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Joaquín Torres really, really wanted to ask.
Joaquín didn’t dare ask.
Over the last few months, he’d developed an easy camaraderie with Sam, their big brother-little brother vibe translating well on missions when he strapped on the falcon wings to serve on Captain America’s support team. Once it became clear he could and would watch Sam’s back, he’d also won Bucky’s grudging approval–the quickest way to earn the Winter Soldier’s admiration was to protect Sam Wilson, after all.
Joaquín not only understood that impulse, he respected it and the duo settled into well…not exactly the same big brother-little brother energy he had with Sam. More like…a grumpy uncle-wayward nephew vibe. Or maybe a much, much older second cousin schooling his younger ingenue of a cousin vibe…or third cousin. Or maybe even…
Well, it didn’t really matter. Joaquín couldn’t quite define their relationship, but the point was he and Bucky respected each other and worked well together in their own right. When Bucky had taken a tumble from a skyscraper a few weeks back, Joaquín had swooped in for the save. “Thanks for the lift, Kid,” Bucky had managed with a lopsided smile mid-flight that had as much to do with appreciation as amusement, Joaquín obviously struggling a bit under the massive weight of the super soldier. (Look, Joaquín had upped his gym game since becoming Falcon 2.0, but that mother fucker was heavy as hell. He’d seen Sam in similar situations, the man never breaking a sweat even as he griped about Bucky’s mass on the comms the entire way down. It was as if Sam had managed to get strong enough to always lift Bucky...or maybe he just knew the right way to carry him.) When Joaquín had been sidelined on a mission with a concussion a month before that, it was Bucky who had been pacing back and forth in front of his hospital bed and giving the doctors grief on his treatment.
So yeah, he had a good working relationship with both men. That’s why he couldn’t ask.
But he really wanted to ask.
But how did you ask the other two members of your three-person team if they were madly in love and carrying on a secret relationship?
You didn’t.
You couldn’t.
Well you could, if you were willing to risk making things awkward, willing to possibly upset the team’s natural chemistry…willing to suffer through Sam’s disappointed brown eyes or Bucky’s icy blue-grey glare as one of three things happened: they scoffed like he was crazy, they lied through their teeth, or they told him it was none of his fucking business.
If they were together and wanted him to know, they would have told him…right? And technically it wasn’t any of his business, except he worked with them on the regular and had to be around them more than anyone else, and yeah…it would probably be helpful information to know, dammit.
So for that reason, being that they were both professional…they would have told him, right?
So obviously, they weren’t together. Except…
Things just didn’t add up.
The banter for one. The little jabs and inside jokes. Their protectiveness of one another. The way Bucky had abandoned Brooklyn and moved to DC with Sam to be closer for missions (which…fair…but still…packing up and leaving your past behind to move in with someone else sorta screamed ‘grand romantic gesture! Happening right here!’ to Joaquín. And that wasn’t just on Bucky…no Sam kept making more and more space in every corner of his life to fit Bucky right in.)
If Joaquín was keeping a mental list of ‘were they, weren’t they’, the proof would have leaned heavily in the direction of the former. They lived together, bickered like devoted old marrieds, seamlessly worked together, and didn’t appear to date anyone else.
And yet, Joaquín considered himself to be pretty observant. He was around the duo a lot. He’d never caught any stolen kisses. Never seen them hold hands when they thought no one was looking. And sure maybe there was a lingering glance or two or fifty-seven, but glances could be interpreted many different ways. Sam was affectionate by nature. As for Bucky, well obviously being a seasoned murderous assassin was something he’d been forced into because the man Joaquín had come to know also teared up at Disney movies (which again…fair.). There was nothing blatant in the way they touched or interacted…and maybe they didn’t quite touch others the same way…(For example: Joaquín had gotten a Sam Wilson bro hug. He had not gotten the Sam Wilson bro hug deluxe that included a fleeting neck caress. Neither had Colonel Rhodes, Clint or Ant-Man Scott Lang. Bucky…Bucky not only got the deluxe bro hug…he got multiple variations of it–a neck rub. A hair sweep. An extra squeeze. A hip tap. Really this list could go on. Joaquín had become quite vigilant lately.), but it’s not like they were canoodling on the daily either.
