idk what I'm doing either

The Carters had a beautiful home. 

"Home" was really the only word for it. Nothing about the way that the floors were immaculately cleaned but not without scratches, the kitchen counters were scrubbed but not lacking evidence of food spills, and the couch was organized perfectly with pillows in the right places but there was still obvious indents from people sitting didn't speak to the feeling that the place wasn't being lived in to the fullest. Bucky found himself contributing to the indents in the couch as he perched himself at the edge of the cushion, one foot flat on the ground while the other shook. 

Sitting in the room on the armchair perpendicular to the couch, legs crossed and folded to the side, was Peggy Carter, looking no less striking than she had been described to be. Even though she was Sharon's sister, there was a definite difference in appearance; while he wasn't surprised that they were siblings, it wouldn't have been a shock if they weren't. 

"Uh," Bucky said, his one sound coming out of nowhere. In a calculated, fluid movement, Peggy turned towards him. Bucky cleared his throat as her passive eyes stared holes into his head. 

"Do you need anything?" Her voice was kind, not judgmental like the statement would suggest. 

"Sorry. I don't know what I was going to say," Bucky replied, fisting his hands in his loose slacks. He had dressed somewhat professionally, with a button up shirt and shined shoes, a little bit of gel in his hair, and Peggy's pencil skirt and white blouse comforted him on his decision. Something about the way she posed so casually in the outfit told him that it was normal for her, though. 

Peggy's mouth tilted upwards as her hands ran down the length of her skirt, smoothing out the ironed fabric. "No worries." Her mouth was slightly ajar after the statement, and Bucky gripped the sides of his pants tighter, keeping the small hope that she wouldn't continue talking alive in his heart.

And she didn't, because then the door opened. And Bucky had his bisexual awakening again. 

The two men who followed Sharon in were definitely the type of people in Bucky's high school that he was "jealous of" and "wanted to be," when in reality, his attraction for them was just disguised as envy. The first one who walked in (Steve, based on a rough picture Bucky had seen that had done no justice to the man in front of him), had the look of an all-American golden boy, except for the slight bump on his nose, betraying the fact that he had probably broken it a couple of times at least. His blonde hair looked like it had been cut military-style once, but had grown out a bit, a few unruly strands dangling themselves over his forehead. Steve's tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip which seemed unusually pink, and Bucky was ashamed at the blatant way his eyes followed the movement. 

The second man (who had to be Sam), was no less gorgeous. Bucky's chest was tight, a less romantic version of butterflies swirling in his stomach. Sam's eyes met Bucky immediately, and his pretty mouth broke into an equally beautiful smile. If the end of Bucky was going to be delivered in the form of a short-haired man with warm eyes and dark stubble on his jaw, then so be it. Those warm eyes were still trained on Bucky, steady, the creases at the corners of and right underneath his eyes lingering long after his smile had subsided.

A cough broke Bucky from his thoughts, and he hoped his face wasn't as pink as he felt it was as he jumped off the couch. Sharon's fist was curled underneath her mouth as she looked at him expectantly, and he briefly wondered whether thanking her for sparing him more embarrassment. 

"Hi guys," Bucky sputtered out, twisting his hands together behind his back. It was honestly humiliating, how much he felt like a kid in high school trying to give a presentation that he had only done that morning. "I'm Bucky. Well, my name is James, but you can call me Bucky." 

Steve's teeth flashed briefly before his grin turned into a close-mouthed smile, stepping farther into the house with broad strides until he was only feet from Bucky. He stuck his hand out, and Bucky reached forward, shaking it. Steve's fingers were long, dainty, pale against the black of Bucky's gloves, but his grasp was strong. Maybe it was Bucky's touch starved mind which supplied him the image, but he was sure that Steve had brushed his thumb over the closest knuckle of the glove while withdrawing. 

"I'm Steve. It's nice to meet you, Bucky," he stated, and Bucky murmured a similar statement back, cursing the handsome man across from him for having such a good grasp on words. Well, he was part of a podcast, after all. 

