Archive of Our Own

Yelena could pinpoint the exact moment that everything was going down.

Mainly because it started with her.

The former Black Widow and somehow the newest leader of three super soldiers, a Baba Yaga, and Bob, was on the computer, feeling like she was moments away from finally finishing her report, when her co-leader walked in.

“Yelena?”

She resisted the urge to click her tongue and snap at him, knowing that tone meant there’s trouble on the horizon, and frankly, she was a hundred and one percent ready to call it a night. She was sporting a minor concussion from a kick to the head last week when Val sent her on the field, and nothing sounded better than curling up with Bob and sleeping the next three days.

“Mm?” she mumbled, fingers practically flying about the keyboard.

Just a few more paragraphs, send it to Mel, and she’s done for the next few days.

So long as he didn’t decide now would be the perfect time to hand more things onto her plate—

“The mission reports for last month I had organized were misfiled, and some are completely missing,” he remarked, and it was enough of a shock for Yelena to stop typing for a split moment. “Who was the last person to touch the drive?”

Or ask that particular question.

Shit.

Her fingers hovered uselessly above the keyboard as her brain fired through a list of potential lies and halfway‑truths, none of which sounded remotely convincing. She knew exactly who had touched the drive last: her.

However, she wasn’t going to fess up that it was.

She forced herself to keep typing, pretending to focus on the screen even as she felt Bucky’s eyes on her. That judgmental, silently concerned look he got whenever she did just about anything.

“Mm, not sure,” she said finally, keeping her tone neutral.

A beat of silence, and she could feel his stare deepen.

“You’re not sure who last touched the drive?” he pushed, not sounding convinced.

“No, not a clue,” she answered, just a little too fast, while finally glancing up. “What, you think I memorize every person who touches every piece of tech around here? I don’t have a secretary like Val does.”

“Right,” he murmured, voice flat as a winter morning.

“However…I did see Ava phasing through there last night,” Yelena lied before she could stop herself. She didn’t know why or how it slipped out of her, but now that it was in motion, she couldn’t stop.

“Ava?” he echoed, confused, and Yelena didn’t blame him.

While the entire team had access to the system, Ava was the least likely to be looking through the mission reports—mostly because she hated paperwork almost as much as Yelena did and wouldn’t do it unless absolutely necessary.

But the words were already out, and backtracking now would only make her look worse.

Plus, it wasn’t her fault that he had a very particular, obvious crush that everyone already knew about and whispered behind his back about, and she was now just using it to her advantage. But this was very well deserved in Yelena’s eyes. 

Afterall, he looked so lovesick that it almost made her nauseous.

The way his eyes lingered just a second too long whenever Ava phased through a wall during briefings, or how he’d volunteer to “check on her” after missions without being asked. It was almost cute, if you ignored the fact that he turned into a malfunctioning android around her.

Even Yelena didn’t act like that around Bob; she was very normal and didn’t start reciting poetry every time he showed up with that awkward, boyish, very adorable smile and some snacks for her.

“Mhm,” Yelena remarked, forcing a shrug that she hoped looked casual and not at all defensive. “Saw her walking through walls, muttering about something about making sure the dates were correct or something. Have you taught her how to file correctly after finishing?”

Silence stretched between them like a taut wire.

Bucky didn’t move or blink. He just stared at her with those steel-blue eyes that had seen too much bullshit since they became a team. His lips pressed into a thinner line, the kind that meant he was two seconds from calling her on it or walking away entirely.

Yelena held his gaze, chin tilted up in defiance, even as her pulse ticked faster.

Red Room rules: first one to flinch loses.

For a moment, she thought for sure she was caught, thought maybe he was giving her a graceful way out, the tiniest mercy from the guy who still treated her like she needed training wheels on everything she did.

Just as she drew breath for a preemptive sigh of defeat—

His vibranium arm rested on his hip with a faint whirr, the other hand pinching the bridge of his nose. He sighed, long and world-weary as he shook his head. “No, I guess I haven’t had the time to teach her yet.”

Relief hit her like a shot of vodka, but she knew she wasn’t out of the clear yet.

She bit back a triumphant smirk, swiveling back to her screen with feigned innocence. “See? Problem solved. Teach Ava filing 101. I’ll even loan you Bob as a supporter if you need; he’s great with organization.”

Bucky didn’t dignify that with a response, just turned on his heels and left.

“Funny. Now finish up the logs and go to sleep.”

“I’m trying,” she called out. Yet in the silence, something definitely was starting to brew rather mischievously in knowing there’s basically a jail-free card that was handed to her on a vibranium-made platter.

Especially when Bucky ended up refiling everything himself and never brought it up to Ava.

Okay, so.

Yelena ended up blaming Ava quite a lot whenever trouble arose, and Bucky somehow always knew it was a highly-trained assassin before said assassin diverted it elsewhere. She supposed that it wasn’t hurting anyone with her white lies, and it spared more headaches and drawn-out conversations that really didn’t need to be had.

So who cared, right?

Every time Bucky came and asked…she always knew who to blame.

“Yelena? Do you know where the backup Quinjet keys went?”

“Oh, I think Ava took it out to visit Bill Foster, or was it Janet Dyne? One of them,” she quipped, brushing Cucumber’s fur while Bob snapped photos. Yelena knew her partner knew she had taken the aircraft last night because she was really craving the mac-and-cheese you could only get in Delaware, and he tagged along.

Yet he wouldn’t ever rat her out.

And it was just that she couldn’t help herself sometimes—

“Who left the tablet on the floor? It’s broken now.”

“I think Ava knocked it off the table when she was running out to get pastries for the team,” Yelena lied smoothly, not even glancing up from her phone. The lie rolled off her tongue so easily now that it almost felt like muscle memory.

She knew she should stop and that sooner or later, it would bite her in the ass—

“Did anyone see my mug? The black one with a chip on it? Yelena?”

“Why are you asking me? Actually, I swore Ava took it while half asleep,” she quipped.

Especially when Bucky never, ever went and asked Ava, so long as everything eventually turned up again, like the Quinjet keys, his mug that Yelena accidentally used, and everything in between.

He’d only sigh, rubbing the back of his neck and then walking off.

Needless to say, Yelena had gotten used to how easy it was to blame a literal ghost.

And more importantly, it wasn’t hurting anyone, so why couldn’t it go on forever and ever?

“You’re moving too much,” Bob muttered, dipping the brush back into the polish.

At that, Yelena couldn’t help laughing, grinning at him. “That’s because you’re taking too long!”

“Hey, do you want them to look nice or streaky?” he tossed back.

