Ha, [ and a very sarcastic ha at that, specifically at bucky calling her a mess. it's fine. she can appreciate a good humour when she sees one, especially when it matches hers down to the straight-faced, dry and deadpan delivery she's so very good at. she'll give bucky credit; maybe he was the blue-print. like he was for other unspeakable things. but what is trauma, if not something yelena can poke fun at as a coping mechanism? not that's something she could ever blame him for. he is human, after all.

once bucky scurries off to dig through his closet, yelena tells herself that it's silly to miss the body heat when it was barely even there to begin with. (but though it was; except that was just the closest thing to intimacy she has felt in months and it's rather embarrassing, even for her to admit that to herself.) he looks back at her and flings a balled-up piece of fabric her way, she lets it fall into her lap with a snort.

she hauls herself up and puts the shirt on, lets it hang above her shoulders because it would just get soiled by the grime and blood that's currently stuck to her. as he's gently giving her directions to the bathroom — that she also definitely saw — she has the gall to wave a dismissive hand at him. ​]

Yes, I know. And there is a fake floorboard in the cabinet under your sink. I know that, too.

[ with that said, the door closes behind her with a soft click. it's followed by the rustling of clothes being removed, as well as a string of curse words being said in russian like bastard or motherfucker before she finally turns on the water.

yelena emerges from the bathroom twenty minutes later, swimming in his shirt with a towel on her head but. no pants. no underwear either, because the one pair she had on was soaked in sweat and blood. who carries around spare underwear anyway?? ]

Hey, James? [ she calls out from the doorway, her clothes neatly folded in her arms. ] Do you have a pair of shorts I can borrow? Boxers will work fine, too.

[ what are boundaries ]