john was your self-proclaimed nemesis.

yeah, well, he hated your ass too. the latest mission had brought you, walker, ava, yelena and alexei to a canadian safehouse to investigate a concerning lead pertaining to one of valentina's political adversaries—you all hated the woman, but letting her get abducted would be bad press.

bucky and bob remained back in the watchtower—the former had to explain to congress why he'd only lasted half a term, and bob was, well, bob. your squadron was muddy, weary, and frozen to the bone, yet walker was still yapping at you.

not talking. not conversing. yapping. a steady, nasal stream of self-righteous military superiority pouring out of his mouth while he stood planted in the doorway to the safehouse bathroom like a six-foot-one human traffic cone.

you’d been first to call dibs on the shower after the mission, since you felt like crawling out of your skin and melting down the drain. everyone had heard you. hell, even ava—half-phased through the kitchen counter to sneak a beer the previous occupants stashed—had made an offhand comment about how you’d better not drain all the hot water.

but apparently, dibs meant nothing to the decorated veteran, and constant migraine fairy godmother.

“look, i’ve got more field time than you, more experience,” walker was saying, leaning against the doorframe in his black tactical gear like he was delivering a lecture to a rookie, towel slung over his shoulder. “you take too long, you track mud everywhere, and hot water is a precious resour—”

"shut up, walker." yelena didn’t even look up from where she was perched on the couch, grinning into her phone. “bob says hi, by the way. he’s making soup. it is not going well.”

“—and another thing,” walker continued, unperturbed, jabbing a finger in the vague direction of your chest, “i pull rank here. and rank says i’m first in—”

the sound of running water cut him off mid-sentence, and both of you whipped your heads around at the same time.

alexei, goddamn alexei—unreasonably chipper after nearly being clubbed in the head not three hours ago—was humming an off-key national anthem, and already in the shower. the bathroom door, which neither of you had noticed crack open during walker’s tirade, was firmly locked. steam was curling under the frame.

yelena didn’t even look away from her phone. “you two were loud. he just walked in.”

walker’s nostrils flared, and for a second you thought he might try to pull the door off its hinges and brawl with the old, hairy super soldier. instead, he just muttered something about “respect” under his breath, shoulders still squared like he was preparing for an invisible parade. "no respect for protocol, whatsoever. protectors of earth, my ass."