She couldn’t help but fondly stick out her tongue. Bob had commandeered the couch hours ago, stretching himself across one end while Yelena claimed the spot right next to him, her legs thrown over his lap while he did her nails.

An open bag of chips lay like battlefield debris on the coffee table beside half‑empty mugs of tea. The TV was on some ridiculous true‑crime rerun, volume barely audible, just enough to fill the silence.

“I want them nice,” she quipped, wiggling her fingers. “But you’re acting like this is surgery!”

However, she would never admit it out loud, but she liked how careful he was being. Bob just huffed and continued to paint her nails a soft nude pink with the same concentration he usually reserved for their weekly meetings with Mel.

“It is a surgery on making sure they live up to your expectation,” he countered, tongue peeking out in perfect focus. A tiny smudge of color already marked his thumb and forefinger, but he didn’t notice.

Yelena was halfway to rolling her eyes when the sound of boots on tile made her almost groan in annoyance. Bucky’s footsteps were unmistakable in how measured, heavy, and impossible to misinterpret… alongside Walker’s.

“Ew, can’t you take your PDA shit back in your room?” Walker grumbled, coming to a stop like he’d just walked in on something scandalous instead of a manicure in progress. Yelena leaned forward from her cushion kingdom, one hand splayed dramatically, while Bob hunched beside her with a tiny bottle of polish, as if it were evidence in a crime scene.

“PDA?” she scoffed, shaking her head. “He’s painting my nails, Walker. What, don’t tell me you’re jealous just because no one is willing to go near your hands anymore after you broke Mel’s stapler.”

“That was one time,” Walker shot back immediately.

“Twice,” Bucky fixed, and Walker clinched his mouth shut before heading over to the fridge.

“Thank you,” Yelena said sweetly, gesturing airily with her freshly painted hand, nearly smudging a finger right before Bob gingerly snatched her wrist and placed it back onto her propped knee.

“If you move, I’ll mess up the pinky,” Bob huffed.

“What can I help you with?” Yelena asked just as Walker grabbed his blue sports drink and left.  

“Do you know who the last person who used the washer was? Someone didn’t end up emptying the lint trap, and now it’s jammed, so my clothes sat overnight, and some ended up bleeding color on my other shirt,” he finished, his voice low and already hinting at mild disappointment.

Yelena blinked at him.

The washer? Right.

That was her… maybe. Probably.

Okay, definitely her…but still.

“Mm, no idea, but I know it wasn’t Bob or me,” she said, tone so breezy it could’ve carried her across the room. “Mm…maybe Ava? She’s been doing laundry at weird hours lately because she couldn’t sleep.”

Bob froze mid‑brush stroke, eyes flicking up to her face with a look, but Yelena didn’t dare to look at him in case she did crack. Everything had been fine and dandy for the last few weeks, and she didn’t want to give it all up because of something as stupid as this.

Bucky’s brow creased.

“Ava? Why would she…actually, never mind,” he muttered, rubbing his temple in dismay and then promptly walking off. Yelena waited until his footsteps faded before relaxing again, tossing her head back against the cushions.

“You really can’t help yourself, can you, Lena?” Bob asked, voice soft with equal parts amusement and warning. He finally looked satisfied enough to release her, and she lifted her hand to admire them.

“Nope,” she said, inspecting her freshly painted fingertips. “And until it stops working, why should I?”

Bob hummed, falling silent, though the faint furrow between his brows didn’t go away.

“Still doesn’t make it right,” Bob said, finally leaning back and capping the polish.

“Oh, please,” Yelena drawled, stretching like a cat, an unapologetic grin tugging at her mouth. “It’s harmless. Everyone wins. Bucky will mope for a few hours, Ava will be none the wiser, and I don’t have to deal with an interrogation about ‘responsibility and leadership’ because everything will be fixed the same day.”

Bob sighed through his nose, the kind of sigh that sounded a lot like you’re impossible, but I love you too much to fight you on it. “You know that’s going to catch up to you eventually, right?”

Yelena tilted her head toward him, lips quirking.

“Maybe. But not today.”

“Mm,” he hummed, unconvinced but unwilling to press it further—

Especially not when Yelena leaned in to kiss him.

“You lied to Bucky.”

Yelena nearly choked on her mac and cheese when Walker appeared out of nowhere, arms crossed as he leaned against the kitchen doorway. Her fork slipped from her hand with a sharp clatter, and she barely managed to catch it before the noise woke the entire team at four in the damn morning.

If there was one thing about ex‑mercenaries, it was that they could wake up to the sound of a pin dropping within the entire vicinity. No matter where they were or how deep they slept, the smallest noise had them halfway to grabbing a weapon before their eyes even opened.

She would have known, before Bob.

“Jesus, Walker,” she hissed and then dragged a hand down her face, exhaling hard. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack? Normal people say ‘hi’ or some shit before appearing like a horror movie extra.”

“Normal people don’t throw their teammates under the bus,” he shot back, brow raised.

Yelena narrowed her eyes, forcing her pulse down as she picked her fork back up.

“You’ll have to be more specific. Which bus are we talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Walker said, stepping into the light. “I heard you.”

“Look, Walker,” she huffed, stabbing her macaroni and wishing that was his stupid neck instead. “I don’t have time to humor you, so why don’t you get to the chase. Or don’t, I’m about to be done anyway—”

“You were the last one to use the washer. It wasn’t Ava who jammed it; it was you.”

Yelena froze with the next bite halfway to her mouth, then slowly set it down.

“Were you eavesdropping?”

“Oh, no, don’t you turn that on me,” he said flatly. “You lied.”

She leaned back in her chair, feigning indifference. “You say that like it’s a felony.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you pinned the blame on Ava.”

Argh, he’s seriously so annoying.

She shoved her beloved comfort food and then pointed the fork at him. “Look, it doesn’t matter at the end of the day if Ava did it or not, вы понимаете? So long as it’s her, Bucky will never press the issue or ask, so long as the problem is fixed at the end of the day.”

In fact, she ended up emptying the lint and soaking his shirt in bleach before washing it again.

See? Problem solved without the constant hounding.

Walker snorted, unfazed, grabbing a beer from the fridge like this was a casual midnight chat instead of a confrontation. “Dude, you’re banking on his crush to cover your ass every time. What happens when he actually confronts Ava? Or when he figures out the pattern?”

“He’s not, you’ve seen how he is with Ava,” she quipped.

“So… you plan to blame Ava for literally everything going forward?” he asked, arching a brow.

