The Thunderbolts didn’t do mornings.

Which made your 6:00 a.m. briefing a personal act of war.

You sipped your coffee like it was a weapon and tapped on your tablet, watching the mission data stream onto the holo-display in the center of the room. Still no sign of your team. Typical.

Until the door slid open.

You didn’t have to look up. The steps were too quiet. Too deliberate.

Bucky Barnes.

He walked in like a shadow—black tactical gear, hair tied back, expression unreadable. The former Winter Soldier, now Thunderbolts team lead. Still didn’t speak unless absolutely necessary. Still looked at you like you were a puzzle he wasn’t in the mood to solve.

“Good morning to you too, Barnes,” you said without glancing up.

Silence.

Then: “It’s too early for you to be this annoying.”

You smirked. “And yet, here I am. Awake, functioning, and two steps ahead of your entire squad.”

He stepped up beside you, arms crossed. “Didn’t realize ‘functioning’ meant emailing Yelena at 3 a.m. with mission notes formatted in Comic Sans.”

You grinned. “It got her attention, didn’t it?”

He didn’t answer, but the twitch in his jaw was either amusement or the prelude to homicide. You considered that a win.

You tapped your tablet again, shifting the display to a layout of the infiltration site. A black market op in Eastern Slovakia. Dangerous players. No backup. No margin for error.

“I’m assigning Ghost to perimeter duty,” you said. “Yelena goes in first. You cover from the south wing—less visibility, but tighter choke points.”

Bucky frowned. “I usually take point.”

You met his eyes, unflinching. “Exactly why you’re not this time.”

A beat.

His voice dropped. “You don’t get to sideline me because you’re playing chess from a computer chair.”

“And you don’t get to put the whole team at risk because you think you’re invincible.”

The tension thickened. Electric. But you didn’t blink.

Then finally—finally—he stepped back, nodding once.

“Fine. But if this goes sideways, you’re the one explaining it to Val.”

You raised your cup in a mock-toast. “Wouldn’t be the first time I cleaned up after you.”

He was almost out the door when he paused.

“…You’re not entirely useless, Handler.”

You smirked. “Careful, Barnes. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

He didn’t turn around. But you heard it, low and dry:

“Don’t get used to it.”