Author's Note: In answer to one of my reviewer's question- In this storyline, he was severely wounded and died a few later from complications. So Steve was really little and Grace was barely born yet, AKA: neither of them really remember him much. Sorry I forgot to put in this detail; it never came up in my writing since I didn't do Steve enlistment scene. I'm sure others were wondering that too, so I hope this clears up the confusion. Enjoy the next chapter, folks!
Chapter XII
January 1943, Frontlines of Italy.
"We have incoming wounded, folks," a runner dashed into the operation tent of the 85th Field Hospital. The hospital became a hive of busy nurse and doctors preparing to receive the wounded. Grace was soon pulled to help with the worst bullet and shrapnel wounds since she seem to do well with them. All of the men and wounds became blurs as she tirelessly worked through the day. Every time they thought they had nearly finished their tasks, another wave a wounded came in.
"When you're done there, Rogers, I need you to take of the man on table three," Dr. Holloway called to Grace over the chaos of the operation room. "He's got a nasty piece of shrapnel in his knee."
"Got it, Doctor!" Grace called back. "Julie! Stitch this fella up for me? I gotta see the man on three."
"You got it, chickadee!" Julie quickly took Grace's place.
"Don't worry, Corporal, Julie is the one of the best." Grace soothed the soldier she had removed two bullets from.
"Second only to you or Nan, Sugar," Julie replied as she prepared her needle.
Grace quickly moved to her new patient's side. A large wad of blood-soaked gauze cover his right knee. Grace quickly washed her hands, grabbed a clean set of hemostats and forceps and plenty of gauze dressings, and approached her patient.
"It's alright, Sergeant, you're in good hands now," A nurse that was trying to keep pressure on his wound said. "Grace is one of the best with shrapnel wounds."
"No worries, Sergeant, I've got you, alright? I'm just gonna take a peek under here…." Grace, eyes trained on the task at hand, gently removed the bloody gauze to reveal a jagged piece of metal nearly as long as her thumb sticking out just above and to the outer side of his knee. "Wow," she gasped. "Here's to hoping this thing didn't severe too many tendons or ligaments." After carefully examining it to figured out the best way to pull it out, she leaned over the soldier. "Okay, Sergeant, on three, I'm gonna pull—"
"Babydoll?" the soldier weakly asked.
Grace, who had not really been paying attention to her patient's face, gasped as she combed back the dark hair.
"Bucky?"
"Alive and in person." A small smirk graced his slips before turning into a grimace of pain.
Before she could stop herself, Grace pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I've got you, Sarge; I'm gonna take care of you," she whispered.
"I know you will. You're the best nurse in the Army," he answered weakly.
"On three, Buck." Forgoing her hemostats, Grace gripped the metal carefully. "Be ready to apply pressure," she told the other nurse. "One…two…three!" Grace quickly eased the piece out as Bucky tried to hold back a scream of pain. "It's alright, Bucky, it's out. It's gone." She quickly soothed as she grabbed more gauze to stem the bleeding in his wound.
"Da—"
"Language, Buck," Grace said automatically before he could finish the word. "There are ladies present."
Bucky grinned half-heartedly and tried again. "Geezy-pete…..you have got ….to learn..…to pull your punches…Babydoll,"
"Yeah, well, growing with you and Stevie wasn't very conducive to being soft and easy."
"Nope…probably not," he agreed through gritted teeth.
"You know each other?" the other nurse finally asked.
Grace never took her eyes off her task. "Since the day I was born."
"Well, it's nice to see childhood sweethearts reunited, but I'd better go help one of the others, unless you still need me, Grace?"
"No, you go ahead," Grace answered, not noticing the comment the other nurse made.
"Since when….were we childhood…..sweethearts?" Bucky asked between gasps of pain.
"Hmm?"
"That….nurse….she called us….gasp….childhood sweethearts…."
"I'll straighten her out later," Grace said dismissively. "They are always making assumptions about everyone around her." She carefully lifted the gauze to check on the bleeding. "Okay, I think I'm gonna have to bandage this and stitch it up once the bleeding has stopped." She turned to a nearby table and grabbed several gauze pads and a roll of bandage material. "Did you know that if you carry the picture of a fella that isn't your brother with you in a locket, you must be carrying a torch for him?" she asked as if they were back at the apartment in Brooklyn holding a normal conversation while she began winding the bandage around his knee.
"Oh really?" Bucky answered.
"Yes, Nancy and Julie are quite convinced."
"And I…take it…this Nancy…and Julie are….friends…of yours?"
"Yeah, meet them on the ship over the Atlantic."
"They….sound….just peachy…."
"They actually have been very good friends to me, Sarge."
"You know...I like it….when….you call me…that."
Grace paused in her task. "Oh?"
"Yeah..."
Grace risked a glance up at Bucky's face. He was watching her work with a soft smile on his face that made her heart race and melt at the same time. His eyes shone with-was it pride?-and something else Grace could not name. Without a word, she returned to her task, hoping he did not notice her hands tremble slightly.
"I've thought about nearly every day since you left," he said softly.
Grace gulped. God bless his soul, he had no idea what he was doing her. Grace was sure he was trying to come across as a brother worried for his sister, but her traitorous heart wanted him to mean it differently, and she knew it would never happen.
"Oh? I've thought about you boys too…" she answered noncommittally, tying off the bandage. Motioning to a pair of runners, she ordered them to take Bucky to the nearest observation tent.
"Wait, Grace, I—"
"I have duties to tend to, Bucky," Grace answered without looking at him, sounding harsher than she meant to. "I'll try to come see you later."
