness in your chest. This wasn’t just another mission. This was Fury. The man who always seemed to have a plan, who always saw the world through a lens of strategy and sacrifice. You respected him, sure, but you weren’t blind to the way he moved people like chess pieces, manipulating the board without ever asking for permission.

He hadn’t reached out after the funeral—not really. Maybe he’d respected your decision to step away, or maybe he’d just been biding his time, waiting for the right moment to pull you back in. That was how Fury worked. He didn’t waste time with pleasantries or emotional goodbyes; he played the long game. And now, after all the time you’d spent trying to convince yourself you were done, here you were, standing outside his door. The irony wasn’t lost on you.

As you stood there, the cold night air biting at your skin, you felt an old, familiar mix of emotions bubbling up inside you. Frustration, mostly. Guilt, too. You’d walked away from this life, from the constant chaos and danger, but now you were right back in it, like no time had passed at all. Part of you resented Fury for it—for always knowing exactly when to reel you back in. And maybe, in a way, you resented yourself for being so easy to pull.

“You good?” Sam’s voice broke the silence, pulling you out of your thoughts. He was looking at you with that easy, reassuring smile of his, but there was something softer in his eyes, something that told you he understood exactly what you were feeling.

You nodded, though you weren’t sure if you were trying to convince him or yourself. “Yeah,” you said, your voice a little quieter than you’d intended. “I’m good.”

Bucky, already at the door, glanced back at you, his expression as unreadable as ever, but there was something in his eyes—a flicker of concern, maybe. He wasn’t one for words, especially when it came to feelings, but you could tell he was watching you closely, waiting to see how you’d handle this. He understood the weight of what you were walking into, even if he wouldn’t say it.

Without hesitation, you followed him inside, choosing not to knock. The cabin’s wooden floors groaned beneath your boots, announcing your arrival in the otherwise still night. The air inside was heavy with the scent of aged wood, leather, and old books. It was familiar—too familiar. The smell brought you back to hours spent in briefing rooms, late-night strategy sessions, and the endless weight of responsibilities you’d once carried on your shoulders. This cabin—it wasn’t just a place; it was a reminder of the past you’d tried to leave behind, a past that seemed to have found you once again.

Fury was in the main room, hunched over a holographic display, the blue light of the projection casting eerie shadows across the room. The information was streaming in front of him, lines of text and maps flickering as he scanned them. You didn’t bother trying to make sense of it just yet. He hadn’t changed much—still the same black trench coat, same eyepatch, same imposing presence that seemed to fill the room without effort. His back was to you, but you knew from experience that he’d already clocked your presence the second you stepped over the threshold.

Without turning, Fury’s voice cut through the silence like a knife. “What? Did you lose your phone? I called.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you pulled up a chair across from him and dropped into it, feigning a casualness you didn’t feel. “Didn’t you get the memo?” you shot back, leaning against the table, arms crossed.

Fury finally straightened, turning just enough to fix you with his one good eye, the intensity of his gaze sharp enough to cut steel. “What—retired, huh?” he scoffed, waving a hand as if to dismiss the very notion. “I threw that memo out. You know why? Because it’s bullshit.”

You couldn’t help the slight roll of your eyes, leaning back in the chair, crossing your arms. The knot in your stomach tightened, but you kept your voice steady, controlled. “You can’t just ignore something because you don’t like it, Fury.”

His eyebrow raised slightly, his expression as unyielding as ever. “Have you met me?”

The corner of your mouth twitched despite yourself. It was such a classic Fury response—blunt, relentless, and entirely too good at getting under your skin. No matter how much time passed, he had a way of cutting through the noise, making everything seem simpler, even when it wasn’t. And despite the frustration bubbling inside you, you couldn’t deny the truth in his words. Fury didn’t care about your so-called ‘retirement.’ He cared about results, and he always got them.

“I told you, Fury,” you said, your voice sharpening like a blade. “I’m done. I’ve been doing this my entire adult life—hell, some of my teenage years, too. I’m tired of being dragged back in every time the world decides it’s falling apart.”

Fury didn’t flinch. He didn’t blink. He just sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, his one good eye never leaving yours. His voice, calm but edged with steel, cut through the room, each word deliberate. “You think you’re the only one who’s tired?” he asked, his tone measured, calculated. “We’ve all been fighting for as long as we can remember. You don’t get to walk away just because you’re tired. The world doesn’t stop spinning because you want a break.”

Your jaw clenched, frustration bubbling up dangerously close to the surface. You glared at him, feeling the weight of every battle you’d fought, every sacrifice you’d made. “I’m not asking for a break, Fury! I’m asking to live my life without having to look over my shoulder every damn second. I’ve given enough—more than enough. I don’t owe this anymore.”

From the corner of your eye, you could see Sam and Bucky hovering by the door. They’d clearly caught the tail end of your argument, their expressions a mix of understanding and resignation. Sam raised an eyebrow at Bucky, who gave a small, resigned shrug, as if to say, Told you this would happen. You felt their eyes on you, but you didn’t turn to face them. This wasn’t their fight. Not this time.

Fury leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his intense gaze never wavering. His voice dropped lower, but it was no less firm. “You think you’re done just because you said so? You’ve been out of the game, sure. But that doesn’t mean the game’s done with you.” He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. “People like us don’t get to retire, and you know it.”

You let out a harsh laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “Is that it then? The rest of my life, I’m just some puppet you get to pull the strings on whenever it suits you?”

Fury’s expression darkened, his voice low but firm. “I never said you were a puppet. But you were a damn good Avenger. And you know better than anyone that once you’re in, you’re never really out.”

His words hung in the air, heavy and undeniable. You hated that he was right. You hated that deep down, you’d always known this was the truth. But that didn’t make it any easier to accept. You’d spent years trying to convince yourself that you could walk away, that you could live a normal life. And yet, here you were, sitting across from Nick Fury, the man who had always been able to see through your excuses and drag you back into the fight. You felt a flicker of guilt at Fury’s words, but you swallowed it down, refusing to let him sway you. “I didn’t choose this, Nick. None of us did. We were thrown into it, and we did what we had to do. But that doesn’t mean I have to keep doing it forever.”

Fury’s gaze was as sharp as ever, unwavering and unrelenting. “There’s always a choice,” he said quietly. “You just don’t like the options.”

His words hit harder than you wanted to admit. You let out a long, weary breath, your gaze dropping to the floor as you tried to find something steady in this storm of uncertainty. The weight of what he said pressed down on you like a suffocating blanket, thick and heavy, the truth of it undeniable. The room felt smaller, the air thicker, and your mind raced with conflicting thoughts. You were tired. So damn tired. The kind of exhaustion that sleep could never fix. Tired of the never-ending battles, of the responsibility that clung to you like a shadow, never fully letting you out of its grasp. Tired of the world always needing saving, and you being one of the few people left standing to do something about it.

But maybe that was the point, wasn’t it? Maybe there was no running from this life. Not really. No matter how far you tried to go, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself you were done, every time the world started to fall apart, it found you. Dragged you back in. And deep down, you knew Fury was right. There was no staying out of it forever. People like you didn’t get to walk away. You could pretend, sure, but the game never stopped. It was always waiting in the wings, just out of sight, ready to pull you back when it needed you most.

