summary: There are few things the Thunderbolts do badly. Road trips, it turns out, are most of them.
⤷ warnings/tags: general, team fic, crack fic, one original character (the witness), no one should allow them to be in a car together, no romance just deeply dysfunctional coworkers
word count: 4.1k (chaotic!)
⤷ author’s note: thank u @star-and-shield-monthly's july prompt - road trip (and i totally accept that this might be out of scope but please cut me some slack i got stuck and had to crack my way out)
+ more writing from me!
There were, Bucky Barnes had long believed, certain situations which could be improved by silence, discipline, and a loaded firearm.
A road trip with the Thunderbolts was not among them.
It had been eleven minutes since they left the compound, eight since Walker announced that he had 'a system' for highway driving, and four since Yelena began searching the glove compartment for anything with which she might humanely put him down.
The glove compartment contained a vehicle manual, three paper napkins, an expired insurance card, and a single peppermint fused to its wrapper by either heat or age. Yelena considered these resources with the cold ingenuity of a woman trained from childhood to turn household objects into murder weapons.
“No,” Bucky said.
“I did not say anything.”
“You were thinking loudly.”
From behind him came the soft, thoughtful crackle of a plastic packet being opened.
Bucky turned.
Alexei had produced a boiled egg.
There were seven people inside the beige minivan. There were six functioning cupholders, five seat belts which did not require negotiation, four adults who had at some point been declared legally dead, three active grudges, two classified fugitives in pursuit of them, and one boiled egg whose appearance threatened to end the mission before the enemy had the chance.
“Absolutely not,” said Yelena.
Alexei paused with the egg halfway to his mouth.
“It is protein.”
“It is sulphuric.”
“It is breakfast.”
“It is terrorism.”
“Could everybody stop yelling?” Walker asked, one hand on the steering wheel and the other extended in a gesture of strained diplomacy. “I’m trying to concentrate here.”
This was plainly untrue. Walker had spent most of the drive rotating his head to address the passengers directly, like a man who had misunderstood both conversation and vertebral anatomy. Many a times, the minivan drifted toward the lane markers and had to be roughly jerked back into place.
Bucky reached forward and shoved the steering wheel two inches to the left.
Walker slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch the steering wheel.”
“You’re looking at Alexei.”
“I have peripheral vision.”
“You have a death wish.”
“Same thing, in his case,” Yelena said.
Alexei ate the egg whole.
The witness watched all of this from the second row with the grave attention of a man observing a complicated but not entirely unexpected audit.
Martin Cox was sixty-eight years old, five feet seven inches tall, and dressed as though he had been abducted halfway through a moderately important lunch. His navy trousers retained a crease. His grey cardigan was buttoned despite the heat. A leather satchel rested upright between his polished shoes, guarded with greater care than anyone had so far extended to Martin himself.
He had spent thirty-seven years investigating financial crimes and had recently discovered that a private defence contractor was laundering government funds through a string of shell companies connected to illegal human enhancement trials. This discovery had resulted in two assassination attempts, one exploded townhouse, and an urgent need to be transported from Maryland to a secure federal facility in Pennsylvania.
The drive, according to the map, would take four hours and twelve minutes.
It had been Valentina Allegra de Fontaine’s considered opinion that the assignment was impossible to mishandle.
This was insulting in several directions.
Martin adjusted his glasses and looked at Walker. “Do you always drive this close to the vehicle in front?”
“I’m maintaining pressure.”
“You are tailgating a church van.”
“It keeps the traffic moving.”
“It appears to be full of children.”
“They’ll learn situational awareness.”
Martin absorbed this.
Then he turned to Bucky. “Does he have insurance?”
“No.”
“I have insurance,” Walker insisted.
“Not after today,” said Ava from the back row.
Until that moment, Bucky had forgotten she was there.
Ava had a talent for stillness which occasionally crossed the border into nonexistence. She occupied the rearmost corner beside Bob, knees angled away from Alexei, hood drawn up, expression arranged into the particular vacancy she used when wishing to communicate that everyone around her was beneath the effort of contempt.
Bob sat beside her, folded uncomfortably into the seat despite the van’s supposedly generous legroom. He had both hands wrapped around a paper cup of gas-station coffee, though he had not taken a sip. The lid trembled faintly whenever Walker swerved.
Bucky had noticed.
So had Yelena.
So, unfortunately, had Martin.
“Young man,” Martin said, turning around as far as his seat belt permitted, “do you drink coffee?”
Bob looked down at the cup. “Sometimes.”
“That one?”
“I haven’t decided.”
“Good. It smells terrible.”
“It’s from the machine.”
“Yes, that is generally where bad coffee comes from.”
Bob blinked.
Martin opened his satchel and removed a folded newspaper. “Do you know a six-letter word for ‘needless commotion’?”
Bob glanced toward the front, where Walker and Yelena were now arguing about whether indicators were a legal requirement or an admission of weakness.
“Um, a ‘racket’?”
“Excellent.”
Martin unfolded the crossword across his knees and passed him a pencil.
The trembling in the coffee lid stopped.
Bucky turned back around before anybody could notice he had been watching.
The mission briefing had taken place at six that morning in a windowless room designed by someone who believed grey walls encouraged honesty.
“Low profile,” Valentina had said, sliding one of her manila folders across the table.
Yelena had looked at the folder, then at the five members of the team assembled around it.
“Impossible,” she declared.
“The witness is being targeted by a private security group. They have access to facial recognition, toll-road cameras, airport manifests and possibly federal databases.”
“So naturally,” Bucky had said, “you’re sending the six most recognisable people in the country.”
Valentina had smiled. “In a minivan.”
There had been a silence of great moral complexity.
Then Alexei had said, “Shotgun.”
This begun the first argument.
The second was about who would drive.
Walker claimed that advanced tactical vehicle training should count for something. Yelena pointed out that he had recently reversed through a loading dock. Walker maintained that this was deliberate. Bucky had offered to drive, which prompted Valentina to remind him that his licence was from 1943 and therefore invalid after eighty-three years.
Ava volunteered Bob.
Bob went pale.
And so, Walker won by default.
The seat allocation had taken another twenty minutes.
Yelena took the passenger seat on the grounds that she became carsick in the back, a claim nobody believed but everyone respected because she had made it while holding a knife.
Martin occupied the middle row behind Walker so that Bucky could sit behind Yelena and reach both front occupants in the event of crisis.
Alexei was assigned to the third row because no one trusted him near the dashboard. He had objected that he was a national hero and therefore entitled to legroom.
To that, Ava had simply said, “Which nation?”
Alexei had spent the first hour sulking and at 7:43 am, he produced the eggs.
At 8:12 am, Walker missed the first exit.
“I did not miss it,” he said.
The motorway continued decisively in the wrong direction.
“The road curved,” Walker added.
“Exits do not move,” said Bucky.
“The GPS recalculated.”
“The GPS gave up,” Ava accused.
The electronic voice had indeed fallen silent after three consecutive ignored instructions. Its blue route line now appeared less like navigation and more like an accusation.
Walker’s fingers tightened around the wheel.
“I know where I’m going.”
Martin looked out the window at a sign welcoming them to Delaware.
“Is the secure facility in Delaware?”
“No.”
“Then I must admire your confidence.”
Yelena leaned across and jabbed at the screen. “Turn around.”
“I can’t just turn around on the interstate.”
“Then reverse.”
“That is illegal.”
“Now you care?”
Walker took the next exit. It led them through a town whose primary economic activity appeared to be corn.
The GPS regained its courage.
PROCEED TWELVE MILES, it instructed, TO MERGE ONTO ROUTE FORTY.
Alexei leaned forward between the seats.
“I know better road.”
“No,” said five people.
“It is shortcut.”
“No,” insisted Bucky.
“I travelled this region extensively.”
“When?”
“During cultural exchange.”
Yelena closed her eyes. “He means he went to Atlantic City once.”
“I saw much of America.”
“You saw casinos and parking garages.”
“Both are pillars of national character.”
Walker glanced at the fuel gauge. “How much time does it save?”
Bucky looked at him. Really looked.
This was how democracies failed: not through invasion, nor corruption, but because one man asked another man how much time his imaginary shortcut saved.
Alexei beamed. “Forty minutes.”
It added ninety-three.
The road narrowed, the asphalt ended, and the minivan proceeded onto a gravel track between two vast fields inhabited by cows who regarded them with the tranquil superiority of creatures who would never had to meet Valentina Allegra de Fontaine.
Dust rose in their wake.
A stone struck the underside of the van.
Something began to rattle with a metallic tone.
Walker slowed. “Nobody say anything.”
“Something is broken,” Bob said.
“Thank you, Bob.”
“You said not to say anything.”
“I meant everybody else.”
The road forked.
There were no signs.
Walker stopped the van as silence descended. It was not a peaceful silence by any measure – it was the silence of a jury returning to the courtroom.
Bucky turned slowly toward Alexei.
Alexei pointed left.
“Definitely.”
Ava looked right. “There’s a dead deer that way.”
“Then left.”
“Dead deer means road access,” said Alexei. “Cars travel there.”
“Or bullets,” Yelena said.
Martin checked his watch. “I need to eat in twenty minutes.”
Walker stared at him in the mirror. “We’re a little off schedule.”
“Yes. I had observed the countryside.”
“He’s diabetic,” Bucky said.
“I know he’s diabetic.”
“You forgot.”
“I did not forget.”
“You forgot.”
“I was managing the route.”
“The route is a cow pasture.”
One of the cows approached the passenger window.