“Until someone rats me out, and if that’s the case,” she paused, licking the fork clean and then flinging the microwavable cup and utensil into the trash bin while hopping up. “I’m going to tell Bucky that it was all your idea.”

“Me?” he echoed.

“Mhm,” she hummed. “And seeing how you’re always bickering with Ava, getting her riled up, and making Bucky jealous because he could barely even string two words together without tripping over his own tongue around her? He’d believe it in a heartbeat.”

His mouth dropped.

“Are you blackmailing me?”

“Depends. Are you planning on snitching, или нет?” she countered, and he looked like he was moments from trying to throttle her. He ran his hand through his hair and then settled to rubbing it at the back of his neck.

Yet before he could respond, a faint call came down the hall.

“Lena?”

“I’m coming, Bob. I was getting a midnight snack,” she called out and then turned without looking back.

Two days passed, and it seemed Walker took Yelena’s threat seriously because Bucky didn’t ask to speak to her privately. However, it also went unnoticed that when Ava phased into the kitchen for breakfast, Bucky’s jaw was clenched like he wanted to say—to ask her—something, but didn’t.

“Come back here, you little fucking shit!”

Yelena couldn’t help laughing, ducking low as Walker barreled around the corner, red-faced and spitting mad. She’d tased him with her Widow Bites during sparring—nothing lethal, just a quick jolt to the ribs after he'd “accidentally” shoulder-checked her one too many times while trash-talking Bob mid-drill.

Payback was inevitable, and frankly, deserved.

No one was allowed to call Bob a “loyal, lovesick puppy,” or anything demeaning for that matter, unless it was her. Yelena sprinted down the corridor, and she hooked a sharp left into the maintenance hall. Walker’s boots pounded behind her, curses flying like stray bullets.

Her Red Room instincts fired on all cylinders before she could think—

Right before something hard slammed right into her back, and she fumbled right onto the floor. She rolled around to see that it was a stupid football that she recalled running by (it should also be noticed that she was the one who left it there a few days ago), but didn’t think the brute would take and hurl it right at her.

Before she had enough time to tase him again, he shot a rubber bullet which ricocheted—

Hitting something that rattled…

Then, a deafening smash echoed down the hall like a bomb going off, porcelain shards skittering across the tiles in a million glittering pieces. Yelena and Walker both froze mid-lunge, breaths heaving, staring at the wreckage:

A priceless porcelain portrait of their logo from the present he had himself at the last gala, which Valentina had forced them to accept with a speech, custom-made and worth more than either of their paychecks combined.

Silence stretched, broken only by the faint tinkle of settling debris.

Instantly, the two scrambled up and gaped at the shattered bust in dread.

“You’re so dead,” Yelena whispered, picking up the football.

“Me?!” Walker started, eyes bulging. “That was your football!”

“Your bullet!” Yelena hissed back, already backing away from the crime scene alongside Walker. “Which you’re not supposed to use outside of the training room, much less at your own teammates!”

Suddenly, the familiar sound of footsteps echoed down the hall.

They spared each other a glance before darting.

“Someone broke an irreplaceable portrait of the Avengers logo in the fourth-floor hall.”

Yelena and Walker tried not to look at each other, but one thing was certain:

If one of them was going down, they’re going to take the other down, kicking and screaming.

“What?” Alexei exclaimed, pausing the TV, which only made everything feel ten times louder and worse. “No! That was priceless—signed by the president himself, and it was one of my favorites! Who did it and brought such dishonor to the team?!”

The silence was so quiet you could hear the distant rain pattering against the windows, every pair of eyes in the room locking onto Yelena and Walker like heat-seeking missiles. Bob was on the sidelines, and Yelena could tell he was close to volunteering to take the blame.

And there was no way in hell she was letting that happen.

Yelena opened her mouth to jump in—ready to spin some half-baked version of the truth before Bob could play martyr—but Walker beat her to it, his voice cutting through the tension like a poorly aimed knife throw.

“I think I saw Ava before when I was coming back from the fitness room a few hours earlier,” he said, too casual as he glanced up from his phone.

Bucky blinked, surprised. “Ava?”

“Yeah, she didn’t seem to be feeling well, you know how it is when it rains, or the weather is absolute shit,” he replied, and that wasn’t a lie in theory because Ava was particularly feeling under the weather.

Usually, during the rainy season, even with visits to Janet Van Dyne to help with her molecular disequilibrium by transferring quantum energy to her, phantom pain still plagued her limbs like invisible chains with aches that no pill or tech could fully phase out after years of phasing in and out of reality itself.

“Ah, poor Ghost,” Alexei mumbled. “Should we check on her?”

This time, Yelena jumped in fast, raising her hands like she was calming a spooked bear.

“No, we should let her rest. I'm sure she feels guilty enough already that it happened. I have an idea: why don't we clean it up if we haven't yet and not bring it up ever again near her?” Yelena suggested.

Walker caught her eye, playing along with a straight face.

“Right. Because we don't want her to feel bad.”

Alexei sniffled dramatically, eyes misting over as he clapped a massive hand on Yelena’s shoulder, who was sitting next to him. “My Lena is an angel! Such a big heart for poor Ghost. We fix, we forget because the team protects the team! Right, Bucky?”

Then, all eyes rocketed to Bucky, who, after a few seconds, his shoulder sagged while he fished out his phone.  “Fine, I’ll get someone to clean it instead, so don’t touch anything and inform Valentina in the reports.”

He walked off then, and Yelena couldn’t help glancing at Walker with a grin.

Oh, so it’s like that then.

“Lena! Walker and Bob! Do you happen to know who was the last one to touch my helmet?”

Oh, Yelena and Walker knew exactly who did it: them.

See, they had a bet going on which helmet could take the hardest hit: Walker's old clunky one from before he traded it for that ridiculous beret he likes, or Red Guardian's star-spangled monstrosity.

It wasn’t until they saw a dent on Alexei’s helmet—right at the crown where Walker slammed his at full might—that panic set in. They tried to apply pressure on the other side to "fix" it, but it only made it look like the helmet had been run over by a tank: two uneven dents now bulging awkwardly like mismatched horns.

Yikes.

Bob was feeding Cucumber his daily greens from the playpen they set up in the living room, looking at Yelena. She tried not to look too guilty while she got up and walked over to Alexei as casually as she could muster.

“Not sure. What happened to it?” Walker asked, equally playing stupid.

“Look,” he exclaimed, holding his precious helmet as a fallen soldier cradled in his massive arms, dents glinting under the armory lights like badges of their stupidity. “There are dents on it! Dents! Who touched Red Guardian’s helmet when I was training at the gym, eh?!”