The silence stretched between you all like an unspoken truth, thick with the weight of everything you weren’t saying. You could feel the eyes of Sam and Bucky on you, waiting for your response, for some kind of decision. But still, you stayed quiet, your mind spinning as you tried to piece together the right words—if there even were any. The air seemed to hum with tension, the quiet creak of the old cabin settling the only sound.

Fury’s one good eye locked onto yours, his expression hardening just slightly as he raised an eyebrow. He was waiting for something—a word, a nod, a sign that you were still in this, even though you didn’t want to admit it yet. The silence stretched uncomfortably, thick with the weight of everything unsaid. When you stayed quiet, lost in your thoughts, he let out a quiet, almost imperceptible huff of impatience. His patience, never his strongest quality, was wearing thin.

"Alright then," Fury said, his voice cutting through the tension like a scalpel. "If you're done with the brooding, can I get on with the reason I dragged your dumb ass out here?"

The bluntness of his words snapped you out of your internal spiral, and you couldn’t help the way your lips twisted into a mock frown. You leaned back in your chair, the wood creaking under your weight. “You know, I miss when Hill was around. You have zero tact.”

Fury’s expression didn’t shift much, but there was the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth—the closest thing to a smile you ever got from him. If anyone else had said that, they’d probably be on the receiving end of a death glare, but you? You could get away with it. You always had.

"Hill had tact," Fury replied dryly, "and you still didn’t listen to her either."

From his spot by the door, Sam let out a quiet, amused chuckle. He was clearly enjoying the exchange, his arms crossed as he leaned against the doorframe. Bucky, on the other hand, shook his head, his arms folded tightly across his chest. He was watching the back-and-forth like it was a well-worn routine, a script he’d seen played out a hundred times before. He had, in a way.

You shrugged, trying to suppress the small, satisfied smirk tugging at your lips. “Yeah, but she didn’t drag me into things by insulting me first. She’d at least give me a coffee or something before dropping the bomb.”

Fury shot you a sharp look, the kind that would make most people shrink back, but you just smiled wider. It was a familiar dance by now—a rhythm you and Fury had fallen into over the years. You pushed. He pushed back. But there was always an understanding beneath the surface. You respected him, even when he drove you insane, and he… well, he tolerated you. Maybe even liked you, though he'd never admit it.

"Coffee?" Fury deadpanned. "Really? I didn’t know you needed a latte with your world-saving."

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on the table, locking eyes with him. “Just saying, if you want me to save the planet again, maybe don’t start with ‘dumb ass.’ It’s bad for morale.”

Fury’s lips pressed into a thin line, but you could see that glint in his eye—the one that meant he was enjoying this more than he’d ever let on. “You need morale? You’re worse than I thought. Maybe I should’ve called Parker instead. At least he didn’t need a pep talk before doing his damn job.”

That earned him a real eye roll from you. “Oh, don’t play that card. You know damn well you’d miss me.” You leaned back again, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Who else is gonna keep you from going completely gray?”

Fury’s eyebrow lifted ever so slightly. “You think you’re doing me a favor by sticking around? You’ve been a pain in my ass since day one.”

“Yeah, but I’m your pain in the ass,” you shot back, a grin breaking through your faux-serious expression. “Admit it, you’d be bored without me.”

There was a pause. For a second, you thought maybe you’d gone too far, but then Fury let out a short, almost reluctant exhale that was dangerously close to a laugh. “Bored?” He shook his head slowly, his voice dropping into that familiar gravelly tone. “With you around? I’d have better luck finding peace in a war zone.”

Sam was clearly holding back laughter now, his hand covering his mouth, while Bucky just sighed, looking away like he’d seen enough of this pissing contest for one lifetime.

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Fury didn’t reply, but the look he shot you said enough. He didn’t need to admit anything out loud. The truth was, beneath the gruff exterior and the constant scowling, there was a mutual respect that had been forged from years of fighting side by side, from making impossible choices and surviving the consequences. He knew you’d always show up, no matter how much you complained, and you knew he’d always have your back, even if he was a hard-ass about it.

But as quickly as the moment of banter had come, Fury’s expression shifted again, the brief levity evaporating as he turned his attention back to the matter at hand. His voice grew serious, more measured now. “Look, I didn’t drag you out here for a trip down memory lane,” he said, gesturing toward the holographic display in front of him. The soft blue light illuminated his face, casting shadows across his features. “There’s something you need to see.”

Fury’s hand cut through the soft blue light of the holographic display, casting eerie shadows across his face as he adjusted the projection. "Something big’s brewing," he said, his voice low and sharp. "And it’s not gonna wait for you to decide whether you’re ‘in’ or not."

You exhaled slowly, your eyes flicking toward the hologram, but resisting the urge to really see it. You already knew what was coming. You’d been down this road too many times before. Another crisis, another fire to put out, another reason you couldn’t just walk away. But you weren’t ready to admit it—not to him, not to yourself. Still, deep down, you knew there was no avoiding it. You couldn’t pretend this wasn’t your problem. Because, like it or not, it always ended up being your problem.

Letting out a final breath, you turned back to Fury, your shoulders tense, but your mind a little clearer. You could already feel the pull—the same pull that had dragged you into this life years ago, the same one that never really let you go, no matter how much you tried to ignore it.

"Alright," you muttered, your voice steadier than before. "Let’s hear it. What’s so important that you couldn’t just leave me in peace?"

Fury didn’t hesitate. He turned fully toward the holographic display, swiping his hand through the air. The image shifted, revealing a global map with dozens of red markers scattered across it—clusters in major cities, others in more remote locations. It was a spread that sent a chill crawling up your spine before you even knew what it meant.

"This," Fury said, his voice like steel, "is what’s coming. And it’s not just some small-scale operation. We’re talking global destabilization. Coordinated attacks, high-level targets, and resources being pulled in ways we haven’t seen before. This isn’t a one-off threat—it’s the start of something bigger. Something we’ve been tracking for months. But it’s moving faster than we can keep up with."

You stared at the map, the red markers like pinpricks of danger scattered across the globe. Your stomach twisted, that familiar pit of dread settling in your chest. You didn’t need Fury to spell it out. You’d been here before. You knew how this worked. One crisis would bleed into another, spiraling until the whole world was on fire.

Fury’s eye gleamed with that familiar mix of determination and something harder to place—maybe it was relief, maybe calculation. Either way, he knew he was getting through to you. His fingers danced across the holographic display, and the image shifted once more, zooming in on clusters of red dots. They were centered around key locations—research labs, containment facilities, even old SHIELD outposts.

“These,” Fury began, his tone deliberate, “are the sites of a string of coordinated attacks. Small for now, but escalating. And trust me, they’re not random. Someone’s pulling the strings, and they’ve got their sights set on something big.”

You leaned forward, frowning as you studied the map more closely. The red dots were spread too far apart to be coincidence, but there was a pattern here. The more you stared, the more it started to emerge, like muscle memory kicking back in. You hated how quickly you could fall into this mindset—the one that was already calculating moves, analyzing angles. The part of you that had sworn you’d leave all this behind was screaming to turn away. But the other part—the part that had been doing this for so long—refused to let go.

