the team doctor || bucky barnes (EDITING IN PROGRESS)

5.

Edited 8/26/25

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜱᴏɴɢ: ᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ - ꜰᴇʟɪᴄɪᴛʏ

"𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐬. 𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝."

~

VALERIE KEPT TO HERSELF.

...For about forty-eight hours.

The team had finally gone on their first mission since Bucky's return, and Valerie was quietly ecstatic. The common area had turned into her own personal minefield after a grand total of three (and counting) humiliating encounters with him. Each one left her cheeks burning and her confidence slightly shaken.

The embarrassment was starting to cost her—literally. She had taken to buying coffee from the shop across the street instead of using the kitchen machine in the tower.

That strategy worked—until the day she ran into him there. One sharp scowl from Bucky, and she had practically fled the kitchen, leaving her latte half-finished. But the seven-dollar coffees were beginning to drain her bank account. Something had to give.

Cut to that afternoon when the team returned, and Steve immediately approached her. It didn't take a doctor to quickly note that blood was pouring from his shoulder. She ushered him into her office where he leaned back in a leather seat. She was sanitizing her hands when she heard someone else enter the room.

Her breath betrayed her as Bucky stood in the doorway, holding his forearm.

"Can I help you?" Valerie asked, trying to keep her tone neutral despite the edge that slipped through.

"Burned it," he muttered, holding his arm up as if the injury alone should speak for itself. "Thought you were supposed to be a doctor."

Steve shot a sharp scowl at Bucky, clearly disapproving of how his friend was speaking to her.

Valerie rolled her eyes slightly. "I'll help you after I take care of Steve. Take a seat."

Bucky ignored her, leaning instead against the counter, exuding that familiar aura of defiance. She let out a quiet sigh, turning back to Steve and inspecting his white tee.

"Take your shirt off, please," she instructed calmly.

Steve complied without hesitation, and she tried to focus purely on the wound. She was a professional, but she was not blind. Her hand brushed against his shoulder as she steadied the area, and he hissed lightly at the touch.

"Your hands are cold," Steve chuckled.

Bucky tilted his head back in quiet frustration, jaw tightening as he watched her small hands move deftly over Steve's broad upper body. Each stitch she placed was precise, methodical, her focus absolute. The gash that had claimed a piece of Steve's skin was quickly brought under control, and Steve barely flinched—he'd been through enough injuries to know the drill.

Bucky, on the other hand, couldn't tear his eyes away, a mixture of irritation and something he didn't want to name tightening in his chest as he watched her work.

"Thank you, Valerie," Steve spoke before exiting the room.

The moment Steve left, Valerie found herself wishing he hadn't. The air in the room suddenly felt heavier, charged in a way she couldn't quite place. She turned, and there was Bucky, still leaning against the counter, his expression mirroring her own unease. He looked every bit as annoyed to be there as she felt uncomfortable in his presence, and for a fleeting second, neither of them moved, both caught in the quiet tension of the room.