Chapter Text
It started with a smoothie.
Specifically, the green one Bob made on Wednesdays. Packed with kale and optimism and way too much chia. John had always hated it.
But then one day, he drank the whole thing.
Didn't even gag.
The realization hit somewhere between sips three and four, as Bob buzzed around the kitchen humming some indie folk song and cutting banana slices into stars for Caleb’s snack.
John stood there, watching him work, and thought, huh. He looks kinda good in that hoodie.
And then: Wait. What the hell.
He chalked it up to sleep deprivation. Raising a toddler part-time while managing covert ops full-time wasn’t exactly restful. Maybe his brain was just short-circuiting. It would pass.
Except it didn’t.
Not the next week, or the week after that, or the week after that.
***
It was little things at first.
John found himself looking forward to the weeks Caleb was with him- not just because of his son, but because Bob always, always found time to make things easier. Whether it was warming up bottles or organizing the baby monitor comms channel or somehow soothing Caleb into a nap mid firefight, the guy just… fit.
He’d sit next to John on the couch after Caleb went to bed, close but not too close, shoulder-to-shoulder, blanket thrown haphazardly across both their legs like it just happened that way.
He laughed at John’s gruff jokes. Teased him without digging too deep. Listened when John complained about custody schedules or toddler tantrums or the existential crisis of being a maybe-hero with a checkered past and a glittery tank top in his drawer.
And then there was that time in the field, when Bob took a hit meant for him- minor, nothing serious- but when John caught him, hands clumsy and panicked, he said “don’t you dare” with a kind of fear that felt way too close to the surface.
Later that night, he’d lingered in Bob’s room, making sure he was okay, asking if he needed anything. He didn’t leave for an hour. They didn't even talk much. Just existed. Quiet. Comfortable.
John told himself it was just gratitude.
He didn’t like Bob.
He just liked what Bob did.
Right?
***
Yelena figured it out first.
Of course she did.
She caught John staring at Bob across the room one afternoon- Bob was bouncing Caleb on his hip, both of them wearing matching sunglasses (no one knew where Bob found baby sunglasses, but it was now a thing).
Yelena sipped her tea like it was none of her business and then said, without even looking at him:
“So when are you going to tell him?”
John nearly choked on his protein bar. “Tell who what?”
She side-eyed him with the slow amusement of someone watching a man fall headfirst into an emotional minefield.
“Sure. Let’s pretend you’re not having a slow-burn, repressed romantic spiral about the man who taught your toddler how to high-five.”
“I’m not—” He paused. Glanced back at Bob. Looked away quickly. “It’s not like that.”
“Mmhm.”
“It’s not!”
Yelena didn’t argue. Just smiled into her mug and walked away.
***
Weeks passed. Caleb turned one. The team took fewer missions, spent more time at the tower. Everyone started to feel less like a group of survivors and more like a family.
And John… felt weirder by the day.
Every time Bob laughed, or leaned over him to fix his aim in the gym, or pulled Caleb into one of those big, soft hugs that made the kid giggle uncontrollably- John’s chest did this thing. Tight and warm and mildly terrifying.
He caught himself looking for Bob in every room.
Listening for his voice.
Wanting his approval.
And then one night, after a long day and too much wine (thanks, Alexei), Bob dropped onto the couch next to him, a little flushed from laughing about how the team acts when wine drunk and smiling lazily, and said:
“You’re a really good dad, John.”
And it wrecked him.
Because no one ever said that. Not like that. Not with belief.
John turned to thank him. To joke it off. To say something sarcastic and safe.
But what came out instead was:
“You always know what to say.”
Bob blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
John opened his mouth. Closed it.
The silence stretched between them like a thread pulled too tight.
He looked away.
“…Never mind.”
Bob didn’t push. He never did. Just bumped his shoulder lightly against John's and turned on the TV.
John didn’t sleep much that night.
Because he was starting to admit something- to himself, at least.
Maybe it was like that.
