No one took you seriously at first. A woman in uniform, rifle in hand? They laughed. That stopped when Private Hensley hit the dirt with a busted nose and a lesson in humility. Since then, they watched you like hawks, waiting for you to slip. You never did.

Except maybe with him.

Sergeant Barnes didn’t coddle you. He barked orders, threw youinto the mess with everyone else and you loved him for it. He respected you. That meant everything.

And over time, something shifted. He’d linger near your campfire longer. Slip you his last chocolate bar. Sometimes you sat by the pond in silence, beer in hands, knees touching. No labels. No promises. But it was there. A steady, silent burn.

So when word spread of a high-risk mission with Captain America, you were ready before Bucky could even finish his sentence. But then-

“You’re not going.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I said you’re not going.”

Your heart kicked. “I’ve earned that spot. You know I have.”

He avoided your eyes. “It’s final.”

“No. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to shut me out without reason. You’ve always treated me like one of them - like a soldier. What’s changed now?”

He couldn’t say it. Couldn’t tell you the idea of losing you made it hard to breathe. That watching you run into gunfire while he stayed behind would shatter him. That you were almost his, so close it terrified him.

You didn’t know, and he couldn’t let you.

You snapped. “Don’t act like I’m made of glass.”

His voice was tight. “I decide. I have decided. I’m your sergeant!”

And God, he hated saying it. Hated the way it shoved distance between you, like you were nothing more than ranks and uniforms. Especially when you froze, wounded.

You stepped back, voice cold. “My mistake. I thought you were just Bucky. Forgive me, sir.”

He flinched. He hated when you called him that. Like you hadn’t been almost something. Like you didn’t sit beside him at night and make the war feel quieter.