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“I’m telling you, my hair is fine,” Bucky insists sternly, a scowl prominent on his lips.
On the ‘Rogues’ floor, he sat atop a bar stool, a table cloth tossed over his chest and tied around the back of his neck, acting as a salon gown. Wanda and Natasha stand behind him, both intently analysing as they flip through a top 50 haircuts for men magazine. Natasha raises her head to give him a challenging stare through the reflection of the floor length mirror they had positioned in front of him.
“Bucky, your hair is dead - it’s practically falling out at this rate,” She points out calmly, stepping closer to touch his hair, pulling some strands up to showcase the charred ends, “You need this haircut, I’m sick and tired of having to brush burnt hair off the chairs on this floor because you refuse to cut your hair.”
"Well if Thor hadn't gotten me struck by lightning, we wouldn't have to be dealing with this, now would we?" He glowers bitterly.
He chooses not to mention that he’s had to get replacements for his pillowcase and sheets three times this week because the burnt ends of his hair that fell out in his sleep and stained the material.
Bucky huffs, glaring at her reflection, “Forgive me for not trusting you of all people with a pair of scissors so close to my neck.”
It’s a deflection both of them recognise.
Wanda raises her head to look at him, “Would you rather a stranger cut your hair for you?” She prompts, wide eyes knowing.
Bucky brushes past her question, “Just hurry up and decide already,” He snaps, shuffling in the stool impatiently, “Can’t stand sitting like this.”
Wanda closes the magazine, setting it aside as she wanders over to stand on the other side of Natasha, looking curiously at Bucky’s hair through the reflection, “I’m thinking we keep it long, but make the front shorter,” She suggests, reaching to pull the front of Bucky’s hair back slightly in demonstration, “How does that sound, Bucky?”
Bucky stares at her reflection, unbothered, “Just hurry it up already.”
Natasha runs a hand across her chin as she stares at Bucky, calculating eyes sending chills up his spine under her intense gaze. He sniffs, sneering to disguise the involuntary action.
“That sounds good,” She approves after a moment and looks at Wanda, “Do you wanna cut it?”
Wanda’s eyes widened, “Me?” She points to herself, “I only know how to cut hair if it is my own.”
Natasha tilts her head slightly, her gaze sympathetic and her words soft, “I remember you mentioning that you used to cut Pietro’s hair,” She recalls, “When you were young?”
Wanda falls silent, Bucky watching a million emotions flash behind her eyes; grief, fear, anger. He averts his gaze, unsettled by the cold feeling that settles on his chest at the sight and blinks rapidly, pushing away the memories of ice and blood that threaten to claw its way back into his head.
Natasha’s voice breaks through the cold;
“I’ll be here the whole time,” She promises Wanda, then her lips pull up playfully, “I’m terrible at cutting hair - but I’ve got a pretty good eye; I’ll be a helpful second perspective, keep things even.”
Wanda cracks a hesitant smile and nods, picking up the pair of scissors from the table and moves to stand directly behind Bucky.
“Here we go,” She whispers and takes a big deep breath.
Bucky grimaces internally at the uncertainty still radiating off of her, “Here we go,” He repeats under his breath as she begins snipping away, “Better not come out bold.”
Natasha smiles teasingly, “Better hold still then.”
Bucky tries his best not to flinch at every strand of hair that's cut, watching chunks of dark brown and ashy black fall onto his shoulders.
~
“Wow.”
Wow was an understatement. It had been a good few decades since he recalled having his hair this short, but he had to give it to Wanda; she was talented.
“It’s like a transformation,” Natasha praises Wanda with a wide grin.
Wanda blushes bashfully but beams at the praise, “I’m used to cutting it a little shorter than this, but I think it turned out perfect,” She claims, humble and turns to Bucky, a hopeful and curious expression etched across her features, “Well? How do you like it, Bucky?”
Bucky leans forward slightly to get a better look at himself, lifting his hand from beneath the table cloth to run his hand through his hair, the physical touch confirming that his reflection was reality.
“Not bad,” Bucky says honestly, a small smile sitting on his lips, “Not bad at all, Witch.”
Wanda grins, whooping with a laugh when she exchanges a high five prompted by Natasha. Bucky chuckles under his breath. As he shakes the pieces of hair off of him and sits up to remove the tablecloth, Natasha turns to Wanda.
“Think you can do mine next?” She asks Wanda casually, running a hand down the braided ponytail resting on her shoulder, a blend of red and platinum blonde, “It’s getting a little long for my liking.”
Wanda nods, keen, “Of course!”
Bucky rises to his feet, running his fingers through the fringe that now frames his face, unable to help but admire how different he looks. His hair, that once used to sit straight on his shoulders, now sits on his head with so much volume. Dare he say it, but he almost looks nice.
He supposes a little change is necessary.