Yelena lowered it.
“Do not engage with livestock,” Walker warned.
Yelena held out her hand. The cow sniffed her fingers.
“You are more competent than our driver,” she told it.
The cow, having reached a similar conclusion, licked her sleeve.
Bucky rubbed a hand over his face.
“Martin,” he said, “what do you need?”
“Food. Preferably containing carbohydrates but not frosting.”
Alexei brightened. “I have egg.”
“No,” said everyone, including Martin.
They found a diner eleven miles later.
It stood beside a two-lane highway under a sign shaped like a smiling pig, though time and weather had removed one eye and most of its teeth. The car park contained three pickup trucks, a motorcycle and a faded school bus converted into something called LARRY’S MOBILE TAXIDERMY.
The diner itself was named THE HAPPY HOG. Nothing about it suggested that it was the happiness that had survived.
“We are not stopping here,” Walker said.
Martin opened the door, and Bucky caught it before he could step out.
“We clear the place first.”
“It’s a diner.”
“So was the last safe house.”
Martin considered this. “What happened there?”
“Not relevant.”
“Was there pie?”
“There was an explosion.”
“That really doesn’t answer the question.”
They entered in formation, insofar as six heavily armed operatives accompanying a retired accountant could enter a roadside diner without appearing either suspicious or profoundly lost.
The waitress looked up from behind the counter. She had silver hair, pink glasses and the unstartled expression of a woman who had been serving interstate traffic for forty years and had learned that curiosity delayed retirement.
“Seven?”
“Six,” Walker said.
Martin cleared his throat.
“Seven.”
“I was counting the team.”
“I had understood myself to be part of the relevant party.”
The waitress took seven menus from a stack.
“Booth’s in the back.”
The booth was designed for four ordinary people or perhaps six compact ones. They squeezed in with the grim determination of soldiers boarding a lifeboat.
Alexei sat at the end and immediately began narrating the menu.
“Biscuits and gravy. This is very good. American cuisine understands that food should look already defeated.”
Yelena took the menu from him.
“Why is every meal beige?”
“Freedom has no colour.”
“Freedom has cholesterol.”
Martin ordered toast, eggs and fruit.
Bob ordered nothing.
“You should eat,” Martin gently chided.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You were looking at the pancakes.”
Bob indeed had glanced at the stack of pancakes listed beneath a photograph whose syrup had the gloss of industrial varnish.
“They’re probably not very good.”
“Most things aren’t. That is no reason to surrender the field.”
Bob ordered pancakes, Yelena the fries and a black coffee. Walker ordered the grilled chicken and asked whether the vegetables could be steamed.
The waitress stared at him.
“They come from a bag,” she said.
“That’s fine.”
“They come pre-steamed.”
Walker paused. “Okay.”
Bucky ordered a slice of pie. He did not intend to; the word simply emerged from his mouth after eighty minutes of gravel roads and Walker repeating the phrase ‘traffic strategy’. It was blueberry and warm and came with ice cream, and for four uninterrupted minutes Bucky experienced something approaching peace.
Then Martin asked, “Do you have a will?”
Bucky lowered his fork. “Excuse me?”
“A legal will.”
“Yes.”
“Updated?”
Bucky looked at him.
Martin buttered his toast. “You have the demeanour of a man who believes paperwork is a personal insult.”
“I have a will.”
“Who drafted it?”
“A lawyer.”
“What kind?”
“The legal kind.”
Martin sighed. “That is not a kind.”
“Can we not discuss Barnes’s death plans over breakfast?” Walker asked.
“You have one too,” Martin said.
“Obviously.”
“Updated?”
Walker stabbed a vegetable.
Martin turned to Yelena. “You?”
“No.”
“You should.”
“I own three knives, a leather jacket and no property.”
She vanished – there was no sound, no flash; the booth simply contained one fewer person. Martin looked at the empty seat.
“Does she do that often?”
“Yes,” said Bucky.
“Rude.”
“She can still hear you,” Bob said.
“I know.”
Ava reappeared two minutes later holding a key attached to a wooden block.
“The bathroom was locked.”
“You could have asked,” Walker said.
“I did.”
“No, you disappeared.”
“That was me asking.”
The waitress brought the cheque.
Walker reached for it.
Bucky reached faster. “I’m paying.”
“You paid last time.”
“You complained about the tip.”
“It was excessive.”
“It was eighteen percent.”
“The service was inconsistent.”
“The building was on fire.”
“That affected everybody.”
Martin removed his wallet.
Six heads turned.
“No,” Bucky said.
“I can pay for my own breakfast.”
“You’re in protective custody.”
“I am not a child.”
“No one said you were.”
“You took away my belt at the first safe house.”
“It had a metal buckle.”
“So does his arm.”
Bucky placed cash on the table.
Martin looked at it, then at him.
“You carry cash.”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“None of your business.”
“Do you invest?”
Bucky stood. “We’re leaving.”
They were seventeen miles away when Bob asked, very softly, “Where’s Walker?”
The van went silent.
Yelena looked into the driver’s seat.
Bucky was driving.
He had taken the keys after breakfast on the grounds that another detour might result in murder (whose, it was not clear). Yelena was in the passenger seat. Martin and Bob sat in the middle. Alexei and Ava were in the back.
Walker was not in the vehicle.
Bucky checked the mirror again, as though Walker might have been concealed by a blind spot.
“Did anybody see him get in?”
“No,” said Ava.
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“I thought we had made a decision.”
Yelena turned toward the back. “You knew?”
“I noticed.”
“That is not same as knowing.”
“It often is.”
Martin folded his newspaper. “We should go back.”
Alexei looked wounded. “But journey is so peaceful.”
Bucky took the next exit.
They found Walker at the side of the highway seven minutes later, riding in the passenger seat of Larry’s Mobile Taxidermy.
The converted school bus pulled up alongside them at a traffic light and Walker leaned out the window. His expression was like the calm before a summer storm.
“Pull over.”
Bucky lowered his window. “You found us.”
“Pull. Over.”
Yelena waved. “Hello, John.”
Walker pinned her with a long, hard look.
“You left me.”
“Strong words.”
“You drove away.”
“You were in bathroom.”
“I was washing my hands.”
“Suspicious.”
Larry honked cheerfully. A mounted deer head stared through the windscreen.
Walker transferred vehicles without further incident, though the atmosphere afterward suggested incident had merely changed form.
He took the middle seat beside Martin and spent the next half hour radiating such concentrated offence that even Alexei stopped humming.
At 1:27 pm, the first black SUV appeared.
Bucky noticed it three cars back.
Ava noticed it at the same time.
Yelena noticed them noticing.
The shift through the van was instant and almost invisible. Shoulders changed angle. Hands moved. Bob set down the crossword.
Martin looked from one face to another. “What is it?”
“Vehicle behind us,” Bucky said.
“Same one from the diner,” Ava added.
Walker turned.
“Don’t look,” Bucky snapped.
“You just looked.”
“I used the mirror.”
“I was using the rear window.”
“That’s called looking.”
The SUV accelerated. A second appeared ahead, emerging from an access lane.
“Seat belts,” Bucky said.
Everyone obeyed except Alexei, who was already trying to open the side door.
“What are you doing?”
“Preparing counter-assault.”
“At a hundred miles an hour?”
“Element of surprise.”
“The surprise will be your organs leaving your body.”
The lead SUV braked sharply.
Bucky swerved to avoid the collision. The minivan lurched onto the shoulder, scattering gravel. Martin gripped the handle above the door. Bob went rigid.
The world inside the van seemed to contract around him.
Bucky saw it happen in the mirror: Bob’s pupils widening, his breath catching too high, the awful inward turn of a man searching for the edge of himself and finding something else waiting there.
Martin saw it too. He did not recoil. Instead, he picked up the crossword from the floor.
“Seven letters,” he said.
Bob stared at him.
Martin held out the paper.
“‘To remain steady under pressure.’”
The SUV struck the rear bumper.
Metal screamed.
Bob flinched.
“Steady,” Martin repeated. “Seven letters.”
Bucky pulled the wheel hard, letting the impact carry them sideways before correcting. Yelena lowered her window and drew a pistol.
“Composure,” Bob whispered.
“Seven letters.”
“Balance?”
“We might park that for later.”
Another shot cracked against the van.
Ava vanished through the floor.
Walker twisted between the seats. “Where’d she go?”
“To work,” said Yelena.
The SUV behind them veered suddenly as Ava phased up through its bonnet. The vehicle swerved across two lanes, struck the barrier and spun.
Alexei cheered.
“Do not encourage her,” Bucky sighed.
The lead SUV had now come to a screeching stop, blocking the road ahead. Three armed men emerged, guns drawn.
Bucky braked and the minivan skidded to a stop sideways across the lane.
For one brief, absurd second, everything was still.
Then the doors opened.
There were many things the Thunderbolts did badly. They communicated through insults, interpreted boundaries as tactical challenges, and possessed a collective relationship with authority that ranged from contempt to attempted vehicular homicide. They could not select a restaurant in under forty minutes. They could not travel seventy miles without losing a team member. They had transformed a four-hour protective transfer into a tour of three states, one livestock field and a diner bathroom of disputed accessibility.
But violence was an old language that they were fluent in.
Yelena closed the distance first.
Bucky heard one shot, then the wet crack of an elbow connecting with a throat. Walker took the man on the left, shield raised before the second volley reached them. Alexei tore the minivan’s sliding door from its track and charged behind it, roaring something in Russian which might have been a battle cry or a complaint about the manufacturer.