Yelena hummed, tilting her head. “I think it might be Ava?”

Alexei’s brows furrowed together, seeming to be completely taken aback. “Ava? Ghost?”

“Yeah,” Walker jumped in, seizing the lifeline with both hands. “Saw her phasing around earlier. Probably bumped it on the way back to her room during one of her shaky spells—rain’s been hell on her lately.”

“What? No, it can’t be Ava,” Alexei countered.

“Daddy,” Yelena began, placing a gentle hand on his massive shoulder, her voice softening into that coaxing lilt she knew worked every time. “Think about it. Ava’s been off all week with the rain, yes? It’s not her fault, and we don’t want to make her feel worse by dragging her into this or bringing it up.”

“Yeah,” Walker agreed. “Why don’t we get a work order in and replace it—”

“No, it can’t be Ghost because I was just training with her a few minutes ago,” Alexei interrupted, cutting through their pitch like a sledgehammer. “She spotted me on deadlifts, shaky but stable—no phasing accidents in sight.”

Yelena and Walker froze mid-sentence, eyes darting to each other in perfect sync—busted.

The air thickened instantly.

“Uh…” Walker trailed off, not sure where they’re supposed to go from here.

Alexei’s eyes narrowed into suspicious slits, helmet still cradled as he loomed over them both.

“Lena... are you lying with Walker?”

Yelena’s mind raced for an out, but Walker cracked first, rubbing his neck.

“Uh, Alexei, look, it’s not—”

“Save it,” he growled. “I know my little spider’s tricks. Truth now, or your mother gets called! I still have her number memorized!”

“Okay, okay,” she grumbled, crossing her arms. “You don’t have to get so defensive. It was me.”

“Are you sure it’s you and you’re not covering for someone else?” Alexei asked, and the underlying question was there while his eyes flicked over to Bob, who looked like a deer caught in front of moving headlights.

“No,” Yelena maintained. “Leave Bob out of this. It was my fault.”

“To blame Ghost for this and…what? Throw her in front of a speeding sports car?”

“Well, is it really throwing her in front of the driver if the driver is Bucky, who chooses to always dodge a literal ghost? Heh, see what I did there?” Walker asked right before Yelena elbowed him hard on the ribs, making him curse. “What? It’s a good one!”

Fine.

It was, but Yelena wasn’t going to say that.

Alexei’s frown only deepened, disappointment hitting harder than any helmet slam. “Not funny, Walker. Lies hurt the team in the long run, and Ava trusts you. We are family, so what’s going on, eh?”

Yelena rubbed her temple, guilt finally piercing her armor.

“It’s harmless, Daddy. Fixes itself every time.”

“Okay, let’s just say it as it is, okay? It’s because Bucky lets Ava get away with everything,” Walker remarked.

“I do not understand,” Alexei replied, brows knitting together.

“Remember the last time you fell asleep with vodka, and you accidentally spilled it on the rug? Or the time you left all the dishes there overnight when it was your turn to do them?” Walker supplied, ticking off examples on his fingers.

“Right.”

“Do you remember how Bucky basically chewed your ass out about it?”

Alexei shuddered. “I could not drink vodka for days without thinking of him scolding my ears off, or thinking of Tuesday as anything else but my time to do the dishes. But what does that have to do with Ghost?”

“Everything,” Yelena remarked. “I spilled milk the other day on the carpet, and when I said it was Ava, Bucky said he’ll have someone clean the carpet and that’s it. The point is that Bucky lets Ava get away with everything.”

“So why not continue pinning her instead of sitting through his lecture?” Walker retorted. “I mean, aside from Bob, who actually wants to listen to Bucky drone on and on all damn day when we already have enough on our plates?”

“Exactly,” Yelena said before elbowing him. “Also fuck you for talking bad about Bob.”

“I wasn’t!”

“So what if Bucky actually confronts Ava one day?” Alexei questioned.

“Trust me, big guy, he ain’t,” Walker grumbled, glaring at Yelena for a second. “His enormous crush isn’t going to let him do jack shit beyond a sigh and taking it. You know, it’s a damn miracle Ava isn’t around whenever Bucky confronts us.”

“It’s almost like the universe wants her to take the blame,” Yelena agreed. “Plus, we’ve seen how feisty Ava can get—phasing through walls mid-argument, rolling her eyes, and everything. What do you think happens if she gets accused of shit she didn’t do from Bucky?”

Finally, Alexei fell quiet, almost like he was finally taking in their words.

If there’s one thing about Yelena, it's that there’s no way she wouldn’t try hooking another person in.

“Come on, Daddy,” she said, grinning up at him. “What’s the harm once in a while? Also, you can’t tell me that Bucky doesn’t annoy you sometimes when he plays double-standard! You know it better than anyone how that’s unfair, yes?”

“Hm…I suppose you do have a point, малышка.”

Needless to say, that was the moment Yelena could pinpoint when everything started to come undone. If there’s one thing about a secret, the more people who knew, the less control one had over it.

“Okay, who the hell tracked mud through the briefing room?” Bucky pressed, gesturing at the smeared footprints as soon as Yelena walked in for their usual one-to-one meeting once a week with Mel to report back to Valentina.

“Who else do those boot sizes look like?” Yelena threw back, even though the dried evidence was caked at the very bottom of her boots at the moment. It wasn’t her fault that she was pacing here after coming back from upstate New York for a mission to clear her mind.

“Who left all these take-out cartons here?” Bucky asked, looking over at Alexei, who shrugged.

“Must be Ava. She was very hungry, ordered a whole bunch of food, and said she would clean it later,” he answered right before burping and shoving cheese-ball into his mouth while flicking through the channels.

“Walker—”

He didn’t even let him finish before swatting him away, his eyes completely trained on the Super Bowl. “I know what you’re going to ask, and I should save you the trouble and tell you it’s Ava.”

“Yel—”

She ran past him hand in hand with Bob, who cast Bucky an apologetic look. 

“Ava!”

Bucky just groaned, rubbing his temple in dismay before storming off.

James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes was in a damn pinch.

He’s about to celebrate his hundred and tenth birthday soon, and it felt like he was about to turn two hundred instead with how much shit he had to wrangle as reluctant team dad to this circus of misfits.

For one, something was definitely going on with the team.  

Secondly, he really, really needed that USB for his briefing with members of the United States Congress in a few days. As he last heard, Ava had borrowed it for her own report. Usually, that wouldn’t have been a problem because it would have been returned the very next morning, as if nothing were missing.

