[ He grunts a frustrated little noise at the word teammates, drawing the coffee cup closer, holding the still-too-hot mug with his metal hand. A version of him, once upon a time, had operated smoothly as a single cog in a well-oiled, functioning team with the Howling Commandos; and he’d been getting back there with Sam, slowly, with so much bitching and kvetching along the way, but he’s mostly forgotten what that sort of collaboration felt like. Widows and Soldiers led solitary lives.

And now Val’s gone and torpedoed his goddamn working dynamic with Sam, anyway. The PR’s fraught if they were to show up at the same fight together. ]

Yep, [ Bucky confirms, mildly despairing. And bluntly: ] I feel weird about it. Like, what, do I take Steve’s old room and you take your sister’s? What the fuck.