Ava appeared inside the SUV and dragged the driver through his own seat.
Bucky moved between the gunfire and the open van.
Behind him, Martin continued with the crossword. “Eight letters. ‘A feeling of unease.’”
Bob’s voice shook. “Anxiety?”
“Yes.”
A bullet struck the road near Bucky’s boot.
He fired twice.
One man dropped his weapon.
“Five letters,” Martin said. “‘A place of refuge.’”
Bob looked at the van, at Martin, at Bucky standing in the open doorway.
“Shelter.”
“Good.”
The air around Bob seemed to brighten.
Not much, just enough.
Bucky met his eyes. “You with us?”
Bob swallowed.
Then he nodded.
The light receded.
“Yeah.”
“Stay with Martin.”
“I am staying with him,” Martin said. “The distinction matters.”
The fight – if it could be called that – lasted all of twenty-eight seconds.
It took another twelve minutes to restrain the surviving attackers, recover Alexei from a ditch, and determine if the minivan remained technically operable.
Technically was doing substantial work – the rear bumper dragged against the road. One window was gone. The door had been reattached using two belts, a length of wire and what Alexei insisted was traditional Russian engineering.
“It will hold,” he said.
The door fell off.
No one spoke.
Alexei looked at it.
“Road is uneven.”
They arrived at the federal facility at 6:14 in the evening.
Ten hours and forty-six minutes after departure.
The receiving officer stood at the gate with a clipboard and the stunned expression of a man who had been told to expect a beige minivan and instead received the final vehicle in a demolition derby.
Bucky stopped beside him.
The engine coughed.
Smoke rose from beneath the bonnet.
Martin climbed out, straightened his cardigan and collected his satchel.
The officer stared at the missing door. “Were there complications?”
“No,” said the team.
Behind them, the bumper dropped off with a resounding clang.
Martin shook Bucky’s hand. “You should review your estate documents.”
“Goodbye, Martin.”
He turned to Yelena. “Eat something green.”
“I had pickle.”
“Not sufficient.”
To Alexei he said, “Your merchandise infringes at least four trademarks.”
“It is tribute.”
“It is actionable.”
Ava received a business card. “You could make excellent money in forensic compliance.”
“I would rather die.”
“That is what everyone says before consulting.”
Walker folded his arms.
Martin regarded him for a moment. “You should not drive.”
“I wasn’t driving when we were attacked.”
“You should not drive generally.”
Finally, he turned to Bob.
The crossword was folded inside Bob’s jacket pocket.
Martin smiled.
“You missed twelve down.”
Bob took out the paper. “What was it?”
“Six letters. ‘One who protects.’”
Bob looked at the others.
Walker was arguing with the officer about jurisdiction. Yelena had stolen the clipboard. Alexei was attempting to lift the bumper as though he might simply press it back into place. Ava stood half inside the security gate, unreadable and near enough to Bob that their shoulders almost touched.
Bucky waited beside the ruined van.
“Sentry?” Bob said.
Martin nodded.
“Good answer.”
He walked through the gate. The team watched until the doors closed behind him.
Then, Valentina’s voice came through the dashboard speaker. It is worth noting that the van’s communications system had not worked all day. It chose this moment to revive.
“Status update.”
Bucky looked at the cracked windscreen, the smoking bonnet and the empty place where a door had once been.
“Witness delivered.”
“Any complications?”
The team exchanged a glance.
“No,” Bucky said.
The engine died.
There was a long silence.
Valentina sighed.
“I’m sending another vehicle.”
“What kind?” Yelena asked.
“A van.”
Everyone began speaking at once.
Bucky stepped away from the wreckage and looked toward the western sky, where the last of the daylight had spread itself in gold across the low hills. Behind him, Alexei was blaming American manufacturing. Walker was blaming Alexei. Ava had taken Martin’s business card from Bob and was reading it despite her stated preference for death. Yelena had found Bucky’s unfinished pie in a takeout box and was eating it with her hands.
Bob came to stand beside him.
“You think Martin will be safe?”
Bucky looked at the armed facility, the reinforced gate and the soldiers stationed along the perimeter.
“Probably safer than he was with us.”
Bob smiled.
It was small, but it was there.
Yelena appeared at Bucky’s other shoulder and held out the remains of the pie.
He looked at it.
“You ate the ice cream.”
“It melted.”
“You ate it before it melted.”
“This is accusation without evidence.”
There was blueberry on her thumb.
Bucky took the box anyway.
From the wrecked minivan came a loud metallic groan – the remaining door had fallen off. No one turned around.
According to the map, the journey home would take four hours.
yap! saw the new spidey movie and my wife yelena was there - and that just made me miss my big potato thunderbolts crew even more... (also why are they the new avengers pls thunderbolts is such a cuter team name)
So I said I was going to go to bed on time tonight… then this song, which is one of my favorite Metallica songs came on and it immediately made me think of John. This is my first John edit, I did my best. 💚 love this unhinged psycho.
my favorite thunderbolt hehe!!! she is just so cool and amazing and her scenes makes me cry.. the sweetest ever… i think she’d be the best to hang out with and she definitely would dye her kiddo’s hair if they wanted and she also loves to play at the park with john and bob and she just is a little chaotic critter,,,,, i really love thunderbolts it’s the most special movie to meee,,,, oh and yelena would definitely babysit peter,, definitely plays in the pool with him and splashes him with water,,,, sweetie pies,,,,
Warnings/Tags: 18+ | Mild language | Violence | Near Death/Serious Injury | Guns & Weapons | Blood & Wounds | Mutant Abilities | Slow-burn enemies-to-lovers | Team Dynamics / Found Family | Humor & snark | Tension & Confrontation | Conflict & Banter |
Summary: Anna’s place within the team suddenly shifts, leaving her had John in a difficult situation. A mission unexpectedly takes a dangerous turn.
a/n: A lot of this dates back over a year to my original drafts but things have evolved since then and I think I’m pretty satisfied with where I’m ending up with this. There’s so much I’m excited to write for these two. Honestly, this is the fic that I wrote/mostly outlined before any of my other ones so really it’s been waiting so long (since before Thunderbolts even came out) to come into the light and take form. Also, it’s one of my favorite arcs/plots I’ve written, so I hope you enjoy it.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The morning sun poured through the floor to ceiling windows of the briefing room, washing the polished table in warm light. Anna sat alone, nursing her first coffee of the day.
She’d arrived early.
She’d done it purposefully. She knew this wasn’t going to end well, and she needed time to prepare herself.
Two weeks ago, the life she’d thought she was building toward had come crashing down around her. Now here she sat, broken, having her arm twisted into something she absolutely didn’t want to do. Something she had no business being involved in.
Yelena knew. So did Bucky. They’d spoken privately, and she’d asked them to keep it quiet until the rest of the team absolutely needed to know.
Which was today.
Because tomorrow she would be on that jet with them. Off to God knows where, and she would be at their side.
There was only one big problem.
John was definitely going to have a fit.
They hadn’t spoken since that day. Since he rejected her.
Well… that was only half true.
She’d done his physical evaluation, gritting her teeth through every second of it while speaking only in instructions. He’d returned the sentiment. Barely meeting her eyes for as long as he could avoid it and leaving as soon as she was finished.
He’d let her do her job. She guessed that was the very least he could have done.
He’d be here soon. He was always punctual. Annoyingly so.
She’d gotten so bored sitting there waiting that she started playing a game with herself. In what order would everyone show up? And where would John rank? She hedged her bets and guessed second. She wasn’t about to give him the mental gold star for being on time. He deserved far less.
She sighed.
What the hell was she doing? Was this what it had come to? Keeping herself distracted enough that she didn’t have to focus on the hurt anymore?
She rolled her eyes and looked back out the window. The skyline was a constant. It rarely ever changed, and that was a comfort. The sun and moon always came and went. The clouds evolved moment by moment. But the view? You couldn’t beat it. And, more importantly, you could depend on it.
A moment later, the door opened quickly.
Anna swiveled her head back, ready to see if she’d beaten herself at her own game.
“Shit.”
She was wrong.
John stared at her from the doorway, clearly thrown off by the expletive. He opened his mouth, like he already had something prepared to say, but whatever it was disappeared before it made it out. After the initial shock of seeing her there wore off, he moved into the room and made his way to the other side, settling into his usual seat near the far end of the windows.
Of course he did.
He was so predictable.
She huffed a quiet laugh under her breath. She set her coffee down and picked up her datapad, scrolling through reports absentmindedly so she wouldn’t have to acknowledge his presence. But the entire time, she still caught the small things out of the corner of her eye.
The fidgeting of his fingers. The bounce of his leg beneath the table. The anxious energy that always seemed to escape him when he had too much going on inside his head.
She had gotten close enough to him to know those tells. And she hated that.
She stared at the datapad, absorbing none of the words she was pretending to read.
Don’t look at him.
Don’t you dare fucking look at him.
Don’t…
Her eyes lifted from the screen almost against her will. She found him immediately and of course, because he was already looking at her, their eyes met.
For a moment, he looked caught off guard. He tensed, quickly looking away like she’d caught him watching her undress.
She rolled her eyes.
Of course.
She couldn’t take it anymore.
The hurt was still raw, but there was no way they were ever going to get through this if they kept pretending.
“You don’t have to act like that, you know.” She kept her voice steady, holding onto the strength she’d been trying so hard to build just so she could stomach being around him.
He looked at her, but acted like he had no idea what she meant.
“Like what?” His voice came out less firm than he’d intended.
