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Bucky liked coming home from missions.
The promise of a hot shower, a mountain of food, and at least 48 hours of sleep, in that exact order, could bring a grown man to his knees.
Especially Bucky, who had spent the past two weeks buried in the mud in a very swampy part of Canada.
The recon mission wasn't even all that eventful, but it had involved at least twenty pairs of socks, some french, and a semi-sentient tree that had given Bucky grief the entire time he was there. But that wasn't the point.
The point was that Bucky was finally home, clean, and faintly smelling of the fruity body wash you let Bucky borrow on special occasions.
And he was on his way to see you for the first time in weeks.
Bucky found you in the kitchen, sitting on the counter, swinging your legs, and reading a book while Steve cooked enough food to feed a small army.
He was about to say something to get your attention, but then he looked again, more closely this time.
Something was off.
Not in a something-bad-is-about-to-happen kind of off. More like did-Tony-clone-you-again kinda off. No, you definitely looked different.
Bucky squinted his eyes.
Did you go shopping for new clothes? Did you get a haircut? Maybe you just had a really good shower?
Bucky had to get to the bottom of this before you could ask the dreaded do you notice something different about me question.
But you noticed him first.
"Bucky, you're home!" You jumped off the counter only to fling yourself in his arms.
The supersoldier extraordinaire let out a big ugfff and pretended to crumble under the weight of you. You rolled your eyes at his dramatics.
"What's the matter, Swamp Man, they not feed you on the mission?" you asked and sneaked a quick kiss.
"In fact, they didn't. I swear, I could eat a horse." Bucky leaned in closer and whispered in your ear, "I might just eat you."
The face Steve made was hilarious. "Gaah, enhanced hearing, gross."
But Bucky knew Steve wasn't too upset when he came over to give a welcome home hug. Steve didn't even attempt to gently nudge you out of the way after what had happened the last time, so you ended up squished in the middle of a superhero sandwich.
Bucky chuckled at your angry muttering, but then froze when you wiggled out of his grasp to wheeze from the lack of air your lungs were receiving.
"Uh, doll?" Bucky said, barely containing the panic in his voice.
"Yeah?"
"Are you okay?" The rise of the pitch couldn't be helped.
Half of your beautiful hair was gone, the other half sticking up in directions it had no business sticking up to.
"Oh, shit. Your wig." Steve started laughing.
Your first instinct was to try to push the mop of hair back in its place. But Bucky had seen it and was already tugging the wig off of your head.
"Surprise?" you said.
Bucky was looking down at his hands, horrified.
"How? What happened? We face-timed last week, you still had hair," he accused, starting to grow more frantic the longer he was staring at your shiny bald head.
"I know, I know. I look like a thumb. But you have to promise to not be mad at me."
"Tell me what happened first."
"Nothing happened, I just wanted a change," you said, but Bucky looked at you unimpressed.
"You once cried for two hours because the hairdresser took off three inches instead of two."
"Three inches is a lot, Bucky, she deserved that Yelp review."
"Hair grows back."
You smiled. Bucky recognized it as your I-just-found-a-loophole-I'm-going-to-abuse-till-Kingdom-comes smile.
"So you're not mad?" you asked, gesturing at your head reflecting the overhead lighting.
"No, sweetheart. But I'm gonna be mad at Steve if he doesn't tell me the actual truth. Right now."
Steve had a deer-in-the-headlights look and he was looking from Bucky to you, to Bucky, again, trying to decide whose wrath he'd rather deal with it.
"It was lice," Steve said finally. "It was lice and the hair had to go."
Liar.
Bucky might've spent most of a century as the human equivalent of a frozen pizza, but Steve's ability to lie had not improved since the forties in the slightest.
Luckily for him, Natasha had just entered the kitchen.
"Hey, Nat! Mind telling me why exactly Potatoe Head here has no hair?" Bucky asked and Natasha froze at the stove where she was trying to steal food while Steve wasn't looking.
"Easy," she swallowed. "Dumbass tried to light some candles. Next thing I know there's a lot of yelling and the fire protocols are activated. Do you know what burnt hair smells like? Fucking disgusting, that's how."
Bucky squinted.
On one hand, he knew better than to trust a spy to tell the truth. But on the other, accidentally setting your head on fire is exactly something you would do.
The kitchen door opened once more, this time revealing a disheveled Clint, who just wanted to refill the coffee pot he had been using as a mug.
When asked the same question, he simply shrugged. "Humpty Dumpty over there wanted green hair. I tried my best to deliver, but I ain't no hairdresser and it was two in the morning, so what was anyone really expecting? In short, mistakes happened and we decided it was better for everyone if we shaved it off."
