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Yelena was far too pleased with herself for someone who’d just been stabbed three days ago.
She was propped up at the front of the room, booted foot resting on a chair, the other swinging lazily beneath the briefing table. A sling hugged her left arm, and there was a bandage peeking beneath her collar, because apparently, “minor shrapnel” meant “ignore medical orders entirely” in Russian.
John knew what that look on her face meant. That was the look of a woman who’d purposely decided to make everyone else’s life worse. It’s the same one she’d worn before the mission that involved Bucky (poorly) pretending to be an art critic and John spending three hours trapped in a museum bathroom because someone tripped the alarms.
He still had flashbacks about it.
Loud ones.
“Good morning, my little ducklings!” she said brightly, tapping the holo remote on the table. “Hope all you’re rested, hydrated, and emotionally stable enough for this one.”
Ava gave her a thin smile. “Define emotionally stable.”
Bucky didn’t bother looking up from the folder in front of him. “She can’t.”
That made Ava laugh.
“Rude,” Yelena said, though she didn’t look offended in the slightest. Probably because it’s true. “Anyway! Let’s go straight to point. Today, we hunt a very bad man, who, unfortunately, has very good cheekbones.”
The holo display in the middle of the table flickered to life, showing a man’s photo. Dark hair slicked back, steel-gray eyes, smile too polished to be honest. He had that kind of face you’d expect to see on some glossy magazine: half charm, half predator.
John hated him already.
“Meet Darian Voss,” Yelena began, gesturing at it with a lazy flourish. “Arms broker, entrepreneur, and of course, humanitarian too. Throws money at orphanages by day, sells nuclear triggers by night. Government’s been tracking his network for six months now, but they still don’t know where he’s hiding the payload. Either he’s very, very good, or Val seriously needs to fire some people. Like herself. I vote the latter.”
He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “So what’s the play here? We find out where the toys are, hand him over to the right people, and go home?”
“More or less,” Yelena said vaguely.
“So we ambush him,” Bucky said immediately. “Cut his operations off.”
“Tempting,” Yelena admitted, inclining her head, “but too loud. Too ‘violent.’ Media loves this guy because he rescues endangered birds or kittens or some shit. So we shoot any part of him, and we end up looking like villains again. And Val says ‘absolutely no explosions, no blood, and no accidental arson’ this time.”
She didn’t look at John when she said that last part with air quotes, but she didn’t need to.
“It was one time, Jesus,” he said under his breath.
Beside him, Bob pats his shoulder consolingly.
“So, we go quiet. Which means, we go fabulously." Yelena hit another button. The holo shifted to a glimmering image of an invitation: The Voss Foundation Winter Gala, Vienna.
“Luckily for us, the only thing Voss loves more than selling nuclear arms is a party. And that’s where we come in. Or the three of you, at any rate.” She then gave them all a huge, huge smile.
John felt the back of his neck tighten. He knew that tone. He knew that smile.
“This is trouble,” he muttered.
“Considering it is us? I’d be surprised if it isn’t,” Yelena said cheerfully. “Ducklings, here’s the plan: you infiltrate the gala. You get in, look pretty, get what we need from the gorgeous boy, and get out. Easy peasy.” She motioned to the folders in front of them, which contained the details of their undercover. But she didn’t wait for them to read it.
“Bucky, you’re perimeter detail, posing as part of the private security staff. Quiet and unnoticeable. Good at scaring guests who don’t belong. Or even those that do.”
Bucky gave a small nod. He didn’t argue, probably because “quiet and unnoticeable” was just his default mode of existence anyway.
“And Walker,” Yelena said, pointing the remote at him, “you’re going in as one of the event sponsors. Military contractor turned philanthropist. Real method acting for you, I know. I recommend watching the Youtubes. You and Bucky need to be in event in case things go sideways.”
John made a face. “Do I at least get to wear the suit with the nice lining?”
“Sure. In exchange, you pretend to have charm.”
“I have charm,” John muttered.
“Of course you do,” Yelena said patronizingly. But her attention turned elsewhere now.
“Bob, you’ll handle comms with me,” Yelena continued. “We’ll be remote, feeding data to the team. Eyes on every camera, every signal. Bring popcorn also.”
Bob nodded. “Copy that.”
Then Yelena’s gaze slid over to Ava, and that’s when John knew—knew—this mission was about to go off the rails.
“As for you,” she said, grinning now, “you’re the key. Our in, if you will. Voss likes mysterious women. The type who show up out of nowhere and make him forget his own name.”