***
The room was quiet, save for the sound of the tiny desk clock ticking and the occasional distant hum of a city that never quite slept.
John sat slouched on the therapist’s couch- combat boots still on, hands folded loosely between his knees. The space was warm, safe, but he still felt like he was bracing for impact. As if someone had tossed a grenade into his ribcage and he was just now hearing the pin drop.
Dr. Reyes didn’t push. She never did. Just watched him with that steady, patient gaze that made him feel seen, not dissected.
He’d been coming to therapy for months now. Initially court-mandated. Then mission-mandated. Eventually… voluntarily.
Because some part of him wanted to stop feeling like he was dragging half his soul behind him wherever he went.
Today, they’d talked about Caleb. About co-parenting. About the tower. About the team.
And then, inevitably, Bob.
“It’s not about him,” John said at one point, arms crossed, jaw tight. “I mean, it is. But it isn’t.”
Dr. Reyes had nodded, waiting.
“I just- he makes things… easier. Lighter. I feel like I can breathe around him. Like I don’t have to perform being some goddamn poster boy for redemption every second of the day.”
“And how does that feel?” she asked gently.
John had stared at the floor. At the scuffed toe of his boot. At the fist he hadn’t realized he was clenching.
“Safe,” he admitted. “And scary.”
A pause.
“And… kind of… warm.”
The word sounded foreign in his mouth. Strange and soft and true.
There was another silence. Not empty- just full of things settling.
Dr. Reyes leaned forward slightly. “Have you ever been in love with a man before?”
“No,” John said. Then, after a beat, “Not… that I let myself be.”
“Do you think you might be gay, John?”
He swallowed. Hard.
And for once, there was no flinch. No mental argument. No inner drill sergeant shouting him down.
Just a quiet, almost childlike voice in the back of his mind whispering:
Yeah. Yeah, I think I might be.
His shoulders dropped. Not in defeat. In relief.
It was like breathing out for the first time in years.
“Yeah,” he said aloud, voice low but steady. “I think… I always knew. I just didn’t think I was allowed to be.”
Dr. Reyes nodded again. Not smiling, exactly- but something close.
John didn’t cry.
But he did feel like something cracked open. Not in a painful way. In a necessary one.
***
He sat in his car after the session, fingers ghosting over the screen of his phone. The world outside the windshield felt strangely still. Like something big had just shifted and the universe was giving him a moment to catch up.
And then he dialed.
It rang twice before she answered.
“Hey,” Olivia said. “Everything alright?”
He swallowed.
“Yeah. No. I mean- yeah. I’m okay. I just…” He paused. “I needed to tell you something. Something I should’ve said a long time ago.”
There was silence on the other end. A wary one.
“I’m gay,” John said. Just like that. Just-put it into the air, finally. “I… I didn’t know how to say it. I didn’t know if I was allowed to say it. But it’s true. And I should’ve been honest with you. With myself.”
Another beat.
Then her voice, soft. “Oh, John.”
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, heart pounding. “I didn’t lie to hurt you, I swear. I didn’t even know how much I was lying. I thought if I just… did everything right- married, fatherhood, the uniform- I could force it out of me.”
“I know,” she said, barely a whisper. “I know you didn’t mean to.”
“I didn’t want to waste your time. Or Caleb’s. Or-”
“You didn’t,” she said, firm now. “You gave me a beautiful son. You’re a good dad. And if anything… I’m glad you figured it out. Even if it took a while.”
John let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
“Thank you,” he said, quietly.
“Does he know?” she asked, a small smile in her voice.
John blinked. “Who- Bob?”
“John.” Her tone was dry, amused. “Everyone knows it’s about Bob.”
He groaned and leaned his head back against the seat. “God. I hate how obvious I am.”
“You’re not obvious,” she said. “You’re just in love.”
He didn’t argue.
For once, he didn’t need to.
***
Alexei
Location: Gym, mid sparring session. Lots of sweat. Too many grunts.