“Like we’re strangers. Like you didn’t do what you did.” She set the tablet down on the table. “I mean it. Cut it out and treat me like a person. It’s literally the least you could do.”
He sat a little straighter at that, his expression softening briefly, like she’d actually gotten through. But then it hardened again as he took a sharp breath.
“What the hell are you even doing here? This is a mission briefing, not a medical debrief.” He shook his head. “This isn’t your place.”
She scoffed and turned her head toward the door as voices approached from the other side.
“Well, Sunshine…” She looked back at him. “If that’s the belief you’re hanging onto, you’re about to be pretty disappointed.”
Ava and Bucky arrived together, already mid-conversation, discussing layouts and security schematics. The moment they stepped into the room and saw Anna and John sitting across from each other, the conversation died.
The tension between them was impossible to miss.
Bucky’s gaze drifted from John to Anna before settling on her for just a moment. The slight nod he gave wasn’t reassurance so much as acknowledgment. Thankfully, he left it at that.
Crossing to the wall console, he tapped the control panel. The overhead lights dimmed a fraction as the system came online. A holographic projection rose from the center of the conference table, assembling itself into a detailed topographical map. Buildings, terrain, guard routes, power conduits, everything Ava and Bucky had spent the last two days gathering.
John stayed quiet.
For now.
She wasn’t entirely sure why he hadn’t pressed her after what she’d said earlier. Maybe because Bucky and Ava had walked in. Maybe because even John Walker knew better than to start a personal argument in the middle of a briefing.
Either way…
She hadn’t had to explain herself.
Not yet.
A few minutes later, Yelena and Alexei joined them. Alexei’s booming laugh reached the room a full two seconds before he did. She had absolutely no idea what he’d said. She was, however, almost certain he’d been laughing at his own joke.
Yelena took her place beside Bucky while everyone else settled in.
“If everyone is ready,” Bucky said, “let’s begin.”
He nodded toward Yelena. She tapped the hologram. The image zoomed toward an isolated compound built into the side of a wooded ridge line.
“Recon confirmed this is the group’s primary operational facility,” she began. “We’ve already dismantled two satellite locations over the past month. This is the last one.”
Another gesture. Several structures lit up red.
“Intelligence believes they’re preparing to move a prototype weapon platform within the next forty-eight hours.”
Ava leaned forward.
“Project Blackout. Nanotechnology designed to infiltrate and disable advanced electronics. Communications. Guidance systems. Military infrastructure.” Yelena nodded. “If this reaches the black market, organizations willing to pay enough will suddenly have a way to cripple a country’s technology without firing a single missile.”
Even Alexei stopped smiling.
“So…” he muttered. “Bad.”
“Very bad.” Yelena highlighted the central laboratory. “The prototype is stored here.” She gestured to another section illuminated blue. “Problem is, the entire compound operates on a closed electrical grid. No outside network. No remote access. No wireless intrusion.”
“You can’t hack into what isn’t connected.” Ava folded her arms.
“Exactly.” Yelena looked toward Anna. “Which means our point of entry depends on her.”
John’s eyes snapped toward Yelena. She continued anyway.
“Anna will overload the primary transformer from inside the perimeter. That shuts down cameras, electronic locks, motion sensors, internal communications, the entire security system.” She made another tap. The hologram showed the compound going dark. “Once the system drops, we have to breach before backup generators engage. That gets us in through the laboratory doors.”
Silence fell.
“Meaning she’s inside the compound by herself?” John’s jaw tightened.
“Temporarily.” Yelena answered.
“How temporarily?”
“Depending on how many guards we need to incapacitate and provided the layout is correct… a few minutes.”
John’s chair creaked as he leaned forward.
“No.” He insisted.
Anna didn’t even have to look at him. She’d known this was coming.
“Excuse me?” Yelena asked.
“She’s not doing that.” John emphasized his words with each tap of his pointer finger on the table.
“She has field clearance, John.” Bucky said flatly.
“Since when?!” His voice had raised more than he probably meant it to.. Somehow that made it worse. “You’re building the entire operation around one person who has zero experience, standing alone inside a hostile facility. That’s a liability.”
Anna felt her stomach knot. Because he wasn’t entirely wrong. He was just saying it for all the wrong reasons.
“Walker’s concern has been noted.” Yelena tried to move on.
“I’m not finished.”
“Here we go.” Bucky sighed quietly.
John looked directly at Yelena.
“She’s a doctor, not an assault operative. If something goes sideways before the rest of us reach her, she’s exposed.”
Anna stared at him. There it was, his instinct to protect her being distorted by deciding for her.
“Are you done?” She set her datapad down, clearly frustrated.
“No.” John’s eyes met hers.
“Too bad.” She said firmly. “Because nobody’s asking your permission.”
Every head at the table shifted toward her.
“It doesn’t matter if you object.” She pushed back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. “This is what we’re doing.”
She let out a long, exhausted breath, the fight already wearing on her. The truth was, she didn’t want to have to defend something that had never been her choice to begin with.
“We’ll get her out as soon as we get inside.” Yelena looked to Anna, her voice steady. “It won’t be long. I promise.”
Anna folded her hands together on the table, rubbing her thumb absently over her knuckles. She had worried about this ever since they’d first approached her with the plan. Her powers were strong, stronger than they had ever been, but they weren’t always precise when she pushed them that hard.
“I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to keep a blackout of that magnitude strictly to the targeted systems. It could bleed into the lighting, comms… maybe even some of the internal systems.”
Bucky gave a slow nod, taking the information in without flinching.
“But only a worst case scenario, right?” Yelena’s attention settled back on Anna.
She nodded once.
“There is something else…” She hesitated, her stomach tightening. She hated admitting limitations, especially now. “Only a possibility, but if it’s too much for me…” She paused, searching for the right words. “Afterward… it may weaken me. It’s happened before. A long time ago, during training.”
“Goddamn it.” John scoffed under his breath, the words escaping before he could stop them.
Bucky lifted a hand in his direction without even looking at him.
“For how long?” Bucky asked, turning back to Anna.
She looked down at the tabletop for a moment, remembering.
“Last time…” The memory came back as vividly as if it had happened yesterday. She’d been eighteen, trapped in the Danger Room with the rest of the trainees. The simulation had gone sideways, and she’d emptied everything she had into one desperate surge that shorted the entire system. “It took me almost twenty minutes to get back on my feet.”
John’s fist slammed against the table. The sound cracked through the briefing room sharply enough to make everyone look at him. His jaw was tight. The muscle there jumped once.
To anyone else it probably looked like anger. Anna knew better. That wasn’t anger. That was fear.
Bucky and Yelena exchanged a brief look. Neither of them said anything, but they didn’t have to. They hadn’t accounted for that variable.
“Put me with her.”
John’s voice was firm. He wasn’t asking. Anna stared at him.
“What?” The word escaped before she could stop it. “No. There is no way we’re doing that.”
She looked immediately toward Bucky and Yelena, expecting one of them to shut the idea down.
Neither of them answered. Instead, Bucky looked toward Yelena. A silent conversation passed between them. Anna watched it happen and before either of them spoke… She knew.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I know you can do this,” Yelena said calmly, her focus returning to Anna. “I have no doubt about that.” She paused. “But I also know… should anything go wrong…” Her gaze shifted briefly toward John.
He hadn’t moved. His shoulders were squared, every muscle in his body held rigid, as though the decision had already been made long before he’d spoken it aloud.
“…he’ll protect you.”
Anna’s chest tightened. She wasn’t sure which part stung more. That John had volunteered… Or that everyone else had accepted it without hesitation.
Yelena turned back toward the display, her fingers moving quickly through the holographic controls. Markers shifted across the compound. Routes adjusted.
“Walker will provide cover for the doctor until the blackout is in effect. Once security is down, he will aid her evacuation from the facility while the rest of us retrieve the package.”
The icons on the holographic map slid into new positions.
WALKER settled beside KESSLER.
Anna couldn’t stop herself from staring at it.
“We’ll rendezvous here.” Yelena highlighted an extraction point near the eastern perimeter before looking back at Anna. “Mission data has already been uploaded to your datapad. Study it.”
Another tap. The map zoomed closer.
“Know that compound like the back of your hand. Yes?”
“…Yes.” Anna reluctantly confirmed it.
“It’ll be okay, Doc.” A small smirk tugged at Yelena’s mouth. “You got this.”
Anna nodded. She wished she believed it as much as Yelena seemed to.
“And if you don’t…” Alexei leaned forward with a grin that was entirely too pleased with itself. “You push Walker in front of bullets, da?”
A reluctant laugh almost escaped her. Almost. She looked over at him and managed the ghost of a smile.
“Thanks, Alexei.”
“My pleasure.”
“That’s all for now.” Yelena swiped her hand through the controls, collapsing the holographic display until the room was filled only with the soft hum of the overhead lights once more.
Bucky looked around the table.
“Wheels up tomorrow at sixteen hundred. Use the time well. Study the layouts, memorize your routes, you know the drill. Get some rest.”
A chorus of quiet acknowledgments answered him. Anna didn’t wait around. She’d already had more than enough for one day. She gathered her datapad and coffee mug in one arm before pushing herself to her feet.
No one stopped her. No one tried to make conversation. She appreciated that. It wasn’t that she was trying to be rude. Her mind was simply too full. Tomorrow she would walk into her first real mission. And somehow… That wasn’t even the thing weighing on her the most.
She made her way out into the hall, leaving the low chatter of the briefing room behind her. The heavy door swung shut at her back, muffling the voices almost immediately.