Ava blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“You’re going as Elara Quinn. Beautiful name, no? I came up with it,” Yelena said with no small amount of pride. “Socialite. Reclusive. Slightly scandalous past. You’ll need to get close enough to plant this—” She held up a sleek micro-tracker in between her thumb and forefinger “—on his person.”
Ava’s expression shifted fast, from surprise to alarm. “You want me to what?”
“Get him talking,” Yelena replied, very patiently. “Distract him. Dance with him, I don’t care. Then slip the tracker into his watch, cufflink, or his drink. Wherever. It’ll ping us the moment he accesses his nuclear vault’s coordinates. Then we’ll know where they’re hidden, and from there, we go boom and save the world. The end.”
Ava took the tracker from Yelena. To John, she looked genuinely uncertain; something rare for her.
“I’d do it myself,” Yelena said with a sigh, “but as you can see, I am tragically, heroically injured.” She gestured to her sling like she was accepting an Oscar. “So now, it’s up to you, my little ghost.”
Ava looked at the tracker, then stared at the hologram of Darian Voss, visibly unimpressed. “Won’t he recognize any of us?”
“Oh, no,” Yelena replied. “That’s why we’re going all out with the disguises. Especially yours.”
“Bloody fantastic.”
“You’re sure this is the only way?” Bucky asked.
Yelena nodded at him. “Man keeps his circle tight. He doesn’t even trust his own security. The only way to get to his devices is through personal contact. And he does love women who look like trouble. That’s you.” She pointed at Ava.
At this point, John really couldn’t help himself.
“Wait, wait, hold up. She’s the one doing the talking now? The woman whose entire shtick involves disappearing into walls?”
Ava’s head whipped toward him, eyes narrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” John said, grin now in place, “you’re better at ghosting people than mingling with them. Not sure how that’ll work when you’re supposed to stand out.” He motioned at Voss’ hologram. “This thing? Seems a little outside your skill set, don’t you think?”
He said it like a joke. He even meant it like one. But underneath, there was a flicker of something heavier there.
He’d seen Voss’s file. The guy wasn’t just handsome; he was dangerous. And the thought of Ava walking into his orbit like a lamb among wolves just didn’t sit right with him.
Yelena tilted her head, eyes glinting. “Aww. I didn’t know you cared, Johnny.”
“I don’t,” he said quickly. Too quickly.
“Of course not.” Yelena smirked. “But since you’re volunteering, I’ll have the dress adjusted for you.”
John blinked. “I– What?”
“Unfortunately for you, the slit might be too high, though I do think you have the thighs for it,” she mused aloud, moving her head to the side as if checking him out. “And we’ll need a corset. And boobs. Bob, write this down—”
“Absolutely not,” John cut in, scowling.
“Oh, so you’re not volunteering?” Yelena teased, wide-eyed. “Aw. And here I thought you’d make a beautiful honeypot.”
Across the table, Bucky coughed into his hand to hide a smirk. Bob, meanwhile, had turned pink trying not to laugh.
John glared at both of them. “I fucking hate all of you, you know that?”
Ava, though? Ava looked insulted. “You really think I can’t handle it, don’t you?” she shot at him, voice sharp. “You think all I do is phase through bloody walls?”
John’s gaze landed on her. “That’s not what I—”
“Because I can handle it,” she said, cutting him off. To Yelena, she said, “I’ll do it. Gladly.”
The room went still.
Yelena’s grin widened like a cat’s. “Excellent. Love the enthusiasm.”
Bucky leaned back in his chair, muttering, “This is gonna end well.”
John dragged a hand down his face. He didn’t like it. Not the plan, not Voss, and definitely not the way Ava’s eyes burned like she had something to prove.
“Alright,” Yelena said, clapping her hands. “We leave at 1800. Dress sharp. Look rich. Ava, follow me. I’ve seen the dress and I love it. You should go try it on. I wanna see.”
And then Bob carefully helped her out of the briefing room.
As everyone else began to stand, John lingered by the table, watching Ava gather her notes. She moved with that rigid precision she always had when she was mad: silent, fast, like the air itself might piss her off next.
“Hey,” he said quietly once Yelena, Bob, and Bucky had left the room. “You don’t have to—”
“I said I’ll do it,” she said, not looking at him.
He sighed. “Look. What I said earlier, it’s not about—”
“Quit it,” she seethed, pausing just enough to throw the words at him. “I can bloody well handle myself, thank you.”
Yeah. She probably could.
But that didn’t make him feel any better about it.
