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Unmistakably, John had a thing for Bucky. That much is obvious. John knew it. Yelena knew it. Bob knew it. Ava knew it. Alexei knew it.
Hell, even Bucky knew it.
But the team, and of course the pair themselves, never said anything about it. It’s their weird, unsaid, and mutually agreed upon rule.
Don’t mind the way John’s eyes would shoot wide whenever Bucky clasped his hand on his shoulder. Look away whenever they brush shoulders in the hallways as John’s footsteps quickened. Pretend not to notice whenever John would flush whenever their knees would bump into each other when they sat too close together.
TLDR, turn a blind eye.
Naturally though, it was John who broke this rule.
It’s a quiet Thursday, too serene and peaceful for anyone on the team to be used to. Bucky skims through documents at his desk, enjoying the rare silence of his room. The steady scratch of pen against pen is the only sound.
Then a knock. Sharp. A little too loud to be casual. Deliberately obnoxious and startling.
“Walker?” Bucky calls out, not moving an inch from his desk.
“You know it.” John answers, muffled by the door.
“Come in.”
Bucky doesn’t lift his head as the door creaks open and closes. Heavy boots step inside, each step careful. John stops half way into the room, as if crossing the threshold to get closer takes heaps more effort.
Bucky can feel him lingering, but continues pretending to read. He waits, a little off-balance by the other’s strange hesitation.
“So,” John starts, voice already choked. “Are you busy?”
Bucky glances up briefly, brows furrowed. “Yes.”
John nods, lips pressed against each other as if to prepare himself. “Great.”
Bucky drops his pen, exhaling sharply. “You came in here for something. What do you want?” He groans, impatient.
John straightens. The hesitation breaks in a split second, replaced by something else almost reckless. “You wanna go on a date?” John declares, perfectly confident like he practiced that line in a mirror.
Bucky’s brainshort circuits. For a moment, the world freezes around him. He doesn’t know how to stand, blink, or breathe. His mind dulls into thick static.
“John,” he swallows, hard and throat burning. He forces himself to finish talking. “I’m not interested.”
The words come out too fast, unsure. He isn’t sure if he believes himself, but that’s what he settles on.
“Oh.” He says softly, a smile dropping for a second but then it’s back again, sharp and sure. “Alright then.”
He doesn’t even seem to break or flinch at the rejection, appearing perfectly fine.
Too fine.
Before Bucky’s own hesitance can calcify, John’s already out of the room, closing a door with a loud, “See you.”
***
By the time next Thursday rolls around, they still haven’t talked about it. Bucky seems to be brittling at every point and edge. Sharper sighs, clipped answers, tightness in his chest he doesn’t dare to name.
Meanwhile, John remains to be, somehow, okay. Or he at least looks at it.
Hell, not even the rest of the team knows what happened, which is a miracle considering how noisy they all are.
It’s dark out when Bucky is doing up their latest mission report at the kitchen table. That same pervasive silence fills the space, only being broken when the elevator dings. John steps out from it with two take out coffees and a small brown paper bag resting in his hands, the picture of casual confidence.
“You’re late.” Bucky murmurs, casting the other a side glare.
John just hums in response, not bothered in the slightest, and slinks into the seat across from Bucky. He sets down the coffee in front of Bucky, along with the paper bag, then sets down his own cup.
“I got you some stuff from the coffee house down the road,” John says lightly, taking some of Bucky’s complete files. “They’re open stupidly late.”
Bucky lifts an eyebrow but takes a sip anyway. It’s perfect. Of course it is.
“Black coffee with cinnamon." John says, tapping on the paper bag “Plus a lemon square.” He says it like he’s reading a receipt, not like he’s reciting Bucky’s exact order from the heart– An order which, for the record, Bucky never directly told him.
Bucky’s shoulders tighten. “Are we ever going to talk about it?”
John blinks, taking a moment as if he’s completely forgotten what happened last Thursday.
“I guess we should.” John says leaning forward, scanning through the completed documents like they’re just talking about mission logistics. “Do you want to go on a date?” He adds, totally casually.
Bucky’s mouth drops open just a fraction.
“That’s not what I meant.” He rubs his temples. “No.”
John picks up a document from the pile and taps a paragraph with the back of his pen, moving on to the next topic. “For this section–”
Bucky cuts him off, voice rising just enough to roll over what John was about to say, “Are you already sick of me saying it?”
“What?”
Bucky just groans, head dropping forward. He can’t tell if John is being dense to grate his nerves, or if he’s just living in another emotional timezone.
“You don’t have to make a big deal about it.” John says calmly, reading the page like they're discussing grammar errors. “I figured I’d just ask again.”
“You are impossible. And a pain in my ass.” Bucky grits, the venom in his voice only partially real.
John doesn’t look up, eyes glued to the page. “I don’t think you wrote this section right–”
“John.” Bucky’s voice sharpens. “Are we ever going to put this beneath us?”
