Monday Quinjet en route to Orpheus HQ

The steady hum of the Quinjet filled the cabin, the faintest vibrations thrumming beneath their feet as they soared toward their destination. The dim glow of overhead lights mixed with the sharper blues and greens of tactical displays, casting a muted glow over the space.

Steve sat rigid and focused, eyes scanning the last-minute mission details, brows slightly furrowed.

Bucky was mechanical in his routine, checking his weapons with silent precision, every movement deliberate.

And Sam?

Sam was watching them both like a man who had just uncovered the world's juiciest gossip.

"So," he said, leaning back, arms crossed over his chest, a slow, knowing grin spreading across his face. "You two have been weird all weekend."

Steve didn't even look up. "We've been fine all weekend."

Bucky grunted, not even bothering to glance away from his rifle. "Mind your business, Wilson."

Sam's grin widened. "Ohhh. See? That right there? That's a man deflecting."

Across from them, Nat—who had been idly sipping her coffee, looking vaguely uninterested—immediately perked up.

"Wait. What happened?"

Steve sighed sharply, already bracing himself. "Nothing happened."

Sam ignored him entirely, shifting his focus to Nat like a sports commentator setting up the highlight reel.

"Friday night, these two mysteriously disappear for a few hours. Dressed well. Then they come back, smelling like beer and perfume, acting all out of sorts."

Nat's eyes lit up, sensing blood in the water. "Oh, I need to hear this."

Steve closed his eyes briefly, already exhausted.

Bucky, flat and deadpan, muttered, "No, you don't."

Nat leaned forward, intrigued. "Was there a girl?"

Sam's grin somehow widened. "There was a girl."

Bucky shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

Steve, rubbing his fingers against the bridge of his nose, said, "It wasn't like that."

Sam, for the third time, completely ignored him.

"They spent the night at an arcade."

Nat, mid-sip, paused. Slowly, deliberately, she swallowed, then set her coffee down.

"An arcade?"

Sam nodded, full of smug delight. "Yup. With Evie."

For a moment, nothing but the hum of the engines and the faint crackle of the comms filled the air. Steve exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck like he was mentally preparing to eject himself from the jet. Bucky, jaw tight as a steel trap, turned back to his weapons with unnecessary aggression, checking and rechecking his sidearm as if the safety hadn't already been flicked on twice.

And then—Nat slammed her coffee down. "Back the hell up."

The cabin lurched slightly as Tony, finally glancing up from the controls, smirked and flicked a few switches. "Ohhh," he drawled, his grin widening. "This just got interesting."

Steve was staring at the ceiling like he was silently begging for divine intervention.

Bucky, stiffly, muttered, "Can we focus on the mission?"

Nat ignored him completely, turning her focus toward Steve with laser precision.

"Okay," she said, leaning forward with both elbows on her knees. "Tell me everything."

Steve sighed through his nose, like a man preparing to go to trial.

"We just… went out. Had a game night." He shrugged, as if that were the entire explanation. "That's it."

Sam let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh.

"Oh, Cap. Buddy." He shook his head. "You are so full of it."

Nat tilted her head, squinting at Steve like she was reading his soul.

"Hold on," she said slowly, her smirk creeping in. "Why are you blushing?"

Steve froze. He absolutely was blushing now. "I'm not." His voice was too quick, too defensive. Which meant he absolutely was.

Tony, positively gleeful now, leaned back in his seat, throwing an arm over the headrest.

"Wow," he mused, shaking his head. "Okay. Who had 'Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes getting absolutely wrecked by a 20-something redhead' on their 2025 bingo card?"

Bucky's grip on his pistol flexed, the faintest creak of leather filling the silence. The air around him seemed to darken. His shoulders squared, his jaw ticked, and he turned his head just enough to shoot Tony a look that could've killed a lesser man. "This conversation," he said, low and final, "is over."

Nat barely glanced at him, still intrigued. She looked at Sam.

"So." She lifted a brow, her smirk now fully present. "How bad is it?"

Sam grinned, stretching his legs out and lacing his fingers behind his head. "Oh, real bad."

The engines hummed. Steve sighed, pressing his fingers into his temples. Bucky clipped his pistol back into its holster with enough force to make a point.

Tony tapped a few controls. "I'll put twenty bucks on Evie.."

Nat took a slow sip of coffee, still grinning. "Make it fifty."

Avengers' Tower Mission Control

Evie was perched in front of a bank of screens, monitoring live feeds from the team's body cams. Maria stood beside her, arms crossed, her sharp gaze tracking every movement.

