You were Thunderbolts through and through. Dangerous, sharp, reckless in a way that made Valentina sigh like she had stock in migraines. You could turn a room into a battlefield before anyone finished blinking, and John loved you for it.

Loved the chaos. Loved the fire.

Loved the fact that you kissed him in elevators like the cameras weren't there and called him "Captain" only when you were trying to get under his skin. Which was often.

Which was why, when the mission went sideways, John didn't panic at first. Sideways was practically your team's natural habitat.

"Contact left!" Bucky barked through comms.

Ava phased through a concrete pillar and reappeared behind two armed men, dropping them before they could fire.

Yelena slid across the hood of a black SUV, kicked someone in the throat, and yelled, "I hate rich criminals. They all smell like leather and bad choices."

"I smell gunpowder," Alexei announced proudly.

"That's because they're shooting at us," Bob said.

John slammed his shield into a man's chest and sent him sprawling across the wet pavement. Rain slicked his hair against his forehead. His eyes cut across the square, scanning for you.

He found you near the fountain. You were fighting beautifully.

He would never admit how much he loved watching you in the field. Not because you needed admiration, but because you moved like you'd made a private deal with danger years ago. Fast. Fluid. Ruthless when necessary. Graceful in a way that didn't soften the violence, only refined it.

You ducked a knife, caught the attacker's wrist, and drove your knee into his ribs.

John grinned despite himself. "That's my girl," he muttered.

Then the fountain exploded.

Water erupted into the air, stone cracking outward in a violent burst. John lifted his shield on instinct, blocking the worst of the debris. His boots skidded back across the street.

Through the spray, someone stepped into the square. Tall. Black coat. Too calm for the amount of bullets flying around him.

The men around him stopped fighting. That was John's first warning.

Your body went still. That was the second.

The man smiled. That was the third, and by then John already hated him.

"Well," the stranger said, voice carrying through the rain. "There you are."

You didn't lower your weapon, John noticed.

He noticed everything about you. The way your fingers tightened. The way your shoulders lifted half an inch. The way your mouth parted, not in surprise exactly, but recognition.

Bad recognition. The kind that crawled up from somewhere old.

Bucky's voice dropped through comms. "Who the hell is that?"

You didn't answer.

The man looked you over slowly, his gaze dragging in a way that made something hot and ugly snap behind John's ribs.

"You look good, sweetheart. Still look like you'd drop to your knees if I asked nice enough."

John's head turned.

Sweetheart? No, absolutely not.

Your face hardened. "Don't call me that, Riven."

Riven's smile widened, eyes lingering on your lips.

John's grip tightened around the shield.

"Riven," Yelena repeated. "Like the weapons trafficker Riven? The one who disappeared after Madripoor?"

"Not disappeared," Riven said, eyes still on you. "Heartbroken."

You scoffed. "You sold stolen alien tech to warlords."

"And you used to say my ambition was sexy. Used to climb into my lap and tell me how wet it made you when I talked about power."

John moved before he realized it. One step. Then another.

Bucky caught his arm. "Walker."

John didn't look at him. "Let go."

"Not yet."

Riven's gaze flicked to John then, amused and openly dismissive. "This him?"

You didn't answer.

Riven laughed softly. "Oh, that's adorable."

John's eyes narrowed.

The square seemed to shrink. Rain hit his face, cold and steady, but under his skin everything burned.

You raised your gun higher. "You need to walk away."

"From you?" Riven put a hand over his heart. "Never."

"From this fight."

"I didn't come for the fight."

"Then you're stupider than I remember."

That made him grin.

John hated the grin.

Hated how familiar it was.

Hated that this man knew your expressions before John had ever earned the right to memorize them.

Riven stepped closer.

John did too.

Bucky's grip tightened. "Walker."

Riven ignored them all and looked at you like the rest of the world had been built for background decoration. "I missed that mouth. The way it used to wrap around my..."

"Stop!" you cut him off before he could finish.

The air changed, every Thunderbolt in the square seemed to feel the exact moment John Walker's last thread of restraint frayed.