Fury, ever the observer, watched you closely, his eye flickering with something like satisfaction. He could see the shift in your expression. He knew you too well. “I’m not asking you to pick up right where you left off,” he said, his voice softer now, almost like he was offering you an out. “But we need you on this. Hell, we all do.”

You bit your lip, still staring at the map. “The boys said Inhuman technology is getting stolen?”

Fury nodded, tapping the display again. The map zoomed in on specific locations—research labs, containment sites, all with ties to Inhuman tech. “It’s not just the tech,” he said, his voice growing more grim. “Weapons, artifacts, data—anything connected to Inhumans or their enhancements. And whatever they’re taking, they’re not leaving a trace behind. Whoever’s doing this knows exactly what they’re after.”

You exhaled slowly, your mind spinning through the endless possibilities. “So what? They’re building something? Or selling it off to the highest bidder?”

Fury’s gaze never wavered. “Maybe both,” he replied. “But we’re not gonna wait around to find out.”

You shook your head, still staring at the map. “Any idea who’s behind this?” You weren’t sure if you really wanted an answer. Part of you hoped this was small-time, something that could be handled by other agents. But the other part—the part that could already see the storm brewing—knew better.

Fury’s lips pressed into a thin line, and you could already tell he was about to drop the other shoe. "It’s not just tech and data that’s going missing," he said, his voice lower now, more serious. "Inhumans are disappearing too."

That got your attention. Your head snapped up, eyes narrowing. "What do you mean, ‘disappearing’? How many?"

Sam, who had been standing by the door, stepped forward, his brow furrowed. “Why the hell wasn’t this mentioned earlier?”

Fury turned to face you all, his expression grim, his voice steady. “At first, it wasn’t noticeable. A few here, a few there. We chalked it up to people going off the grid, fleeing persecution, whatever. But now..." He swiped his hand across the display, and the map zoomed out, revealing a shocking number of red dots scattered around the globe. “On a global scale, almost two thousand Inhumans have gone missing in the last four months."

Your stomach dropped. Two thousand? You pulled a face, confusion and disbelief crossing it. “How did no one pick up on that?”

Fury’s eye locked onto yours, and for a moment, you saw the strain there—this wasn’t something he wanted to admit. “On a global scale, it’s a blip,” he said. “Individual cases get lost in the noise. But I’ve got someone helping me now. Someone off the radar. They noticed the pattern.”

Sam crossed his arms, his expression darkening. “So, what? Someone’s hunting Inhumans?”

Fury didn’t answer immediately, his silence more telling than any word he could’ve spoken. “We don’t have all the pieces yet,” he said finally, his voice thick with tension. “But whoever’s behind this, they’re not just hunting. They’re stockpiling. And we need to find out why.”

You stared at the map, the weight of what Fury was saying settling over you like a lead blanket. Two thousand Inhumans. Missing. Taken. And whoever was behind it wasn’t stopping anytime soon.

The room went quiet, the tension thick enough to choke on. You felt the familiar stirrings of dread in your chest, the kind you’d spent years trying to suppress. This wasn’t just another mission. This was something bigger, something darker. And as much as you wanted to walk away, you knew there was no turning back now. “Who are we thinking?” you asked, still staring hard at the map. Almost two thousand Inhumans. Almost two thousand people whose only crime was having abilities. You swallowed, the weight of that number settling in your chest. Almost two thousand people like you.

It was a bitter pill to swallow. The world had always been on edge about people like you—people with powers. Some feared you, some wanted to control you, and others… well, they just wanted you gone. But the idea that nearly two thousand people had been taken, snatched from their lives, their families, because of something they couldn’t help—it hit too close to home. You could feel the anger bubbling beneath your skin, an old, familiar fire that you thought you’d managed to smother.

People like you had always been treated like a problem to be solved. The world never took kindly to those who didn’t fit neatly into the box of ‘normal.’ You’d learned that the hard way, time and time again. And now, those people were vanishing. No explanation. No trace. Just gone.

You shook your head, trying to focus, but the thought gnawed at you. How many of them fought back? How many didn’t even get the chance?

Fury’s voice cut through your thoughts, pulling you back. He gave you a long, hard look before speaking. “We’ve got a couple of suspects. Old enemies crawling out of the woodwork. But nothing solid yet.”

Sam stepped forward, folding his arms across his chest as he studied the display. “Hydra’s always a safe bet,” he suggested, his tone almost casual, though his eyes were sharp. “They seem to have a habit of not staying dead.”

Bucky let out a bitter laugh from across the room, shaking his head. “Yeah, they never really get the memo, do they?”

You leaned back in your chair, rubbing your temples. “Hydra’s a possibility. But this feels too… surgical for them. They’re more of a ‘sledgehammer’ type of operation. They’d march in loud, make a mess, and leave their logo plastered all over the place for good measure. Whoever’s doing this? They’re moving in silence.”

Fury nodded, his mouth pulling into a thin line. “Exactly. Whoever it is, they’ve got resources and intel we haven’t seen in a long time. And they’re staying ahead of us at every turn.”

You looked up at him, eyes narrowing. “So, what? You’re telling me we’ve got nothing? No leads?”

Fury’s jaw clenched, and for a brief moment, you could see the frustration flicker across his face. It wasn’t often you saw cracks in his armor, but when you did, it usually meant the situation was worse than he was letting on. “We’ve got whispers. Names bouncing around the black market. But nothing concrete. Yet.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back in your chair again. “Whispers? You dragged me out here for whispers?”

Sam chimed in, his tone light, but pointed. “You know Fury doesn’t call unless it’s serious. He’s all about the mystery and the drama. Gotta keep us on our toes.”

Fury shot Sam a look, the kind that could make most people rethink their life choices, but Sam just shrugged it off with a grin, clearly unfazed. “Hey, I’m just saying. A little more info up front would be helpful.”

Bucky, still leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, smirked. “Yeah, maybe next time you send out an actual briefing, Fury. You know, like the good old days.”

Fury didn’t miss a beat. “If you two clowns would spend less time cracking wise and more time reading the briefings I do send, maybe we’d be a little further ahead.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you, shaking your head. “I missed this. Really, I did.” Your voice was dripping with sarcasm, but your smirk betrayed just a hint of genuine amusement. “It’s like a dysfunctional family reunion.”

Fury’s face remained unreadable, but you could tell he was holding back a comment. Instead, he pulled the conversation back to the matter at hand. “Look, this isn’t just about the Inhuman tech. It’s about what they plan to do with it. And I don’t know about you, but I’m not interested in waiting to find out.”

You leaned forward again, resting your elbows on your knees, eyes tracing the red dots on the map. Each one a potential target. Each one a potential victim. The weight of the situation was settling over you, heavier with every breath. “So, what’s the play?”

Fury’s eye glinted, and you could almost see the gears turning behind that steely gaze. The familiar spark of strategy came alive as he laid out the plan. “You, Wilson, and Barnes will hit one of the key locations we’ve flagged. Covert op. No noise, no trace. We need eyes on the ground to figure out who’s pulling the strings.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he glanced between you and Fury. “And you’re just sending the three of us? No backup?”

Fury didn’t miss a beat. “You’re the backup.”

Bucky let out a low chuckle, shaking his head, his tone dry. “Of course we are.”

You exhaled sharply, feeling that all-too-familiar sense of dread creeping in. “What happened to the people you originally sent if we’re the backup?” you asked, not sure you really wanted to hear the answer.