Yet it’s been three days now.

How was he supposed to ask her without it sounding so accusatory?

Because if anyone borrowed anything, one was supposed to log it in files, so there’s a neat trail to ensure Valentina wouldn’t use it to her advantage against them, like twisting “missing equipment” into leverage for her next shady deal or blackmail scheme.

There were many passes the former Congressman had given to Ava because she had been going through a lot recently. Even though she told the team not to stress or worry, it was in his nature to check on Ava.

As ingrained in his being as breathing itself from the moment that she came crawling out of Alexei’s 1995 Lincoln Town Car limousine. For the first time since learning to live again, Bucky was learning to want.

Not just living to survive and not for redemption, but for the pull of something warmer:

Something that only she could bring, and that was dreaming with his eyes open.

He had long abandoned his thought of ever being a dreamer.

Not after decades of programming, of missions blending into nightmares, of waking up to a world that moved on without him, of his best friend taking all the stupid with him. But Ava—flickering, fragile, fierce—cracked that shell wide open.

And he’s learning to want more and more every day as he fell for the woman who never abandons anyone because he had learned she never was abandoned.

The very woman who wanted to charge into the Void after Yelena stepped into it, even when survival wasn't promised. The same woman who, even after they all got their asses handed to them, still remembered to grab his prosthetic arm.

Because that’s who Ava Starr was.

A bright star to his miserable existence, and she was exquisite as she was stubborn.

Case in point, he was in a damn pickle.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, leaning back as his insertion point blinked almost mockingly at him. Tipping his head back, he focused on the light pulses of the AI system built into the walls, as if they held answers to the chaos swirling in his chest.

Rain pattered relentlessly outside.

He exhaled slowly and picked up the tablet next to him.

“Is Ava back from her mission yet?” he asked, even though he knew the answer.

That's why he was camped out here in the common room instead of his quarters while his hand drummed an impatient rhythm against his thighs. Every few minutes, his gaze flicked to the elevator doors across the room, hoping for the large Avenger’s logo to spin open and promise her safe return.

Instead, rain lashed the floor-to-ceiling windows, thunder growling low like his own frustration.

“Negative,” the AI reported.

He pressed his lips into a thin line and told himself he needed to relax.

He was getting worked up for nothing.

He knew it was a relatively safe mission by Avengers standards—a low-risk op to save pedestrians from being trapped under New York’s messy subway tunnel, which really needed an upgrade in recent years.

Yet…it shouldn’t take this long, right?

Bucky forced his shoulders down and decided to switch gears in the millions of other things he had to do as co-leader to Yelena. As she usually submitted mission reports that read like casual texts—blunt, full of sarcasm, and missing half the required details—he often had to reread and retype them to meet Val's standards.

He pulled up her latest file on the laptop, squinting at lines like:

“Chased a bad guy. Zapped him. Done. No casualties except his dignity.”

No timestamps. No asset logs. No risk assessment.

Bucky sighed, running his hand to his face and scrubbing at it before he started editing, inserting precise coordinates and timelines from memory during their weekly meeting that he knew she’d rather be anywhere else.

Throwing himself into his report, he hadn’t noticed how much time even passed—

Until the logo leading into the room started to spin, and he had to work on controlling his heart rate. Bucky had actually come up with a plan, sort of, while he had been working. He was going to ask Ava for a full rundown after she showered because she wouldn’t humor anyone until she was clean, dry, and had downed at least one cup of hot tea.

Then, ask her if she’s hungry and perhaps he could order something for them…

And the team.

Afterwards, he’d casually bring up the missing USB and maybe—

Ava came stumbling in, clutching her left arm tightly while water dripped from her suit, flicking faintly at the edges before solidifying with a sharp exhale.  Bucky shot out of his seat, the stool screeching back as the tablet nearly tumbled from his lap.

“Ava, what happened?”

His heart went wild against his ribs; it wasn’t supposed to look like this with her stumbling in, soaked, clutching her arm like she was holding it together by sheer will. It was supposed to be a simple evacuation.

Ava’s lips quirked somewhere between pain and sarcasm.

“What does it bloody look like? I got stabbed by someone, that’s what happened.”

Bucky blinked, jaw tightening. “What?”

“Turns out it wasn’t a train malfunction,” she said, breath shuddering as she started peeling herself out of her drenched gloves. “Two thugs pulled the emergency handle to mug a few poor souls with nowhere to run.”

He swore under his breath. “We need to get you to med-bay. Now.”

Ava shook her head, already staggering toward the hallway. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” he countered, his voice a low rumble.

“I am. It’s just a stab wound. I can stitch myself up and—what the hell are you doing?!”

She yelped when Bucky suddenly closed the distance between them, his metal arm wrapped around her waist, the other hooking under her knees in one decisive motion. Before she could react, she was airborne, and he was carrying her as though she weighed nothing at all. This was certainly not how Bucky imagined this scene in his head, but then again, when have things ever gone his way?

“We’re going to the med-bay.”

“Bucky, put me down,” she hissed, twisting in his hold to the best of his abilities. “I can walk!”

No, Bucky doesn’t think she could without fainting.

“If you try to phase out of my arms or try to run,” he said, tone sharp with a threat that didn’t quite hide the shake in his chest, “I will personally bench you for two months and put you on computer duties with Bob.”

Ava gaped at him, blinking through damp lashes.

“What?!” she exclaimed while he carried her down the hall, half flaring, half stunned.

“Yes. So stay still. You look like you’re about to bleed out.”

Her scoff came out breathless.

“Wow. Yelena’s right, you really are dramatic,” she grumbled.

Still, she didn’t fight him.

Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe—just maybe—it was because underneath the sarcasm was the quiet relief of being carried somewhere safe. Neither of them said another word as he carried her in.

The med bay lights hummed softly when he shouldered through the door. He set her down gently on the cot, every movement unnervingly careful as if she might break apart if he wasn’t cautious enough.

The scent of antiseptic mixed with the metallic tang of rainwater still clung to her hair.

“Take off your suit,” he said quietly while he walked over to grab a set of clothes for her.

Ava arched a brow, despite the pallor creeping into her cheeks.

“You haven’t bought me dinner yet.”

He gave her a look that was somewhere between exasperated and pleading. “Please.”

A beat, and the tension softened just slightly.

“Okay, jeez. You don’t have to look at me like I’m dying,” she muttered, fingers moving to unseal the suit at her side while he turned to give her some privacy. The faint hiss that followed made his stomach knot tighter.

Fuck.

Fuck, he should have been there.

