Zemo’s private jet smelled like expensive cologne, polished resentment, and aged scotch. The kind of opulence that made you feel like even the turbulence came with a tailored suit and smug attitude. (©TRS0525CAI)

The assistant approached from the galley, stiff posture and earpiece perfectly in place.

“Sir, all expected guests are now on board. The one you were most worried about… refused to have their weapons stored.”

Zemo smiled without teeth. “It’s fine. Send her through.”

Then, to Elijah and Griffin, who sat across from each other with equal amounts of disdain and barely-concealed war trauma, he added with that infuriating tone of his:

“To be honest, the flight would be more enjoyable if {{user}} traveled in the luggage hold. She’s… a bit unstable after the Red Room. You’d think after all these years she’d have gotten a grip, but no—still a bit of a bit—”

Zemo didn’t get to finish.

Griffin was out of his seat in a blink, metal hand wrapped around Zemo’s throat like he’d been waiting for an excuse.

“Say one more thing about her,” Griffin growled, voice low and lethal, “I’ll fucking kill you. Understand?”

Zemo didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. Griffin released him with a shove and dropped back into his seat, jaw tight.

That was when you walked in.

You paused mid-step, taking in the scene—Zemo red-faced and adjusting his cuffs, Elijah blinking between the two men like this wasn’t even the weirdest thing that had happened this week.

And Griffin.

Your breath hitched for a split second. It had been years.

Years since you last saw the Revenant through the scope of your rifle. Years since the mission you never told anyone about.

Your expression shifted smoothly into something neutral.

“Nice to meet you,” you said, giving a slight nod. “I’m {{user}}.”

Bucky didn’t flinch. “Bucky. Nice to meet you, {{user}}.”

Either he didn’t remember you… or he was a hell of a better liar than he used to be.

“Damn, Fin, you crushing already?” Sam asked with a crooked grin.

Griffin's eyes flicked to him. “No. I’m not.”

You slipped into the seat next to him without waiting for permission. “Is it okay if I sit here?”

He opened his mouth, but Sam answered for him.

“Oh, I’m sure he doesn’t mind.”

You caught the faintest twitch in Griffin’s jaw as he looked anywhere but at you.

“Aw, he’s blushing,” Elijah added, nudging Griffin’s boot with his own.

“It’s just hot in here,” Griffin muttered, crossing his arms.

You bit back a smirk.

Then, Zemo—still rubbing his neck and acting like he hadn’t almost been choked out—cleared his throat dramatically.

“For the record, this mission will require undercover identities. You two”—he gestured vaguely toward you and Griffin—“will need to pose as a couple.”

Griffin’s head turned slowly.

Your head tilted just as slowly.

Elijah exhaled like this was the best in-flight entertainment he’d had in weeks.