"Alright, team," Evie said into the comms, eyes flicking over security logs. "You're all clear on entry. Cameras are looped. Alarms are deactivated. Welcome to the VIP experience."

Tony, chiming in, replied, "Fantastic work, kid. Ten out of ten, would recommend your hacking services."

Sam's voice cut in. "Should we be concerned about how fast she's getting through these security systems?"

"Not as long as she's on our payroll," Tony shot back. "If she bails, however, we're goners. As a matter of fact, Langston, remind me to increase your pay."

Without missing a beat, Evie leaned back in her chair, drumming her fingers against the console. "Tapped into the books and did it myself two weeks ago," she said casually. "Surprised you haven't noticed. A forty percent raise isn't exactly standard."

Tony narrowed his eyes at the camera feed. "…I think you're joking, but I'm unsure enough to double-check on that."

Evie grinned. "You should."

Steve's voice cut in, steady and focused, bringing them back on task. "Everything looks good on our end. Moving forward. No sign of alarm from Orpheus."

Maria, standing beside Evie, glanced at the feeds, nodding slightly. "Solid work. Your system's holding perfectly."

Evie leaned back, satisfied. "Just like we drew it up."

And sure enough, the team moved deeper into the compound, executing flawlessly. The mission and extraction unfolded like clockwork. Which meant, of course, Tony had to ruin it the second they got back to the Quinjet.

The second the hatch closed behind the team, Tony's voice cut through the comms, smug as hell. "So, kid—Are you opening up these legendary Friday Fun nights to beloved mentors, or is this strictly a 'men over 90' situation?"

Silence. . The comms went dead. The entire control room followed suit. Evie froze. Back in the jet, Steve cleared his throat. Bucky, barely audible, muttered, "Oh my God."

Maria, brows raising slightly, turned her head just enough to look at Evie.

Evie, grinning tightly, forcing herself to keep her voice smooth, replied, "Well, Stark, you do fit the age requirement."

Tony let out a dramatic sigh. "Ouch."

Evie focused back on her monitors, pretending her ears weren't burning, pretending she didn't feel Maria's steady, assessing gaze still on her.

Once the team was back and debriefed, the adrenaline finally tapering off, Maria stepped forward with the kind of calm, unwavering authority that made people stop in their tracks.

"Langston. A word."

Evie paused, arching a brow. "Agent Hill?"

Maria didn't smirk. Didn't tease. She just studied her. Steady. Calculated. Her arms crossed, feet planted. No casual stance. No half-measure. This wasn't friendly concern. This was serious.

And then, flatly, directly, Maria said, "You do realize what you're playing with, right?"

Evie stilled. Maria let the question sit for only a moment before continuing. "Two of the most dangerous men on the planet, Evie. Two men who have killed more people than we'll ever know. Who have spent their entire lives as weapons first, people second."

Evie opened her mouth to respond, but Maria didn't give her the chance.

"And you, of all people, are putting yourself right in the middle of them."

Evie's stomach tightened. "I—"

"No, listen to me." Maria's tone was sharper now.

She took a step closer, dropping her voice just enough to make it clear she wasn't saying this for anyone else's benefit—just Evie's. "You think this is just some slow-burn, high-stakes flirting? Some power play where you get to make them squirm and walk away when you're bored?"

Evie felt her pulse pick up. "That's not—"

"Because it's not just you who could get burned." Maria's eyes hardened. "This? This isn't just some complicated love triangle, Langston. This is a ticking time bomb."

Evie exhaled, forcing herself to meet Maria's stare. She knew Maria was blunt, but this was something else.

"This is Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers," Maria continued. "Two men who, when they're aligned, are an unstoppable force." Maria's voice dropped lower. "But when they're not? When something wedges between them, when emotions get involved, when tensions rise?" She let the weight of it settle, before finally saying, "Then they become the most dangerous thing in the world."

Evie felt a chill slip down her spine. Because Maria wasn't wrong. Because she'd seen it, hadn't she?

The way Bucky tensed when he saw that Steve had found her after the briefing first.
The way Steve's face hardened when Bucky had touched her hips during the game of darts.
The way both of them had watched her like they were trying to figure out who was winning.

She had felt it.

The heat of it. The danger of it.

And for the first time, she wondered if she had been too focused on playing the game to realize what kind of fire she was standing in.

Maria must have seen the flicker of doubt in her eyes because she nodded, satisfied. "I'm not telling you what to do. I'm not your boss and I'm not your mom. I just need you to understand this," Maria said, her voice softer now, but still firm. She exhaled through her nose, taking a step back. "Because if this goes wrong, it's not just your heart that's going to be collateral damage."