The Voss Foundation Winter Gala was the kind of place that made John feel like he should apologize just for knowing what a hard day’s work even meant.
The chandeliers glittered like frozen fire, the expensive champagne never stopped flowing, and the people all looked like they’d never sweated a day in their lives. Like they didn’t even know how.
John adjusted his cufflinks, trying not to think about how much the tux probably cost - or if it’s gonna be taken out of his paycheck. He could feel the weight of his earpiece, the faint buzz of Bob’s voice cutting through the orchestral hum in the ballroom.
“Comms check,” Bob said. “Walker?”
“Loud and clear,” John replied, scanning the crowd.
“Barnes?”
“Here,” came Bucky’s low murmur. Somewhere near the main entrance, John could spot him in his crisp black suit and earpiece, blending into the hired security detail like he’d been born scowling.
Yelena’s voice joined next, syrupy with glee. “I see my ducklings on camera. Looking very professional, very handsome, very… murder-y. Walker, please smile. You look like you’ll shoot someone.”
“I might,” John muttered.
“You will not,” Yelena said sharply. “Remember: no arson, no blood, no bodies. Smile. Be sexy philanthropist. Pretend you have Botox in forehead.”
He gritted his teeth. “Working on it.”
Bucky’s voice came through again, dry. “She’s right, you do look like you’re about to deck someone.”
“That’s just my face,” John shot back.
“Yeah,” Bucky said. “That’s the problem.”
Bob laughed, and John ignored them both.
The string quartet shifted into some slow, dramatic piece that probably cost more than his life savings to play. He hated these kinds of parties. Too polished. Too fake. And everyone smiled too damn much.
He checked the time. “Where’s Ghost?”
“Relax, cowboy,” Yelena said. “She’ll make an entrance. That’s what mysterious women do.”
He rolled his eyes just right before the room collectively noticed something.
The music didn’t stop, but the air around them seemingly shifted. Heads turned toward the marble staircase at the far end of the hall.
And there she was.
Ava.
Or Elara Quinn for today.
He almost didn’t recognize her at first. The dress was the color of deep ocean glass, catching the light as she moved, cut to her form like it had been poured on her. One side swept high up her thigh, revealing just enough leg to make John forget how to breathe for half a second. Her hair, usually in some half-tamed bun inside the headgear of her stabilizing suit, fell loose tonight, curling around her bare shoulders. Even the diamonds at her throat were fucking shimmering, and for the first time, she looked nothing like the teammate he saw almost every day.
She looked alive. Dangerous in an entirely new way.
John blinked, jaw tightening. He felt his brain short-circuit somewhere between wow and what the hell was Yelena thinking.
“Holy mother of—” Bob’s voice crackled in his ear. “That’s Ava?”
“Language, Bob,” Yelena teased. “But yes. Our little duckling cleans up nicely, no?”
“‘Nice’?” John repeated, forcing his eyes off her to get air back inside his lungs. “That’s one word for it.”
Bucky finally glanced up from his post, and even he hesitated. Just for a second, but John saw it from his location: the flicker of concern, the way his jaw clenched.
“Eyes on the job, Barnes,” John said flatly.
Bucky gave the smallest smirk as he looked John’s way. “You first.”
“Remember, Walker,” Yelena cut in, “you’re there to look rich and pretend you’re not jealous, okay?”
He was too winded to even deny the fact. “Yeah, yeah.”
Ava finally reached the bottom of the stairs, seemingly unaware of every head that had turned her way. She moved through the crowd like a specter: soft, untouchable. She even smiled once at someone, and it wasn’t the tight, guarded expression she usually wore in the tower. It was charming, practiced, like she’d been doing this all her life.
“Target’s approaching from the east wing,” Yelena said. “That’s him in the navy suit: tall, smug, and thinks his cologne turns him bulletproof. I’d love to prove him wrong, but alas, not tonight.”
Then Voss appeared in the crowd like he owned it, all charisma and expensive arrogance and punchable face. He kissed hands, laughed easily, and radiated the kind of confidence only money and power could buy.
And then he saw Ava.
John’s gut twisted the second their eyes met across the ballroom. Voss’s expression shifted from polite interest to unmistakable intent.
“Uh, tracker’s live, you guys,” Bob murmured. “Ava, you’re clear to engage any time now.”
“Copy,” she said softly. Her voice was calm, smooth.
Different.
And it did something different to John’s chest.
Yelena hummed over comms. “Walker, she might need cover. Keep to your mark, but stay close. If Prince Not-Charming tries anything stupid, you intervene. Politely.”
