𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐑 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The day had started like any other at the clearing station—quiet, for once. The low murmur of nurses’ footsteps, the rustle of bed sheets, and the occasional cough filled the canvas-walled ward. You were grateful to be stationed here, where the injuries were minor, the wounds mostly healing, and the soldiers well enough to joke and complain again.

You sat at your small desk in the corner, fountain pen in hand, scrawling the final answers to your discharge questionnaire. The young corporal across from you was clearing every checkpoint with ease—no fever, no signs of infection, appetite strong, spirit stronger.

“You’re all set, Corporal,” you said with a warm smile, handing him his discharge slip. “Fit for duty, according to the good Lord and the paperwork.”

“Much obliged, ma’am,” he said with a quick grin, snatching up his cap and knapsack. He gave you a parting nod and ducked out of the tent into the warm afternoon sun.

It was a small victory, seeing him walk out on his own two feet. A few weeks ago, he’d been brought in with a gunshot wound to the thigh—bloody and pale as a sheet. By some miracle, the bullet had missed both bone and nerve. He’d healed clean.

You turned back to the metal filing cabinet, thumbing through the manila folders until you found his name. You weren’t required to keep files on every soldier, especially not the ones cleared for duty. But you did. It felt wrong not to. These weren’t just dog tags and serial numbers—they were sons, husbands, friends. Flesh and bone and something more—something that deserved to be remembered.

You were just sliding the drawer shut when a throat cleared behind you.

You turned—and there he was.

Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.

Even half-bandaged and streaked with dried blood, he still wore that crooked grin like it was sewn to his face. The cut on his cheekbone was fresh, his left arm wrapped tight in a sling. You didn’t need to look in the file to know the details. You already knew them by heart. James Barnes had the thickest folder in your cabinet. It was practically falling apart at the spine.

You couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “I swear this man gets injured on purpose.”