𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐁𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐘

༻ ❁ ༺

  
November 18, 1943

          RIGHT NOW, Alice wasn't meant to be working. The majority of the night had been spent in surgery. Matron had tucked her in and told her to rest until lunchtime.

She couldn't resist checking on Bucky first. She wanted to see him, touch him. Know that he was really back. Really safe. She slipped quietly through the back of the tent.

Her heart lightened at the sight of him.

His hands were resting on the scratchy green blanket as he sat up in bed. He appeared to be in much better shape than when he initially returned.

She had worried that Gwen's three days' bed rest wouldn't be enough, but he was recovering remarkably well.

As he watched the front entrance to the hospital, she had a perfect view of his profile. His cheek bruise had almost totally healed. She wondered if Steve had just walked out the door or if he was still waiting for someone.

Then he shifted his gaze to his hands, which were resting in his lap. His face was gloomy and threatening. His jaw was clenched.

She hurried to his side. "What's wrong? You look upset. Gwen said you were fine, but if something hurts I can get the doctor."

"No. Nothing like that." Bucky caught her hand and pulled her closer to his cot. "Sit with me for a second."

Alice perched herself on the edge of the cot, cradling his hand between both of hers.

The silence lingered for long seconds, Alice growing more anxious the longer it went on. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

"I'm going." He stroked her knuckles with his thumb. He wished he could spend more time here. Alternatively, he may take her with him. Take her home, if possible.

To him, she was warm, bright, and the ideal reminder that there was good in the world and that they needed to fight to protect it. He would not allow anything to put his Alice in danger.

"Of course, you are. You were captured. It was weeks— " Alice's voice cracked. She couldn't say it. Couldn't even think about it. "They have to let you go home. You've done your bit."

Bucky shook his head. "I'm not going home. I'm going with Steve."

One of the surgery's lights had previously short-circuited. In an attempt to repair the wire, Alice had brushed her finger against it. That's exactly how it felt. Panic on an electric scale. She was unable to move or even think.

"Can I write to you?" It almost felt silly to ask. They'd been flirting for almost a year, and he hadn't looked at another woman since their first dance, and he assumed she felt the same way.

"No." Alice pulled her hand out of his. It was too hot. It was burning her.

The word felt like a slap to the face. No. Bucky had been slapped. This was worse.

"Alice. Please. Let me write." Bucky was begging. He didn't think he'd ever begged a girl for anything. Alice wasn't just any girl. He'd get down on his knees if that's what she needed.

"If you don't want it to be anything more, it doesn't have to be. You don't have to call me your beau or make any promises. You don't even have to respond to me. But please let me know if I can write to you. Tell me if I'm not the only one who can make you smile."

Alice refused to look at him. She knew that the sadness in those blue eyes could break her.

"Maybe you're not the only one who can bring a smile to my face. However, you are the only person who has ever made me cry. Bucky, I'm sorry, but I can't do it again. It was too much for me. If the letters were to stop..."

Bucky swallowed a lump in his throat. He thought that was his heart attempting to escape. He reached out for her hand once again. She was on the verge of fading. As if the sun were to disappear behind a cloud.

"Alice..."

She ran. She was not proud of it, but she ran. Neither of them deserved that kind of parting. She, on the other hand, was a coward. She couldn't possibly be strong for both of them at the same time. She needed to stand up for herself.

"Alice!"

Bucky stumbled to the door of the tent. The packed dirt road outside was empty. "Alice!"

He let one of the other nurses guide him back to his bed in a daze. 

Way to go, Barnes. Very smooth.
  

༻ ❁ ༺

November 19, 1943

She wrote to him anyway.

Short notes, long memos, whatever she was thinking of at the time, written in her notebook or on any scrap of paper she could find. She told him about her day and inquired about his whereabouts and plans for when he returned home.

Most went unfinished. All of them went unsent. Folded up and tucked into her footlocker instead.

Dear Bucky,

I'm sorry I ran away. You deserve better than that. And it was an insult to you.

When the war broke out, this was my greatest fear. I'm losing those I care about. And when I got here, I realised I had a lot more to lose. Especially after meeting you.

I almost broke when I lost you, and the day you returned was one of the happiest days of my life. But I'm not sure I can do it again.

If the war was over it would be different. But I can't do this knowing that any moment you could be taken away.

༻ ❁ ༺

November 20, 1943

Dear Bucky,

It's snowing today.

