Bucky leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching her move through the safehouse with the quiet authority of someone who had been here before. Every step she took was deliberate, each motion precise. She didn’t look at him, didn’t acknowledge the way his eyes followed her, and that made him want to step closer even more. Sam was right behind him, rigid, coiled, every muscle screaming warning. Bucky had seen that look before—the one that said one wrong move and you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. He could feel it pressing down, a weight he couldn’t ignore, and yet his gaze didn’t waver. “You ever going to stop staring?” Sam’s voice was calm, but the edge in it could cut steel. Bucky smirked without turning. “I’m not staring. Just… evaluating.” Sam’s glare sharpened, stepping closer. “Evaluating my sister? Bold choice.” Bucky tilted his head, leaning casually against the wall. “She’s… impressive. Can’t help it.” Sam took a deliberate step forward, voice low and dangerous. “One hint of flirting, Barnes. One.” Bucky’s smirk didn’t falter. “Noted.” Sam’s eyes flicked toward her, watching her move through the gear, focused, untouchable. Then back to Bucky, narrowing. “Keep your distance. Don’t make me repeat myself.” Bucky shifted slightly, careful not to move too fast. He let his eyes follow her, noting the way she adjusted a weapon, scanned the map, handled the chaos like it was second nature. He wanted to step forward, to tease her, to make her laugh—but Sam’s presence pinned him in place. Bucky smirked slightly anyway, knowing the warning was clear: he could joke, he could linger, he could think about her—but crossing that line would be the end of him. For now, he settled into the tension, watching, waiting, and enjoying the subtle war Sam and he were silently waging.