He grunted. “Define politely.”
“Without physical contact. Or blood. Or him losing his head.”
John didn’t answer.
No promises.
He made his way toward the champagne bar, trying to look like a bored investor. Bucky, meanwhile, lingered near the back hallway, eyes tracking the crowd with predatory calm. The orchestra swelled; crystal clinked; conversations blurred together in a dozen languages.
From his vantage point, he could see Voss excusing himself from his entourage and starting to make his way toward Ava.
“Showtime,” Yelena murmured, sounding entirely too pleased. “Ava, be ready. Bob, pass the popcorn.”
Ava turned just as he approached. For a heartbeat, John almost believed she was Elara Quinn: cool, confident, untouchable. She smiled faintly when Voss greeted her, voice light as air.
“Mr. Voss,” she said, voice clear through the comms. “A pleasure. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Only good things, I hope,” Voss replied, his accent smooth and faintly European. “And you are…?”
“Elara,” she said, offering her hand. “Elara Quinn.”
John caught the subtle moment when her other hand slid something from her clutch: the micro-tracker, slim enough to disappear between her fingers.
She was already working.
And damn if she didn’t make it look easy.
They drifted toward the dance floor as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Voss offered his arm; Ava took it. Then he planted himself to her side like he fucking belonged there.
John could feel his blood pressure climbing.
“Keep eyes on them,” Yelena said, sounding like she’s munching on something. “We’re getting partial audio from her comm. Try to maintain line-of-sight until the plant.”
“I’ve got her,” John said immediately.
Bucky’s voice followed, quieter. “So do I.”
John slid an irritated glare his way.
Of course he did.
Ten minutes in, and John was two seconds from breaking his champagne flute out of sheer frustration.
Voss had been talking nonstop, about his foundation, his travels, his goddamn cats, and every time Ava laughed or leaned in, John’s jaw clenched tighter. She was playing him perfectly, her movements deliberate, voice low, fingers brushing his sleeve just enough to keep his attention.
She was good.
John wasn’t aware she could be this good, though.
“Okay,” Yelena said over comms, “time to plant the bug. He keeps his encrypted key in that ridiculous platinum watch. Ava, when he gestures, go for the clasp. Be sexy. Be… well, you.”
From her place on the dance floor, Ava gave the tiniest nod.
John could see her hand drift closer to Voss’s wrist as they talked. Voss laughed, placing his hand over hers: too casually. Too long.
And something dark burned heavily in John’s chest.
“Walker, do not move,” Bucky told him before his feet could even do so - like a fucking mind reader.
John took a long breath through his nose. “Fine.”
Voss leaned in, saying something that made Ava smile. Forced, polite. John could tell because she only did that particular smile when she wanted to stab someone.
And usually, it’s him.
Then her fingers ghosted over the clasp of his watch.
Click.
Yelena’s triumphant voice cut through: “Signal received. Tracker’s live. My ghost did it again. I am genius!”
Bob laughed in relief. “We’re in. Ava, you can leave him now.”
And just as quickly, Ava leaned closer to Voss, murmuring her excuses to leave.
Except he wasn’t done with her yet.
Voss caught her hand again, this time pulling her slightly closer. He leaned in, whispering something in her ear. She laughed softly, tilting her head just enough to look polite, but not interested. Voss stepped closer anyway, his palm finding a resting place on the curve of her waist.
And John could feel something snap in him like a pulled wire.
“Walker,” Bucky’s voice cut through again. “Don’t.”
“The fuck? I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re thinking about murder really, really loud, though,” said Yelena.
“It’s right there on your face, man,” said Bob.
“Yeah, well,” John muttered, as if he needed to explain himself, “he’s getting stupidly handsy.”
“She’s handling it,” Bucky said simply. “Let her do things her way.”
John looked again, only to see that Bucky was right.
Ava was handling it. Perfectly. She never once broke character: every move still smooth, composed, unbothered. When Voss’s hand crept too close again, she simply tilted away, smiling like she was in control.
Because she was.
Still, it made John’s stomach twist. He’d seen her take bullets, fight mercenaries, phase through reinforced walls. But watching her stand there, pretending to enjoy some bastard’s attention? That was fucking worse. Because she couldn’t punch or phase her way out of it. Not without blowing cover and ruining the mission.
She said something then — too soft to catch even through comms — and Voss paused, confusion flickering behind his charming grin. She followed it with another line, smiling faintly, still polite. Whatever she said, it worked. Voss’s hand dropped from her waist, his expression cooling into apology. But then he caught her hand again, lifted, and kissed it - in farewell, this time.