Sam repeated Steve's actions, also reaching forward to shake Bucky's hand. There was a way that Sam looked up from under his lashes, leaned forward slightly, that fostered more heat in Bucky's cheeks. "I'm Sam. I'm glad you're joining us today." He leaned back on his heels, but he did not immediately return to stand next to the Carter sisters, like Steve had done. Instead, he continued to speak. "I've read some of your work. While Steve-" he added, motioning slightly with his head to the man in question, who stared down at his feet- "Is more into the literature stuff, I have been known to appreciate real works of art, and you've got something real cool going on there." 

Bucky smiled slightly at the praise, shuffling his feet. "Thank you. I really appreciate it, and the opportunity you've given me."

Steve was already waving his hand dismissively by the end of Bucky's statement. "No need to thank us," he said with that smooth voice of his, before adding with a wink that almost made Bucky's kneecaps dissolve, "You can think of it as us having the great opportunity of displaying your work." 

Well. Bucky wasn't quite sure what to say to that. He didn't have to think for long, though, as Sharon's voice piped up almost instantly. 

"Well, then, should we move to the studio room?"

Jesus. They had a studio room? 

- - - - -

Bucky wanted a studio room, so badly. His desire only strengthened after being shown where they would be recording.

It was a small room, maybe the size of a walk-in closet in a big house. There was nothing on the walls, but there were cushions on the floor. They weren't blindly scattered, though; each one was meticulously placed. The two near the door were at either corner, as to not get in the way of anyone walking in. Another pair were against the walls perpendicular to the door, somewhat centered, while the fifth was parallel to the door, against the furthest wall. 

Bucky stood off to the side of the door, waiting for the other four to file in. He had no desire to choose his seat first. Peggy was the last of the four to go in, holding a very expensive looking microphone in her hands, placing it in the center of the room. Bucky found himself seating at the cushion furthest from the door, with Sam and Steve on either side of him. He had amazing luck. 

Folding his legs towards him in the most awkward criss-cross applesauce he had done since preschool maybe, Bucky pressed himself further into the wall, praying to whoever was listening that he wouldn't make some dumbass mistake. 

"So, Bucky," Steve said, grinning slightly once again. "We actually record out of order, and for your comfort, we are going to be doing your segment first."

Apparently some higher power was looking out for Bucky, after all. Even so, there was some part of him that felt heavy, an odd sadness that his time with the group wouldn't last too long. 

Peggy reached forward to grasp the wire protruding from the microphone, connecting it to her phone which was already open to the recording application. She tapped the red recording button once before setting the phone down. 

"Go ahead and introduce yourself, sweetheart," Peggy said, her lips curved into a smile, and yes, Bucky was definitely having his bisexual awakening again. 

"Hi, my name is James Buchanan Barnes, but I go by Bucky, and I'm a student at NYU studying Literature. Uh..." His mouth dried considerably, and his eyes flicked to the four in the room, landing finally on Sam. Sam's eyes met his, and he gave him a warm smile, which Bucky struggled to return. He took a deep breath. "Well, sorry. You can see why I didn't major in Communication." 

Sharon tilted her head back and laughed, and Steve chuckled. Both Peggy and Sam broke out into smiles, but Sam's was softer, and he gave Bucky a slight nod. Straightening his back, Bucky leaned in closer to the microphone, somewhat emboldened. 

"I was actually a failed mechanical engineer, so I probably can't talk about choosing the wrong majors," Bucky blurted out, and Steve flashed yet another grin, the expression frequenting his face more and more.

"Mechanical engineer?" Steve asked, teasing evident in his tone. "How did you choose that?"

"Eh, I fluctuate between the fear of not living up to standards and the fear of being broke. You'll find they are pretty good reasons," he deadpanned, only laughing a beat after his statement. He wasn't here to be the black cloud of the group. Luckily, based on the expressions on the faces of the rest of the group, none of them took him too seriously. 

"I, for one, am glad you chose to pursue literature, if only for the selfish reason that you are now in one of my classes," Sharon replied, and pride rushed through Bucky at her praise, even if it was only for the podcast. 

"And also because he is now able to pursue something that he obviously has a lot of skill in," Peggy added. "So tell us, Bucky, how does one go from engineering to writing?"

