"Bernard Kramer," Steve states with authority, as he leans over the conference table to pull up a file on the holoscreen. He takes a step back to peer at the man's image on the screen, folding his arms stoically over his chest as he recites what few details are known about him. "Thirty-two years old. Born in Quebec. Current resident of Toronto. He has a PhD in biomechanical engineering from Stanford, so he spent some time in the states."

"So how did his skull end up in Brazil?" Robson asks with a disinterested air.

Steve reaches over and slaps the pen being twirled absently between the man's fingers out of his hand and across the room. "That's what you're going to find out," he tells him with a raised brow and commanding tone.

Robson immediately shifts in his seat, pulling himself staunchly upright. "Yes, sir."

The Captain gives him a sharp nod and turns to Natasha. "You're running point on this. You found his body – "

"Technically, we only found his head," she interrupts blandly.

He stares her down, unwilling to be sidetracked from his orders. "Now I want you to find out everything you can about him. Start with his work – not just the firm that reported him missing in January. I want to know his entire history. I want to know who he knew and how well he knew them. I want to know how often he went to Brazil, and what he told his friends, family, co-workers about it."

"Why is she running point?" Bucky asks suddenly from the opposite end of the table. There's a tense sharpness to his voice that sets everyone in the room on edge.

Steve looks at him assessingly for a long moment, takes in his defensive posture, the almost dangerous stare put forth by too tired eyes. "You're not part of this anymore," he tells him carefully.

His reply is simple. "Bullshit."

"I want you here," Steve says with a defeated sigh. "Romanov can handle Robson and Atkinson on her own. There are other… things I need your help with."

Bucky glares at him openly, not shy at all about his irritation. But he says nothing, only gives a sardonic snort as he angrily rises from his spot at the table and stalks out the conference room door.

"Such a professional," Natasha snipes, her eyes trailing after the man.

Steve raises a pointed finger at her, his words dripping with authority when he issues out, "I want a full report by the time Sam and I get back."

She turns to him, brow furrowed in confusion. "Where are you going?"

"Back to Brazil," he states simply as he flips off the holoscreen. "Might be suspicious if you guys go back, so we're gonna head out to where you found the body – the head – and see what else we can find. Hopefully we can track down whatever base they used when meeting up out there."

Her eyes flick back and forth between the two recruits across from her at the table. "Sure you wouldn't rather swap Sam out for me?"

He quirks a brow in her direction, looks over at her with a crooked smile. "I hear you three have built up quite a report. Wouldn't want to split you up now."

Atkinson releases a small scoff and says – more to herself – "But you're fine with pulling out Sergeant Barnes."

He glances at her quizzically, but says nothing, instead turning back to Natasha to tell her, "You leave for Toronto in four hours."

000

Somehow, despite having just a couple of hours left to pack and prep before leaving on their op, Atkinson finds herself wandering the compound in search of Bucky. She finds him – finally – in the gym, jogging steadily towards nowhere on a treadmill in the corner. She stops in her tracks, biting down hard on her bottom lip as she watches the muscles of his back stretch and pull beneath his sweat-soaked T-shirt.

A small sigh escapes her lips as she hears Robson's words from just a day ago echo in her ears. A crush is one thing. But a crush on a superior… that's playing with fire.

A crush. It sounds so… juvenile. So silly. The truth is, she just plain likes Sergeant Barnes. And she respects him. He's tough and smart and he doesn't take shit from anyone. He's fiercely protective of his team, adept at gauging the terrain and adjusting directives if needed. And he's utterly dependable in the field. All things that anyone would appreciate in their leader.

But – no – it is more than that.

All her life, Sarah Atkinson felt like the world was never enough, craved the things that she could never have… could never be. And Sergeant Barnes just feels like one of those things.

He's calm, cool, and collected. She has too much drive to be calm, too much enthusiasm to be cool, and too much of a social-butterfly proclivity to be collected.

He's strong and sturdy and physically intimidating – all things she knows her slight 5'2 frame will simply never allow.

He's dark and brooding and sexy. And she is – and always has been – tiny and delightful, a blond ball of enthusiasm… more a cheerleader than a sexpot.

