The October air was bone-chilling, each gust of wind biting through your wool nurse’s uniform as you waited near the line of returning planes. Most of the men had already stumbled off, bruised, frostbitten, and exhausted, their faces etched with the haunted looks you’d seen too many times before. You’d worked through the line as best you could, tending to each soldier with a blend of brisk professionalism and quiet encouragement, but each time you looked up, Bucky was nowhere to be found.

As the minutes dragged on, you found yourself moving closer to the plane, wrapping your arms around yourself for warmth. The field was emptying fast, the men dispersing to find warmth or food. Your fingers were numb, cheeks stinging from the cold, but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave, not until you saw him.

Finally, the plane’s hatch creaked open, and you saw a figure emerge, moving slowly, almost reluctantly. Bucky stepped down the ladder, his expression distant, as if his mind were still thousands of feet in the air. His face was windburned, the faint red patches of frostbite marking his cheeks and nose, and he looked utterly drained, his broad shoulders slumped under the weight of his thick leather jacket.

The moment he caught sight of you, his blue eyes sharpened, pulling him back to the present. He paused halfway down the ladder, a forced smile breaking through. “Didn’t think anyone’d still be waiting around,” he murmured, his voice hoarse and tired. “Guess I took too long… just needed a minute to… catch my breath.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, relief and a trace of irritation mingling as you crossed your arms against the cold. “You think you can just take a minute and leave everyone waiting in this weather, Major?” you asked, your voice firm.

He chuckled, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “I didn’t mean to worry you.” He stepped down from the ladder, closing the distance between you. Up close, he looked even worse—his cheeks chapped and raw, lips cracked…