Maria let that hang between them. Let Evie sit in it. And then, finally, she sighed. "Good luck, Langston," she muttered, turning on her heel and walking away.

Evie watched her go.

For the first time in weeks, she wasn't sure she had the upper hand.

Monday Night Evie's Apartment

Evie stared at the ceiling, sprawled across her bed in the dark. The glow from the city outside cast faint patterns against her ceiling, shifting with every passing car. She hadn't even bothered closing her blinds. It wouldn't have mattered.

Her mind wouldn't shut up.

Maria's words echoed in her head, sharp and unrelenting. You do realize what you're playing with, right?

She had shrugged it off at the time, flashing her usual confident grin, treating it like a game she had already mastered. But now, alone with nothing but her thoughts, it didn't feel like a game.

She rolled onto her side. Then her other side. Then back onto her back. No position seemed comfortable. Not because of her mattress, but because of them.

Steve. His steady presence. The way he looked at her with quiet admiration, like she was something to figure out, something worth knowing. The way his mouth twitched when she made fun of him, like he was always one second away from breaking into full laughter. The way he made her feel like the only person in the room.

Bucky. His sharp, gruff humor that cut through conversation like a knife. His rare but devastating smirks, the ones that made her stomach twist, that made her want to chase them, earn them. The way she always knew when he was looking at her, even when she wasn't looking back.

She groaned, pressing her palms against her face before shoving her head into her pillow. This was ridiculous. She was better than this. Smarter than this. She needed to stop letting them live in her head rent-free.

Eventually, her body relaxed, her thoughts blurred, and sleep pulled her under.

And that's when the dream started.

From the moment it began, she knew it wasn't real. Because real life didn't feel like this. Didn't feel this heavy, this electric, this charged. She was standing between them. Steve to her left. Bucky to her right.

And they were close.

Not in a normal way. Not in a casual way.

In a way that made her breath catch. In a way that made every inch of her skin buzz with awareness.

Steve's fingers traced along her arm, featherlight, like he was testing her reaction, like he wanted to see how little it took to unravel her. Bucky's metal fingers brushed the small of her back, grounding, possessive, the contrast between cool metal and warm fingertips making her shiver.

Steve, watching her with those impossibly blue eyes, murmured, "You're thinking too much."

Bucky, his voice lower, rougher, near her ear, added, "For once, just feel it."

She exhaled sharply, trying to process the heat, the weight of them.

And then—

Steve's fingers tilted her chin up. Bucky's hand pressed firmer against her back. And she felt it.

The impossible, electric tension between pulse pounded. She knew what was coming next. She could taste it, anticipate it—

And then she woke up.

Evie shot upright in bed, heart slamming against her ribs. No. Nope. Absolutely not. She pressed a hand to her forehead. Her skin was hot. Her entire body was warm.

Her face burned as the details of the dream lingered, branded into her mind like an image she couldn't erase. Shoving herself back under the covers, she squeezed her eyes shut. I need to get a grip.

Unfortunately, that was easier said than done.

Because now? Now she had to see them at work, function around them like normal. And worse?

Friday night was in two days.

And she had no idea how she was supposed to pretend that didn't just happen.

Thursday Afternoon The Lab

Evie had buried herself in work. Like, actually buried herself.

She had ignored texts, declined invitations, and strategically relocated to the one place she was sure she wouldn't accidentally run into certain people—the lab. It was the perfect plan. Isolate herself, drown in projects, avoid distractions.

But apparently, that plan had a flaw.

Because when she looked up from her monitor, she saw Steve Rogers standing in the doorway. And, God help her, he looked adorably out of place. The dimly lit, high-tech chaos of the lab clashed with his soft, simple presence. One hand gripped the back of his neck, head tilted slightly, blue eyes filled with that genuine concern she really, really didn't need right now.

Evie blinked. "Uh. Captain Rogers. What a shock."

Steve gave her a look. "Really?"

Evie sighed, leaning back in her chair. "No. Not really."

Steve stepped further inside, hands tucked into his pockets, his posture casual but deliberate. "You've been… kind of scarce this week."

Evie kept her expression neutral, fingers lightly tapping the desk. "I've been busy."

Steve gave her another look. One of those looks. The kind that made her feel like she had already lost this conversation.

Evie, clearly outmatched, sighed again. "Okay. What's up?"

Steve hesitated for half a second, as if debating his next words, then exhaled. "I just… wanted to make sure you're okay."

