Trauma Team • Bucky Barnes

Horror Stories

"James, get that thermometer out of my face." You mutter as you feel his hand push you awake.

"Sam said to get 45-minute vitals on you. I'm going to do it. He'd never let me forget if I let his best friend die on my watch."

"We're not in the ICU anymore. How the hell am I supposed to get better if you don't let me go to sleep?"

"You can sleep WHEN you get better."

"How does that make any sense??" You ask, but Buck grabbed your chin lightly as you finished your question, thermometer in the other hand.

"It doesn't," Buck said, letting go of your chin and pushing a piece of hair out of your eyes. "Just let me do this so Sam doesn't kill me. Now open."

You obeyed irritatedly, but the machine quickly beeped with your temperature. It wasn't perfect at 38.9, but it was getting out of the dangerous territory every check. "If you do any more vitals, Sam's not going to be the one you should be worried about.

You would never admit it, but you appreciated Buck's concern, even if Sam initiated it because you didn't have the energy to maintain a medication schedule and stay hydrated right now.

"Fair enough," Buck replied and sat back down in the chair you never used in your bedroom. "Now that we have another 45 minutes to burn, do you have any more of those nursing stories?

"You know better than to ask me questions about work right now." You said, stuffing your face back into your pillow. "What kind of story do you want?"

"Something that you still think about, something so embarrassing that you'll never forget it."

"Fine. One time, I had this old guy, who was this real Southern guy, who worked on the farm his whole life. He had shredded almost his entire leg in some piece of equipment, and they didn't save the leg. And he was in the ICU to monitor his low blood volume because the stubborn guy didn't call for help for hours afterwards. He asked me one day after three days of knowing the guy, and he goes, 'Is your husband okay with you working them long hours?' So I say, 'You know, I'd have a good answer if I had one.' And he thinks about my answer for a second. He returns with 'How about your kids?' I say again, 'I don't have those either.' He huffs at me, looks me dead in the eyes while I'm opening his medications, and says, 'You know, a heifer that doesn't take to the bulls ain't no use to the farm...' And I've never been so speechless in my entire life. His daughter is in the room, WHITE with shock, and the other is just apologizing profusely. I finished that med pass and assessment and just died laughing outside that room."

Buck smiled as you told the story, so you continued to tell more. Buck wasn't the type to interrupt or carry on telling stories of his own, but he never seemed bored of your tales. There was something about sharing stories between healthcare workers that anyone who didn't work in the field could understand. The romance was just around the corner with your next story about the time you were starting an IV on a patient while their partner was holding their hand, but in your words, you "began eating her fingers as I was getting flashback."

Buck was in the middle of creeping closer to you, first sitting on the edge of the bed. Still, by the end of your story about these two people who enjoyed being in the hospital more than you did, Buck was sitting beside you in bed, propping himself against the headboard and a pillow behind him. You also didn't miss his hand tracing designs on your hip as you prattled on about catching the two main characters in your story doing the deed when the resident you failed to warn pulled back the curtain to explain a procedure.

"The tech or me, whoever was closer, every single time telemetry called, had to go in there to make sure that the patient didn't have the heart rhythm that was showing up on the monitors, but in reality, they were having a HARDCORE time right there in the stretcher. And they weren't even in a room; they just had a curtain... And the SMELL-"

"You love this job, don't you?"

"I'm telling you the stories of why I shouldn't love it."

"It's cute watching you get excited about them, though."

"I'll keep that in mind the next time I go through something traumatic at work. Something crazy is going on, and instead of thinking that my therapist will have to get me off the edge, I'll say to myself, 'you know, Bucky's going to like this one.' That'll fix everything."

"Whatever makes you think of me throughout the day, doll. Even if it's for things that'll scar both of us for life." Buck smiled again and kept his hand on your back, moving up your middle back as you flipped from your side facing him onto your stomach to play with your messy hair. "But you should sleep for the next 25 minutes before Sam makes me recheck your vitals."

"I request to be transferred to a step-down unit. This 45-minute thing is killing me."

"I'll ask patient care, but I don't think they want to take the report on the floor right now. Sam said he had a date or something."

"Ugh... Yeah, right..."

"He said he'd come back in the morning, but I don't think I'm leaving your side. It's better if just one of us is exposed than we are. Our boss would freak out."

"Probably. How long until you take the respirator off then? The timelines keep changing."

"I honestly wanted to do it a few minutes ago when you were talking to kiss you and make that story stop about the people in the ED stretcher. I'd rather take my chances with being sick than ever have to experience that."

"You'll get your own embarrassing stories that I want you to shut up about before you finish."

Buck lifted his eyebrow. "Can't wait."