Alexei had just knocked John flat on his back for the second time in a row, laughing like a bear who’d just won a pie-eating contest.
“You move like refrigerator today,” he teased, towering above him.
“Thanks,” John muttered, rubbing his ribs. “That’s helpful.”
They reset. Gloves up. Circle. Two hits in, John said it—bluntly, breathless between jabs.
“I’m gay.”
Alexei blinked. Dropped his hands. “Oh?”
“Yeah. Just figured I should say it.” He shifted his stance. “You know. Since we live together and all.”
Alexei scratched his beard. “This is… how you tell me? In fight?”
John shrugged. “Felt right.”
A pause.
Then Alexei grinned. “Good. You are still terrible fighter.”
He threw a lazy punch and missed on purpose. John snorted.
“That’s it? No questions?”
Alexei shrugged. “You are still you. Maybe now happier you. That is what matters.”
John didn’t smile, not exactly- but the knot in his chest eased a little. “Thanks, man.”
“Now stop flinching like baby goat and fight me.”
***
Yelena
Location: Kitchen. 2 a.m. Tea and leftover pierogi.
Yelena was perched on the counter, one sock on, hair in a messy braid, poking holes in her food with a fork she wasn’t actually using.
John wandered in, poured himself water, hovered.
She noticed. She always noticed.
“What’s the thing?” she asked, without looking up.
He leaned against the counter. “I’m gay.”
Yelena blinked, tilted her head. “Finally.”
John frowned. “What do you mean, finally?”
“I mean I had a bet with Bucky about whether you’d admit it before or after the next Void-level crisis. I owe him twenty dollars.”
He rolled his eyes.
She smiled. “I’m proud of you.”
“Even though I didn’t win your bet?”
“Especially because of that.”
She tossed him a pierogi like it was a rite of passage.
John caught it, bemused. “So… nothing changes?”
“Why would it?” she said, hopping off the counter. “You’re still a disaster. Just a gay one now.”
He smirked. “Yeah. I guess I am.”
***
Ava
Location: Tower rooftop. Late afternoon. Windy as hell.
Ava stood near the edge, watching clouds gather. John joined her, hands in his pockets.
Neither of them were really talkers. Not unless they needed to be.
So when he said it “I’m gay” it hung there between them like part of the sky.
Ava glanced at him. No judgment. No shock.
“Okay,” she said. “That why you’ve been acting… softer?”
He squinted. “Softer?”
“Less angry. Less like you’re carrying a secret that might kill you.”
John rubbed the back of his neck. “It kinda felt like that.”
Ava nodded. “Makes sense.”
They stood in silence again, side by side.
“You told Bob yet?” she asked.
“No.”
She cracked half a smile. “He’s gonna cry.”
“I know.”
***
Bucky
Location: Caleb’s nursery, post-naptime. Floor strewn with toys.
Caleb had just gone down. Bucky was quietly folding a onesie with terrifying efficiency.
John lingered in the doorway, fiddling with a soft giraffe plush in his hands.
“I’m gay,” he said, voice low. Almost casual.
Bucky didn’t look up right away. Just finished folding the shirt, set it down.
“Good,” he said. “I was worried you were gonna stay miserable forever.”
John let out a short laugh. “Thanks for the faith.”
Bucky stood, gave him a look- level, warm, understanding in a way only someone who’d had to rebuild his whole identity could manage.
“You’re doing better, man. It shows. You feel more… real.”
John looked at him.
“I don’t know what to do about it. About him.” He didn’t say Bob’s name, but they both knew.
“You’ll figure it out,” Bucky said. “You always do. Eventually. Loudly. With cursing.”
John gave him a half-smile. “Think he’ll freak?”
Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You’re literally the worst liar I’ve ever met. He probably already knows- also thanks for winning me twenty bucks”.
***
The firefight was loud. Too loud.
Smoke clung to the air in the abandoned warehouse like a bad habit, and John could barely see more than a few feet ahead. But he knew Bob’s footsteps- light, sure, and just a little off-rhythm. A side effect of being part eldritch horror, part overly excited puppy.