Her stomach did something stupid. He was still watching her, expression open, voice careful, completely disarming. "I know Tony's comment was… a lot," Steve continued. "And I just wanted to say—it wasn't us who brought it up. It was Sam."

Evie's eyes narrowed slightly. "Sam?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah. He noticed Bucky and I were a little… off."

Evie raised an eyebrow. "Because of the arcade?"

Steve gave her a slightly helpless look. "Apparently."

Evie tilted her head, watching him. "And you're worried that I—what? Got scared off?"

Steve, blushing just a little, rubbed the back of his neck again. "I don't know. I just… didn't want you to feel weird about it."

Evie paused. Because this? This wasn't teasing. It wasn't some flirty, carefree moment. It was sweet. Soft. And it completely disarmed her.

She swallowed, shaking off the very real feelings creeping in. "I'm not weird about it," she said lightly, offering a small smile. "I've just been… busy."

Steve, still watching her carefully, finally nodded. "Okay." Then—just as naturally as ever—"So… Friday?"

Evie tilted her head. "You still up for it?"

Steve smiled, easy and warm. "Is it bad if I say I've been looking forward to it?."

Returning his soft smile, Evie leaned forward, elbows on the desk. "Not at all. What's the plan this time? I don't think we can handle any more life-or-death arcade battles."

Steve chuckled, shaking his head. "No competition this time."

Evie pretended to look scandalized. "Where would that leave us, Cap?"

Steve, still smiling, replied easily, "Just dinner."

Evie blinked. Then—too caught off guard to filter her reaction—"Oh."

Steve, watching her closely now, smirked. "That okay?"

Evie snapped herself out of it. "Yeah. No, yeah, of course."

Steve nodded, clearly satisfied. "Good. I'll pick you up at seven."

Evie exhaled, smirking slightly. "Old-fashioned, aren't you?"

Steve grinned. "You have met me, right?"

Evie laughed, finally relaxing. And just like that, the game shifted again.

Wednesday Night The Avengers' Tower

Bucky was halfway through disassembling his pistol when he heard footsteps approaching. Slow, deliberate. He didn't look up. Didn't have to.

"Something on your mind, Rogers?"

Steve, pausing in the doorway, sighed. "That obvious?"

Bucky snorted, keeping his eyes on his hands as he slid out the barrel. "You're standing there like you've got something to confess."

Steve leaned against the doorframe, arms crossing over his chest. "Maybe I do."

That made Bucky set his gun down.

Steve, ever the picture of honesty, looked almost hesitant. And that? That was enough to put Bucky on edge.

"Spit it out, man."

Steve exhaled, shifting his weight. "I asked Evie to dinner on Friday."

Bucky's fingers tensed against the table, but his face remained completely unreadable. He had perfected that skill long ago.

"Dinner," he repeated flatly.

Steve nodded once. "Yeah."

Silence stretched between them.

Bucky leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers lightly against the table. "So what, the Friday outings are canceled?"

Steve, to his credit, shook his head. "No. It's just… dinner this time."

Bucky let that sit for a second. Then—in the most neutral voice he could manage—"And you're telling me because?"

Steve hesitated. Just for a second. "Because this whole thing started with all three of us," he said carefully. "And I didn't want you to think I was… I don't know."

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "Pulling rank?"

Steve exhaled. "That's not what this is."

Bucky shrugged, keeping his tone casual. "Didn't say it was."

Another silence. And this one stretched.

Because they both knew what was actually happening here.

Steve was being fair.
Bucky was being flippant.
And neither of them were being honest.

Steve, still watching him, added, "You're welcome to come."

Bucky's jaw ticked. That was the problem, wasn't it? Steve was genuine enough that he meant it—but not so genuine that he wanted it. Some part of him? Hoped Bucky would say no.

And Bucky? Bucky wanted to say no.

Because he could already see it. Steve picking Evie up. Holding doors open. That easy, charming warmth of his pulling her in. And worst of all? Her letting him.

Bucky wasn't the type to overthink. He didn't do feelings, or complications, or messy emotions. But this? This was different. And he hated it.

So he said—flatly, emotionless—"No."

Steve's expression didn't change. But something in his shoulders eased. And that made Bucky's stomach turn. Bucky, picking his pistol back up, added casually, "But I'll drive her home."

Steve paused.

And that was the moment the playing field leveled again.

Steve gave him a long look. Then, finally—with something knowing behind his gaze—"Yeah. Yeah, alright."

Bucky, fully composed again, grinned slightly. "Good talk, Rogers."

Steve huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

But neither of them actually felt better.