He should have known that people in New York City were fucking insane.

That even though he knew Ava was fully capable of taking care of herself, and this was their job, it didn’t mean he didn’t still feel that twist in his chest every time she came back with blood on her hands that was either hers or someone else’s.

When the last layer slipped free, she dressed herself in a simple white long t-shirt that reached to her knees, then lay down, her skin pale under the sharp white lights. The wound along her upper arm was deep, ugly, and glistening red around the edges.

“Ava,” he mumbled.

She angled herself away, mumbling, “It’s not that bad, really.”

He crouched beside her, his metal fingers carefully hovering over the injury before his human hand reached for gauze.

“Yeah, tell that to the blood on the floor,” he mumbled, gently dabbing, and Ava’s nose flared, looking away so he couldn’t see her wincing. “Jesus, Ava, you call this fine? It’s going to need at least a couple of stitches.”

She eyed him, defiant even as her arm trembled.

“I’ve had worse.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” he said, unscrewing the antiseptic. “You keep saying that like it’s a medal.”

“It kind of is when it comes to me,” she shot back, voice strained but playful. The muscle in her arm jumped when he dabbed the wound clean. “Ow, okay—maybe medal with spikes attached.”

He almost smiled. Almost.

“That’s what you get for not calling in backup.”

“I didn’t need backup for two thugs, Bucky,” she huffed, rolling her eyes so adorably.

“Clearly,” he said, tone dipping low enough to make her glance up. His hands were careful, precise—far gentler than his voice—bandaging her up with the practiced ease of someone who’d done this far too many times.

For a beat, the only sound was the hum of equipment and rain murmuring against glass.

Then Ava sighed, eyes darting toward him. It softened ever so slightly, but Bucky didn’t dare to let himself believe so while he worked on stitching her wound. “You know, you should relax before those frown lines take permanent residence. It’s not a good look on you.”

He huffed, shaking his head.

“I stopped caring about my looks around the time flappers were fashionable.”

“Pity,” she murmured, smirking faintly. “You’d look cute in suspenders, I think.”

That startled a rough chuckle from Bucky—short, unrestrained, and weary all at once.

“You never shut up, do you?”

“Not if it keeps you from brooding yourself into an early grave,” she quipped. He pressed the last strip of tape down and met her gaze, and for just a second she saw the ghost of a smile in his eyes. “You done patching me up, doctor Barnes?”

“Yeah, you’re good for now,” he maintained. Then, after a pause, the edge of worry crept back into his tone. “Still…you should have called for help. You know that you could depend on us, right?”

You don’t have to shoulder all these burdens by yourself.

I know you’ve been feeling under the weather, but you could come to us—come to me.

“Yeah, well,” she grumbled, flexing her arm to test how tight he wrapped it before murmuring, “It’s hard to do when you’ve been dealing with being alone practically your entire life. I expected you to know that best.”

He did.

He still does, but he’s trying.

Trying to rely on his teammates more, trying to remind himself that isolation isn’t survival anymore. That it’s okay to lean in and ask for help from others around you—and no one understood it better than his teammates, who were all alone at one point—even if it feels unnatural.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, finishing the wrap with a gentleness that didn’t match the hardened lines of his hands while his gaze trailed down to his Vibranium arm. “I guess that’s something we’ve both been trying to unlearn.”

Ava looked up at him, the faintest crease forming between her brows.

For once, she didn’t have a quick remark lined up.

Just silence and the subtle shift of air between them.

“If you ask me, you’ve gotten better at it,” she said after a beat, her tone softer this time, unguarded in a way that made him hesitate. “The relying part, I mean.”

Bucky huffed a dry laugh, shaking his head as he placed the last of the supplies back.

“Only because you all don’t give me much of a choice.”

“Exactly,” she said, her smirk returning, though her eyes lingered on his face longer than usual. “We make it impossible for you to crawl back into your cave of self-loathing.”

He shot her a sidelong look. “That’s what you think I do all day?”

“I mean…you do brood attractively, I can definitely see the appeal of why every woman seems to be entirely obsessed with you,” she teased, a small grin tugging at her lips. “Might as well make it an aesthetic.”

“You’re lucky I’m the one holding the antiseptic,” he deadpanned.

That earned a quiet laugh from her, and something in his chest eased.

For the first time in hours, maybe days, the knot inside him loosened. He couldn’t help studying her more carefully now that the bleeding had slowed. She looked exhausted, stray strands of wet hair clinging to her temple, chest still rising unevenly from the adrenaline crash.

How was it possible for someone to still look so breathlessly gorgeous without trying?

“You’re staring,” she hummed, tilting her head to the side and jolting him back from his ever-wondering mind that always seemed lost whenever he was near her. “Do I have blood on my face? If so, I should point out that it’s not my blood.”

“No,” he chuckled and couldn’t help reaching to tuck a strand of hair back gently. Her breath hitched, and the pattering of rain outside seemed to fade while they stared at one another. “No blood. You’re good.”

His hand lingered for half a second too long before he pulled it back, fingers curling into a fist at his side as if to trap the impulse there. She didn’t move or try to tease him as to what happened, just watched him with that steady, unreadable gaze that made his chest feel too tight.

“You do that a lot,” she murmured after a moment.

“Do what?”

“Look at me like you’re memorizing something.”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, a faint, humorless sound. “Maybe I am.”

Ava blinked, the smile faltering just slightly, and it’s enough to let the air thicken around them.

“That’s dangerous, Barnes. I make a terrible memory.”

“You don’t, God, not even close,” he said softly.

“Hm.”

She looked away first, eyes darting to the rain tracing silver lines down the med-bay window. The moment stretched and broke like a thread drawn too tight. Both of them were dancing the topic, too scared to name what it was, too scared to see what might change if they did.

It wasn’t the right time—or maybe it never would be.

“Next time, Ava, you call it in. That’s not a suggestion,” he finally remarked, changing the topic.

“Alright, alright,” she huffed. “Next time. Is there anything else you need before I head back?”

Usually, he would’ve said no.

Told her to stay, to rest, to keep that arm still before she tore her stitches. But maybe it was because he wasn’t ready to leave yet. Maybe it was because the idea of walking out that door while she was still blinking sleepily in the fluorescent glow made something in his chest rebel.

So instead, he swallowed down that instinct and said the first thing that came to mind.

“Actually,” he started carefully, adjusting the roll of bandage back into the med-kit to busy his hands, “Do you mind if I get that USB back whenever you have the chance? I need it for my report to Val.”