Fury’s gaze didn’t falter, his voice steady but grim. “We lost communication.”

That was Fury’s way of saying, They’re probably dead. No need for sugarcoating, no false hope. It was a reality you’d gotten used to hearing over the years, but it never really got easier.

You popped your lips a few times, letting the weight of it settle over you, before muttering under your breath, “Well, this is gonna be a fucking blast, isn’t it?”

Sam snorted, shaking his head with a wry grin. “Always the optimist.”

Fury ignored the commentary, his expression tightening as he leaned in a bit closer, his tone more intense now. “Listen, I know you’re all used to dealing with heavy stuff, but this isn’t just another smash-and-grab. Whoever’s behind this has been stealing weapons designed specifically to take down Inhumans. If they’re stockpiling that kind of tech, it means they’re expecting to fight people like you—and they’re ready.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you kept your face neutral. “Weapons designed to take down Inhumans?” you echoed, your voice carefully calm. That wasn’t news you wanted to hear. You’d faced enough threats over the years, but the idea of someone deliberately targeting your kind, with tools made to dismantle everything that made you who you were? That hit too close to home.

Fury nodded. “Yeah. So you especially need to be careful out there. This isn’t just some random group of thugs. These guys know what they’re doing, and they’ve got the means to take you down if you’re not careful.”

You couldn’t help but grin, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms, adopting your most nonchalant look. “I’m always careful.”

The room went silent for just a beat—long enough for you to register the exaggerated snorts coming from Sam and Bucky behind you. You barely had time to process it before you heard the unmistakable sound of Sam trying—and failing—to stifle a laugh. You glanced over your shoulder and caught him biting his lip, his shoulders shaking with amusement. Bucky, on the other hand, was giving you that look—the one he reserved for moments when he was about to roast you alive and savor every second of it.

You groaned, rolling your eyes in exaggerated frustration. “Oh, come on.”

Sam was already chuckling, holding up his hands in mock surrender, his grin wide and unapologetic. “Hey, sorry, sorry. It’s just—you? Careful? You’ve got a reputation, you know.”

Bucky smirked, shaking his head slowly, his voice thick with sarcasm. “Yeah, careful… What about that little dance you had with Walker?”

You turned toward him, pointing a finger in his direction, your face scrunched up in mock indignation, but there wasn’t any real heat behind it. “Okay, fine, I’ll own that one. But, to be fair, Walker was mouthy. And he pissed me off.”

Sam snorted, clearly enjoying himself now. He leaned against the table, arms crossed, shaking his head as the memory came flooding back. “Pissed you off? You threw him through a damn window.”

You threw your hands up defensively, leaning back in your chair once more, though the smile tugging at your lips was impossible to hide. “He was lucky I didn’t go outside and throw him back through the window with that attitude.”

Bucky let out a low, amused chuckle, his smirk widening. “That would’ve been a sight.”

Sam, still grinning, chimed in, “Man, if you’re ‘careful,’ I don’t even want to know what reckless looks like.”

You shot Sam a playful glare, though you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you. “That was me being careful. If I’d really gone off, there wouldn’t have been a window left for anyone to throw anyone through.”

Bucky shook his head, his voice filled with mock disbelief. “I mean I guess he wasn’t hurt too badly.”

You leaned back further in your chair, arms still crossed, your grin widening. “Look, Walker was asking for it. And let’s be honest—after everything he pulled, I was doing the world a favor.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, his expression amused, clearly enjoying the banter far too much to let it go. “You know, you’ve got a real funny definition of ‘doing the world a favor.’”

You shrugged, putting on your best innocent face. “Honestly, he should be thanking me. I could’ve done worse, and I didn’t. I restrained myself.”

Bucky let out a low chuckle, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the wall. “Yeah, ‘restraint,’ sure. You call throwing a grown man through a window ‘restrained’? I’d hate to see what happens when you don’t hold back.”

Before you could fire back with a witty retort, Fury cleared his throat, cutting through the banter like a knife. The room fell silent almost instantly, the lingering laughter evaporating as all eyes turned toward him. He stood at the head of the table, arms folded, his expression unreadable but carrying that familiar weight of authority that demanded attention.

Fury stepped forward, his voice cutting through the moment like a blade—sharp, no-nonsense, and to the point. “Alright,” he said, deadpan, “as much as I enjoy watching you three play ��who’s the biggest pain in my ass,’ we’ve got work to do.”

The playful atmosphere between you, Sam, and Bucky deflated as quickly as it had started. You straightened your posture almost instinctively, the weight of Fury’s words settling in. He wasn’t one for idle chit-chat, and when he said it was time to focus, you knew things were about to get serious.

Fury took a few steps closer to the table, his lone eye sweeping over the three of you, assessing, calculating. That look he gave when he was lining up all the pieces on the chessboard. “You’re heading to Eastern Europe—remote location, off the grid. It’s a small facility buried in the mountains, not on any map you’ll find.”

You tilted your head, curiosity piqued. “What kind of facility?”

Fury’s gaze remained steady. “One that’s been under the radar for too long. Intel says it’s being used to build weapons—specifically designed to neutralize Inhumans. Think of it as an experimental lab with a military-grade twist.”

Sam’s brow furrowed as he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “Neutralize how? Are we talking suppression, or...?”

“Termination,” Fury finished, not missing a beat. “These weapons are built to stop them dead in their tracks—literally. We’re talking tech that can disable powers and take down the ones who wield them. And it’s not just the weapons we’re worried about. The people behind this? They’re not amateurs. They’re smart, well-funded, and ruthless.”

Bucky glanced at you, then back to Fury. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. “So, what’s the plan?”

Fury’s lips tightened. “You go in, retrieve the data on these weapons, and destroy anything that can’t be moved. We don’t leave any trace of this operation behind.”

You crossed your arms, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “And we’re doing this alone?”

Fury shook his head, a shadow of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “No. You’ll have help. Someone’s already on the ground, gathering intel.”

You raised an eyebrow, the curiosity deepening. “Who’s the help?”

Fury’s smirk widened just a fraction, his eye gleaming with an almost amused glint. “I’ve got a feeling you and her will get along pretty well.”

That caught your attention. “Her?”

Fury just stared at you, the smirk never quite leaving his face. He didn’t answer directly, letting the mystery hang in the air like a challenge. “Let’s just say she’s more than capable of holding her own. You’ll meet her when you land.”

Sam leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he shot you a look. “You know, I’m starting to think he enjoys keeping us in the dark.”

You couldn’t help but smirk at that. “Oh, he definitely does.”

Fury ignored the side comments, his tone shifting back to business. “She’s been embedded in that facility for weeks. Knows the layout, the personnel, and the security protocols. She’s the reason you’re going to walk in and out without setting off a single alarm.”

Bucky’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes narrowed slightly as he asked, “And we can trust her?”

Fury’s smirk faded, his expression becoming stone-cold serious. “If I didn’t trust her, she wouldn’t be on this op. That’s all you need to know.”

You exchanged a glance with Sam and Bucky, the tension between the three of you palpable. Whoever this mystery woman was, Fury had a lot of confidence in her. And if Fury trusted her, that meant she was no ordinary asset. But still, something about walking into an unknown situation with a stranger didn’t sit right.