No. Joaquín wouldn’t even call them cuddly. They hugged. They playfully punched one another as they gave each other shit. And if one of them was hurt the other could definitely be found taking up all the personal space to check the injury. But they didn’t overtly caress each other. If they were in a secret relationship, they would surely slip up, especially with Joaquín there watching for it, right? But no–they never did. And as Joaquín could attest, neither of them were that great of actors. Both were two damn earnest, Sam a shitty liar and Bucky wearing his emotions on his face more times than not. Sure they could both pull it off when the assignment called for it (one of them better than the other but he wasn’t naming names), but not in their regular daily lives. No effing way.
Right?
It was killing Joaquín that he couldn’t say for sure. He didn’t care either way. (Okay, honestly, he would captain that fucking ship if given the chance, but he was also mature enough to know it was bad form to let that show. The work came first. He’d keep the rest to himself.) He just wanted to know.
Now they were back at Sam and Bucky’s place after a successful mission, Bucky in the kitchen whipping up some grub as he called it. Turns out the Winter Soldier made a mean breakfast for supper and the hint of fried potatoes had Joaquín trailing home after them like a lost puppy.
“Take our couch tonight,” Sam had insisted, Joaquín too tired to argue and too hungry to turn down scrambled eggs. “You gotta try Buck’s eggs, Man. He puts three different kinds of cheese in ‘em. And some ingredient he won’t tell me because he’s an asshole–”
“Trade secret Samuel, to keep you coming back for more,” Bucky had interjected blandly, a sparkle in his eye.
“Whatever James. We share a kitchen. Imma figure it out.”
“On my deathbed maybe.”
“Which may come sooner than you think if I keep finding your hair clogging the drain–”
And so the bickering began, Joaquín soaking it in, oddly comforted by the barbs they traded back and forth.
It kept up all the way back to the apartment where he now sat lounging on the sofa, contemplating how they both definitely had their own rooms–no relationship!--but also shared the same Netflix profile. Relationship?
The phone on the end table beside him vibrated, the lock screen lighting to life to show a candid shot of Bucky hilariously cringing. Which, weird. “Looks like Bucky just got some sort of notification,” Joaquín said as Sam came into the room carrying a bottle of beer for each of them.
“Oh, that’s mine,” Sam answered nonchalantly, reaching to retrieve the phone and glance at it. “Just Sarah. I’ll call her in a few.”
Joaquín nodded, not sure what the hell else to do because…was Sam just casually standing there scrolling through a phone that had Bucky as his lock screen photo?! What the absolute hell? Relationship, relationship, RELATIONSHIP, right? “I…uh… saw Bucky’s picture pop up when the notification came and just assumed it was his.” Joaquín tried to sound as indifferent as possible, as if the question he’d been struggling with wasn’t moments away from being answered because…because…surely…
“Oh yeah. That! You know why he’s called the winter soldier? ‘Cause he can’t handle a damn thing that’s got a lick of heat, that’s why. That’s him being taken down by Tommy’s blend during that chili cook off we had in Delacroix. Told you you should have come–see what you missed?” He clicked on the side of his phone to display the screen and held it up for Joaquín to get a closer look. A picture of Bucky, red-faced and eyes clenched shut, his nose all scrunched up. “Definitely couldn’t take the heat of the same chili Sam Wilson was raised on!”
“That’s hilarious,” Joaquín answered carefully as he tried to process this.
“Look, I know what you’re thinking…”
No, no…Sam probably did not know what he was thinking. Sam couldn’t know what he was thinking.
“You’re thinking that’s pretty cold, right?” Sure, let’s go with that. “Putting an embarrassing picture like that as my background. But it’s no less than what he deserves. He started it. Caught me mid-sneeze and made it his background. I’m just getting my well-deserved revenge.” He proceeded to glance down at his phone and shake his head fondly, a little smile tilting the corners of his mouth.
“So…uh…he has you as his lock screen, too?” Of course, he did.
“Yeah.” Sam rolled his eyes as if he was the most put upon man in the world. “I told him I’d change mine when he changed his, and you know his stubborn ass had to dig in his heels at that. That’s all right. I’ll wait him out.”
Joaquín shook his head at how ridiculous it all was, a standoff that accomplished nothing because apparently neither minded looking at the other that much. They worked together. Lived together. Vacationed in Delacroix together. As if they didn’t see each other all day, everyday…now they were each other’s lock screen. They literally stared at one another all damn day.
For Joaquín, that did it. He no longer had to wonder at the question, all the inaccuracies he’d struggled with finally adding up to a definitive answer. Yes, Sam and Bucky were in a relationship…they were just too dumb to realize it.