You saw it too. "John," you warned.

He didn't stop.

Riven's eyes lit up. "John." He said it like he'd tasted something sour. "Captain America's angry little replacement."

John's jaw flexed.

You shifted in front of him. "Don't."

Riven tilted his head. "He always this obedient, or is that just when you're watching?"

John smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. It wasn't even a John smile. It was sharp, empty, and mean enough that Bucky's posture changed beside him.

"You got a problem with me," John said, voice low, "you can stop talking to her and start talking to me."

Riven's gaze dipped to the shield. "Cute toy."

John lunged. You barely had time to curse before he crossed the space between them like a bullet with a pulse.

Riven moved fast. Too fast.

He pulled a blade from his sleeve, black metal humming with some kind of charged energy. John blocked the first strike with the shield, sparks spitting blue against it. He drove forward with a brutal shove.

Riven laughed. "Temper," he said. "She always did like them unstable."

John slammed the edge of the shield toward his head.

Riven ducked, twisted, and kicked John hard in the ribs. John staggered half a step, then came back swinging.

Not tactical. Not clean. Furious.

"John!" you snapped.

He didn't hear you. Or he did and couldn't reach the part of himself that listened.

Riven struck again. John caught his wrist, twisted, and headbutted him hard enough to split skin. Blood flashed bright against Riven's mouth.

The smile vanished.

There he is, you thought. The real one. The monster under the charm.

Riven spat blood onto the pavement, then looked past John at you. "He doesn't know, does he?"

Your stomach dropped.

John froze for half a second.

Riven noticed. "He doesn't know what you were like before all this shiny redemption nonsense." Riven grinned through the blood. "You tell him how pretty you looked with my knife at your hip? How sweet you sounded when you begged me not to leave you behind?"

Your finger tightened on the trigger.

John turned his head slightly. Not enough to take his eyes off Riven, but enough that you saw the question in his profile.

Pain flared under your ribs.

Riven's voice softened into something obscene. "Or did you only tell him the parts where you got to be the hero? Not the nights you let me ruin you. Not how wet you got when..."

You fired. The shot hit Riven in the shoulder. He stumbled back, laughing again, wilder this time.

John's head snapped toward you.

You walked forward through the rain, gun raised, eyes locked on the man who used to know exactly where to cut you.

"He doesn't need your version of me," you said. "And neither do I."

Riven's smile twitched. "You always did get mean when you were scared."

You shot his thigh. He went down on one knee.

John stared at you. So did everyone else. You kept walking until you were close enough to see the fury in Riven's eyes.

"There she is," he hissed.

You crouched slightly, gun still trained on him. "You don't get to flirt with me like we're sharing an inside joke. You don't get to say my name like you own the syllables. You don't get to crawl out of whatever hole you've been hiding in and act like I'm something you misplaced."

Riven's breathing turned ragged. "You loved me."

You smiled. Small. Cold. "No," you said. "I survived you."

John moved behind you. You felt him before you saw him. Heat at your back. Rage still rolling off him in waves.

Riven looked up at him and made one last mistake. "She always liked it rough, Walker."

John hit him. The sound cracked across the square.

Riven's body hit the pavement hard, and John followed him down, one knee planted beside his ribs, fist already drawn back for another strike.

"John!"

He punched him again.

Riven coughed blood.

Bucky started forward, but you were faster.

You grabbed John by the back of his tactical vest and pulled with everything you had. "John, stop!"

He didn't.

His face was terrifying. Not because you were afraid of him. Because you knew exactly what grief, jealousy, and violence could do when they got braided together too tightly.

"John!"

His fist lifted again.

You shoved yourself between them.

That stopped him instantly. His whole body locked, fist suspended in the rain, breath tearing out of him.

You stood over Riven, staring down at John.

His eyes found yours. Blue and furious. Blue and scared. "Move," he said.

"No."

His jaw clenched. "He touched you."

"A long time ago."

"He hurt you."

"And I'm still standing."

John looked like the words hit harder than Riven ever could.

