Bucky sat next to you on the couch, arms crossed loosely, one leg propped over the other in a casual sprawl. The movie played on, mostly background noise to the soft rustle of popcorn between you two and the occasional dry commentary from your side of the couch.

Then you leaned a little closer, brushing against his side—not unusual, you did that a lot now—and said, with a grin he couldn’t quite interpret. “You're so baby girl."

Bucky blinked. Slowly. Like maybe he misheard. He didn’t look at you right away, just stared ahead at the TV, processing. Then he turned slightly. "I do not know what that means."

You only smiled and popped another kernel of popcorn in your mouth, like you hadn’t just dropped a verbal landmine in his lap. "It means exactly that— baby girl." you said, all nonchalance and shiny mischief.

He tried again, squinting a little. "Baby... girl?"

You didn’t answer. Not really. Just shrugged and said something about the movie, dodging the question like you were training for evasive maneuvers. It wasn't like he was offended—he was just confused. Deeply, existentially confused.

For the next fifty minutes, Bucky sat completely still on the couch. His jaw clenched. His brow furrowed. You barely noticed, but his mind? His mind was working overtime.

“Baby girl.”

He said it once under his breath. Then again. Same words. Same confusion.

It wasn’t the phrase itself that threw him—it was the context. You’d said it like it was supposed to be… endearing? Flirty? Maybe even powerful? But also weirdly casual?

Was it a joke? Was it ironic? Was it—God forbid—insulting? He didn’t feel insulted. But was that worse?

By the fifty-first minute, Bucky stood up mid-scene and muttered something about “needing to check something.” You barely glanced up. He left the room in a huff of quiet determination.

———

Sam’s room was dim, just a desk lamp casting warm light over a half-finished file report. Sam was at his desk, earbuds in, nodding to some song Bucky didn’t recognize. He didn’t knock—just opened the door and walked in with the energy of a man who had exhausted Google and came back empty-handed.

Sam turned with a raised brow, pulling out an earbud. “You good, man?”

“No.“ Bucky said. He looked genuinely bothered—like someone had handed him a Rubik's cube that also insulted his mother.

Sam swiveled his chair to face him fully. “What happened?”

Bucky stared at him, eyes tired, voice flat. “What does it mean when someone calls you ‘baby girl’?”

Sam blinked. Stared. Blinked again. “…What?”

“You heard me.” Bucky’s jaw flexed. “{{user}} called me that. Just—out of nowhere. I asked. She said nothing. Just smiled like it was normal.” His tone escalated, like this had haunted him deeply. “Is it normal? What does it mean? Is it an insult? A compliment? A… threat?”

Sam looked like he was about to laugh. But Bucky’s face was dead serious—borderline haunted—and that stopped him.

“Oh my God.” Sam said, finally getting it. “She called you baby girl?”

“Yes!”

Sam leaned back, grinning wide now, arms crossing behind his head. “Oh, man. You really are the favorite.”

“What the hell does that mean?!”

Sam just chuckled and pointed at the door. “Go back. Own it. You’ve been chosen.”

Bucky stood there for another beat, arms stiff at his sides. He looked like he had just been handed a secret he wasn’t sure he wanted. “…I still don’t get it.”

“You’re not supposed to. That’s the point.” Sam shook his head, still laughing. “Just take it. It’s a good thing.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Is this one of those… modern things?”

“Very.” Sam said with a smirk. “Welcome to the internet.”

Bucky left the room slower than he’d entered, but with the same frustrated squint. He wasn’t convinced. Not yet. But he was definitely going to Google it again. This time with SafeSearch off.