You leaned forward, crossing your arms on the table. “Alright, Fury. We’ll play along. But if this goes sideways—”

Fury cut you off, his voice firm. “It won’t. She’s good at what she does. All you need to worry about is getting in, getting the data, and getting out.”

Sam gave you a sidelong glance, grinning slightly. “You hear that? Worry about getting in and out. No ‘improvising.’”

You snorted, shooting him a smirk. “I don’t improvise without good reason.”

Bucky’s eyebrows lifted, clearly not buying it. “Sure you don’t.”

Fury sighed, shaking his head. “I swear, if you three don’t get this done clean, I’m leaving you in Eastern Europe.”

You grinned wider, leaning back in your chair. “Relax, Fury. We’ll be in and out before they even know we’re there.”

Fury’s eye flicked between the three of you, clearly unconvinced but resigned to the fact that this was his team. “I know you have contacts. Make some calls." His gaze landed on you, his tone growing more pointed. "Get some rest. You leave in the morning.”

You nodded, standing up from your seat. As you gathered your things, Sam shot you a look, still grinning. “I’m curious who this mystery woman is. Fury’s got that look like he knows something we don’t.”

You shrugged, slinging your jacket over your shoulder. “Whoever she is, she’s gotta be something if Fury’s that confident. Guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

Bucky stood as well, adjusting his jacket. “Let’s just hope she’s not another wildcard.”

You smirked, throwing Bucky a glance over your shoulder as you strode toward the door. “One wildcard’s enough for this team, don’t you think?”

Bucky snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, and that wildcard is you.”

Sam chuckled in agreement, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair. “No argument here.”

You mock-pouted, shifting your gaze between Sam and Bucky, your tone exaggerated for effect. “Yeah, I feel like I’m being bullied here. You two beg me to come back, and all you do is roast me the whole time.”

Sam broke into a wide grin, clearly unbothered by the accusation. “Hey, we roast because we care.”

Bucky gave a half-shrug, his smirk barely hidden. “It’s a sign of affection. You should be flattered.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Sure, that’s what it is.”

Flashing them both a quick grin, you turned and stepped out of the room. The door clicked shut behind you, sealing off the playful banter like a curtain falling between acts. The cheerful, easy atmosphere evaporated as you found yourself alone in the dimly lit hallway, the quiet settling in around you.

Her.

Fury’s cryptic comment about the mystery woman still echoed in your mind. Whoever she was, he seemed confident you two would hit it off. But that could mean anything coming from Fury. He wasn’t exactly known for his straightforwardness, and when he said you’d get along, it could be his way of saying you’d end up liking her—or that you’d butt heads until sparks flew. Either way, if she was half as good as Fury hinted, maybe this mission would go smoother than usual.

Maybe.

You pushed open the door leading outside, stepping into the cool evening air. The sky was a deep shade of blue, the stars just beginning to peek through the fading light. You reached into your back pocket, pulling out your phone as you leaned against the porch railing. You knew exactly who you could call—someone with the kind of connections that could keep an ear out for intel.

But did you want to call him? Absolutely not.

The last time you saw him… well, you’d made it perfectly clear that it was a one-time thing. No strings, no complications. Once you walked out of his hotel room, that was it. The only thing you’d heard about him since was the message telling you he made it to Charles Xavier’s school, which had been a relief. You never wanted him to think you cared too much, but a part of you was glad he had found his place—somewhere far away from you.

You scrolled through your contacts, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten as your finger hovered over his name: Remy LeBeau. You stared at the screen for a long moment, debating whether or not this was a good idea.

It’s just a phone call…

You muttered under your breath, “Alright then,” as you pressed the call button and switched the phone to speaker mode, setting it on your knee while you sat on the porch steps. The cool evening air brushed against your skin, a small reprieve from the pressure building in your chest. The phone rang once. Twice.

Then his voice—smooth, honeyed, and unmistakably Cajun—came through the line.

“Well, well, well… look who’s callin’ ol’ Remy. Thought you’d forgotten ‘bout me, chère.”

You rolled your eyes, despite the small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Trust me, it’s not for lack of trying. I was just scrolling through my contacts and thought, ‘Hmm, who annoys me the most?’ And wouldn’t you know it? Your name popped up.”

There was a pause on the other end, but you could practically hear the grin spreading across his face. “Ahhh, so dat’s how it is, huh? Not even a ‘How you doin’, Remy? Missed ya, Remy?’”

Before you could answer, the door behind you creaked open, and you glanced back to see Bucky stepping out. He gave you a curious look before plopping down on the porch beside you. You cleared your throat, giving him a playful wag of your eyebrows.

“Alright, fine,” you said into the phone, your tone dry. “How are you, Remy? Last time we met, you blasted me to the other side of the state with a fucking Uno card.”

A rich chuckle echoed through the speaker, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “Chère, you punched me through a brick wall first. I’d say dat makes us even.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “Yeah, well, I’d say you deserved it.” You shot a glance at Bucky, who was shaking his head, smiling at your banter. It was clear he was enjoying the show.

Remy’s voice dropped a little, teasing, “Depends on what you think I deserved, ma belle. ‘Cause I remember a night where you thought I deserved a whole lot more.” The night with Remy had been a collision of chaos and inevitability—two forces that had been circling each other for far too long, finally crashing together in a moment of reckless abandon.

You hadn’t planned it. Hell, you hadn’t even wanted it, at least not consciously. Everything leading up to that moment was supposed to be purely professional—a job, a mission, a means to an end. But somewhere between chasing him through the narrow, twisting streets of New Orleans and that final standoff in the abandoned warehouse, something shifted. Something in the way he looked at you, the way he moved, the way he knew exactly how to push your buttons and get under your skin.

You were angry. Furious, actually. He’d always had this ability to infuriate you more than anyone else, to make your blood boil with a single smirk or a well-placed quip. He knew exactly how to play the game, and worse, he knew how to play you.

When you punched him through that wall, it was supposed to be the end of it. It was supposed to be over. But instead, when he came back at you, pinning you against the crumbling brick, there was something different in his eyes—something dangerous, yes, but also something raw and unspoken.

You could still feel the heat of his breath on your skin as he leaned in close, his voice low and teasing. “You sure you want me to stop, chère?”

You should have said yes. You should have shoved him off, thrown another punch, done anything but what you’d actually done.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you’d felt that pull—the same pull that had been simmering beneath the surface for years. That electric tension, that unspoken something that you’d both been ignoring, pretending didn’t exist. And in that moment, you’d let it take over. You’d let it win.

When his lips finally met yours, it was fire. It was reckless and impulsive and everything you knew you shouldn’t be doing, but you couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to stop. Your hands were in his hair, his hands were on your waist, and it wasn’t long before the fight between you turned into something else entirely—something far more dangerous.

The room blurred after that. The world outside ceased to matter. It was just the two of you—two people who had been dancing around each other for too long, finally giving in.

You didn’t think. You couldn’t think. There was only the heat, the way his body pressed against yours, the way he somehow knew exactly where to touch, how to make you gasp, how to make you want more. It was messy and unrestrained, a rush of adrenaline and pent-up frustration that spilled out in ways neither of you had planned.