Honesty or fake, honeyed words? Bucky was never the best at coming up with lies that sounded good on the spot, so he went with honesty. It could be edited out, anyway. "I actually went through a pretty bad breakup and uh… also some health problems as well." Bucky didn't have to say everything. "So I started writing as a way to escape from that while also spilling out all my emotions onto the pages."

As he gazed up at the unreadable faces staring back at him, he amended slightly, "It sounds really cliché and all but-"

Sam interrupted Bucky before he could make any more bullshit excuses. "That's a perfectly valid reason, and a heartfelt one as well." Sam's words were accompanied by the same warm smile that made Bucky's insides feel gooey. 

"So I understand that you've brought your most popular piece, 'What's Wrong With City Days?'" Steve asked gently, his hands clasped in front of him. Bucky nodded, before remembering that his expressions and physical mannerisms were not being filmed.

"Yes. Yes, I did." He cleared his throat, and Steve took the opportunity to ask his question.

"Would you like to read it for us?" 

- - - - -

After his segment, Bucky found himself back on the couch he had been on before, with Peggy also sitting back on the arm chair. He wasn't needed for the rest of the podcast, and Peggy wasn't in the segment that they were currently filming, so they found themselves mirroring their previous encounter. 

Except Peggy didn't seem as present as she had before. Her thumb rested on her lips, as if she had been about to bite her nail but forgot. Her eyes were fixated on the window across from the chair, and yet she still seemed out of focus. 

"Are you okay?" The question was out of Bucky's mouth before he could consider whether it was out of line. Her lips twitched upwards, and when she met Bucky's eyes, he was comforted by the warmth he saw there. 

"You write a lot about relationships, right?" She asked softly, folding her hands in her lap daintily as she leaned to the side of the arm chair, towards him. He mirrored her movement, tilting forward. 

"Yes, I do," he answered dutifully. There was really no other answer, unless he wanted to unpack even more trauma. 

"So," Peggy started, shifting slightly in her seat. If Bucky was to guess, he would say that she was uncomfortable, but he didn't think people like her showed their discomfort. "Do you give good relationship advice?"

Bucky had to stop and think about that one. Did he give good romantic advice? There had been that one time that he had told Natasha that socks were a perfectly good six month anniversary gift and she had seriously considered slapping him, but he was allowed to make mistakes sometimes. He got them together, after all. And he had fixed so many of Clint's problems that he definitely had some wiggle room to make errors. 

So yes; Bucky did give good relationship advice.

"I've been known to spout some wisdom on occasion," he joked, before willing his expression to become somewhat serious, "What's going on?"

Peggy huffed out a sigh, crossing her arms as she leaned back against the armchair; even so, her back was still straight, and she managed to make her posture look less than casual. "My girlfriend," she started out, and that could have been a sentence on its own, which Bucky wouldn't have been too happy with. Luckily, Peggy continued, "She hasn't really been talking to me lately, and I'm worried something's going on."

"How long have you been dating?" Bucky asked instantly.

"A year," Peggy answered, wringing her hands together. Bucky nodded, his line of sight wandering to the rug on the floor for a second. It was a nice, soft rug, and it felt nice underneath Bucky's socks. It was a rug that spoke to the homeliness of the whole place. 

"And have you reached out to text her or call her once you realized that she went silent?" Bucky probed, both feet flat on the ground, neither leg shaking. He was confident in this; advice was something he could do. 

"Not particularly. I've reached out to give her a good morning, but I haven't really had the time to go see her in person, you know? And every time I text her, we end up having a dry conversation, nothing like I'm used to."

"And how long has this been going on for?" Bucky was trying very hard not to sound like a therapist, but he had a feeling it wasn't working. 

"Maybe the last three weeks? I wouldn't be surprised if it had been going on for longer, but I was just too inconsiderate to notice." Her last statement contained a touch of bitterness that was not shielded by her usually fresh tone, and Bucky sympathized with her a little too much to be giving her unbiased advice. Peggy continued to speak as he collected his thoughts. "I just don't want to keep bothering her, because I know she is busy, but..." 

"Well, my employer was kind of talking about something similar that was happening to her," Bucky measured out carefully, his words slow and cautious, "She felt like she didn't want to impose on her partner's lifestyle because she knew that they had a hell of a lot of work. I told her the same thing that I'm going to tell you, just this morning actually. You have to reach out. Otherwise, you're going to get into an awkward stalemate where you start making assumptions about your girlfriend, and vice versa, and it's messy." 