April 1943, Bar near SSR Headquarters.
"That punk from Brooklyn too dumb enough to walk away from a fight, I'm following him." Bucky grinned at his best friend. Steve had changed a lot since the last time Bucky had seen him. He was taller, taller than Bucky now. And a lot stronger.
Steve shook his head at Bucky with a grin.
"Hey, did you see Grace on that 'Europe tour' of yours?' Bucky asked.
"Nope," Steve answered. "Have you?" he quickly asked.
Bucky nodded with a broad grin. "Back in January. Took a bit of shrapnel just above the knee and was taken to, you guessed it, the 85th Field Hospital."
"Was she alright?" Steve asked.
"I tell you I took shrapnel to the knee and you ask if she's alright? Thanks for the concern, pal," Bucky rolled his eyes. "I'm fine, by the way. Grace fixed me right up. Don't even a have limp or anything so far."
"Did she now?" Steve look surprised.
"Yep. Apparently, she was 'one of the best with shrapnel wounds'."
Steve grinned proudly, and Bucky could have sworn he sat up a little straighter. "Way ta go, Gracie."
"Yeah," Bucky grinned back. "You should have seen her, Steve. She was so serious about what she was doing; she didn't even recognize me at first." His grin turned into a softer smile. "She was so gentle and soothing though, even when she thought me a stranger."
Steve looked over at him curiously, "Buck?" You okay?"
"Yeah," Bucky shook his head and took another sip from his glass. "It's just….."
"Just what?"
"Grace…she….I…" Bucky stammered, then shook his head with a chuckle. "Shucks, I had it all planned out, and now I can't get the words out."
Steve looked his friend over. Bucky stared down at his glass as he drew invisible circles with it on the bartop—a sure sign that he was nervous.
Suddenly, Steve grinned widely. "Do you like her, Buck? 'Cuz, I won't be mad if you do."
Bucky chuckled nervously again. "Sorta," he answered then he sobered a bit. "I've never felt like this about any other girl before." He raised serious eyes to Steve. "I—I think I love her."
Steve's smile widened.
"What?" Bucky asked. "You think this is funny, Punk? You don't think I know how weird this could be, falling for your best pal's little sister?"
"No," Steve chuckled. "I think it's great, Bucky." Steve slung and arm around Bucky's shoulder. "But does Grace know?"
November 1943, Sicily.
For the last year, Grace had worked with the 85th Field Hospital, but now she was being transferred to a unit in eastern Italy. First, she had been sent to Sicily for a few weeks, but now, she and twelve other nurses and corpsmen were being flown to Bari.
"Are you sure we sure we should be heading out?" a corpsmen asked the pilot as they loaded the C-54 with medical supplies. He pointed toward a smudge of dark clouds on the distant horizon, in the direction that they were headed.
"We've checked all of the weather reports. Bari is in desperate need of medic and supplies, and this will probably be one of your last chances to get out this winter," the pilot answered. "We're flying out today."
Five hours later, the C-54 was lost in a snow storm. They had lost radio contact with their base an hour and twenty minutes ago; forty five minutes ago, the pilot declared their compass useless. He had no idea where they were.
In the transport hold, the corpsmen and the nurses had an alternated seating arrangement to keep the weight evenly distributed. Grace, who sat one seat away from the "front", Grace desperately clutched her locket to her chest in one hand, her other rested over her front pocket where Bucky's handkerchief resided.
"From your sweetheart?" the young corpsman on Grace's right asked of the roar of the plane and wind.
"Sort of," she shouted back.
"'Sort of'?"
"It's complicated."
"Fair enough," he answered. He took a picture of a pretty brunette from his uniform pocket. "My girl, Barbara, Gonna ask her to marry me when this is all over."
"Congratulations early, then."
"Thanks," He grinned. "I'm a lucky fella. Hope you get some luck with your…complicated fella."
"Thanks," Just then the pilot swore loudly, and they felt the plane shudder for the umpteenth time.
"What's going on?" the corpsman shouted up to the pilot.
"Wings are icing over," the pilot answered. "I'm gonna have to try to land blind. Pray there is something to break the fall, folks." They all felt the plane begin to nose downward. "Hang on!" the pilot shouted.
The corpsman beside Grace quickly pushed her down into a fetal-like position and curled himself over her, forming a barrier between herself and the front of the plane. Suddenly the world jerked and tumbled around, and was filled with the ear-piercing screeches of metal twisting and cries of the passengers.
Three weeks later, Mountains of Italy.
Bucky paced restless as they waited for conformation regarding the train they were raiding. His knee was aching a bit, but he did his best to not show it.
Steve glanced at Bucky. For the last few days, Bucky had been trying to hide a faintly limp. The other Commandos probably couldn't even tell, but Steve knew Bucky well and could see the subtle difference in his gait. However, it had not slowed Bucky down at all, so Steve said nothing so far.
"It's him! Zola's on the train!"
"Let's do this, fellas," Steve said, walking to the zip lines that would take them from their ledge onto the train. Bucky looked over the edge.
"Remember that time that I took you to Coney Island and made you ride the Cyclone?"
"And I threw up?"
"This is payback, isn't it?"
"Now why would I do that?"
...and I think I will leave off there...we all know what happens after this...for the most part. (watch the end of Captain America: the First Avenger.) Grace's part will be revealed...once she remembers it... ;) dun, dun,duuuuunnnnn...
I'd like to send another big round of thanks to my lovely reviewers: You gents and dames are the cat's meow! The bee's knees!- Ever yours, Kate.
