While Joaquin had always been Sam’s right-hand man, you were Bucky’s. It was an unspoken dynamic, a natural division of roles that never really needed discussion. And, as usual, when Sam and Bucky took off on a mission—this time to track down the Flag Smashers—you and Joaquin were left behind to gather intel from headquarters.

The dim glow of multiple computer screens bathed the room in a cool, bluish hue, flickering every so often as new lines of data scrolled across the monitors. You were seated at one of the desks, brows furrowed in concentration as you combed through files, decrypting messages and cross-referencing reports. Joaquin, however, had taken a decidedly different approach to his time in the office.

Leaning back in his chair, he idly spun in slow, lazy rotations, his legs sprawled out in front of him. A worn-out pencil balanced precariously across his lips as he tilted his head back slightly, challenging gravity to take it from him. He remained like that for a good while, the room filled only with the soft hum of electronics and the occasional creak of his chair. When the pencil finally wobbled and fell, he caught it with a swift flick of his fingers, spinning it absentmindedly before turning his attention to you.

“They always leave us behind, huh?"

There was no bitterness in his voice, just casual observation—maybe even a hint of amusement. This wasn’t a complaint. If anything, it was just the way things always went.