Ava blinked, brows knitting as though she wasn’t sure if she’d heard him right. “What USB?”

Bucky straightened, deadpan but patient.

“USB 5-11-A, the one that had the mission reports from three weeks ago.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I know what you’re talking about, but why are you asking me for it?”

He frowned, confused now that she wasn’t immediately handing it over.

“Because… you took it?”

Ava tilted her head, suspicion sparking to life. “What gave you the idea that I did?”

“Because—”

He didn’t even get the rest out.

A sharp crash split the air from somewhere down the hall. Bucky was on his feet in an instant, instincts kicking in before thought could. His pulse jumped, but the AI didn’t sound any alarms, and there was no alert lighting up the walls.

Which meant it must be one of their rowdy teammates.

He turned back to Ava. Her hair was still damp, cheeks pale beneath the soft white lights, but her eyes had gone alert, sharp and ready to move, even though she could still barely lift her left arm without reopening the stitches.

“Stay here,” he ordered quietly.

“I’m fi—"

“Ava.” His tone cut through, even and unyielding. “Rest here. I’ll be back after checking.”

She exhaled through her nose, clearly not thrilled about it, but didn’t argue. Her eyes followed him to the doorway as he walked off and stepped into the corridor. The lights were dimmed for night mode, casting everything in a soft amber that made the shadows seem longer than they were.

Somewhere ahead, voices were rising that were panicky, overlapping, familiar.

Yeah. Definitely not an intruder.

Bucky wasn’t sure if he would rather have a damn intruder than them.

As he neared the common room, he heard Alexei’s booming baritone first, then Yelena’s clipped Russian swear words layered over Walker’s annoyed drawl. Bucky’s shoulders tensed on instinct. Nothing good ever came out of that particular combination.

He pushed the doors open, jaw already tight.

The scene hit him all at once.

Alexei stood near the couch, hands raised in overly dramatic surrender. At the same time, Yelena glared daggers at John Walker, who was half-crouched near the coffee table, looking guilty and irritated in equal measure.

And on the floor lay Bucky’s laptop.

The screen was completely detached from the keyboard, a jagged crack spiderwebbing across the display. Plastic and metal bits were scattered like shrapnel, the power light still flickering weakly as if even the machine was in denial.

Bucky stopped dead in the doorway.

“What,” Bucky said slowly, voice shockingly calm, “The hell happened to my laptop?”

Yelena, Alexei, and Walker all glanced at each other like kids caught in the kitchen at three in the morning, but then again, in Bucky’s eyes, that’s more or less what they were. Yelena lifted her hands first. “It wasn’t me.”

Alexei pointed at himself, offended. “It is not me either.”

Walker straightened, crossing his arms like that would help. “Yeah, it wasn’t us.”

Bucky stared at them slowly and silently, taking each one of them in.

He could hear the missing pieces click together in his head as he tilted his head to the side.

“Don’t tell me,” he said dryly. “Let me guess. It’s Ava?”

All three of them nodded in unison.

His tongue rolled over his teeth as he inhaled through his nose, forcing a calm smile that was anything but reassuring. To think the entire time, they’d been pinning their screw-up on Ava: the one person who’d been bleeding out in med-bay not ten minutes ago.

“Okay,” he said pleasantly. “Let’s ask her.”

Yelena’s eyes widened.

“No. D–didn’t she just come back from a mission?”

“Right,” Walker added quickly, hands coming up. “She should probably rest, you know?”

Alexei bobbed his head vigorously.

“Yes! Not good to disturb a woman while she is asleep. It’s very bad luck. Very bad.”

Bucky just looked at them, unimpressed.

“Funny,” he said, already turning toward the door. “I don’t believe in luck.”

They scrambled after him.

The more they tried to block his path, the more it just confirmed what he already knew.

By the time they reached the med-bay, Bucky’s patience was wearing thin, but his expression had smoothed over into that deceptively calm mask. The med-bay doors slid open with a soft hiss.

Ava was still on the cot where he had left her, now slightly reclined, with her bandaged arm propped on a folded pillow. She blinked at the sudden influx of bodies, eyes flicking from Bucky to the trio behind him.

“What’s going on?” she asked, brows pulling together. Bucky crossed his arms over his chest, metal fingers tapping once against his bicep. He didn’t look at her right away; instead, he kept his gaze on the three behind him.

“Ava,” he said evenly, “Did you break my laptop just now?”

She stared at him, then at the others, then back at him.

Blinked twice, baffled.

“No?”

The denial was so immediate and so honestly confused that his jaw clenched as he finally turned fully toward the trio.

“Okay,” he said, voice dropping into that calm, deadly register that made missions go quiet. “Do you all want to confess now, or tomorrow when I call you up to have a very long, very thorough meeting?”

Walker immediately pointed at Yelena. “It was her.”

Yelena instantly stabbed a finger at Walker. “It was him.”

At the same time, Alexei pointed squarely at Walker. “Is him.”

Bucky’s eye twitched.

He closed his eyes for half a second, inhaled, and exhaled slowly through his nose.

Ava watched the chaos unfold, then looked down at her bandaged arm, then back at him.

“So,” she said dryly, “I’m guessing this isn’t about the USB anymore…?”

“No,” he answered equally as dryly, staring at each one of them who refused to meet his eyes. “It’s about this circus thinking they could frame you for their mess and probably had been doing that the past couple of weeks.”

Walker sputtered. “Frame? Well, let’s not put it like—”

Yelena elbowed him hard in the ribs. “Shut up, Walker.”

Alexei, sensing the sinking ship, tried for damage control. “Bucky, this is all a misunderstanding!”

“I don’t care,” he said finally, voice low and final. “As for your punishment? Alexei, you’re on dish duty for the next month. Walker, you’re running perimeter checks at 0500 tomorrow. And Yelena…” He paused, eyes narrowing. “You’re calling Valentina to explain why her congressional briefing might be delayed.”

Yelena’s mouth hung open. “What?! That’s not—”

“Out.”

Groaning, they shuffled toward the door like scolded dogs, muttering curses in different languages. After a while, silence settled, broken only by the steady drum of rain against the window.

Ava arched a brow at him, fighting a smirk despite the exhaustion etching lines under her eyes.

“Team Dad strikes again. You enjoy that a little too much.”

He huffed, rubbing the back of his neck as the tension bled from his shoulders.

“Someone’s gotta keep this place from burning down.” Finally, he dragged a stool over, dropping onto it with a sigh. His gaze landed on her bandaged arm, then her face—searching, always searching. “You holding up?”

She flexed her fingers experimentally, wincing just slightly.