You groaned, running a hand over your face. “Oh, for the love of—Remy, can we not do this right now?”

“You brought it up, chère. Just followin’ your lead.”

Clearing your throat, you turned your attention back to the phone. “Anyway, as much as I love walking down memory lane with you, I actually need something.”

“Ahh, business, den?” Remy’s tone shifted slightly, though the playful undercurrent remained. “Alright, chérie, what you need?”

You sat up a little straighter, glancing at Bucky before speaking. “I need you to keep an ear out. You and the rest of your team. Inhumans are going missing.”

There was a long pause on the other end, and then you heard some muffled voices, like Remy was talking to someone else. You raised your eyebrows at Bucky, who gave you a nonchalant shrug, clearly waiting for the conversation to unfold.

Remy came back on the line. “Hold up. Got de team here. Can you explain it to dem?”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Sure, why the hell not?” You shifted the phone slightly, making sure it was positioned right on your knee. “Here’s the situation: Inhumans are disappearing, and someone’s stealing weapons specifically designed to terminate them. These aren’t just suppression devices. We’re talking about tech built to kill.”

There was a low whistle from Remy on the other end of the line. “Damn, sounds like you got yourself a real mess, ma belle, You wouldn’t happen to be plannin’ somethin’, would ya?”

You exchanged a glance with Bucky, who raised his eyebrows in silent amusement. “What makes you think that?” you asked, your tone innocent but laced with sarcasm.

“Chère, I know you. You don’t get involved unless you got a plan to blow somethin’ up.”

Bucky snorted next to you, leaning back on his elbows. “She’s not blowing anything up,” he interjected, his voice dry.

You gave him a playful shrug. “You never know.” Then, turning your attention back to the phone, you added, “We’re going on an adventure. Heading to Europe tomorrow to… well, shake things up.”

Remy chuckled softly. “Ahhh, Europe, huh? Sounds like a real vacation. Y’ got your SPF packed?”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not that kind of trip, Remy.”

“I figured. But don’t pretend you ain’t plannin’ on stirrin’ up some trouble. You always do.”

“Look,” you said, “just keep your ears open. Let me know if you hear anything about these weapons or the people behind them.”

There was a pause, and you heard Remy step away from what sounded like a crowd, his voice growing quieter, more serious. “These weapons… they can really kill Inhumans?”

You exhaled, the weight of his question pressing down on you. “Yeah, they can.”

The line was silent for a moment, the tension hanging in the air. When Remy spoke again, his voice was low, but the sincerity in it was unmistakable. “You be careful out there, chère. You hear me? Don’t go gettin’ yourself hurt, ‘specially not for somethin’ like dis. Call me if you need backup.”

You laughed softly, though there was a tightness in your chest. “I’m the backup, apparently.”

Remy chuckled darkly. “Yeah, well, even de backup can need help sometimes.”

You glanced at Bucky, who was watching you closely, his arms crossed over his chest. You gave him a small smile, but your mind was still on the mission ahead.

“Thanks, Remy,” you said, your voice softening just a touch. “I mean it.”

“Anytime, ma belle. You know where to find me.”

With that, the line went dead, leaving you staring at your phone for a moment longer. The echo of Remy’s voice lingered in your head, the way his concern had slipped through, buried beneath all his usual teasing. Part of you hated that he still cared, that he could still get to you after all this time. But if you were being honest—really honest with yourself—another part of you was relieved. Relieved that, despite all the chaos, someone out there still had your back.

Bucky shifted beside you, drawing your attention. He had that look on his face—the one where he was trying to pretend he wasn’t curious but failed miserably at hiding it.

“So... who’s this Remy?” he asked, his tone casual but laced with interest.

You pocketed your phone, not quite meeting his eyes. “Remember that mission in New Orleans a few years ago?”

Bucky’s brow furrowed for a second before recognition dawned. “Mmhmm. The, uh, heists? Stolen artifacts?”

“Yeah, that guy,” you said, your voice deliberately casual as you scrolled through your phone, doing your best to ignore the way Bucky was now openly staring at you, his curiosity ramping up with each passing second.

Bucky nodded slowly, his expression shifting as he pieced it together. “Wait… you’re telling me you slept with the guy we were supposed to apprehend?”

You paused, your thumb hovering over the screen of your phone. There was no point in denying it. You knew Bucky well enough to know when he had you pegged. So, with a small shrug, you replied, “To be fair, if you ever met Remy, you’d probably also sleep with him. He’s just that type of guy.”

Bucky blinked, then shook his head, letting out a surprised laugh. “That type of guy, huh?”

“Yeah,” you said with a smirk, “the type that can charm the pants off anyone.” You tilted your head, shooting him a playful look. “Literally.”

Bucky held his hands up in mock surrender. “No offense taken. Just... didn’t peg you as the ‘sleep with the target’ type back then.”

You chuckled, leaning back against the porch railing. “Trust me, neither did I. But Remy... he’s complicated. Always was.”

Bucky let out another laugh, but there was something softer in his expression now, something more understanding. “I get it. Sometimes things happen in the field that you can’t plan for.” He paused, then raised an eyebrow. “Just didn’t expect you to be so... enthusiastic about it.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of your lips. “It was a long time ago, Buck.”

“Doesn’t seem like that long ago,” he said, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful. You sighed, already knowing where this conversation was headed. Bucky always had a way of cutting through the banter when it mattered, of seeing past your sharp words and deflection, straight to the heart of things. He could sense the weight you were carrying, the edge in your voice you didn’t want to acknowledge. And sure enough, his next words weren’t teasing. They were deadly serious.

“Look,” he said, leaning forward slightly, his blue eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. “Remy’s right. You need to be careful.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. You weren’t used to seeing Bucky like this—so openly worried, so raw. “I’m always careful,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended, a reflexive defense.

But Bucky wasn’t buying it. He gave you that look—the one that could cut through any bullshit you threw his way. His brow furrowed, his jaw tightening just slightly, the tension radiating off him in waves. His eyes, usually calm and steady, were now shadowed with something deeper, something that tugged at the pit of your stomach.

“Really?” he asked, raising one eyebrow in that way that made you feel like you were missing something obvious. “Because from where I’m sitting, it sounds like you’re about to throw yourself into the middle of something dangerous. And I know you—when you get deep into this stuff, especially when it’s something like this, you don’t always think about yourself.”

You opened your mouth, ready to protest, to brush off his concern with the usual quip, but Bucky cut you off before you could say a word.

“I’m serious,” he said, his voice dropping low enough that it sent a shiver up your spine. He leaned in closer, his hand resting on his knee, fingers clenching into a tight fist. “These weapons you’re talking about? They’re not just a threat to the mission—they’re a threat to you.”

There was something in the way he said it, the way his voice faltered slightly at the end, that made you stop. Made you really look at him. His eyes were filled with a worry you hadn’t seen in a long time—not just the kind of concern you’d expect from a teammate headed into a dangerous mission, but something more. Something almost vulnerable. He wasn’t just worried about the mission going sideways. He was worried about you—about losing you.

You swallowed hard, feeling the tension between you both thickening, the air growing heavy with what was left unsaid. Bucky wasn’t someone who wore his emotions on his sleeve, not like this. He kept things close to the chest, locked up tight behind walls he’d built over decades of pain and loss. But right now, sitting next to you, his gaze fixed on yours with an intensity that made your heart twist, he wasn’t hiding anything.