Ava allowed it. And then she turned and stepped off the dance floor, which did a fantastic job of easing the tension off John’s shoulders. The crowd swallowed her up again, form almost blurring as she ghosted toward the far exit.
“Upload’s steady,” Bob said, sounding like he’d finally started breathing again. “Nice and clean. Ava did it!”
Yelena practically purred, “And not a single homicide among the three of you. My ducklings are growing up.”
John downed the rest of his champagne just to keep his hands busy. “We’re done here, right?”
“Done,” Bucky confirmed. “Exfil?”
“Five minutes,” Yelena said. “You three move to position.”
The two men converged at the terrace corridor, passing under a marble archway lined with glittering ice sculptures. The sound of the orchestra dulled behind them, replaced by the quiet hum of the city outside.
Ava stood by the balustrade, her hands gripping the stone edge, some sort of shawl wrapped around her shoulders and breath misting faintly in the cold night air. She didn’t turn when they approached.
“You all right?” Bucky asked, coming to stand on her right.
“What?” she replied. Then she turned and caught John’s eye before saying briskly, “I’m fine.”
“You sure?” John insisted. “Because if he made you uncomfortable–”
Ava gave him a look that’s half amusement, half warning. “He tried. I handled it.”
“I know,” he said. “Just asking.”
“Seemed like you were about to do more than ask,” Bucky added mildly.
John shot him a glare. “I wasn’t gonna start a fight in a damn ballroom.”
“Sure you weren’t.”
Yelena’s voice crackled in through comms before John could respond. “Okay, ducklings, wrap it up. The files are uploading, and the van’s waiting. Try not to look suspicious on your way out.”
And they weren't.
They moved as a unit through the side corridor; John flanking her left, Bucky on her right. The ballroom lights faded behind them, replaced by the muted thrum of the service exit and the cold night beyond.
The night air hit sharply against the back of John’s neck as they stepped out into the alley. A black van idled a few meters away, engine low and steady. Bob was already in the front seat, one hand raised in greeting. Yelena was in the passenger seat, her sling half undone, face alight with mischief and caffeine.
“Smooth extraction,” he said, smiling at them. “Nobody’s screaming, nobody’s dead.”
“And nobody’s bleeding!” Yelena added with a big grin. “A new record for us!”
“Give it time,” Bucky muttered, scanning the rooftops out of habit.
Ava climbed into the vehicle first, tugging her shawl tighter around her shoulders as she dropped onto the bench seat. John followed, then Bucky, who shut the doors behind them with a solid thud. The van pulled away before anyone even had to say a word.
For a moment, no one spoke. The sound of the tires over cobblestone filled the silence.
Yelena, of course, broke it.
“I saw everything on camera,” she said proudly, gesturing at Bob’s tablet. “Ava, flawless work. Distraction level: exquisite. Tracker planted: perfection. I even cried a little. From pride and maybe boredom, but still. Tears.”
Bob turned in his seat, grinning. “Val’s gonna be happy with us for once.”
“Miracles do happen, yes?” Yelena said, dramatically dabbing at an imaginary tear. "Especially when I do the planning. You're all welcome."
Ava smirked faintly, but she didn’t say anything. She sat back, gaze on the city lights flashing by the tinted windows.
Across from her, John was all quiet muscle and tension, his jaw tight, his hands still clasped on his knees like he needed to physically stop himself from pacing. Every few seconds, his eyes flicked toward her - like he was checking for something she wasn’t giving away.
Bucky noticed.
Because of course he did.
He leaned forward slightly, tone even. “You did good, Ava.”
That made her glance at him. His voice wasn’t teasing or patronizing; just calm and honest.
She nodded once, but her eyes were brighter. “Thanks.”
Then she looked at John, her chin up. Probably thinking: I have everyone's approval - what are you going to do about it? “You still think I can only phase through walls, Walker?” she asked pointedly.
That did it.
John looked right back at her - caught between pride, guilt, and something else he’d never admit out loud to her or any one of them.
He didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
Yelena, however, grinned like the cat who’d just stolen the whole damn creamery.
“Oh,” she said, delighted. “This van is going to be so awkward. Bob, play Ginuwine's Pony.”
The others groaned.
But Ava just leaned her head back against the seat, that quiet, victorious smile on her face never fading.
And John stayed silent, letting her have the moment.
Maybe, just this once, he was fine with being wrong.