Harmless (Bucky Barnes)

(xiv)

Snickerdoodles and sheet masks.

That’s how Saturdays should be spent.

He’s in his favourite pair of sweatpants, a white t-shirt hugging his broad shoulders while a pomegranate scented mask cools his pores or something.

There’s a Dolly Parton playlist that they’re making their way through, a new chapter to explore in his reintegration. A cup of red wine only adds to the whole experience of lounging about the common room on Self-Care Saturdays.

“Werewolves or vampires?” Wanda asks, eyes hidden under cucumbers.

Bucky knew this question was coming the minute they finished Twilight, a movie series she had him swearing up and down that he’d watch with her since no one else had the patience for it. Clint did, but who voluntarily wanted to spend time around him.

“I don’t know.” He thinks it’s a testament to his strength and the power of friendship that he got through all five of them. “What d’you think?”

“Vampires.” She rolls her finger in the air in a loop. “Obviously.”

Fair enough.

“Werewolves,” he tests.

“Yeah, I could see that. You look like a werewolf guy.”

He assumes the self-isolation he imposes on himself has something to do with it. Maybe the broodiness too. Hell, maybe it’s the number of times he’s been caught walking around the Tower shirtless at 3am looking for a sandwich.

“Edward or Jacob?”

“Charlie and Rosalie,” he says without much thought.

“Right answer.” Wanda smiles, apples of her cheeks pushing the slices up her face.

She introduced him to the concept of a good skincare routine, a blessing and necessity considering the amount of damage sunburns have dealt him.

He repays her patience towards his questions about toners by baking the recipes she pins to her secret Pinterest board. Occasionally Sam or Nat join in when they see them lazing about with plates of peanut butter cookies and homemade hair masks, but most of the time it’s just a ritual that Wanda and he invest time into.

“Did Vision ever finish that sweater he was making?” The Android guy tried to partake in as many activities as Wanda picked up, his little way of expressing support.

“He did,” she says, removing the cucumbers from her eyes to look at Bucky, ”and then he made two more, a scarf, three pairs of gloves and a hat.”

“Y’all plannin’ a trip to Alaska sometime soon?”

“He got excited.” She breaks a cookie into a few pieces, a habit she picked up from a character of a sitcom she watched once. “It was sweet.”

Indeed it was. Bucky was happy for her.

“I could use it in Siberia on Monday,” she proposes as an afterthought.

“You’re gonna need a lot more than that.” He knows from experience about the harshness of its winters that made him forget the sun was ever a thing.

“I’m sure he can make a dozen sweaters by tonight,” she humours. “We can make you one too, if you’d like.”

“Maybe next time.“

“You’re not coming?” She looks at him.

He shakes his head, careful to make sure the mask stays on.

“Oh.” She turns back again. “Good for you.”

He supposes so. It still itches at him, and he very nearly marched into Steve’s room every night for the past few weeks to tell him to put him back on the roster, but he didn’t.