“Better than your laptop.”

That pulled a reluctant chuckle from him—rough and real.

“Yeah, that’s fair.”

“Do I want to know what happened?”

“I’ll explain it in the morning,” he settled with. “You need to sleep.”

“Are you going to keep me company while I sleep?” she asked, not bothering to hide her yawn.

“Mm, have to make sure they don’t try coaxing you into taking more of their screw-ups,” he maintained. “And before you ask, yes, that’s doctor’s orders. Can’t have my best patient getting dragged into their chaos.”

Ava rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth curved upward despite herself.

“Best patient, huh? Careful, Barnes, or I’ll start thinking you’ve gone soft.”

“Only for you,” he murmured, the words slipping out quieter than he intended, hanging in the air between them like smoke. Her breath caught just for a heartbeat, but she covered it with another yawn, shifting on the cot to make room.

“Well, if you’re volunteering… pull up a chair. Or that stool. Whatever works.”

Bucky hesitated, glancing at the stool he’d already dragged over. He knew it was definitely going to give him backpain in the morning, but he couldn’t find himself to care. Not right now, when she was looking at him like that.

He sat down. “Get some sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

“Bossy,” she mumbled, eyes already fluttering shut.

“Stubborn,” he countered softly, settling in, and before long, both of them fell asleep.

A few days had passed, and it must be pointed out that it’s the quietest it ever been.

Everyone cleaned up their mess without being told, everyone submitted mission reports with actual timestamps, and dishes actually made it into the dishwasher instead of stacking up like modern art on the counter.

Walker even ran his perimeter checks without a single complaint; Alexei scrubbed pots as if his life depended on it, and Yelena had made an effort in doing her reports. Bucky’s wrath had worked some magic, turning the compound from a circus into something resembling a functional team.

However, it didn’t mean they’re absolutely miserable.

Yelena stepped out of the elevator after she met with Valentina, and Bob immediately looked up, giving her a small wave from his beanbag chair. She instantly went over and threw herself down next to him, moaning like a dying whale as he laughed.

“Rough morning?” he asked, placing a kiss on her forehead.

“The worst,” she agreed. “After this, I have to complete another seminar Bucky had created on why ‘team accountability matters,’ which is going to be two hours long. Two hours of boring PowerPoint with a test at the end!”

Bob winced in sympathy, fingers threading gently through her hair.

“He’s still upset about what happened, huh?”

“Very upset,” she agreed. “I knew that I shouldn’t have dragged it on.”

Bob chuckled, the sound warm and rumbling against her ear that was a gentle nudge rather than judgment. “Well, now you know.”

It wasn’t quite an I told you so, but close enough.

Bob had never outright told them to stop pinning messes on Ava, but he’d nudged with subtle comments during their pranks and a raised brow when the blame game started. Yelena elbowed him lightly now, but there was no real heat in it.

“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled, moping deeper into his chest.

The elevator dinged again, and then Walker stumbled in, smelling and looking like he’d wrestled a chemical spill and lost. He groaned, collapsing onto the nearest couch. “Fuck. I just cleaned the entire gym. I think I’m gonna die from chemical fumes.”

Alexei lumbered in right behind him, face red and glistening with sweat, dropping onto the floor like a felled bear. He sprawled out, chest heaving. “He doesn’t ever want to clean ever again. Bucky is a monster.”

Yelena peeked up from under her arm, smirking at the collective misery.

“Welcome to punishment hell.”

Bob just shook his head, amusement crinkling his eyes. The common room had never looked so spotless now that he’s looking at it. Then the air shimmered faintly in the corner by the windows.

Ava phased in without a sound, molecules flickering like static before solidifying into her full form. She was in workout gear, fresh-faced despite the bandaged arm still strapped in a sling, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail.

“Wow,” she drawled, hands on her hips. “What happened to you lot?”

“What do you think?” Yelena threw back while Ava whistled, walking over to where the newest Avengers bust that Mel delivered this morning was placed at the center of the common room until the installation could be made later this afternoon.

“Is this one of the things you blamed me for breaking?”

“We didn't blame per se," Walker grumbled. “Just...redirected accountability.”

Ava snorted, circling the shiny new Avenger bust.

They all watched her, a mix of wariness and morbid curiosity rippling through the room. Walker sat up straighter on the couch. Alexei lifted his head from the floor. Yelena peeked fully from Bob’s chest, one brow arched. Even Bob leaned forward, sensing chaos about to unfold.

Ava hummed thoughtfully, tapping her chin with her good hand as she orbited the statue like a shark. Her bandaged arm hung loose in its sling, but her eyes gleamed with pure, unfiltered mischief.

Walker swallowed hard.

“Ava. Don’t.”

She paused right in front of it, head tilted, that dangerous smile blooming slow and sweet. Then she met their eyes—one by one, dragging out the tension like a lit fuse.

“Oops,” she said simply.

Her good hand shot out, quick and precise. The bust toppled with a wobble, hit the floor, and exploded—white alloy shattering into a million glittering pieces like someone had dropped a grenade. Shards skittered across the spotless tiles, catching sunlight in a chaotic sparkle.

Silence.

Absolute, dumbfounded silence.

Every mouth in the room hung open. Walker’s eyes bulged so wide that they were about to pop out of his head. Alexei gaped like a landed fish. Yelena’s smirk died mid-formation. Bob just blinked, one hand frozen around Yelena’s waist.

Ava dusted her hands together, utterly unrepentant, then flashed them a grin sharp enough to cut glass.

“There,” she said cheerfully. “Now it’s official. Blame me for this one.”

Yelena recovered first. “You’re insane!”

Walker groaned, already burying his face in his hands.

“Bucky’s gonna kill us. All of us.”

Ava shrugged. “Worth it, that’s what you all get.”

Suddenly, the elevator dinged, and in that moment, Ava grinned wickedly before phasing out of the room entirely with molecules dissolving into a shimmer that left only the faint crackle of static in her wake.

Bucky stepped out, towel slung over his shoulder, fresh from his shower and looking annoyingly composed amid the team’s collective misery. His gaze swept the room automatically over the spotless counters and slumped figures, then locked onto the glittering debris field at the center. The shattered Avenger bust lay in ruins.

He froze mid-step. Slowly, his eyes lifted to the four of them: Walker half-buried in the couch, Alexei sprawled on the floor, Yelena propped against Bob, all frozen in varying degrees of guilt and horror.

“What the fuck happened?”

They couldn’t all help but wither away inside.

This was what they got for trying to scapegoat an actual living ghost.