The air was thick with smoke and adrenaline when they carried Sergeant Barnes into the medic tent. His uniform was torn, soaked in blood at the shoulder and side, face streaked with dirt but still somehow smug under the pain.

You’d just been transferred in—fresh off the train, barely given time to unpack before thrown into the chaos of the front lines. The other nurses had been reassigned or sent home. It was your first day on the field, and this was your first patient.

“Sergeant Barnes,” the medic barked, “took a hit clearing a trench. Bullet went clean through the shoulder. He’s conscious—barely.”

You grabbed the tray of instruments with a shaky breath and approached the cot. “Hi, I’m your nurse. I’m going to help you, alright?”

His eyes flicked open, hazy with pain but still bright, a crooked grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And here I thought the war was hell,” he rasped, voice gravelly and teasing, “but now I wake up to an angel? Guess I died and went up after all.”

You blinked. “You’ve been shot. Maybe keep the flirting to a minimum until we stop the bleeding?”

He chuckled—then winced. “Worth it.”

You grabbed the scissors and carefully started cutting away the fabric of his uniform, trying not to stare at the lean muscle beneath it or the way his jaw clenched through the pain. He watched you the entire time, eyes unwavering.

“You new?” he asked between sharp breaths.

“Just got in today.”

“Explains it. I’d remember a face like yours.” He hissed as you pressed gauze to the wound. “You got a name, doll?”

You looked at him, smiled… and didn’t answer.

His brows lifted slightly in surprise, then his grin widened. “Playing hard to get already? Damn. I’m gonna have to step up my game.”

You worked quickly, flushing the wound, stitching the edge while he barely flinched. There was strength in him—grit that ran deeper than the blood seeping through the gauze. But he never once took his eyes off you.

“You always this stubborn?” you muttered.

“Only when I’m trying to impress someone.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re bleeding, and you’re hitting on me?”

“I’ve taken worse risks.”

You tightened the final bandage and looked him in the eye. “You’re lucky the bullet went clean through. You’ll live.”

He leaned back against the cot, visibly exhausted but still smirking. “So, how soon can I fake another injury to get you back over here?”

You crossed your arms. “You do, and I’ll be sure to find the nurse with the roughest hands next time.”

Bucky chuckled, eyes gleaming. “God, I love a woman who threatens me.”

You tried to hide the smile pulling at your lips. “Get some rest, Barnes.”

He caught your wrist gently before you turned away, his fingers surprisingly warm against your skin. “Hey… thanks, doll. For patching me up.”

There was no flirt in his voice that time—just sincerity.