It was quiet. Or at least… it should have been. Something made her glance over her shoulder.
Of course.
John.
He’d fallen into step several paces behind her.
“For fuck’s sake…” She rolled her eyes, already facing forward again. “You’re following me now too?”
“We have to talk about this.” His stride lengthened until he caught up with her just as she reached the elevator.
Anna jabbed the call button with perhaps a little more force than necessary. She already knew there wasn’t much she could do to stop him from following her inside.
A few seconds later, the elevator chimed and the doors slid open. She stepped inside without another word, with John right behind her, slipping through the narrowing gap before the doors could close again.
“There’s nothing to talk about.” She kept her voice steady, trying to sound far more certain than she actually felt.
She pressed the button for the common floor and leaned back against the wall beside the control panel, putting as much distance between herself and him as the elevator would allow.
It wasn’t much.
The doors shut. The cab lurched gently before beginning its descent. She expected him to move to the opposite side. He didn’t. Instead, he closed the distance between them. Not aggressively. Just… upset.
“You… never wanted this.” His voice was quieter than she’d expected. Gentler.
The words caught her completely off guard. He was closer now than he’d allowed himself to be in weeks. Close enough to catch the familiar scent of him, stirring something in her.
“John…” She swallowed against the tightness in her throat. “Just don’t.”
“You told me, Anna.” He didn’t let it go. Because he’d remembered. All of it. “We talked about this.”
Her chest tightened. Of course he remembered. She should have known he would. It wasn’t fair. Not after everything. Not after he’d been the one to walk away.
“You said your place was in the infirmary…” His eyes never left hers. “Putting people back together. Not in the field tearing them apart.”
The elevator hummed softly around them as the floor numbers ticked downward one by one.
She found herself trapped by his eyes. That impossible shade of blue she’d spent months pretending not to notice. She finally forced herself to look away.
“Yeah, well…” Her laugh was humorless. “We don’t always get what we want, John.”
For a moment he looked completely lost. Like every answer he’d expected had suddenly disappeared. Concern and confusion. All of it flickered across his face in quick succession.
“Just tell me why you’re doing this.” He took one last step toward her. As close as he could get without touching her. “Just… make me understand it.”
Her lips parted. She wanted to answer. She really did. But the words caught somewhere behind the ache that had settled permanently in her chest these last two weeks.
“I…” She looked down, blinking hard once. “I don’t have a choice.”
His brow pulled together.
“What does that mean?” He searched her face the way he always had whenever he thought she wasn’t telling him everything. “How do you not have a say in it…?”
His voice drifted away before the sentence was finished. Anna watched it happen. Watched the realization unfold behind his eyes. His gaze lost focus for only a second, darting somewhere beyond her as the pieces rearranged themselves.
The footage.
Val.
The meeting she’d had weeks ago. Her saying she’d wanted to leave. Her suddenly staying.
His jaw slackened ever so slightly.
“…Val?”
Anna stilled. Slowly… Reluctantly… She nodded. She couldn’t make herself look at him anymore. Instead, her eyes settled on the glowing elevator buttons, watching the numbers illuminate one after another as though they required every ounce of her concentration.
She knew what her silence meant. So did he.
“Because of us?” His question was barely above a whisper.
Anna let out a quiet scoff. Not at him. At herself. She could have blamed him. She could have blamed the nights they’d spent tangled together, believing they had something neither of them had been brave enough to name.
Instead…
She blamed the only person she’d ever really held responsible for her own mistakes.
“Because of me.” She finally looked back at him. There was no anger in her eyes. Only acceptance. “I made my choice.” Her voice stayed steady despite the sting behind it. “Now I have to live with what it cost me.”
The elevator began to slow. A soft chime echoed through the cab. The doors slid open. Anna pushed herself away from the wall.
Before she could step out, John instinctively shifted into her path. Not to trap her. Almost as though he hadn’t realized he’d done it. She looked up at him. Really looked at him. Whatever fight had been burning behind his eyes was gone now. All that remained was guilt.
“If you’ll excuse me…” she said quietly. “I need to get ready for tomorrow.”
Neither of them moved. For one long heartbeat they simply stood there, looking at one another. Then John stepped aside. Without another word. Anna walked past him into the common room and didn’t look back.
The elevator doors slid closed, leaving John standing exactly where she’d left him. Motionless. As if he no longer knew what he was supposed to do.
Anna continued down the hallway toward her quarters. Tomorrow she’d be stepping onto that Jet. She’d study every inch of the mission packet. She’d memorize the layout. Every entrance. Every exit. Every contingency she could think of. She would be ready.
She had to be.
And despite everything. Despite the anger and the heartbreak, every reason she had to resent him… A small, deeply buried part of her found the slightest measure of comfort in one simple truth.
Tomorrow…
John Walker would be at her side and at least she could trust him enough to keep her safe.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The jet had faded from sight nearly ten minutes ago, swallowed by the trees that surrounded the mountains until the only thing that remained was the whispering of the wind through the pines and the faint glow of the facility lights filtering through the branches ahead.
The jet had dropped them in under stealth, leaving no trace to give them away. As they moved it had disappeared behind the trees, as though it had never been there at all.
The flight itself had been smooth. Nothing she hadn’t had experience with before. She’d traveled with the team on a handful of missions over the last several months, always for medical support, and she knew the routine well enough.
She’d patched Alexei together in the back of the jet at the med station once after he’d taken shrapnel through his shoulder.
Another time they’d brought Ava back half-conscious after a building collapse, covered in dust and bruises from head to toe.
She’d never carried a weapon. Never been one of the people disappearing into the darkness while everyone else waited for them to come home. Now here she was, traipsing through the woods with a pistol holstered at her hip and a med kit slung crossbody, resting against her back…
Just in case.
They weren’t too far from the city if something went wrong, but far enough that before they’d left, she’d found herself double-checking not only the supplies in her own kit, but the ones stocked in the jet’s med station as well. Old habits. She wasn’t sure those would ever leave her.
As she walked, she couldn’t help but think how strange it all was. Val’s solution to Anna, the Watchtower’s resident doctor. being forced into field work had simply been to replace her. Temporarily, of course. Another physician had been brought in to cover the infirmary whenever missions pulled her away.
She hated it.
Not because the backup doctor wasn’t good. She’d met him. He seemed perfectly capable. But because it hadn’t felt right. That infirmary had become hers. Every cabinet, every supply drawer, every piece of equipment had slowly found its place beneath her hands. She knew where everything belonged without having to think about it. It was where she was supposed to be.
Not here.
Not walking toward a hostile compound with a firearm strapped to her side. Not putting herself in harm’s way when she’d spent her entire life trying to pull other people out of it.
Ahead of her, John walked several paces in front. Always scanning. His eyes swept constantly between the trees, the ridge line, the shadows that stretched between them. He never seemed to relax, which shouldn’t have been a surprise. His posture remaining rigid beneath the weight of the shield secured across his back.
She followed closely behind him, occasionally falling into step beside him before drifting back again. He hadn’t said much since they’d left the jet. Only what was necessary. Short. Direct. Professional.
Before they’d taken off, though… He’d found her outside the armory, holstering her sidearm. He’d stood there for a moment, already fully suited up, the familiar shield resting across his back. She’d felt his eyes on her long before he’d finally crossed the distance between them.
*~*
“It’s going to need to be a little more snug than that.”
He’d murmured it without even looking her directly in the eye, crouching just enough to tighten the holster against her belt before giving it a quick tug to make sure it wouldn’t shift.
“You’ve fired a weapon before… right?”
She’d scoffed, rolling her eyes.
“Yes, of course.” She’d planted her hands on her hips, hardly believing she was letting him stand this close again. “You want me to show you?”
He hadn’t laughed. Hadn’t smirked. He’d only straightened again, finally meeting her eyes.
“You stay right by me out there.”
“You’re not going to tell me what to do, John.” she’d shot back.
“I mean it.” His expression hadn’t softened. “When we’re out there… I need you to follow my lead.”
His hand had lifted.Only briefly. Like he’d almost reached for hers before thinking better of it. His fingers hovered between them for barely a second before curling back into his palm and dropping once more to his side.
“I know I hurt you…” His voice had grown quieter. “You’ve got every right to hate me.” He’d shaken his head almost imperceptibly, as though he regretted saying even that much. “But it could mean the difference between life and death.” His eyes hadn’t left hers. “I need you to understand that.”
*~*
She hadn’t budged. Because it wasn’t an apology. It was an acknowledgment. There was a difference. At least he hadn’t pretended nothing had happened. She’d give him that much. But it wasn’t enough. Not nearly.
Still… She’d had to admit to herself that he was right. Whatever existed between them couldn’t come before the mission. Not out here. So she’d swallowed every instinct telling her to argue with him and forced herself to accept it.
For tonight… She would follow his lead. Once they were back on the jet… Once they were home… She could go right back to keeping him at arm’s length.
She didn’t understand him. That was the part she couldn’t seem to reconcile. How he could push her away so completely… Then turn around and spend every waking second making sure she stayed safe. The contradiction was exhausting. Confusing. And despite how angry she still was… Some small part of her found herself wanting to lean into that protection.
She hated herself for it. It would have been easier if he’d acted indifferent. Easier if he’d treated her like she no longer mattered.
Instead… He kept proving the exact opposite.
“Watch your footing here.” His voice pulled her from her thoughts.
He pointed toward a raised tree root disappearing beneath a blanket of leaves before looking ahead once more.
“Hold.”
He lifted a hand, stopping her before taking a few careful steps forward himself, checking the tree line before motioning her on again.