Peggy sighed, and her lip curled slightly with distaste. "I suppose that's the only thing I can do, right?" Her eyes became unfocused again, before she gazed at Bucky, giving him a small smile. "Thank you. I will reach out to her, again."

"With less small talk," Bucky interrupted. Peggy didn't give him enough time to feel mortified by his outburst. 

"Oh?" 

"If you've been dating someone for a year, or even more than… four months or something like that, you do not want to hear the same, 'Hi, how are you?' from them," Bucky stated, "They do not want to deal with small talk. Small talk doesn't have personality. It makes them feel distant, and while it's sweet to be asked how you are doing, it feels wrong when you guys haven't talked in a little while." 

Peggy hesitated before nodding slowly, smoothing her skirt again. "I see," she murmured, almost to herself, before breaking into a smile. It warmed Bucky once more, and again his heart panged with that odd sadness of what he would be missing. "Your employer is lucky to have you as a worker and a relationship expert." 

Bucky scoffed at the "expert" part of the sentence, but played it cool. "Yeah, Angie is real lucky to have me. As if she's not already the most put together person in the universe.” When his eyes returned to Peggy's face, her expression had fallen considerably, her eyes wide. “Is something wrong?” Bucky added upon seeing her change in demeanor. 

“Angie Martinelli?”

Bucky had a bad feeling about this. His mind (unhelpfully) supplied him with the memory of Sharon's interaction with the woman when she had walked him back. “Yes,” he said carefully, “That's who I work for.”

“Yes, she's… my girlfriend.”

Bucky was going to hell. 

“Shit. Shit, I'm so sorry,” he blustered, and to his surprise (and relief), Peggy tilted her head back and laughed.

“What are you apologizing for?” She asked, her voice bright. Her face regained some of its earlier seriousness as she leaned in more, like she was sharing a secret. “This is probably overstepping,” she murmured, her voice low, “But has she mentioned anything that is bothering her?”

“Well,” Bucky stated, quickly flipping through his mental ethics book of when it was appropriate to insert himself into other people's love lives before disregarding any of the naysaying thoughts in his head, “There was a stressful period with the shop where rent was being tricky, and now that I think about it, that was three weeks ago, so that was probably the cause.”

Peggy nodded along to Bucky's words eagerly. “That makes sense,” she said, “I wish I had been there for her.” 

“No, don't say that,” Bucky parroted out of habit, so used to saying the very statement to Natasha on multiple occasions, “You can only really focus on the future. Be there for her now.” As he spoke, he noticed Peggy slowly sliding her phone out of the tiny purse that she kept next to her.

“I'm going to text her right now to ask if she's free to meet,” Peggy said, and Bucky believed it; the intensity with which Peggy typed could only be attributed to the passion that came from texting someone who was a joy to be with. Silence settled over the two of them, and it was then that the door to the studio room opened. 

“Hey,” Bucky said awkwardly, raising one hand as a greeting. Steve, Sam, and Sharon gave identical gestures back, complete with wide smiles. 

“Welcome back, everyone,” Peggy said, looking up from her phone with a grin that could only be described as conspiratory, “Remember how we were thinking of adding a relationship segment to the podcast?”

Bucky froze, and Peggy, noting his change in demeanor, backtracked, waving towards him in a frantic yet somehow still graceful gesture. “Don't worry darling, you're obviously not forced to do anything.”

“No, I- what?” He got out after failing to find the right words for a solid five seconds. Peggy reached forward to put her hand on his knee, which he didn't flinch away from, but Bucky couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes properly, much less the three sets of eyes boring into the back of his head. 

“We have been thinking,” Peggy started, still keeping her hand where it was, patting his knee, “That based on questions that we have gotten on our Q&A, we should have a relationship segment.”

“And you want me?” Bucky asked slowly. Peggy met the eyes of her teammates before staring back at him. 

“Yes. I think you have a great presence-” Bucky did not agree with that statement at all, but he let her speak- “And you give sincere advice.” 