“Hey, I’m the one talking about the mission reports. Not sure about you.” John replies, tone maddeningly mild.
Bucky’s jaw tightens. “I’m trying to–”
“Woah, woah.” John lazily puts up both hands in a poor gesture of surrender. Bucky can only stare daggers back, unsure of what to do.“It’s fine. Really. I’ve got zero expectations over here.”
He gives a small shrug. Too casual, too easy. “I’m not demanding anything. I’m not banging at your door at 3am.” He smirks. “It’s just a gentle question that is hardly stalking. I’ve decided,” He looks at the calendar across the room and tacked on the fridge. “Thursday will be a good day for that.”
The worst part is that John sounded sincere. Unbothered. Like he was genuinely okay. Like this doesn’t cost him anything at all.
And for some bizarre reason, that makes Bucky bristle even more. From then on, his hand writing on the documents gets sloppier and far more hurried. Not from anger or disgust, but from the tightness and knots in his chest that refuse to get looser.
***
The next Thursday begins with a mission briefing. John stands at the head of the table, with a map sprawled across the table in front of him.
“Yelena, enter through the catwalk. Once you’re up there, we’ll wait for your cue to push in.”
He points to a particular point on the map. “Ava and I will enter here,”
Another point. “Alexei will enter through here and,”
He points to the final position “Bucky will enter here.”
The team braces, this much authority from John is always ripe for teasing. Through, before anyone can even open their mouth, John steamrolls in the same command-issue tone. “Will you go on a date with me?” He doesn’t look at Bucky, he just says it like another part of the plan.
Bucky groans. “No.” His own voice carries a routine almost boreness, like he’s somehow already used to this Thursday ritual.
“Alright.” John brushes it off. “Is the plan all clear?’
Silence. Stunned, dead silence.
Even Bucky’s a bit surprised that John asked him in front of the whole team, knowing the onslaught of comments he’d get.
Everyone trades looks like they’ve just witnessed a civilian casually stroll into a battlefield and wave.
Yelena is the first to break. “Are we all going to just ignore that?” Yelena asks delightedly, a cheeky grin on her face spreading.
“This is the third time he’s asked me out.” Bucky groans, rubbing the back of John’s shoulder. For once, Bucky notices how John’s calmness breaks. A small slip. The contact makes John avert his eyes.
“Third?” Bob laughs, eyebrows shooting up. John stays completely stone faced, like he was expecting this.
“Wow, Walker, I didn’t know you could take rejection that badly that you asked two more times.” Ava snorts.
“Take a hint Captain.” Alexei chimes in, waving a hand around like he’s shooing away a persistent insect.
“Doesn’t hurt.” Bucky mumbles underneath his breath.
John scoffs, dragging a hand over his face. “Sure.”
“You’re letting him do this?” Yelena purrs, leaning forward in her seat. This is the first time she seems actually interested during the meeting.
“You have lowered your standards way too low, Barnes.” Ava adds, quirking an absolutely judgemental eyebrow at him.
“No, real low standards would be saying yes.” Bucky shoots back reflectively.
“I’m still here.” John mutters, deadpan. He forces authority back into his voice, clearing his throat to silence the giggles and glances. “Mission clear so far?”
“Defiently.” Bucky muses.
***
Next Thursday is game night. John is currently sitting cross legged on the carpet while obliterating a 110 year old man at Mario Kart on Bob’s switch. Well, obliterating might be too nice and generous a term.
“Oh, screw you Congressman!” John snaps, watching as Bucky drifts past him and steals his first place with a smug smile. He bumps Bucky’s, who’s sitting right beside him, shoulder in retribution.
“Suck it up and play better.” Bucky mutters, eyes narrowing in laser focus and thumbs moving joysticks with surgical precision,
The rest of the team howl and holler behind them. Yelena screams about blue shells, Ava places bets, Alexei insists they hash it out in Smash Bros too, and Bob sweats over his controllers breaking.
John manages to crawl back into first place by the skin of his teeth.
Which promptly causes Bucky to physically throw himself at John, trying to use his body mass as a pseud-weight to sabotage his steering. His cheek presses into John’s shoulder as their arms and elbows knock against each other.
It works. Because of course it does.
John struggles against Bucky’s weight, letting out a strange noise as a protest. He tries to maneuver his arms from under and out of the way of Bucky’s solid frame, while still trying to stay on the course.
Meanwhile, Bucky cracks a mischievous grin that’s uncharacteristic for his usually stoic face. It’s too smug for John’s sanity.
“Get off me! You’re cheating, Bucky, move!” John sputters, arms tangled between trying to fend off the other man and trying to steer. John fumbles for his joystick, Donkey Kong careening directly into a cliff with all the grace of a collapsing shopping cart.
