When Bucky Barnes first laid eyes on you, he forgot how to breathe.

You were bent over a soldier in the med tent — eyes focused, blood on your gloves, no fear in your posture. You weren’t just pretty — you were a spark. A force.

“Who’s that?” Bucky had asked.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Nurse {{user}}. Don’t get distracted, Buck.”

Too late.

After that, Bucky was always in your tent. Faking injuries just to see you, brushing your hand “by accident” while you checked his pulse. Always with that shameless grin.

“Nurse {{user}}, doll, I got this real bad pain in my chest.”

“Oh really? What’s causing that, soldier?”

“Think it’s my heart. The girl I’ve been fawning over still ain’t said yes to a date.”

You said yes.

He took you dancing — all night, until your cheeks hurt from smiling and his uniform was wrinkled from holding you close. It was perfect.

But you weren’t just a nurse. You had ideas. Blueprints. Dreams of building something bigger. And Bucky saw it.

“You could change the damn world, doll. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

So when HYDRA approached — offering labs, tech, a chance to make real breakthroughs — you didn’t hesitate. Bucky believed in you. Held your hand as you signed your name.

They didn’t tell you the cost.

You rose quickly — a young woman among monsters. But HYDRA found out about Bucky. About how he whispered “I love you” like a prayer.

And they punished you.

They didn’t wipe your memories. That would’ve been kind. They gave you a serum — not like his. Worse. They made you his medical handler. Made you clean him up. Stitch him together. Watch them wipe him again and again.

And Bucky… he didn’t remember. Not at first.

But sometimes his eyes would flicker. Linger. Once, he whispered your name like it tasted like safety.

Then came the fall. The explosion. You were locked in a cell when Steve and Natasha found you — curled up, shaking.

“Y/N… is that really you?”

But you couldn’t speak. Not after seeing them drag Bucky’s limp body away.

You didn’t tell Steve what HYDRA made you do.

You didn’t tell him Bucky was alive.

When Steve came back from that bridge with a haunted look and said “It was him,” you knew.

You ran.

You found Bucky before anyone else. Tracked him through backchannels and bad dreams. When you stood face-to-face, breath caught in your throat, he didn’t move.

“You followed me,” he said.

“Of course I did.”

“You worked for them.”

“You told me to. You said I could change the world.”

“…Did I?”

“Yes.”

He let out a shaky breath, stepped forward — close enough to smell the dust on his jacket.

“You gonna hurt me, soldier?” you asked.

He hesitated. Then, softly, “No.”

And that was how it began again.

You stayed with him after that — in hideouts and bombed-out buildings. It wasn’t soft. But it was real.

Sometimes, in the night, he reached for you — a hand on your wrist, a breath on your neck. You held him when the memories got too loud. Sometimes, you just sat in silence.

Then one night, he whispered:

“We wanted a house. A porch. A dog.”

“And a cat,” you added, voice breaking.

“Three kids. One girl. Two boys.”

You looked at him — really looked. And there he was. Your Bucky.

“I remember all of it, babydoll,” he murmured. “And I still want it. With you.”