It would be wonderful if we could dress like you guys and wear trousers. In the snow, dresses aren't practical.

This morning, some of the lads started a snowball fight. I wish you could have been there to join them.

༻ ❁ ༺

November 21, 1943

Dear Bucky, 

I still have the flower you gave me that morning. I keep it pressed in my journal.

I pulled it out this morning and thought about you.

Where are you now? I hope it's warmer than it is here. We had ice on the wash basin this morning.

It may be too much to hope that you are safe but I hope it anyway.

I know you are there to watch Steve's back, and I hope the rest of the team watches yours. They seem like good men.

༻ ❁ ༺

November 22, 1943

Dear Bucky,

Gwen was sick today with a cold. 

She was adamant about continuing to work, and it took an order from Matron to keep her in her cot.

༻ ❁ ༺

November 23, 1943

Dear Bucky,

As a birthday present, one of the girls received a Captain America comic. Did you realise you're now a part of them as well?

Is it true that you wear red tights and a mask? That's something I'd want to see. I'm sure you look very mysterious.

Please be safe.

༻ ❁ ༺

November 24, 1943

Dear Bucky,

My sister's beau has returned home from the front lines. His plane was shot down over France, but he was lucky enough to walk away. 

Well, not literally - his leg was broken in two places. But he is alive and well, and he has returned to England. He works at the same hospital where I was supposed to work.

He and Susan have been writing every day.

I'm glad that they are happy.

༻ ❁ ༺

November 25, 1943

Dear Bucky,

Do you get any free time in London between missions?

Have you had time to visit the British Museum? I'd love to see it someday. Maybe when the war is over, you can give me a tour before we go home.

༻ ❁ ༺

November 26, 1943

Dear Bucky,

I dreamed of you last night. 

It was spring, and the fields were full of wildflowers instead of army tents.

I wish I knew where you were. 

I would send you the first wildflower of spring. You deserve something beautiful.

༻ ❁ ༺

November 27, 1943

Dear Bucky,

I wish I could have gone with you. I don't know if I'm brave enough or strong enough to fight, but I'd have tried.

I miss you. 

I hope you're safe.

༻ ❁ ༺

November 28, 1943

Dear Bucky,

Today, I received a letter from my father. 

He's currently in Austria. He sounds exhausted. 

I'm curious whether you've ever run into each other.

He'd like you, I think. It's hard not to like you.

I went to a dance with some of the girls last night. It wasn't the same without you.

Also, can Steve really bench-press a jeep?

༻ ❁ ༺

November 29, 1943

Dear Bucky,

They've sent us a few more nurses. They seem so young. I think they may be even more scared than I was.

It's amazing how quickly you can become accustomed to something. I would have laughed five years ago if you had asked me if I could get used to living in a tent, to the filth, blood, and terror. But my stay here has made me more courageous.

You made me braver. 

Well, you and Gwen. I don't know how I'd have survived this without you.

I miss home. 

It's been so long it almost feels like life before the war was a strange sort of dream.

༻ ❁ ༺

November 30, 1943

Dear Bucky,

I love you.

༻ ❁ ༺

December 8, 1943

Bucky slumped heavily on the bar, his glass pressed against the side of his face. The trouble with the English serving their beverages hot was that it didn't help his injured jaw.

He deserved to be punched in the face. But that didn't make it any less painful. 

He'd been flirting with a redhead who was relatively attractive. She had clearly been spoken for as well.

He could have simply danced with her and moved on. But he teased, charmed, enticed, and insisted on buying her drinks to the point that her boyfriend had no option but to come over and deck him.

"You're off your game, pal." Steve commented, clapping Bucky on the shoulder. Something had been off about his friend for weeks now, and it hurt him to see. "First Peggy, now this. It's like you don't want the pretty girls to like you."

"Why would they?" Bucky grumbled, taking a long draft of his whiskey soda. It still tasted good at least.

Why wouldn't they? Bucky had never had any issues with women, something Steve had admired when they were younger. What had happened to his friend's easy going confidence?

"Whatever happened to that nurse? The British one?"

"Nothing," Bucky answered, maybe a little too quickly. "She... she didn't want to stay in touch. Something about being too busy to be a good pen pal. There's this war. see."

"Did you want to be her pen pal?"

Bucky sighed into his nearly empty glass. "I don't know what I wanted from her."