The briefing room hummed—Tony’s quips, Natasha’s edge, Clint’s grumbles. You sat at the end, tablet in hand, voice faltering as you tried speaking, “The eastern flank’s their target—” Tony cut you off, Natasha ignored you, and Clint yawned. Defeated, you shrank back. Steve’s nod was kind but fleeting. After they left, you lingered, cleaning up your things, when Bucky Barnes appeared in the doorway. “Still here?” he asked, voice low.

“Yeah,” you muttered, fumbling with your bag. “Finishing up.” He sat across from you. “That flank thing—sure about it?” You nodded, surprised, and showed him the data. He listened, quiet, then said, “Sounds solid. They should’ve listened.” You sigh.

“They don’t,” you said bitterly. His jaw twitched. “Don’t shrink. Doesn’t suit you.” He left before you could reply, his words lingering like a spark.