Burning Heart - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Part 1

1,487 words

Tuesday, January 9th, 1940

I remember being a young girl and asking Mama - well, writing on a piece of paper - if I would ever be a soldier, or maybe even a sergeant, fighting for my life on the other side of the country. My assumption was yes, I would be perfectly eligible to become Sergeant (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N), shipping out to wherever the war was at the time to fight for my country, but the answers I received that day were the turning point for me.

"No, honey. You'll be on a handsome man's arm with three beautiful children and a country home near the lake. Girls can't be sergeant's, nor can they fight in a war. Besides, what good would a mute girl be in battle?"

If I could speak, and if I was a bit older at the time, I would've lashed out on mother, yelling about women's rights and how I would be perfectly capable of fighting in a war, but I knew it was wise to just let it go.

My dream, my mission, was to be at the front of the line, fighting my enemies with a bunch of women - and men - at my side. But, where the world was going now, I was only eligible to cook, clean, and watch over the children I didn't even have.

I've had so many women scold me for not being at a man's feet, begging for children or to be a wife. But, that life wasn't for me. I swear, no one will ever see me begging for a man to give me children.

I should just say what my mother always said: "Besides, what good would a mute girl be doing this or doing that?" Apparently, nothing, because I couldn't and still can't speak. Mama should've just sent me away to an orphanage or something of the sort because evidently, I'm useless. That's why I'm here, writing in this journal because what else can I do, other than sitting around in my rundown apartment in downtown Brooklyn, watching the same man get beat up in every alley because of his size?

 

You set your pencil down and sighed, the sirens from the street below you echoing through your ears. It was continuous. Nonstop, all day, were sirens because people were dying and crime was happening. The world was remarkably corrupt, the only way you could relieve yourself of painful memories was to write in your journal.

You were born mute, unable to speak or even make noises because your vocal cords were faulty. Your mother saw little to no potential in you, and your father had gone off to war, never to come back. Your three brothers had bullied you to no end before they went off to war too. So, you were left alone.

After you graduated high school, you moved from your childhood home in Indiana to Cambridge, Massachusetts to pursue a degree in nursing, and then to Brooklyn, New York, to hopefully get a job and assist in improving women's rights. You rented a one bedroom apartment and lived off the little money your mother had provided for you after you graduated college. That provided two meals per day and the rest for all the fees connected to your home. Your transportation was walking, and your hygiene was limited but it was enough.

You continuously applied for jobs anywhere you could that was within a two-mile-radius - there were not a lot of choices - and hoped that one day you would get one just to earn a bit more money because, at the pace you were going, the money you had would only last about six more months. But who would want a mute nurse taking care of people?

It was about 8:30 in the morning and you were seated at the window in your bedroom that desperately needed cleaning. But, the window cleaner never showed and you couldn't necessarily clean it yourself. So, you looked through the spots that weren't covered in gunk and dried raindrops and watched the street below you. The morning traffic was building up and the sound of honking cars and people yelling began to reverberate through your apartment.

You were used to it because you'd heard it every day for about a year but it never changed. Always the same nasty comments and the same strained sound of horns. People with road rage yelling at pedestrians to hurry along and others forgetting about the green light notifying them to continue on. It was the same every morning and you desperately needed a change.

It was nearing 9:00 when a knock at the door sounded throughout the small apartment. You furrowed your brow and stood from the chair, setting your journal down and making your way over to the door. You unlocked it and opened it slowly. There was a tall, dark-haired woman standing outside your door. It looked like she was wearing a nurse uniform with a coat over it. You furrowed your brow and rose your eyebrows at the female, not knowing how to greet her.

"Good morning, Miss. My name is Betsy and I'm the chief nurse down at the military base." She offered a kind smile and your heart rate began to quicken.

You smiled and nodded and pointed to your throat to let her know of your condition.

She nodded. "Yes, I'm aware. I would have called instead of coming here but that wouldn't have worked, would it?" She laughed softly and you shook your head with a genuine smile of your own. She was very kind, but why was she standing in front of your apartment?

You put a finger up, signaling for her to wait one second and reached behind you for a piece of paper and a pen. You began scribbling words down as she waited beside you and your heart pounded against your chest.

Why are you here?

"I'm here on behalf of your job application. One of our nurses recently resigned to move to London with her husband," Betsy explained softly and you nodded. You were becoming antsy and your foot began to subconsciously tap as you waited for her to explain further. "Even though you cannot speak, you seem perfect for this job. We won't even need to interview you. Besides, there are always multiple nurses who can speak for you, or you can always just write messages like you're doing now."

You smiled widely and nodded your head vigorously. This could be your big break. Maybe you could move somewhere nicer and buy a car. Well, maybe you were overstepping a bit, but this could lead you down a path that could change your entire life.

"You'll be living with the other nurses in their tent and you'll be working in the medical tent every day from about 8:00 in the morning until about 6:00 in the evening unless one of us tells you otherwise."

Your eyes widened and your lips parted. You mouthed the word 'living?' with eyes still wide and the nurse laughed and nodded.

"Yes, hon. Living." She shook her head and playfully rolled her eyes and you knew you would be good friends with her. Hopefully, you would work near her and hopefully, everyone else was as nice as her, but that wasn't likely. There was always someone you didn't like. "It's (Y/N), right?" You nodded and she smiled.  "I know it's short notice, but you have a week to pack everything up to move in with the other nurses." She pulled a folded piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to you. "Here's a list of everything you may take with you and how many things you're allowed to bring. I'm afraid you'll need to get rid of the rest."

Everything else she said was a blur as soon as you bid her farewell and closed the door. The biggest smile formed on your face and you threw your arms up in individual celebration. Then, the nerves kicked in. Someone was bound to judge you for your 'disability' and you hadn't been a nurse for that long. What if you killed someone by accident? What if you did everything wrong? If they fired you, you would have nowhere to go. Your home would be gone and you would be on the streets.

You breathed deeply and shook your head. No. Everything would be perfectly fine. Maybe this could help you go to war. Maybe you could truly become a soldier like you'd always wanted to.

You ran over to your chair and began frantically writing in your journal. If anything, you would have something to publish later on if you ended up on the streets and needed money. So you wrote and wrote and wrote and wrote until your hand cramped and you couldn't anymore.