The room booms with laughter as Bucky speeds past the finish line, snagging first place. John follows quickly behind.
John’s ears burn, noticing how Bucky still hasn’t moved despite the round being over. He’s still leaning into him as the victory music plays.
Well, more like sinking at this point. His weight is warm against John’s side, steady and sure, like he’s settling in and not bracing. Some may even argue his head rests on John’s shoulder.
He doesn’t dare shift or breathe too loud. He swallows roughly. “Should I reward your victory with a date?” John asks, low and teasing.
Bucky doesn’t remove his head from John’s shoulder, black hair falling over his back.
“Nope.” Bucky’s voice comes out softer than it has any right to be. Softer than his answer makes sense for.
And he still doesn’t move.
***
Next Thursday just so happens to be one where they are on duty.
A chunk of debris whistles over John’s head, crashing into the metal shelving behind them. Gunfire rattles through the warehouse, deafening and restless.
“Goddamnit, Ava!” John shouts into his comms as an explosion goes off somewhere. “Where are you?”
All he gets back is static. Perfect. Comms are fried.
Boots skid across the concrete, and sees Bucky slinks into cover next to him, his weapon drawn and brow furrowed. He reaches for John’s back as he squats.
“Why are there so many damn guards?" John grits between labored breaths. He squints at Bucky, whose cheek is a smear of dark red as a deep gash leaks streams of blood.
“Hell if I know.” Bucky mumbles, leaning out from behind just long enough to fire off a controlled burst of shots. The unrelenting hail stutters and stops momentarily, before returning at full force.
“Your comms working?”
“Nope.”
“Great.” John mutters. “You wanna go on a date?”
Bucky snaps his head toward him with the sharp glare that pierces John harder than any piece of shrapnel can. “Not the time.”
“Worth a shot,” John mumbles.
“Take an actual shot!” Bucky yells as the gunfire gets, somehow, even louder and forces them to lay flat on the floor. Bucky wraps his arm around John, pulling him down to safety.
“Happy one month!” John calls out with a smirk, diving away to hide behind another crate for cover.
***
John doesn’t know it's next Thursday when he wakes up.
When he wakes up, all he hears is the steady beat of a heart monitor. His heart monitor.
His eyes blink open slowly, eyelids heavy as if they’re being weighted down. The moment a sliver of harsh, clinical white light hits his vision, he squeezes them shut with pained hiss.
“John?” A low voice says from somewhere to his side.
All John can manage is groan. Even turning his head feels like rubbing his skull against gravel. Everything aches deep, bone deep. He catches a blurred silhouette of a leather jacket through the haze and doesn’t need to see anymore to know who it is.
“Bucky.” John mumbles.
Bucky rises up from his seat, where he clearly had been for a long time, and walks over to John’s bed.
“You took a pretty bad hit from the explosion from the last mission.” Bucky says quietly, voice colored with deep exhaustion. He reaches for John’s hand, a reflex and notably not a decision. His fingers wrap around John’s holding tight and rubbing circles with his thumbs. “You’ve been out cold for two days.”
John’s eyes crack open just enough. “Suppose serum can’t fix everything.” John slurs, trying to laugh, except the laugh quickly melts into a coughing fit that rattles his whole chest.
“Hey, take it easy.” Bucky’s hand tightens.
“The others– Are they okay?”
“Yeah. They all are.” Bucky mumbles, scooting the chair closer and taking a seat. His hand leaves John’s for a second before entangling once again.
“What day is it anyways?” All of John’s words sloopily stitched together, barely having the strength to speak but doing so anyways.
“Thursday.”
“Oh.” John rasps, turning to look at Bucky through clouded blue eyes and wincing at the effort. “Do you wanna go on a date?”
Bucky doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Where would you even take me?” He asks quietly.
“I know this great place.” John murmurs, voice thick and heavy with drowsiness. “It’s very close. Just six floors above medical.”
Bucky snorts. “The kitchen?”
“Yeah,” John smiles weakly, mustang with all energy. “They, and I mean me since no-one else on this team can cook, make great food. And I doubt I can leave the tower, let alone the med floor."
“John,” Bucky breathes. “You need rest, not a date.”
“Still didn’t hear a ‘no’.” John says, eyes struggling to stay open. “Come on, humor a man barely clinging onto life and dramatically injured.”
Bucky huffs, trying to look annoyed and half-failing. It doesn’t land. Not with how tight he’s holding onto John’s hand. “You’re kind of corning me using the injured card.” Bucky mutters.
“Kind of.” John echoes. His eyelids begin to drop again. Bucky watches them sink bit by bit, his thumb still brushing shapes into John’s knuckles.
John keeps his eyes, forces his eyes open. “So, that’s a yes?”
Bucky swallows hard, throat tight. He doesn’t answer right away. John smiles like he’s heard the answer already.
“Yes, you win, I'll go on a date with you.”