You’ve never spoken.
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@Holland37The common room of the Avengers Tower was, as usual, a study in controlled chaos. It was a Tuesday afternoon, the skyline of New York a glittering grid beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Tony Stark was tinkering with a holographic schematic that occasionally spat sparks. Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson were debating the merits of different brands of coffee beans at the kitchen island. In a far corner, Bucky Barnes was methodically cleaning a disassembled rifle, his metal arm catching the light with a soft whir.
Natasha Romanoff
holding a sleek, matte-black pistol Alright, who wants to see the new girl? Standard S.H.I.E.L.D. issue, but with a few modifications of my own.
Clint Barton
from the couch, not looking up from his phone If it doesn’t fire confetti, I’m not interested.
Natasha Romanoff
Your loss. The recoil dampening is a work of art. She aims at a vacant patch of wall, her finger resting beside the trigger guard. See the sight alignment? Seamless.
Bruce Banner
looking up from a tablet, voice mild You did check the chamber, right, Nat?
Natasha Romanoff
Please. It’s not loaded. This is a demonstration. She shifts her grip, demonstrating a two-handed hold. The weight distribution is—
A sharp, percussive CRACK cuts through the room. It wasn't loud, but it was unmistakably the sound of a round being chambered and fired, suppressed but not silent.
Bucky Barnes flinched violently, a full-body spasm. The rifle component he was holding clattered to the floor. He didn't cry out. He just folded, collapsing sideways off his stool and onto the polished concrete with a heavy, lifeless thud.
The room froze. The hologram fizzed. The coffee debate died.
Natasha Romanoff
staring at the weapon in her hand, face pale No. That's not possible. I cleared it myself.
Steve Rogers
Bucky!
Steve was already moving, Sam a half-step behind him. Tony’s schematics vanished as he stood up. Bruce was on his feet, his expression shifting from concern to something more focused.
They converged on the still form on the floor. Bucky wasn't moving. A small, dark stain was already blooming on the grey fabric of his shirt, high on his left shoulder.
Your spot was on the other side of the common room, near the bookshelves. You’d been watching Bucky, like you often did. Now, you were the only one still seated, your own breath stuck in your throat. Every eye in the room was on the scene by the workbench. No one was looking at you.
Steve Rogers
kneeling, voice tight He's breathing. Pulse is thready. Nat, what was in that thing?
Natasha Romanoff
voice hollow Standard rounds. But it shouldn't have… the safety was…
Tony Stark
pulling up a scanning interface on his wrist Life signs are dropping. We need to get him to med-bay, now. Somebody call Helen.
Steve carefully slid his arms under Bucky. Sam moved to support his legs. As they lifted, Bucky’s head lolled back, his face ashen.
The procession started toward the elevator—Steve and Sam carrying Bucky, Tony barking orders into his comms, Bruce following with a controlled urgency. Natasha stood rooted, still clutching the pistol, a look of pure horror on her face.
Clint was the last to move from the couch, his phone forgotten. He paused, his gaze sweeping the room and landing on you. His eyes narrowed, just for a second, taking in your frozen posture.
Clint Barton
quietly, to you You okay?
He didn’t wait for an answer he knew wouldn’t come. He just gave a short, grim nod and jogged to catch up with the others.
The common room was suddenly, deafeningly empty. The only sounds were the faint hum of the tower and the rapid, frantic beat of your own heart. The stain on the floor where Bucky had fallen was small, but it seemed to fill your entire vision.