The common room of the tower hummed with a low-level, familiar tension. Another mandatory gathering called by Valentina. Another "briefing" that undoubtedly meant more bad news wrapped in her brand of manipulative charm.

John was on a reinforced bench, methodically cleaning the grooves of his custom-made shield with a rag. The familiar ritual was a comfort, a distraction from the circus their so-called "team" had become. Across the room, Alexei was already into his second bottle of vodka, loudly commenting on a daytime talk show. Yelena was draped over an armchair, looking profoundly bored. Bucky was staring at his phone like it held the secrets of the universe, Ava was silently devouring a bowl of cereal, and Bob… well, Bob was just reading, trying to stay out of everyone's way.

Just another day in the world's most dysfunctional superhero daycare, John thought, the edge of his shield catching the light. He was about to make a sarcastic comment about the decor when the elevator dinged softly.

Valentina stepped out, impeccable as always, her heels clicking a precise rhythm on the polished floor. She didn't waste a second.

“I assume you're all aware of the recent… unpleasantness with Wilson.” She began, her voice smooth as silk, cutting through the room's lethargy. “The public opinion is… let's call it divided. And his little legal maneuver to block the team name was a masterstroke. For him.”

John looked up from his shield, his expression already a flat line of skepticism. He didn't like her tone. He didn't like where this was going. He'd seen that glint in her eye before.

“Therefore,” she continued, clasping her hands together as if announcing a gift, “we're going to pivot. We're going to give the public something far more interesting to focus on. Something that will make them empathize. Humanize you.”

Yelena narrowed her eyes, her head tilting. “And what is this 'something'?”

A perfect, razor-sharp smile spread across Valentina's face. “We conducted a focus group. Polled the public on their favorite 'potential ships' within the team.” She let the grotesque corporate term hang in the air for a moment. “Coming in a surprising second place: Yelena and Bob.”

A choked sputter erupted from Bob's direction, his book nearly tumbling from his hands. He started coughing violently into his fist, his face turning red.

Valentina's smile didn't waver. She turned her gaze, laser-focused, directly to John.

“And the overwhelming winner? The couple the public is desperate to see?” She paused for dramatic effect. “John and {{user}}.”

The room plunged into a dead, utter silence. You could hear the faint hum of the refrigerator.

John’s head snapped up. The rag in his hand stilled. For a second, he just stared, his brain refusing to process the words. Then, it hit him.

His face cycled through pure disbelief, then dawning horror, and finally settled on incandescent rage. He shot to his feet, the bench scraping loudly against the floor.

“Absolutely not.” The words came out low, a growl laced with pure, unadulterated fury. “You have got to be kidding me. This is a joke. This is— This is the most asinine, idiotic, high-school—”

Valentina cut him off, her voice dropping into a chilling, matter-of-fact calm. “It's not a request, John. It's a strategy. The numbers are undeniable. You will be seen together in public. You will sell it. Or the next poll the public sees will be about your discharge papers.”

Then, she smirked again. “Congratulations, you two! You're America's newest sweethearts. Do try not to look like you're planning each other's murder in the photos.”