Around you, the square had gone quiet except for sirens in the distance and Alexei loudly whispering, "Should we do something?"

"No," Yelena whispered back. "This is relationship violence therapy."

"That is not a thing," Bob said.

"It is today."

John's chest rose and fell fast.

You lowered your voice. "Look at me."

He did. Rain ran down his face. Blood smeared his knuckles. His shield lay a few feet away, forgotten.

"You don't get to lose yourself over him," you said.

John swallowed hard.

"He doesn't get that much of you."

Something in his expression cracked.

Your anger softened, but only at the edges. "You hear me?"

John nodded once.

You reached for his hand, the bloody one, and wrapped your fingers around his fist until he loosened it. One finger at a time.

"There you are," you whispered.

His breathing shuddered.

Riven groaned behind you.

John's eyes flickered down.

You squeezed his hand hard. "Don't."

"He doesn't deserve to breathe near you."

"No," you said. "But I deserve to decide what happens to the ghosts that come crawling back."

John stared at you. Then, slowly, he nodded. The fight left his shoulders in pieces.

Bucky stepped in and hauled Riven up by the back of his coat like he weighed nothing. "I'll take this one."

Riven groaned, barely conscious. "She'll get bored of you, Captain. She always does when they stop making her scream."

John surged half a step forward. You caught his vest. This time he stopped.

Riven smiled weakly. "There's the temper."

You stepped close to him.

Bucky held him steady, metal hand clamped around his collar.

"You want the truth?" you asked.

Riven blinked blood from his lashes.

You leaned in. "John doesn't scare me."

His smile faltered.

"You did." The words landed quietly. Brutally. "And that's the difference."

Riven's face emptied.

You stepped back. "Get him out of my sight."

Bucky dragged him away without another word.

For a second, nobody moved.

Then Yelena raised her hand. "I would like to say, for the record, that was extremely attractive and deeply unhealthy."

Ava nodded. "Seconded."

Bob lifted a finger. "The unhealthy part or the attractive part?"

"Yes," Yelena said.

Alexei clapped John on the shoulder hard enough to make him wince. "You have passion. Very good. Also maybe therapy. Also very good."

John didn't answer. His eyes were still on you.

You jerked your chin toward the alley. "Walk with me."

He followed.

The alley was narrow, damp, and half-lit by a flickering sign from the closed shop beside it. The noise of the team faded behind you.

You stopped beneath the awning. John stood a few feet away, stiff as a live wire.

You crossed your arms. "Are you hurt?"

He gave you a look.

You lifted a brow. "Don't start."

His mouth twitched, but it died quickly. "I'm fine."

"You're bleeding."

"It's not mine."

"John."

He looked down.

There was a cut across his cheek. Small, but bleeding. His knuckles were split.

You sighed and stepped closer.

He didn't move. That, more than anything, told you how shaken he was. John Walker was never still unless something inside him had gone very, very loud.

You reached into one of your vest pockets and pulled out gauze.

His voice came rough. "Why didn't you tell me?"

You paused.

"About him," John said.

You pressed the gauze to his cheek. "Because I don't like giving him space in rooms he isn't standing in."

John's eyes shut briefly. "I'm not mad," he said.

"You look mad."

"I'm mad at him."

"I noticed."

His eyes opened, there was shame there now, creeping in around the edges of the adrenaline. "I lost it."

"Yeah."

His mouth tightened.

You didn't soften the answer. He didn't need you to lie to him.

"You scared the team," you said. "You scared yourself."

His voice dropped. "Did I scare you?"

You held his gaze. "No."

His breath caught.

"But I need you to hear me when I tell you to stop."

He nodded immediately. "I know."

"I mean it, John."

"I know."

"I love you," you said, and his face crumpled just slightly, "but I'm not asking for a guard dog."

His eyes dropped.

You caught his chin gently and made him look at you. "I'm asking for my partner."

He nodded again, slower this time. "I can be that," he said.

"I know you can."

His hands hovered near your waist, hesitant. That hurt more than the fight. You stepped into him and took his wrists, guiding his hands to your hips.

