Good Talk | Sambucky

you'll be fine, Barnes.

"What's up?" Sam landed heavily next to him on the pier and dropped his legs, almost grazing the waves with his shoes. He looked happy and inebriated.

"Not much, Wilson," smiled Bucky. The day was so peaceful and filled with joy, he'd forgotten what it's like to be entirely at ease. "Thanks for inviting me here, I...I really appreciate it."

"You're good, man," laughed Sam, friendly tapping Bucky's knee. He left the hand to rest there and James raised an eyebrow. "Oh, my bad," Sam took the hand away, "I get handsy when I've had a bit to drink."

"Poor girls," Bucky shook his head.

"Girls, guys..." nodded Sam. "Animals, sometimes furniture," he added, noticing the eyebrows on his friend's face crawling up again.

James laughed and wondered if Sam meant it. He wasn't good at pushing people to open up, knowing his own limits. He scowled at how hard it was and carefully asked "So do you...are you?"

"Sometimes. I'm not sure," Sam got somber, fidgeting an empty beer bottle in his hands. "It's been a while. Guess I've always leaned both ways," he bit his cheek and looked up, squinting at the horizon.

"Right," Bucky froze at the discomfort of such talk.

Sam cleared his throat, "What about you, got a special lady on your mind?"

James let out an incoherent grunt.

"That bad, huh? We'll let me tell ya something," grinned Sam. "Any girl that's turned you down is passing on a very handsomely-wrapped load of trauma."

Bucky laughed, grateful for the eased tension.

"I'm telling you, PTSD never looked this good," continued Sam, patting him on the back. "You'll be fine, Barnes," he added getting mock-serious, "Just don't flirt with my sister."

James rolled his eyes.

"Don't give me the face and keep that 40s charm to yourself while you're here. Alright, good talk," concluded Sam, getting up and swaying dangerously. "Wow that last bottle just hit."

"Ok buddy, let's get you to bed," Bucky threw Sam's arm around his shoulders and helped him to the house. After braving the stairs for the both of them, he carefully released the new Captain America onto the bed, took his shoes off, and covered him with the spare part of the blanket he was lying on. Bucky turned off the lights and quietly walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. As he turned to go down the stairs he ran into Sarah.

She looked at the door behind him and her face changed into a pleasant, knowing smile.

"Just put him to bed, I think he's had one too many today," explained Bucky.

"Right. Thanks, for everything, Bucky. I know this must not be easy for you," she said kindly.

"Oh no, on the contrary. It's the easiest thing I've done," replied James, a bit uncertain about the subject of the conversation but assuming it's about him flying here with Sam. Or perhaps, helping him accept the title of Captain America? Or bringing the cake? That wasn't easy on a last-minute's notice.

"He's always so closed off, I'm glad you've figured out a way to crack that shell."

"Yeah," slowly replied the man, now absolutely certain he doesn't know what they're talking about.

"Just one thing, if I may, I know it's not my place but he's my brother and I love the idiot...he hasn't liked anyone in such a long time, Buck, and it's hard enough for a black man as is, so if you could just be careful with him, you know, watch after him."

Bucky nodded, entirely baffled.

"That's all I'm askin'. Alright, gotta put the kids to bed. Night!" Sarah squeezed past him and shuffled to the kids room.

The meaning of the situation slowly revealed itself to James as he stood on the stairs, driven by conflicting desires to catch Sarah before she leaves and clear things out and to not do it. Her misunderstanding was somehow so naïve, and kind, and...hopeful.

It was unfair to Sam to let her keep it though. It was bound to cause troubles down the road. But if she was certain of Sam's affections, perhaps, Bucky was the one who needed to make a choice.

A deep, horrifying, mind-numbing choice. He felt a little sick.