Chapter Text
“Okay, out with it.” Sam folded the mission plans he’d just reworked thanks to some last-minute entail courtesy of Rhodey, his expression pinched as he turned toward the doorway Joaquín had been hovering in for the last half hour or so.
Hovering. His teammate had been doing a lot of that this morning. But not a lot of talking.
“What?”
“Don’t what with me right now, c’mon.”
“Just ask him!” Elijah’s voice called from the kitchen of the safehouse they were bunking in until go-time. How Sam, who had just wanted advice from Isaiah, had ended up with a cocky, belligerent teen on his team, he wasn’t quite certain, but no one could deny said teen had come in handy.
“Ask me what?” Sam sighed; pretty sure he knew where this was going. He might have a few years on both males, but he could still use the Internet perfectly fine. And X had exploded overnight with a certain picture captured in D.C. the day before. “Torres, I need your head in the game. Not wherever it is right now, so just go ahead and get it out there so we can move on.”
Still Joaquín hesitated, tugging at the bottom of his shirt as if it was somehow out of place, his posture rigid and brow furrowed as he searched Sam’s face for signs of distress.
Impatient and out of the line of fire because he was all the way in the other room, Elijah couldn’t resist jumping in. “He wants to know if you’ve seen the picture!”
“The picture?”
Joaquín nearly withered under Sam’s affronted glare.
“Ya know, the picture!” Elijah continued helpfully since it cost him nothing.
Joaquín shifted from one foot to the other, rubbing his hands down the front of his jeans. “The uh…picture that surfaced yesterday of Buck-…uh, I mean Sergeant Barnes?” He ran an agitated hand through his dark hair. “Um…there’s a picture of him floating around the Internet if you didn’t know.”
Sam nodded numbly, his stomach letting loose with a pitiful quiver. He knew this was coming, but it still stung all the same. “Yeah. Yeah, I saw it.”
“Your boy be looking rough, Man,” Elijah announced with a whistle.
“Thank you for your input,” Sam called back, the edge in his voice leaving no room for argument. “But I think you’re done now.” They heard a small scuffle and low voices and could only assume Isaiah had heard enough and was quietly scolding his grandson.
“Yeah, I’m gonna just…make sure the car is loaded,” Elijah hollered back, the vague sound of the back door closing letting them know he had seen his way out of the conversation.
Sam turned back to Joaquín. “Say what you wanna say. Then we’re putting this to rest and not bringing it up again.”
Joaquín managed a nod. “He…he doesn’t look great, Sam. I mean, I know you see that and don’t need me to say that.”
“No. I don’t. I got eyes. They work just fine.”
Joaquín’s jaw clenched. “Maybe you should reach out to him.” He immediately sagged against the doorframe, as if grateful to finally have the thought in the open and out of his head.
“I’m not reaching out to him.”
“He was part of this team. I don’t know what happened, but after all that with the GRC, I just thought…y’all worked together really well.”
“You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know, Torres. We did, but the way we are…our individual expectations and values, it’s not made for the long term. We just don’t work. I wish we did. But we don’t.”
“You two got close though. We all saw it. I even thought maybe-” Joaquín promptly shut his mouth, his horror-filled expression giving Sam a pretty good idea where he’d almost headed with that comment.
“What?” Sam asked, his tone dropping as cold as the ice that used to house the Winter Soldier.
“Nothing,” Joaquín finished lamely.
“That’s right. It’s nothing. He made it clear he’s done with me. Done with the team. He went off the rails. Cut off contact. Again. I can’t do all the heavy lifting in that…that friendship,” Sam emphasized, hoping Joaquín would let go of whatever else he was thinking. What Bucky was to Sam…well, that was nobody’s business but their own. “What Bucky does with his time now is up to him. He steers clear of me; I’ll steer clear of him. And we won’t have a problem.” Sam narrowed his eyes, raking them over Joaquín, oddly touched that the younger man was so concerned for Bucky and his welfare. Torres was a good man, strong and just, compassionate and smart. More than worthy of the wings and a spot at Sam’s side. “You good with that, Jay?”
“Yeah. I mean, of course. This is your team. I’m with you Sam. No matter what.”
“Good.” Sam’s face sobered, his limbs heavy, his chest tight as a wave of sadness rolled through him. “Good. It’s not that…of course I care about him, Jay. I want him to be okay. But…” He hung his head, unable to meet his teammate’s discerning gaze. “Some things are just too exhausting to keep doing. I can’t afford to lose focus right now. Torres, you are on this team. He is not. That’s really all that’s left to be said about any of it. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir. Understood.”
“Sir? Now, I’m Sir? Would you look at that? Need to give some of those manners to Elijah, that’s what you need to do.” Sam found a smile, more than aware that it didn’t reach his eyes. None of this was easy. Would ever be easy. He just hoped one day everyone understood. That everything would work out and they all really would be okay. “I meant what I said. This topic. This conversation, we’re not having it again.” He waited for Joaquín’s nod. “All right then. Come take a look at these plans. I’m going to need you on the ground for this one…”