They moved together like muscle memory, ducking behind crates, flanking left, sweeping rooms. They were almost done- just a few hostiles left when Bob turned to cover John's side.
And John… didn’t duck fast enough.
A graze caught him in the side, nothing serious. But it was enough to pull a reaction out of him. Not pain.
Fear.
For Bob.
“You good?” Bob shouted, dropping one guy and pivoting toward him.
“Yeah- yeah, I’m good.” John's voice cracked a little. “Hey, Bob?”
“Now’s a hell of a time for small talk- ”
“I’m gay!”
Bob froze mid-motion. Mid-punch, actually, which resulted in a bad guy elbowing him square in the jaw.
John was already rushing in to cover him, slamming the guy into a wall. “I just- figured you should know!”
Bob blinked up at him from the floor, stunned. Not from the punch. From that.
And then a stun grenade rolled in.
“Oh, fu- ” John started.
Everything went white.
***
Basement. Somewhere humid. Definitely moldy.
John came to first. He groaned, flexed his fingers, assessed the damage. No broken bones. Just a headache. Bob was a few feet away, out cold but breathing steady.
The room was stone-walled, probably underground. Caged window. One door. Cheap padlock.
John could break them out easily. But… he didn’t. Not yet.
Instead, he leaned back against the damp wall and waited for Bob to stir.
When he did, he sat up slowly, rubbing his head.
“Ugh. What hit me?”
“Flashbang,” John said quietly.
Bob blinked at him, then the walls, then the lock. “You could’ve snapped us out of here five minutes ago.”
“Yeah.”
“…So why didn’t you?”
John looked away, jaw tight.
Bob's voice softened. “Was it a pity hold? For my sake?”
“No. It’s just… we should talk.”
There was a beat of silence.
“Oh,” Bob said. “About the thing. The yelling-the-thing mid-fight.”
“Yeah.”
Bob rubbed the back of his neck. “You, uh. You meant it?”
“Yeah.”
Another pause. It lingered like the stale basement air.
“Well, thanks for telling me,” Bob said, voice suddenly light. Too light.
John tensed. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“The deflecting thing. You always joke when stuff gets real.”
“You literally screamed a personal revelation during gunfire. I think I’m allowed to be a little awkward here.”
John gave him a look. “I’m serious.”
“I know you are,” Bob said. “And I am too. I'm glad you told me. Really.”
More silence.
They avoided each other's eyes.
Bob fiddled with a rusted bolt on the wall. “So, what now?”
“I dunno,” John admitted. “Nothing, I guess. I just—I didn’t wanna keep hiding it. Not from you.”
Bob nodded. “That’s fair.”
Neither said anything about what it meant. About the way John had looked at him before the grenade. About the fact that Bob’s hands were still shaking a little, not from fear. From adrenaline. From something he wasn’t ready to say out loud either.
Eventually, John stood.
“Ready to break out?”
“Been ready.”
John walked to the door, grabbed the chain with one hand, and tore it off like peeling a banana.
As they stepped into the hallway, back into the chaos, Bob cleared his throat.
“For the record,” he said, “I’m proud of you.”
John didn’t say anything.
But he smiled.
Just a little.
***
“Alright, team, quick recon,” Yelena’s voice crackled through the comms. “In and out. Boring. Clean. No dramatics.”
“Then why’d you bring us?” Bob muttered under his breath, double-checking the scanner in his hands.
John elbowed him. “Be nice.”
“I am being nice. You should’ve heard what I didn’t say.”
They were halfway into a busted research facility in Norway- some holdover from a Hydra cell with suspicious power signatures. Nothing flashy. Nothing special.
Except nothing ever stayed “just recon” with this team.
***
First, the power grid short-circuited and locked them in the sub-basement.
Then, Ava fell through a weak panel in the floor, taking Yelena with her.
Then, Alexei triggered a wall-mounted defense system by leaning on it.