John exhaled like he'd been punched. "I wanted to kill him," he admitted.

"I know."

"I hated the way he looked at you."

"I know."

"I hated that he knew you before me."

Your chest tightened.

There it was. The ugliest part. The most human part.

You let your hands slide up his arms, feeling the tension locked beneath the suit.

"He knew a version of me that was trying to survive," you said. "You know me now."

John's eyes searched yours.

"You know how I take my coffee. You know I steal your socks because they're warmer. You know I pretend not to cry at dog rescue videos. You know I sleep better when your hand is on my stomach. You know I hate being called fragile, and you know exactly when to stop arguing and just bring me food."

His expression softened.

"You know me, John."

Rain drummed against the awning above you.

"The real me," you said.

His forehead dropped to yours. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

You closed your eyes. "I know."

"I'm not sorry I hit him."

A laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it.

John's mouth brushed yours, not quite a kiss. "I'm working on that part," he murmured.

"You'd better."

His hands tightened on your hips. "I love you," he said.

You smiled faintly. "Even with the villain ex baggage?"

His face darkened at the phrase, but his voice stayed soft. "Especially with the baggage. Means I get to help you carry it."

You poked his chest. "I don't need you to carry it."

"No," he said. "But I can hold the door while you throw it out."

That made you smile for real.

John noticed. He always noticed. His thumb brushed your hip. "There's my girl."

You narrowed your eyes. "Careful, Walker."

His brows lifted. "What?"

"You're hovering dangerously close to caveman territory."

A little bit of John came back then, smug and warm beneath the bruises. "Pretty sure I passed caveman territory fifteen minutes ago."

"You launched yourself at my ex in the middle of an active mission."

"He was flirting with my girlfriend."

"He was baiting you."

"It worked."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't stop your smile.

John leaned closer. "He called you sweetheart."

You hummed. "That bothered you?"

His jaw ticked.

You rose onto your toes, mouth close to his ear.

"You know I like it better when you call me love."

John went still.

Then his hands flexed.

"Don't do that," he said, voice suddenly rough.

"Do what?"

"Make me want to kiss you while I'm still trying to be emotionally accountable."

You laughed against his cheek.

He turned his head and caught your mouth.

The kiss wasn't gentle. Not at first. It had too much leftover fury in it, too much fear, too much relief. His hand slid up your back, pulling you against him, and you let him have one second of it. One second to taste the fact that you were there, alive, his, not in the way Riven had meant it, but in the way you'd chosen.

Then you pulled back and tapped his chest. "Accountable first."

John groaned. "Cruel woman."

"Alive woman."

His expression sobered instantly.

You softened and cupped his face. "And yours. Because I chose that. Not because you won a fight."

His eyes burned into yours. "Say it again," he whispered.

You smiled. "I chose you."

John kissed you again.

This time, it was softer. Still hungry, still John, but softer.

Behind you, someone cleared their throat.

You and John turned.

Yelena stood at the mouth of the alley with her arms crossed. "Very moving," she said. "Disgusting. We have to leave before Valentina arrives and asks why Walker turned the mission into a jealous soap opera with blood."

John sighed.

You patted his chest. "Come on, Captain."

He gave you a look. "Don't call me that right now."

You grinned. "Why? You sensitive?"

His eyes dipped to your mouth. "Love," he said quietly, warning and promise all tangled together.

Heat curled low in your stomach.

Yelena made a gagging sound. "I can still see both of you."

John didn't look away from you. "Good," he said. "Then you can see she's fine."

You slid your fingers through his. "No," you corrected softly.

John looked at you.

You squeezed his hand. "We're fine."

His thumb brushed over your knuckles.

The alley light flickered overhead. Rain kept falling. Somewhere behind you, Riven was being dragged into custody, bleeding and furious and finally irrelevant.

John lifted your hand to his mouth and kissed your bruised knuckles.

Then he looked at you with all that fire still inside him, banked but not gone.

"Let's go home," he said.

You smiled.

"Yeah," you whispered. "Take me home."