No. This isn't a crush. This is something altogether different.

She's drawn to him, to all of his traits that so clearly juxtapose hers. To the qualities he possesses that she can never have on her own. With him – she thinks briefly, cocking her head to take in the glint of his hulking metal arm – the world might just finally be enough.

She heads across the gym and steps up next to him as he begins to slow his pace on the treadmill, smiles crookedly as she asks, "Too hot outside for you?"

They were nearing the end of April, but a swift heat wave had blown through just a day before. It was as though the burning sun and stifling air had followed them back from Brazil and settled in around the compound. He glances down at her and nods, only slightly out of breath. "Yeah."

She leans casually against his machine, nodding as well. "After Brazil… I was hoping we'd have a break from the heat." She casts her gaze out the wall of windows, squints against the sun that blares in despite the industrial-grade tinting. "Of course, I get to go to Canada," she says, wiggling her eyebrows as she looks back to him.

He slows the treadmill to a stop, stands atop it as beads of sweat plummet from the tips of his hair. He cocks his head towards her, brow furrowed. "What do you want?" he asks with an annoyed bite.

She pulls herself upright, straightening under his scrutiny. "I just wanted to tell you," she begins, unfazed by his sharpness, "that I think it's bullshit Captain Rogers won't let you go with us."

He rolls his eyes and grabs his towel off the machine, tosses it around his shoulders to soak up some of the sweat that drips from his hair. "It's not bullshit," he says, his voice going soft, eyes dropping to the floor. "There's other stuff that's more important."

Her eyebrows pull together curiously. "Like what?"

He steps off the treadmill and looks back over at her, raising his brows with authority. "You don't need to know," he tells her before letting out a long, deep sigh.

She looks him over carefully, notes his slumped posture, tense demeanor. He looked exhausted in their debrief earlier, a thing that Robson quickly commented on – What, did you get so used to us that you couldn't sleep in your own bed last night? – earning him an odd look of surprise before the anticipated wordless growl.

"That almost sounds like this stuff is something personal," she says, a casualness to her voice despite the uncertainty roiling inside of her.

She expects him to emit a growl in her direction, the soft rumble of discontent that everyone on the support team had grown to recognize – and humorously associate – with their often moody Sergeant. What she does not expect is for him to go eerily silent, light eyes narrowing – not in anger, but in some sort of deep thought – as he slowly pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. It's a look that's so utterly human, so little-boy-lost, that she feels an excited tingle spread up from her toes just watching him.

The expression lasts only a moment – just a single moment of unabashed vulnerability like he's never before shown in front of her. And then, as quickly as it rolled across his face, it's gone, replaced by unreadable steel. His eyes focus on her once again, rather than staring off into the ether, and he lets out a short sigh. "Sarah," he mutters plainly, his voice sounding just exhausted. His eyes tick up, glancing at something over her shoulder. She swings her head around quickly and sees Captain Rogers making a beeline for them from across the gym. "Just… do your job." She returns her gaze to his, takes in the serious, commanding way he juts out his chin and raises his brows. "Focus on doing your job."

"Hey," Steve interrupts as he comes up behind Atkinson. He gives Bucky a nod and glances down at her. "Shouldn't you be packing?" he asks. "You're wheels up in just a couple of hours."

She gives him a sharp nod, never one for any sort of insubordinate behavior, and says sincerely, "Yes, sir." There's just a quick flash of a smile in Bucky's direction before she slowly turns and heads out of the gym.

"What was that about?" Steve asks with a hint of suspicion. Bucky just shrugs and grabs his bottle of water off the treadmill. "Buck," he mutters, tone almost disappointed. He shakes his head plaintively, averting his eyes as he says, "Buck, you really should be careful with her."

Immediately, Bucky's forehead furrows, brows pulling tightly together in utter bewilderment. "With Atkinson?" he asks. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Come on," he emits amid a short, bitter laugh. "You know what I'm talking about."

Bucky shakes his head and lets out an annoyed groan. "We were just talking, Steve."