“Can we please stop touching things?” Bucky snapped, dodging a turret.
“Not touching,” Alexei grunted, yanking a metal pipe from the wall. “Leaning.”
***
In the chaos, Bob and John got separated- classic horror-movie corridor stuff. Flickering lights. Broken alarms. Disorienting echoes.
John jogged down the corridor, shouting, “Bob? You good?!”
No answer.
The twist in his gut wasn’t panic. Not yet. But it was familiar. The kind of unease that had been growing steadily stronger every time Bob disappeared from his line of sight on a mission.
And now, post-basement-confession, it burned even more.
He finally found Bob in what looked like a cryo-testing chamber, crouched over a busted console.
“You okay?” John asked, breath catching.
Bob looked up, gave him a thumbs-up. “Never better. Just got hit in the chest with some kind of gas trap, so if I start hallucinating frogs wearing pants, don’t panic.”
“You’re sure you’re not already hallucinating? Because we have been seeing Alexei in tights lately.”
Bob laughed- short, breathy, kind of fond -and John’s heart did that stupid thing again.
“Hey,” he blurted.
Bob glanced at him. “What’s up?”
“I’ve been… thinking.”
“Uh-oh.”
John rolled his eyes but pressed on. “I told you I’m gay. That wasn’t the whole thing.”
Bob paused. His face carefully blank. “No?”
John swallowed. “I like you. I mean- I like like you. More than I should. More than I can apparently shut up about, even in life-or-death situations.”
Bob blinked once. Twice.
And then the floor under them exploded.
***
Smoke. Rubble. Noise.
They landed hard, coughing, disoriented- some kind of chain reaction from the corrupted tech. Sparks shot out from the ceiling, and water dripped from ruptured pipes overhead.
John scrambled up, dragging Bob away from a collapsed beam, adrenaline pounding.
“Jesus0 you alright? Bob-hey-”
“I’m fine!” Bob wheezed. “My spine's arguing with me, but otherwise peachy.”
They looked around.
Again.
Basement. Again.
“Alright,” Bob said, pulling himself upright, “either we’re cursed or the writers of our lives have a real basement fetish.”
John laughed despite himself- short, rough, slightly hysterical. “We’re never doing recon again.”
“Agreed.”
They sat in silence.
Not awkward, exactly. But heavy.
Finally, Bob said, “So… what you said. Back up there.”
John winced. “Yeah. I didn’t plan it. It just kinda… happened.”
“And you meant it?”
“Every word.”
Bob didn’t answer right away. He toyed with a chunk of broken tile, spinning it between his fingers.
Then: “You know I’ve been in love with you since week two, right?”
John turned so fast he nearly popped something in his neck. “What?”
“You’re dense,” Bob said, not unkindly. “Like, incredibly dense. But it’s also part of your charm. Like a wall with feelings.”
“You’ve what?”
Bob shrugged one shoulder. “I liked you when you were still grumpy and self-hating and acting like Caleb was the only thing in your life worth softening for. Then you started smiling around me. Started letting me in.”
John blinked rapidly. “I thought I was hiding it.”
“You were hiding it like a man hides cake at a birthday party he forgot to plan.”
There was another pause.
And then John- who had jumped out of planes, fought supervillains, faced the Void, and survived years of brutal inner guilt- felt his chest cave in at the sheer relief of it all.
“You’re in love with me?” he said, half-laughing, half-choked up.
“Yes,” Bob said, grinning. “Do try to keep up.”
And this time?
John didn’t hesitate.
He reached out, curled a hand around Bob’s neck, and kissed him like he’d been waiting his whole damn life to do it.
There was nothing perfect about it- still covered in dust, still blood on their knuckles, sirens above them- but God, it was right.
When they finally pulled apart, Bob said, “So… boyfriends?”
John smirked. “Yeah. Think we’ve earned it.”
Bob nudged him with his shoulder. “This mean I get to do your hair again?”
John groaned. “God help me.”