Bucky wanted to tell her that she was making a grave mistake, that he had simply given her advice that made sense, and that the advice he had given was not rare. So many people could probably say the shit he said, much better than he did. He should tell them that it would be best to get another person. 

“I'd love to,” was what he said instead. A loud clap sounded from behind him, the noise causing Bucky to whip his head around a little too fast. Steve, judging by the way that his palms were together, was the offender. 

“But,” Bucky blurted out, because his guilty conscience was a little too much, “I feel like you guys should wait until you release this episode of your podcast. I know you guys are great always, but maybe see how… the reviews are… for me?” 

Sam chuckled slightly. “They're going to love you, Bucky.” And wow. That shouldn't have hit Bucky the way it did, but sue him; he was sensitive. 

“I would love to,” he repeated again, more to himself than anybody else. 

His goodbye for the group was brief, a comforting fact; longer goodbyes usually meant that there was less possibility of coming back. Usually, not always. It didn't come as a surprise when Peggy shook his hand, still all professional even after their discussion, an action that Sharon repeated. It wasn't a surprise when Sam clapped him on the shoulder good-naturedly, still managing to be somewhat gentle (and luckily, it was Bucky’s right shoulder, but he didn't know how long he would be able to go without explaining). It did come as a surprise, however, when Steve lingered at the doorway.

“Do you mind if I walk you out of the apartment building?” He asked kindly, and who was Bucky to reject him? 

“Yeah, of course,” Bucky replied, and Steve followed him out the door, almost shoulder to shoulder. Slowing down, Bucky let Steve pass him so that he could be on the man’s left, just in case of any accidental shoulder touching. As they made their way down the staircase, Steve broke the silence. 

“So, Bucky, can I have your number?” Steve inquired casually, as if the very question didn't threaten Bucky's nervous system with an imminent breakdown. “To keep in touch with you for the podcast. I know you have Sharon's number, but I usually send out all the stuff, and I can add you to the group chat.”

Bucky nodded a little too quickly, and Steve continued, “I can ask Sharon for it so that you don't have to awkwardly give it to me while walking down the stairs. I just wanted to make sure I had your permission.” 

Again, Bucky couldn't find anything else to do but nod, his legs carrying him down the stairs on their own accord. His body was weirdly numb, but not in a terrible way. His indifference to his surroundings for a brief moment caused him to miss the fact that Steve had stopped walking. Turning, he looked up at the man, who suddenly looked a lot more nervous than he had before. 

“I know you gave Peggy some advice on her relationship,” Steve muttered, twisting his hands together behind his back. 

“I did,” Bucky confirmed, even though it really wasn't necessary. The other man looked around, as if he was actively searching for a way out of saying whatever he was going to say. 

“Okay, tell me if I'm oversharing or something,” Steve said boldly, and Bucky guessed that Steve must have overcome his internal conflict just based on the tone of his voice, “But uh… I don't really have a lot of people to talk to about relationship stuff? Like I love my group, obviously, and we are like a family, but…” 

“I completely understand,” Bucky assured him, and the two of them continued their descent down the stairs. “Sometimes it's nice to have an outsider's opinion.”

“Except that you won't really be an outsider anymore,” Steve pointed out, and Bucky turned his head the other way just so Steve wouldn't catch the way that Bucky’s cheeks heated up. 

“I guess so,” he said back, reaching for the door to the ground floor and pushing it open. The entrance area was somewhat empty, and Bucky stopped right in front of the doors, a movement which Steve followed after. 

“It was nice meeting you. All of you,” Bucky said, a hand on the door handle while still facing Steve, which was as uncomfortable of a position as it sounded. Steve gave him a warm smile as Bucky continued, “You can text me about anything. I'm basically the king of oversharing.”

Steve's eyes crinkled at the edges, betraying the honesty of his smile. “I appreciate that, Bucky. It was great meeting you as well.” Steve stepped away from the doors smoothly as Bucky opened them, making his way outside. 

“Bye,” Bucky threw over his shoulder, and Steve made a little waving gesture that shouldn't have been as endearing as it was. 

“Stay safe!” Steve called out after him, and the last thing Bucky saw that day of Steve before both of them went in their respective directions was the little tuft of his hair that just wouldn't smooth down.