He was scared.

“Bucky,” you started, trying to find the right words, the right way to ease the worry in his eyes. “It’s just like any other mission. I’m not invincible. I know that. Anything can kill me.”

He let out a long, frustrated sigh, his head tipping back slightly as if trying to gather his thoughts. When he looked at you again, there was a flicker of something else in his gaze—something sharper, more personal.

“But it’s not like every other mission, is it?” he asked, his tone softer now, but no less urgent. “This isn’t just some random op. This is personal for you.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to tell him that it wasn’t—that you were fine, that you had it under control—but the words wouldn’t come. Because deep down, you knew he was right.

This mission was different.

You had been on dangerous assignments before, faced down threats that would have sent anyone else running in the opposite direction. You had dealt with mercenaries, terrorists, assassins, and gods. You’d been shot, stabbed, thrown through walls, and walked away each time with little more than bruises and scars, each one a testament to your survival. You had faced down death more times than you cared to count, and somehow, you’d always pulled through.

But this? This was something else entirely.

It wasn’t just the danger of the mission. It wasn’t just the weapons designed to kill people like you, to strip away every advantage you’d ever had in a fight. It was the weight of it—the personal stakes, the way the faces of the missing haunted you, how it felt like the world was closing in, and the people you cared about were at the center of it. And now, as you stood on the edge of another mission, the fear wasn’t just about whether or not you’d make it out alive. It was about whether you’d come back the same.

Bucky shifted beside you, the two of you sitting in the quiet aftermath of his words. The worry in his eyes was still there, but now it was mixed with something heavier, something deeper that you hadn’t fully comprehended until now. He let out a small sigh, his gaze drifting away from you for a moment, his fingers drumming lightly on his knee like he was working through what he wanted to say next. His jaw clenched and unclenched, his brow furrowing just slightly as if trying to find the right words.

For a long moment, he said nothing. The silence between you stretched, thick and palpable, the weight of the conversation hanging in the air like a storm cloud about to break. You watched him, the way his eyes flickered with unspoken thoughts, the tension in his shoulders, the way his chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. You could sense it before he even said anything—this wasn’t just another conversation about the mission. This was something deeper, something raw.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, rough around the edges, as if the words were scraping against his throat. He still wasn’t looking at you, his eyes focused on something far off in the distance, something only he could see.

“I’ve been to war,” he began, his tone calm but tinged with an exhaustion that ran deeper than just physical tiredness. It was the kind of exhaustion that came from carrying too many burdens for too long. “I’ve seen things... done things... that I don’t talk about. Things I’m not proud of.”

His hand tightened into a fist, his knuckles going white as he clenched it against his thigh, like he was trying to hold something back. “I’ve been brainwashed, manipulated, used as a weapon. I’ve had my mind taken from me, my choices ripped away. I’ve been forced to do things—terrible things. And I’ve lost... God, I’ve lost more than you can even think about.”

His voice cracked slightly on the word *lost*, and for the first time, you saw a vulnerability in him that he rarely ever let anyone see. His gaze shifted downward, like he couldn’t bear to look at you in that moment, like the weight of everything he’d been through was too much to hold your gaze.

You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but he wasn’t finished. Not yet.

“I got through it,” he continued, his voice quieter now, almost as if he was talking more to himself than to you. His eyes finally met yours, and they were filled with a kind of haunted resignation. “I survived. I kept going because... well, because I had to. I didn’t have a choice. I had to keep moving forward, even when I didn’t want to.”

He swallowed hard, his jaw tightening again as he fought to keep his emotions in check. But the cracks were showing now, the carefully constructed walls he’d built around himself starting to crumble in front of you.

“But,” he said, and the word hung in the air, heavy and final. He hesitated, his throat working as he swallowed again, this time more slowly, like he was trying to gather the strength to say what came next. His eyes softened, and when he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the stillness like a knife.

“I think if I lost you...”

He trailed off, and for a moment, you thought he wasn’t going to finish the sentence. His hand, the one that wasn’t made of vibranium, unclenched and hovered in the air for a second before he let it drop back to his side. His eyes searched yours, raw and open in a way you’d never seen before. A way that made your heart ache.

“I don’t think I could cope,” he finally admitted, his voice cracking again, this time with an emotion so deep it made your chest tighten. “I’ve lost so much already. More than anyone should. But you...”

He paused, his eyes flickering with something that looked like fear—real, unguarded fear. “You’re different. You’re...”

He didn’t finish the thought. He didn’t need to. You could see it in his eyes, feel it in the way his words hung between you, unfinished but heavy with meaning. You were more than just a teammate to him, more than just someone he fought beside. You were a lifeline. A connection to the world, to something real and grounding. And the thought of losing you—of you not coming back from this mission—was a weight he didn’t know how to bear.

You felt your breath catch in your throat, your heart pounding in your chest as the full weight of what he was saying settled over you. Bucky Barnes, the man who had faced down gods and monsters, who had lived through a century of war and torment, was afraid of losing you. And not just afraid—terrified.

Suddenly, everything about this mission felt different. The stakes weren’t just about the people you were trying to save, or the weapons you were trying to stop. They were about the people you’d leave behind if you didn’t come back. The people who cared about you, who needed you just as much as you needed them.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight as a thousand possible responses raced through your mind. You wanted to reassure him, to tell him that you’d be fine, that you’d come back just like you always did. But the words felt hollow, empty, as if they would shatter the moment they left your mouth. Because deep down, you knew the truth—you couldn’t make that promise. Not this time. Not with what you were walking into. Not with these weapons.

“I...” You hesitated, the weight of his confession pressing down on you like a physical thing, heavy and suffocating. You could feel the raw emotion in the air between you, the unspoken fear and frustration. “Bucky, I—”

But before you could finish, Bucky ran a hand through his hair, his fingers digging in as if he could pull the frustration out of his scalp. He let out a sharp breath, a mix of a sigh and a growl, his eyes flashing with an intensity you didn’t see often. “I’m angry,” he said, his voice rough, “I’m angry at Fury, at Sam—hell, at everyone—for wanting to drag you into this. They’re putting you at risk,” he spat, his voice low but fierce, as if the mere thought of it set his blood boiling. “And for what? Because they think you’re the best shot at stopping this? Because they think you can handle it? They’re willing to gamble with your life, and I’m supposed to just sit here and be okay with it?”

You clenched your jaw, feeling your own frustration start to build in response to his. “I can handle it, Bucky,” you shot back, your voice sharper than you intended. “It’s why Fury asked you to bring me in. I’ve done this before. I’ve faced worse.”

Bucky’s eyes darkened, his expression hardening , his presence looming larger now, as if the raw emotion he was feeling was physically radiating off him. “Worse? Worse than weapons designed to kill people like you? To neutralize everything that makes you who you are?”

His words cut through you, sharp and unrelenting. And the way he said it—like the very idea of you being vulnerable, of you losing—was something he couldn’t even bear to think about.