Bucky sighed. That was also something you would do.
Clint gave you a discreet thumbs up.
"Oh, look, the entire gang is here," Tony arrived last with Bruce in tow. "What up, Popeye, how did Bucky like the chair?"
Natasha facepalmed in the background.
"What chair?" Bucky asked and looked over where you were doing a cut-it-out motion at Tony behind his back.
"It was supposed to be a surprise," you sighed. "I know you felt really bad about breaking the chair in our room, so I made you a sturdier one, out of real wood, not the cheap plastic ones Tony got all stingy over. Made Steve stand on it on his tippy-toes, so it should hold."
Bucky's insides got all warm. While he was away, you had spent your precious time making him a gift with your own two hands. A gift that was thoughtful and practical, one that Bucky could use for a long time and think of you while he did so. Honestly, how did he get so lucky? You're so brilliant, kind, and thoughtful. Bucky was the luckiest motherfucker to ever walk the earth.
Tony broke his musings to say the first helpful thing since Bucky had entered the kitchen.
"That's also why your doll looks like a roll-on deodorant," Tony snorted. "Wanna see?"
He was already pulling out his phone and shoving it in Bucky's face.
The phone was playing a video from the security feed from approximately three days ago.
True to his word, you were working on the chair Bucky had yet to see, putting the finishing touches by gluing on intricate woodwork for decoration.
"Aw, baby," Bucky cooed, heart so full of love.
"Shhh, just watch," Tony said.
The security feed showed you carefully holding a glue bottle, your tongue sticking out a bit in deep concentration. You didn't notice the metal can of screws on your right that was a little too close to the edge.
You shuffled slightly, but that was enough to send the can to its doom.
The video had no sound, but the can must've made a loud boom, judging how high you jumped from the crash.
During the whole fiasco, you had squeezed the glue bottle a little too tight. Thick ropes of glue shot out from the bottle, flying straight up in the air, only to smack down right on top of your head.
Bucky didn't need to hear the sound to know exactly what kind of language was being used in the video.
He couldn't stop laughing, especially when you had started to franticly rub your hair with both hands, making the problem infinitely worse.
Tony clicked the video away, but not before Bucky saw Clint, Steve, and Natasha entering the frame, running to save you from yourself.
Damn liars. All of them.
You were pouting up at Bucky, but your eyes betrayed that you were also trying to hold back your laughter.
"Real funny, Buck. Yeah, I'm going to look like Dr. Evil for a while, but so what. At least I didn't break a chair by sitting on it too hard," you sassed.
"Yeah, but you're my Dr. Evil, and still the prettiest one of them all." Bucky kissed the top of your head.
Bucky couldn't even stay mad at you for bringing up the dreaded chair incident. The same one that made Bucky ashamed to look Tony in the eyes for three weeks after it. You were doing some roleplaying with Bucky enthusiastically following your every command and accidentally putting a hole in the chair with his butt when you asked him to 'sit down like a good boy'.
No, the only complaint Bucky had now was how unfair it was that you looked so cute even with a bald head.
Bucky wouldn't trade his grown-out hair for anything. He knew he had short, pushed-back hair in the 40s.
Once he had asked you to style it like that for a Stark party. You had done such a great job that Steve was draped all over him that night, laughing and sobbing, sometimes at the same time.
But the hair had felt wrong, and now Bucky appreciated the sense of protection the longer length gave him.
"I have one more surprise for you," you said, pulling out another wig. You were grinning like a Chesire cat while putting it on.
Bucky didn't get it at first, but, oh, when it clicked, he regretted ever thinking you were anything other than a goddamn troll sent from hell to torment him for all eternity.
You were wearing a wig that looked suspiciously like Bucky's hair.
"I am Wintyer Soldyer," you said in the most atrocious Russian accent he had ever heard and gestured with your arms. "I have luscious, luscious locks, even though I never put any condicionyer in it."
Everyone in the kitchen was having fun with it, as the dinner Steve had cooked slowly turned to coals.
Everyone, except Bucky. But he was about to.
"You said the chair is sturdy and nothing can break it?" he whispered in your ear.
"Yeah, basically," you whispered back.
"Let's put that to the test, shall we? Wonder what kind of trouble you could get into when you're all tied up on a chair. The wig stays."
A shiver ran down your spine. He grinned and joined the rest of them in the banter, the teasing, and the trying to save dinner.
Bucky was truly happy.
He had his team, his friends, and you, bald, beautiful, and the most important person in his universe.
He was finally home.