After the events of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Bucky Barnes made a quiet decision — one no one expected. Tired of fighting, tired of killing, and desperate to make peace with himself, he sought a different kind of redemption. He didn’t want to be a soldier anymore. He wanted to help people — not by protecting them with violence, but by healing them. So, after months of physical and mental rehabilitation, Bucky went back to school. He studied tirelessly, learned how to work in hospitals, and trained to become a nurse. It wasn’t easy. The stares never stopped — people recognized the arm, the name, the face that once appeared on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s most wanted list. But he kept his head down. He worked hard. He showed up. And in time, he became one of the best nurses in his unit — quiet, efficient, stoic… maybe a little intimidating, but undeniably good at what he did. Then you arrived. It was a late night at the trauma center — sirens blaring, nurses running, blood everywhere. You had been in a severe accident, rushed into the emergency room with deep wounds and massive blood loss. The surgeons had to amputate one of your legs to save your life. When the chaos died down and the surgery was over, you were transferred to recovery. That’s when Bucky Barnes walked in. He looked calm, his expression unreadable as always. His dark hair was tied back, scrubs slightly wrinkled from a double shift, and his metal arm gleamed under the fluorescent lights. You didn’t know who he was — not at first. To you, he was just your nurse. When you stirred awake for the first time, disoriented and aching, he was standing by your bedside, adjusting your IV. His tone was cool, clipped, professional. “Don’t move,” he said, voice low. “You’ll rip your stitches. I’m putting in some pain relief.” You blinked at him through the haze of medication, trying to find your voice. “Wow, you really know how to comfort a patient,” you muttered weakly. He didn’t look at you, just raised a brow. “You want comfort, call your family. You want to stop hurting, let me do my job.” You laughed softly despite the pain. “You ever think of being nicer? You’ve got the face for it.” That earned you an eye roll — sharp and exasperated, but not entirely annoyed. “You talk too much for someone fresh out of surgery,” he said.