“Our entry point is just ahead.”
It was all so rigid. So practiced. Every movement deliberate. Every word carrying the clipped precision of someone who had done this more times than he could count. He finally looked back at her.
“Are you ready?”
She met his eyes for a long moment. Still trying to understand him. Still trying to understand why the man who’d broken her heart was now standing between her and every danger he could find.
“…Yeah.” She gave a small nod. “I’m ready.”
He returned the gesture without another word. Then turned toward the facility. And she followed close behind.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The corridors beyond the service entrance were eerily quiet. John led the way, confident, shield resting against his forearm now, his pistol drawn in his opposite hand. Every few steps he paused just long enough to check corners or another stretch of hallway before motioning her forward again. She continued to stick close behind him.
The building felt different the moment she’d crossed the threshold. The electricity humming through the walls. Not loud enough to overwhelm her, just a constant awareness sitting quietly beneath everything else. Current raced through hidden conduits behind layers of concrete and steel, branching away through the facility like veins beneath skin. She had spent her entire life hearing that faint electrical chorus. Something no one else ever heard but her.
As they moved deeper inside, she let the tips of her fingers brush the concrete wall beside her. Static danced softly beneath her skin. The nearest security camera flickered once, then the lens went dark. No sparks or dramatic flashing. Just gone.
A few yards farther another electronic lock barred their path. She barely slowed down, fingertips skimming across the access panel. The keypad suddenly blinked erratically before giving one quiet click. The magnetic lock disengaged.
John pushed the door open without a word. He didn’t ask how exactly she’d done it, didn’t need to. But she could feel his attention lingering on her every time another camera quietly died or another security panel surrendered beneath the lightest touch or flick of her hand.
When they’d first met, he’d dismissed her abilities as little more than an elaborate party trick. She had never forgotten that. A few flickering lights, the television turning itself off, the static she sometimes let dance across her fingertips.
But this wasn’t that. She was listening to the power around her, manipulating it. Feeling for the current hidden behind the walls and gently nudging it off course, one system at a time. It was precision.
John remained silent beside her. His body never truly relaxed, every muscle held ready should someone appear around the next corner. She noticed it despite herself. The way he subtly adjusted his pace whenever she slowed. Always positioning himself between her and every blind corner before moving ahead. Checking behind them almost as often as he checked what lay ahead.
He wasn’t hovering or smothering her. It was training mixed with his protective instincts. The realization irritated her far more than it should have. Part of her still couldn’t reconcile it. How he could willingly shatter her heart… and then spend every second afterward making sure nothing else could hurt her.
It didn’t make sense. None of it did.
She tried to push the thought away. Focus on the mission, that was what she needed to do. She only had to tolerate it until they were back on the jet. After that… she fully intended to return to pretending he didn’t exist.
Anna stopped abruptly, raising her hand. John had halted beside her without question. He listened. The corridor remained silent. She lowered her hand and nodded toward a heavy reinforced door recessed into the concrete wall.
“This is it.” She said.
He followed her gaze. Bolted across the center of the door was a weathered industrial warning sign.
DANGER! HIGH VOLTAGE!
A second sign beneath it warned of lethal electrical exposure, but that wasn’t enough to deter her. She felt the hum behind the door before she’d even reached it.
It wasn’t just simply louder here. It was deeper. The vibration settled somewhere behind her ribs, resonating through her chest until she could almost distinguish one current from another. Countless streams of electricity converged beyond that steel barrier, feeding every circuit, every light, the security system throughout the compound. The entire facility breathed through this room.
John reached for the handle, easing the heavy door open just enough for them to slip inside.
The transformer room stretched upward, filled with towering banks of industrial equipment. Thick insulated cables disappeared into walls and ceilings while conduit pipes crisscrossed overhead like branches.
It felt strangely familiar, comforting, even. The steady electrical hum surrounded her from every direction. All of it, just calling to her. She hadn’t needed the mission schematics to know where the primary transformer sat. She could feel it.
“There.” Her voice barely rose above a whisper as she pointed toward the largest transformer housing tucked against the far wall.
John followed beside her, his boots echoing softly across the concrete floor. He settled into position just off her shoulder, turning outward toward the doorway. Watching the entrance. Watching her.
“You know what to do with this?”
His voice pulled her back from the steady chorus surrounding her. Away from the current. Away from the strange comfort she’d nearly allowed herself to sink into. She looked at the transformer. Then nodded.
“Yeah, I do.” She took another step closer to it.
The metal door swung open with a low groan. Inside, thick insulated wiring and heavy cables pulsed with enough electricity to kill an ordinary person several times over.
“What are you doing?” John frowned.
“I have to touch it.” She didn’t look up at him.
His head snapped toward her.
“What?” He couldn’t hide the shock on his face. “No, you can’t. It’ll kill you.”
“Yes, I can. Just trust me.” She didn’t elaborate. There wasn’t time. “It’s the only way.”
Slowly, she raised both hands. The familiar static gathered beneath her skin before she’d even made contact. Tiny blue-white tendrils danced between her fingertips, reaching as though the current inside her recognized the one waiting before it.
Then the transformer answered. Faint arcs crackled between the exposed conductors, reaching back across the narrowing gap.
John simply watched. Every instinct he possessed screamed that what she was about to do should kill her.
Instead, she laid both hands gently against the live conductors. Her entire body stiffened. A sharp breath caught in her throat as blue-white light flashed behind her closed eyelids, spilling into the familiar glow that illuminated her eyes from within. Electricity raced over her hands and climbed her forearms in branching ribbons of living light.
“Anna…” He took one involuntary step forward.
She didn’t answer. She was already somewhere else. Connected. The steady pulse of the facility opened itself to her all at once. Thousands of branching electrical pathways unfolded through her mind like an intricate map. Every corridor. Every security camera. Every locked door. Every circuit feeding the compound flowed through the current she now held.
It was an entire nervous system.
She let herself sink deeper. For one fleeting moment it almost felt effortless, like slipping beneath the surface of still water. Then she pushed.
Every muscle in her body tensed as the glow beneath her skin intensified, branching farther along her forearms. Fine arcs of electricity snapped through the air between her fingers and the transformer housing with sharp, rhythmic cracks.
John found himself taking another cautious step forward. He’d expected sparks. Flickering lights, maybe. Not this. Not power that bent an entire facility to one woman’s will. He had underestimated her by a mile.
She looked impossibly small standing before machinery that dwarfed her, yet somehow it was the transformer yielding to her instead of the other way around.
Another strained breath escaped her as the electrical chorus she’d always found comforting suddenly became deafening. It surged through her faster than she’d anticipated, more current than she could carefully guide.
There was only one choice left.
She gave herself completely to it, attempting to overpower the entire system.
The room erupted with light. Electricity exploded outward in branching strands that raced across the transformer housing before disappearing into the conduits running through the ceiling.
Somewhere beyond the walls, lights flickered. Monitors died. Electronic locks disengaged throughout the compound with a chorus of heavy metallic clicks.
Then there was silence.
The deep electrical hum surrounding her vanished so completely it almost staggered her. She couldn’t feel it anymore. The absence struck harder than the current itself. It was like someone had reached inside her mind and silenced a voice that had always been there.
Darkness swallowed the room for only a heartbeat. Then, somewhere beneath the facility, emergency generators struggled to life. Sparse amber lights blinked on one by one, casting long shadows across the concrete walls.
The brilliant glow beneath Anna’s skin began to fade. The branching tendrils withdrew from her forearms one by one until only faint sparks lingered around her fingertips. The light behind her eyes dimmed, leaving them their familiar hazel-brown once more.
Her hands slipped from the transformer. For a heartbeat she remained standing. Then the room felt like it lurched beneath her. Her knees buckled.
John was moving before she hit the ground. One arm caught her around the waist while the other steadied her shoulders, pulling her firmly against him before gravity could finish the job.
“Easy.” His voice was low, far steadier than he felt. “I’ve got you.”
Anna squeezed her eyes shut against the overwhelming wave of dizziness that crashed over her. It felt as though every ounce of strength had simply poured out of her. Her breathing came in shallow pulls, her skin noticeably paler than before, a fine sheen of perspiration clinging to her forehead despite the cool air.
She’d known there would be a cost. She’d just hoped it wouldn’t be quite this steep.
John searched her face, concern written plainly across his own.
“We need to get you out of here.”
She tried to straighten.
“John, I…” His name slurred slightly as it left her mouth. She stopped herself, taking another breath. “I’m okay…”
Even she didn’t believe it.
When she swayed again, his arm tightened instinctively around her waist.
“No, you’re not.” There wasn’t any accusation in his voice, only a quiet concern.
She let out a slow, frustrated breath. Arguing would only waste time. Reluctantly, she slipped one arm around his shoulders, allowing him to take more of her weight. He adjusted without hesitation, securing his hold around her waist before reaching for his comm.
“This is Walker, come in..”
Only static answered. He tried again but there was nothing. She’d warned them this could happen, now they had to deal with it. Get back to the jet and hope that the rest of the team makes it out safely. He lowered the radio without another word.
“Just hold onto me.” His voice softened again as he looked at her.
She closed her eyes for the briefest moment, but didn’t pull away. She simply didn’t have enough strength left. Together they moved toward the doorway as one. Her boots shuffled unevenly across the concrete while he quietly compensated for every stumble, keeping her upright without making it obvious how much of her weight he was carrying.