“This isn’t just another mission, and you know that,” Bucky continued, his voice rising as the anger he’d been holding onto finally broke free. “This isn’t some mercenary with a gun, or a terrorist group with a bomb. These are weapons designed to end people like you. They’re not going to miss. They’re not going to give you a second chance. One wrong move, and you’re—”

“Dead?” you interrupted, your voice hardening as your own anger flared to life. “Yeah, I know that, Bucky. I’m not stupid. But you think I don’t know the risks? You think I haven’t considered what could happen?”

Bucky’s fists clenched at his sides, his expression twisting with frustration. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? You know the risks, but you’re still willing to throw yourself into it. You always do this—you always think you have to be the one to save everyone, to take the hit so no one else has to. But this time, it’s different. This time, it’s...”

His voice broke off, and for a moment, the anger in his eyes softened, replaced by something rawer, more vulnerable. “This time, it’s you. This time you’re the one that needs saving.”

You felt your chest tighten, the weight of Bucky’s words settling deep in your gut. He wasn’t just angry about the mission, not really. He was angry because it was you—because this time, the risk was almost too real, too close to home. This time, it wasn’t some faceless threat or a distant danger. It was something that could take you away from him, and that terrified him.

You shook your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips despite the tightness in your throat. “You think I want to be in this position? You think I don’t know how dangerous this is?” Your voice cracked, your words sharper than you intended, but you didn’t pull back. You couldn’t. Not now. “Bucky, I was done with all this. I had walked away. Hell, I wasn’t exactly happy, but I was... I was content. I was safe.”

You saw a flicker in his eyes—was it pain? Understanding? Maybe both. But it didn’t matter. The words were spilling out of you before you could stop them. “But then you knocked on my door. And you know damn well I’d never say no. Not to you.”

The truth hung between you like a blade suspended in the air, sharp and unspoken, its weight pressing down, impossible to ignore. You felt it in your chest, heavy as a boulder neither of you knew how to move. You had been out. You had built something resembling a life, a fragile, quiet existence that wasn’t perfect but was safe. And yet, all it had taken was him—just Bucky—to pull you back into the chaos. And he knew that. He had to know that.

For a moment, the two of you just stared at each other, standing on the edge of something, but it was the silence between you that roared the loudest. It felt like standing at the precipice of something dark and uncertain, something you both knew was there but hadn’t allowed yourselves to fully face.

His eyes softened, just for a second, like he’d let his guard slip. You could feel the unspoken feelings swirling in the air between you, thick and tangible. This wasn’t just about the mission. It wasn’t even just about the danger. It was about you. About him. About the way your lives had become so entangled that even the thought of losing each other was too much to bear.

Bucky’s gaze held yours, and you could see it—feel it—just under the surface. The way his eyes lingered a beat too long, the way his breath hitched ever so slightly when you said his name. He looked at you like you were the only thing tethering him to the world, like losing you would destroy the last piece of himself he had left. And God, you felt the same way. You had for a long time.

This wasn’t just about the fights you’d been through together or the missions you’d survived. It was about the way he looked at you when he thought you didn’t notice. The way his voice softened when he spoke to you, like he was afraid of breaking something fragile between you. It was the way your heart raced whenever he was too close, how you knew with absolute certainty that you’d follow him anywhere, no matter the cost.

You weren’t sure when it had happened—when that line had blurred. Maybe it had always been like this, simmering under the surface, waiting for the right moment to break free. But standing here now, with the ocean roaring beneath you and the future uncertain, you couldn’t deny it any longer.

Neither of you could.

The space between you felt like it was shrinking, the weight of all the things you hadn’t said pressing down on your chest like a physical weight. It was suffocating, the silence heavier than the wind whipping around you. You could see it in his eyes—the way they flickered with something raw and unguarded, something vulnerable that Bucky never let anyone see. But you saw it. You always saw it.

And for the first time, you realized just how much this wasn’t about the mission, or the danger, or the weapons. This wasn’t just about the threats you faced together every time you were called in to save the world. This was about you. Because you were more than just a partner to him. You were more than just someone who fought by his side.

“But why does it always have to be you?” Bucky’s voice was rough, barely above a whisper, like he was holding back something much bigger than words. “Why do you always have to be the one to throw yourself into the fire? Why the hell does everyone always go to you when they need something? When it’s dangerous, when it’s impossible, when it’s a goddamn suicide mission—why is it always you?”

You flinched at the rawness in his voice, at the way his words cut through the thin layer of composure you’d been clinging to. His eyes were locked on yours, and in them, you saw everything he wasn’t saying. He wasn’t just asking why the world seemed to throw its worst at you. He was asking why you always took it on. Why you couldn’t just stop. Why, even when you had the chance to walk away, to live a normal life, you let yourself be pulled back into the storm.

And deep down, you knew the answer. You knew why you kept doing this. But the answer wasn’t something you could explain—not to him. Not when you could barely explain it to yourself.

You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but the words stuck in your throat. You weren’t sure you had the strength to tell him the truth. That it wasn’t just about the mission. That it wasn’t just about saving the world or doing the right thing. It was about him. About being there for him, because the thought of him facing this without you, the thought of him being out there alone, was unbearable.

Before you could find your voice, the cabin door creaked open, and Sam stepped out onto the porch, his presence breaking the tension like a sudden gust of cold air.

“Everything okay out here?” Sam asked, his eyes flicking between you and Bucky, clearly sensing the heavy silence that had settled between you.

For a moment, you and Bucky just stared at each other, the unspoken words still hanging in the space between you, thick and suffocating. His gaze didn’t leave yours, and for a split second, you thought he might say something. Something real. Something that would shatter whatever fragile barrier had been holding the two of you apart. But then, just as quickly as it had appeared, that raw vulnerability in his eyes was gone, replaced by the familiar mask he wore so well.

Bucky’s gaze lazily shifted to Sam, his voice flat as he replied, “Everything’s fine.”

But it wasn’t fine. You could feel it in the pit of your stomach—the unfinished conversation, the things neither of you had said. The truth that lingered just beneath the surface, too dangerous to confront but impossible to ignore.

Bucky stood up from the porch, the movement slow and deliberate, like he was putting distance between you and whatever it was that had almost been said. His eyes lingered on you for just a moment longer, and you could see it—the fear, the anger, the love—all of it, buried beneath layers of walls he’d spent years building. But he didn’t say a word.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said simply, his voice devoid of the emotion that had been there just moments before. And then, without another glance, he moved past Sam and walked back into the cabin, the door closing behind him with a soft thud that felt far too final.

You sat there, staring after him, your heart pounding in your chest, everything you hadn’t said still lodged in your throat. You wanted to call after him, to stop him, to tell him the truth. That it wasn’t just about the mission. That it wasn’t just about saving the world. That you were doing this because you loved him. But the words wouldn’t come.

Sam stood there for a moment, his brow furrowed as he looked between you and the now-closed door. He didn’t say anything at first, just let the silence stretch on, as if he knew that whatever had just happened between you and Bucky was something too fragile, too complicated to pry into.

“You sure everything’s okay?” Sam asked again, his voice softer this time, like he already knew the answer.

You forced a smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah,” you lied, your voice barely above a whisper. “Everything’s fine.”

But as you sat there, staring at the empty space where Bucky had been, you knew that everything was far from fine. You had stood on the edge of something with him—something real, something terrifying—and you had both stepped back. For now.

But you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep stepping back. Because the truth was, you were already in too deep. And so was he.

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