"I know."

"I have to talk to the people on my team." He gives his friend a wide-eyed glare. "You're the one who told me to be nice to them."

He laughs again, this time genuine and breathy. "Yeah, I know."

Bucky turns to head for the bench in the corner, fully anticipating that Steve will follow. "And if you're actually worried about that bullshit, maybe you shouldn't have paired us up for the last two weeks."

Steve stops short, several strides from the bench where Bucky retrieves his sweatshirt. "Why do you say that?" he asks haltingly, as though he's actually afraid of the answer. "Nothing happened there, right?"

Bucky spins around, his face an odd mixture of surprise and confusion. For a moment, his mouth hangs agape, devoid of words. But slowly he pulls it shut, jaw ticking with the effort. He narrows his eyes at Steve and steps forward, so close that he can feel the heat radiating off of the man. "What did you just say to me?"

Steve's hands fly up in a gesture of surrender, the corner of his mouth quirking up just the slightest bit. "Hey man," he offers lightly, taking a small step back. "Relax. You just caught me off guard, okay?"

He huffs out an annoyed breath. "You and Sam and Romanov… you think it's so damn funny to poke fun…"

"Buck…"

"This isn't high school, Steve."

The Captain comes out then, throwing back his shoulders and issuing out in a deep, commanding tone, "I know that. This is my team. And I damn well expect everyone on it to act like a professional."

"Tell that to the others."

"I'm telling it to you." Steve relaxes his posture just a bit. "This isn't just playful ribbing," he tells him with a serious tenor to his voice. "Not from me. I wouldn't tell you to be careful around her just because she obviously has some kind of schoolgirl crush on you."

Bucky lets out a sharp, dismissive psh, but can't quite verbally deny what his friend is saying.

"You show up at my door at eleven o'clock at night, pissed off – "

"You're damn right I'm pissed off!" he very nearly shouts, despite there being several others in the gym. "Some kind of… ghost…" He stops short, lips angrily pinching together as he tries to find the right words.

Steve just nods placatingly. "I know," he says. Then, again, "I know," in an even softer tone.

"And… what?" Bucky spits out, suddenly finding his words. "What… I sleep on your couch last night and that means you need to be worried about me talking to Atkinson? Jesus!"

Steve's expression pinches, something akin to disgust rolling over his features. "No," he protests, perhaps a bit too loudly. "No, I'm not…" He pulls in a deep stilling breath, working to calm his tone. He doesn't have to shift his gaze around the room to know that all eyes are on them. "Tessa is my friend," he says slowly, softly. "And I know… I know how sensitive she can be. So…" He raises his brows high and gives a sudden nod. "Yeah, maybe I'm overreacting. But…"

"You're definitely overreacting."

He gives Bucky an incredulous look. "You spent your first night home in weeks sleeping on my couch."

"I think sleeping is a bit of a stretch," he mutters before dropping down onto the bench behind him and swiftly cracking his neck to one side, then the other.

Steve cringes at the awful popping sound and steps forward to take a seat beside his friend. "Just before you shipped out," he starts, leaning forward and dropping his elbows to his knees. "You were seeing, what, four different dames?" He cocks his head curiously up at Bucky, who returns his inquiring look with a confused one of his own. "I know you had been trying to get Sadie Johnson's attention for months. Didn't she finally agree to go on a date with you when she found out you got your orders?"

He shrugs absently. "So?"

"And the whole time you were pushing her, you were stringing Natalie… Natalie something along." He raises his eyebrows accusingly at him. "She was a sweet girl."

"Clearly," he deadpans. "She obviously made an impression on you. Can't even remember her last name."

"Can you?" he snipes. Bucky turns a dangerous glare on him. "Then, the night before you ship out, you're with Connie. And Bonnie," he finishes with a sigh.

"You mean the date that you abandoned?"

Steve just rolls his eyes. "No way Bucky Barnes went to the dance hall with two girls and only danced with one."