Beyond the transformer room, the facility had changed completely. Emergency lighting washed the corridors in dim amber, leaving long stretches swallowed in shadow between the fixtures overhead. Somewhere deeper inside the compound, short bursts of gunfire erupted. Muted through layers of concrete but unmistakable.
The rest of the team had made their move. She instinctively glanced toward the sound.
John noticed immediately.
“Eyes forward, Kessler. You did your job, now I do mine.” His pistol swept another intersection before they crossed it. “They know theirs.”
She knew he was right. Bucky. Yelena. Ava. Alexei. They could handle themselves. Still, every instinct she possessed wanted to turn around. To help. Instead… She let John guide her onward one careful step at a time toward the exit.
The farther they moved from the generator room, the heavier her body became. Each step demanded conscious effort. The adrenaline that had carried her through the blackout was fading, leaving behind an exhaustion that she hadn’t felt in a long time. It wasn’t simply tired. She felt hollow. Like she’d poured something essential out of herself and hadn’t been left with enough to fill the empty space.
John adjusted his grip without saying anything. She hated how easily he seemed to notice how weak she was. Hated even more that she needed him to.
The emergency lighting ended as they reached one of the exterior service corridors. Beyond it, the cool night air spilled through an open maintenance gate, carrying the smell of damp earth and pine. They were in the home stretch. Just get outside and get back to the rendezvous. Then she could sit down and try to breathe through this.
John slowed only long enough to study the darkness ahead. His pistol remained raised. His eyes never stopped moving. From the tree line to the Fence. Along the roof, then to the windows. Years of combat had taught him that silence could be just as dangerous as gunfire.
She followed his gaze, trying to force her own thoughts into focus. Everything felt… fuzzy. The world seemed just a fraction slower than it should have been. The ground shifted beneath her feet, forcing her to tighten her grip on his shoulder.
“You with me, Anna?” He’d noticed the shift in her.
She nodded once.
“Mhmm, I’m fine.” Though she knew neither of them believed that anymore.
They crossed into the yard. John’s pace slowed as his entire posture changed. She felt it before she understood why. Every muscle in his body tightened because he’d seen something. He eased her toward the chain link fence bordering the maintenance road.
“Stay here.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Don’t move.”
She leaned back against the fence as he stepped in front of her, positioning himself between her and whatever was coming. She slipped her pistol from its holster. Her hand wasn’t steady and the movement felt slower than it should have. She wrapped both hands around the grip anyway. The silence lasted only another heartbeat. Then she saw the movement John had been anticipating.
Four figures emerged from the darkness ahead, shrouded in black tactical gear. Rifles already coming up. John reacted before any of them could fire. His shield exploded forward. The impact had sounded like a car crash as the first guard was launched backward into the concrete. The second barely had time to turn before John closed the distance, driving into him with brutal efficiency.
To her, everything became a blur of motion and steel. Boots and gunfire. She tried to track all of it, but couldn’t, not completely. The world refused to stay still. She lifted her pistol toward the third man. The front sight drifted, her aim was shit in this state. She tried again. Tried to steady herself.
Then pain exploded across the back of her hand. Something struck her wrist hard enough to send the pistol spinning to the ground. Her breath caught and before she could even turn, a gloved hand seized the front of her tactical vest. There was another guard.
The world lurched violently as she was slammed backward into the chain link fence. Air rushed out from her lungs at the force of it and her head was spinning. Her knees gave out.
He drove her to the ground with him. One forearm crushed across her throat as his weight pinned her down before she could recover.
She opened her mouth. Trying to call for help, but Johns name never made it out.
The man’s grip tightened, cutting off both her voice and breathing. Her hands wrapped around his wrist, trying to force him back, but her movements felt delayed. Her body was responding slower than it should have. Still drained from the power surge.
The man shifted his weight, using his size and momentum to keep her pinned. She twisted, trying to throw him off balance, barely working, but just enough to loosen his hold. Enough to breathe.
His free hand went for his weapon and she did the only thing she could in that moment. She reached for the current inside her. Whatever she had left. Electricity snapped across her fingertips as the man jerked violently. A strangled sound escaped him as the shock traveled through him, his grip faltering. It wasn’t the kind of hit she would have delivered at full strength, not enough to drop him, but his hand had spasmed, causing the pistol to slip.
She shoved it away with everything she had, sending it skidding across the ground and out of reach. For one second, she thought she had him, but he had countered faster than she’d expected. Before she could push herself upright, he grabbed her again and drove her back down. Her head hit hard enough that her vision became even more hazy. The fight became a struggle of movement.
Her breathing. His weight. The cold ground beneath her. She tried again to reach for the voltage within. This time only a spark responded with no effect. It wasn’t enough to stop him from reaching for the knife.
She saw the flash of steel and raised her arm up instinctively to intercept the strike, but all it did was redirect it. The blade tore past her forearm and drove deep into the outside of her thigh instead.
For one impossible second she only felt the pressure. Forcing her gaze downward, she saw the knife buried in her leg. His hand still wrapped around the handle. Her mind registered the injury before the pain fully set in. Then, without warning, he ripped it free. Blood surged instantly through her tactical pants as the guard drew his arm back again, raising the blade for another strike.
This time toward her chest.
But it never came.
Something crashed into him with enough force to throw him completely off her. She barely saw it happen. Just the unmistakable blur of metal.
John’s shield.
It struck the attacker squarely across the side of the head before ricocheting away. The man collapsed in a pile at her side without another sound.
She sucked in a sharp breath as the pain finally arrived. It built in a crushing wave that stole the air from her lungs. Forcing herself upright on instinct alone, both hands immediately clamped over the wound. Blood poured between her fingers. Too much to control like this. Far too much. The world seemed to narrow around the steady pulse of it spilling through her hands.
In a heartbeat, John had grabbed his shield and was there, dropping to his knees beside her, hands searching, eyes already assessing.
“Anna, shit…”
She could barely think. She blinked hard and forced herself into her doctor brain.
“Fuck,” she managed between uneven breaths as she gritted her teeth. “Knife wound, left quad…” She looked down at the blood soaking through her gloves. “It’s… really deep.”
His eyes followed hers, the color drained slightly from his face, but he didn’t panic. Instead he went into action, already moving.
“Your bag.” He reminded her. “The med kit.”
She blinked up at him, hearing his words, trying to keep focused. She nodded, trying to shift but the movement sent a wave of pain through her leg that stole her breath. John immediately caught her shoulder.
“No. Don’t move.”
He reached behind her with steady hands, trying to unclip the pack. John took it from her carefully.
“Tourniquet.” she managed. “Side compartment.”
He found it quickly.
“You’re going to have to cut my pants.” Her voice was quieter now, more doctor than patient. “Three inches above the wound.”
John looked at the fabric, then back at her.
“We don’t have time.”
“Fine.” She hated that he was right. Her breathing hitched. “But high… and tight.”
She watched him as best she could, his hands moving nimbly.
“It’s going to hurt like a son of a bitch,” Her voice was starting to shake. “But you can’t stop… no matter what.”
“I know.” His answer came immediately. “I’ve done this before.”
Something in his tone made her finally look up at him, seeing the focus in his eyes. The weight behind his words, only imagining the memories attached to them. The injuries he’d probably seen. The people he hadn’t been able to save.
“Stay with me, okay.” He positioned himself closer. “Ready?”
She wanted to say yes. Instead, she nodded and the second he tightened the band, pain shot through her leg. A scream ripped out of her before she could stop it, only muffled slightly as she leaned into him.
“Fuck!” Her voice broke off into a strained groan.
John’s jaw clenched. The way he hated every second of this, hurting her, but he didn’t stop, not yet.
“The band’s on tight,” he said, his voice low and focused. “Im really sorry about this.”
His eyes met hers, a silent understanding passing between them… then he turned the anchor. The immediate burst of pain overwhelmed her.
“Ahh! Stop!” Anna’s breathing turned ragged, her body was screaming at her to make it stop. “Wait!”
John looked at her and for only a second, the soldier disappeared. It was just him, just John.
“I can’t stop, sweetheart.” The nickname slipped out before he could think about it. “Almost there.” His eyes stayed locked on hers. “One more turn.”
She squeezed her eyes shut as a low guttural groan escaped her. Then he was done, bleeding slowing. Her hands were still covered in it. Her whole body trembled from the pain and the adrenaline crash that followed.
John immediately reached for the supplies.
“Let me see.”
“No, John, please.” Her answer came too quickly. Her hands tightened over the wound. Something irrational in her mind told her if she moved them, everything would start again.
“You have to let me look.” He grabbed the bandages and went to work on the temporary dressing.. “I need to get this covered. You’ve lost a lot of blood and we need to move.”
All he needed to do was get her to the jet, he had to believe she would make it there.
The lightheaded fog blurred her vision. The mission objective, the adrenaline and the blood loss were finally catching up with her. She reached for his shoulders, trying to catch herself, but her fingers didn’t have the strength to hold on. She landed flat on her back, staring up at the dark sky above them.
She heard him say something but couldn’t make it out. He sounded… so far away. She could feel the pressure as he bandaged it as carefully as he could, an extremely temporary solution. The shock was wearing off now and whatever energy she had left was being consumed by the pain. The sharp, burning agony in her thigh had replaced everything else. She pressed her sleeve against her mouth, biting down against the sound that threatened to escape.
Before she could say anything, his hands were reaching underneath her. She hadn’t the strength to protest, finding herself held securely in his arms. For a moment, she forgot about the pain. The only thing that came to mind was the last time she had been this close to him, safe and warm, but ending in heartbreak.
