It isn't exactly a secret that Bucky Barnes has been through some stuff. He kept seeing, kept feeling what he did all those years ago, and he hated it.

So, he took up a hobby to distract him.

* * *

Bucky had had a rough day, and as he prepared a cup of water for his painting, he knew he wouldn't sleep good.

 Stark's teasing remarks had gone a little too deep, but it didn't matter now.

He set off, and in the privacy of his room, he painted.

It was near midnight and he still hadn't stopped. Bucky was burning the midnight oil, and Natasha noticed. 

She opened his door, careful to be quiet. She saw him hunched over his desk, with several canvases already set aside to dry.

Walking into the room, Natasha spoke. "Hey Barnes, what are you doing?"

 It must've been fatigue, or the lights, because as Bucky held up a portrait of Natasha to her, his eyes glowed and his grin was one of a child. 

 "Look Nat! Look what I did! Do ya like it?" Bucky beamed.

Nat smiled . "It's very good Bucky. Time for bed now, yeah?"

Bucky gave Natasha the painting before collapsing into bed. After turning off the lights and closing the door, she left the room and went to hers.

The next morning, the painting was on the fridge, and no one claimed it as theirs. It was a masterpiece without an owner.

Every night that Bucky stayed up late painting, he'd give one to Natasha. She would stick it to the fridge, and everyone would admire it. 

It took a while for Bucky to claim them as his, but everyone was delighted when he did.

 "Dang, Barnes. Didn't know you were the artistic type." Sam commented, although not meaning any harm.

 Nat stood toward the side, smiling at her creative little bean.

* * *