"What the hell is your point?" he snaps bitterly, far too tired and annoyed to be taking a stroll down memory lane. Frankly, half of his annoyance right now is due to the fact that he really can't remember Natalie's last name… nor even her face. And he has no idea if he danced with both Connie and Bonnie that night, nor does he remember much more about the evening other than a flying car, the smell of stale popcorn, and saying goodbye to his little friend forever.

Steve lets out a long sigh and leans back into the wall behind him. "I know you're not that guy anymore." He looks over at him, connecting melancholy eyes. "I know that half the time you don't even remember that guy. But I do. And sometimes it's hard for me…" He shakes his head and swallows thickly, allowing a solemn silence to fill the space of his unspoken words.

"I remember going around with a lot of girls," Bucky says after a moment, his voice soft, almost wistful. He shakes his head suddenly and looks back at Steve. "But I don't remember ever being in love."

"I don't think you ever were," he tells him. Then, with a small laugh, "You always used to say you were. Oh, Stevie, I'm in love," he mocks through a chuckle. "This one, she's really something." Bucky knocks into him with his shoulder, a playful smirk pulling at his lips. Steve quells his laughter and pulls in a deep breath. "I know you love Tessa," he says with absolute certainty. "I know you do."

"I'd never hurt her," he mumbles, almost to himself as he casts a tired gaze toward the floor.

Steve turns to look at him, takes in the slump of his shoulders, the defeated look on his face. "I'm really freaked out right now too," he says in a near whisper. "I don't really know what's going on… and I don't know how to fix it." Bucky looks up at him, a hint of desperation in his eyes. "I know you feel the same way."

"That guy," he says, shaking his head, anger building gradually as he does so. "I know what he was like to her… when they were together. And he probably told Lobe who she was…"

"We don't know that," Steve quickly points out, earning him an irritated scowl.

"Dead or alive, he has no right to be anywhere near her."

"Agreed."

"And knowing he's… there…" A deep seated fury begins to bubble in his chest, the same one that came bursting out of him last night when Tessa told him in halting words that Cal was standing at the foot of their bed, watching them.

He'd screamed and railed, shouted obscenities at a man who wasn't even there. He'd flailed his arms through the air as though he could strike the ghost of this man whom he'd promised himself almost a year before that he'd kill on sight if ever they met.

But of course, he couldn't solely direct his anger at a ghost, at… nothing. So he took it out on the only real, live person in the room, the person who – despite all the shit she'd been put through by that asshole – was somehow so connected to him that he was able to worm his way into her very soul.

He'd yelled at her then, railed against her, screamed obscenities in her face. Because she had let Cal in, right? She'd somehow opened the door for him to return to her. And if she could open that door, shouldn't she be able to just as easily close it?

But she'd argued with him. Told him she didn't know how. Told him she couldn't. Told him that – after everything he'd done – she actually wanted to help this… dead man. He'd allowed her to feel once – she told him that too. Cal lent her a sort of intense, ambitious energy that she needed to get her life back on track after that damn wall was built inside her head. Didn't he understand what she owed to him? He'd made her feel.

And hearing that – hearing that some other man, especially one as undeserving as this one – had made her feel, had given her what she needed more than anything… some other man… that had sent a shockwave of jealousy through him. It had hurt like nothing he'd ever felt before.

"You should talk to her," Steve tells him simply, dropping his palm to Bucky's knee.

He shakes his head sadly. "I don't think I'm there yet."

"Okay." He gives him a quick nod before pulling his hand away and standing upright.

Bucky looks up at him with a pitiful expression. "You mind if I stay at your place while you're gone?" he asks, voice small and tentative. He drops his head and huffs out a tired breath. "I can't… I just can't go back if he's there."

"Yeah, sure," Steve concedes. "But I still think you should talk to her. If not now… soon at least." He waits for his friend to look up at him, for their eyes to connect, before stating, "I know you'd never mean to hurt her. But I guarantee that you staying away right now… that's hurting her."

Bucky's mouth slowly falls open, readying to speak. But no words come out.

Steve just gives him one more short nod before he turns to leave – Sam's probably waiting for him on the jet by now. "You've been through worse than this," he tells him with a crooked smile. "Don't you be the one to overreact."