Her hands found the back of his neck instinctively, holding on because there was nothing else she could do.
“I’ve got you,” he promised, almost lost beneath the sounds of movement around them as he carried her. He adjusted his grip, pulling her closer as he moved through the trees.
All she could feel was the steady rhythm of his footsteps, the warmth of his arms around her.
The trees blurred together above her. The world becoming lost in fragments. The sound of his voice couldn’t reach her. The pain.
The darkness creeping in on her until everything dulled completely and the world faded away..
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The sound of a steady beeping echoed even through sleep. A continuous rhythm that slowly drew her out of the darkness she’d fallen into.
Her eyes cracked open to low lighting that blurred her vision. Everything felt heavy. Her limbs. Her thoughts. Even breathing seemed to take more effort than it should.
But she’d woke somewhere familiar. The infirmary. The Watchtower. One of the recovery rooms. Beyond the floor to ceiling windows, the city stretched endlessly into the distance, buildings catching the afternoon light.
She’d made it home.
Slowly, it all came back to her. The blackout. The struggle. The knife. John.
He’d gotten her here.
She drew in a careful breath, letting her eyes wander around the room as the haze began to lift. Her head still swam from the medication, whatever they’d given her dulling the sharp edges of the pain without quite chasing it away. Beneath the blankets, her leg felt impossibly heavy, wrapped so thoroughly she could barely tell where the bandages ended and her own body began.
Something else caught her attention then. Or rather… the lack of it did.
Usually, she could feel it, the current threading within the walls. The electricity humming through the building. Today, it was only a whisper. Faint and far away.
She knew it would return. It had before. Still, she found herself listening for it anyway.
A figure beside the bed finally drew her attention.
John.
He sat in a chair pulled close to her bedside, dressed in a dark hoodie and gray sweatpants instead of his uniform. His hair was a mess, like he’d run his hands through it too many times to count, and he’d drifted asleep sitting upright, one elbow resting against the arm of the chair, his head supported by his hand. He looked exhausted.
She wondered how long he’d been there. All night, maybe. Or perhaps he’d only managed to fall asleep sometime that morning after refusing to leave. Either way… He was here.
The sight of him made something stir uncomfortably in her chest. She remembered his hands trying to stop the bleeding. The quiet certainty in his voice while she tried not to panic. The way he’d carried her without hesitation.
She was supposed to stay angry with him. Supposed to be keeping him at arm’s length. The whole time she’d dreaded being paired with him on this mission, yet in the end, there hadn’t been anyone she’d trusted more to get her home.
She didn’t know what to do with that or how to feel about it.
She shifted slightly beneath the blankets, intending only to get more comfortable but instead causing pain to immediately flare through her thigh. A quiet groan escaped before she could stop it as she settled back against the pillow with a frustrated sigh. The sound of it was enough.
John stirred almost instantly. A soft hum escaped him as he blinked awake, straightening in his chair. The moment he realized she was looking back at him, the lingering fog of sleep disappeared from his face altogether.
“Hey.” His voice sounded every bit as tired as he looked. “How’re you feeling?”
For a second, she wasn’t sure how to answer. Her head felt like it was throbbing, every thought arriving just a beat slower than usual.
“Drugged, mostly.” She let her head sink farther into the pillow. “They’ve got me on the good stuff, I can tell.”
“Yeah…” he said quietly. “Well… you definitely needed it.”
“Did they at least complete the mission objective after all that?”
He huffed a nervous laugh like the question had caught him off guard.
“Yeah,” he nodded. “Thanks to you.”
The smallest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. The first she’d seen in what felt like forever.
“Mmm,” she felt a small satisfaction in that at least. “Though I’m sure you relished in telling them I told you so.”
His eyes drifted toward the bandaged shape beneath the blankets before returning to hers.
“Anna, I…” The words caught somewhere in his throat.
She watched him wrestle with them for a moment before he finally leaned forward. There was no smug expression over being right about the dangers of the mission.
Carefully, almost hesitantly, he reached for her hand. His fingers wrapped gently around hers, warm despite how cool her own hand still felt.
“I’m so sorry.”
Her brow knit together.
“You don’t have to be sorry, John. Not for this at least.” She let out a tired little laugh. “This wasn’t your fault.”
“I do, though.” His voice remained low. “It was my job to protect you… and I couldn’t even do that.”
“You were a little busy.” She gave the faintest shake of her head.
“I should’ve been there.” There wasn’t an ounce of defensiveness in his voice, just regret.
She studied him for a long moment before giving his hand a gentle squeeze.
“So, what?” A faint breath of amusement escaped her. “You stayed here all night beating yourself up about it?”
He looked almost sheepish.
“Yeah…Kind of. Bucky had to force me out to get cleaned up, tried to make me sleep it off… I just wanted to be here when you woke up.” His thumb absentmindedly brushed across the back of her hand.“It gave me time to think about a lot of things.” His eyes finally met hers again. “Important things.”
Something about the way he said it made her chest tighten. He was trying to be honest, she had to give him that much.
“I really thought we were going to lose you.” His voice became quieter. “That… I was going to lose you.”
Silence settled between them.
The part of her that he had hurt wanted to remind him exactly why they’d ended up here. To remind him of every word he’d thrown at her. Every wall he’d built between them.
But the woman lying in the hospital bed he’d sat beside through the night. The one who had seen the fear he tried to hide behind his eyes when he was afraid he might lose her too. She couldn’t bring herself to interrupt.
“I wish I could take back everything I said and undo the hurt I caused.” His gaze dropped briefly to their joined hands. He drew a slow breath before continuing. “I said this was just about sex because letting it become anything more meant facing the truth.” He gave a quiet, almost humorless laugh. “That you mean more than that. That you’re another person I could fail. Someone I could lose.” His grip tightened ever so slightly. “I’ve spent so much of my life trying not to disappoint people… and somehow I ended up hurting the person I was trying hardest not to.”
His impossibly blue eyes lifted back to hers, filled with exhaustion. Holding more regret than he could bare. Clinging to a fools hope. It was all there, tangled together.
“I really am sorry.” His voice softened again. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, not after everything I’ve done. But I mean that.”
She closed her eyes for a moment as another wave of dizziness washed over her. Instinctively, she took a slow breath through her nose, waiting for it to pass before opening them again.
“An honest to goodness John Walker apology, huh?” She let out a quiet, strained huff of laughter. “All it took was a near death experience.”
He looked down with a shake of his head.
“I know. I hate myself for it.”
She could see that he meant every word. He looked like a man who’d been saying them to himself for hours.
“If I could take it all back…” his voice trailed off.
The steady beeping of the machinery sat like a rhythm in the quiet of the room.
“But you can’t.” She interrupted gently. His shoulders fell, just slightly, she squeezed his hand again as an encouragement. “But, maybe you could show me you mean what you say.” She searched his face. “Earn that second chance.”
She slowly drew their joined hands closer, resting them lightly over the blanket across her stomach. His free hand lifted almost on instinct, carefully brushing a few loose strands of hair away from her face. The touch was so gentle it made her breath catch.
“I will.” He didn’t hesitate.
She wanted to believe him, more than she probably should. After another comfortable silence settled over the room, he finally cleared his throat.
“Can I get you anything?” He glanced toward the door. “Something to eat, maybe?”
She nodded faintly.
“Yes, please… and could you grab my phone from my room? I was supposed to call my mom this morning after we got back.” A tired smile touched her lips. “I’m not exactly sure how I’m going to explain… all this.”
She glanced briefly toward the bandages beneath the blankets. Despite herself, Anna laughed.
“Bright side, though…?” She looked back at him. “Finding out you saved my life might earn you a little grace with The Kesslers.”
He gave an amused scoff as he stood.
“I think it’s going to take a little more than that.” He leaned down, bringing her hand to his lips before placing a slow and gentle kiss against her knuckles. “Especially after hurting their daughter and ruining Christmas.”
She hummed softly.
“True.” Her eyes stayed on him. “But you’ll try, right?”
He didn’t even have to think about it.
“Of course.” A small smile found his face again. “For you.”
She gave the slightest shake of her head.
“For us.”
The words stopped him. He simply looked at her, he’d only dared to hope there could be an us at all.
“For us.” He nodded once. “I’ll be back soon, sweetheart.”
She finally let his hand slip from hers. He took a few steps toward the door before glancing back one last time. She was still watching him as the door clicked softly shut behind him.
Beyond the glass, the city stretched endlessly toward the horizon, alive with movement beneath the afternoon sun. She let out one slow breath as her eyes drifted closed again.
She didn’t know what tomorrow would look like. She didn’t know whether trusting him again was the right decision or not. She only knew that an overwhelming part of her wanted to believe he’d do what he said he would… and she was surprisingly willing, once again, to take a chance on him.
thinking about thunderbolts agere because m eating macaroni w hot sauce,,,, i love the idea of yelena making that for the team’s kiddo and also,,, when she is regressed too that is one of the only foods she will eat,,, also out of all the thunderbolts besides lena.. who would make the best macaroni? i wanna say john… i have no clue why… he just seems like he can make a great macaroni and he probably is the one tasked to make it when lena regresses.. what kinda cheese would he even use… does he bake it? does he like putting breadcrumbs? would he use gluten free noodles… so many thoughts… mysteries even!!!
The guitar was from my brother, a few from my parents and others from myself. The cake was little because I'm more into salty than sweet, I just ate a few bites before giving it to my mother LMAO.
And I'll share some pictures of myself too (maybe I'll get shy and delete them later). I was wearing the crown just at the "happy birthday singing"
