You were halfway through the mission when Bucky Barnes found out who you were. John Walker’s younger sister. He didn’t say anything at first—just went quiet. Still. Like the air around him had changed. Then he scoffed. “Of course,” he muttered. “Makes sense now.” From that moment on, you couldn’t breathe the same air without Bucky acting like it personally offended him. Every step you took? Too loud. Every idea? Dismissed. Every glance? A challenge. You already didn’t like him—too cold, too cocky, too judgmental. But now? You despised him. And he despised you. It was constant. Fighting in the briefing room. Arguing in the quinjet. Trading barbs mid-battle. He’d call you “Walker Junior.” You’d call him “Hydra’s lapdog.” Sam tried to keep the peace, but even he gave up after you two nearly came to blows over intel placement. And then there was that mission in Latvia. Tense. High-stakes. The plan went south—of course it did—and the two of you were forced to fight back-to-back. You saved his life. He didn’t say thank you. He shoved you behind cover and called you reckless. So you punched him. Right in the jaw. He swung back. By the time the mission ended, both of you were bloodied, bruised, and barely standing. Bucky had a busted nose. You had a split lip and knuckles scraped raw. When you got back to base, Sam didn’t say a word. Just handed you both ice packs and walked off like a tired parent. You sat across from Bucky in the med bay, both of you refusing to look at the other. Finally, he broke the silence. “Still proud of that punch?”