Bring Me Home // Bucky Barnes

Chapter III - Where He Goes

The goodbye was bitter sweet. In the space of one night Elizabeth had lost her heart to a soldier she knew she may never see again. What's more, she had given her heart willingly, knowing that should his letters cease, should she hear no more from him, she would receive no word of explanation. She was not his, and he was not hers, but my god did she long for his return before he had even said goodnight.

"I'm going to need you to tell me everything about New York while I'm gone." His smile didn't quite reach his eyes as they stood on the stairs leading to her door, her leaning against the cold metal of the bannister, him, standing before her, always respectfully distant, but close enough to feel connected to her. "Every turn in the weather, every piece of gossip, I want it all..."

Elizabeth smiled down at her hands, so carefully entwined with his own. "I'll tell you everything. I promise."

He laughed, a soft, sad kind of laugh as he lifted their hands and planted a gentle kiss on the back of hers. "I don't want to go, Lizzie."

There was a tender resignation in his voice, an acceptance that perhaps he would not return, and the tug of her heart mirrored his own. She did not want him to go either.

"It's going to be over so quickly, Bucky. You'll be back in New York saving damsels in distress in no time." She tried to smile up at him. She wanted to make him feel better, to make him feel hopeful, but as she looked at him she could not get past her own fear. How would she go on if he didn't come back? She could no longer imagine a world without the striking blue of James Buchanan Barnes' eyes, or the lazy lift of his lopsided smile. The world would be less bright, less adventurous, without him.

"Bucky?" she hesitated.

"Yes, Doll?"

A blush spread up her chest and face as the casual use of the pet name hung in the air between them.

"Come back to me, okay?"

Bucky wrapped her in his arms with so much care that for a moment it felt like it was just the two of them in the world, and nothing but that moment mattered.

"Of course."

*

Lizzie,

It feels like a whole other world out here. There are some good men in the 107th and I am glad I have them with me, but I won't lie to you and say it isn't a lonely existence.

We have set up a base camp somewhere remote, even I am not sure exactly where it is, but it's not too bad. We have our quarters and sharing the tent isn't as awful as I thought it would be. Perhaps having spent my life with sisters I wasn't best prepared for the testosterone of it all, but it isn't as bad as I thought it would be. Cards are the pastime of choice here and I have never been the best at them but one of the guys is teaching me. His name is Tim. The others call him Dum Dum, or Dugan. He's a good guy. They all are really. It's just different.

I miss reading. And dancing. It's been two weeks and I miss dancing. I miss dancing with you.

I'm thinking about you, constantly.

Yours,

Bucky

**

Bucky,

I have read your letter more times than I care to admit. I hate that it is lonely where you are, and that you are so far from home. I have no doubt that they are great men, and they have the best one amongst them, but Bucky, New York is so much quieter without you.

It is kind of this Tim to teach you. I'll admit I know nothing about card games and will be of no use to you there, but I do know books. Hopefully when this letter arrives, the parcel will still be attached. I know that you are not the only one who will read this, just as I am not the only one who will read your letters to me, but I hope that they let you keep the gift. You told me I had to read it again to appreciate the adventure, so I did. But now I have so many questions... I hope you can help me answer them?

I miss dancing too, after all, my dance partner has been pulled away to the war...

Yours,

Lizzie

**

When Bucky opened the book he smiled to himself, laughing a little at how she had taken his words and ran with them. Inside the margins and scribbled all over the pages were notes and annotations: little questions posed about phrases and scenarios and little messages to Bucky. Elizabeth had probably spent sleepless nights doing this, giving him access to her thoughts and feelings. He brushed his fingers over the pages of The Hobbit, feeling the slight indentation of where she pressed too hard with the pencil, and sighed. How had he met the most incredible woman just as the world turned upside down?

"Sergeant?" a young soldier, no older than nineteen, approached Bucky as he sat, memorising her words and her writing.

"Yes, Soldier?"

"Colonel Phillips wants a word."

Bucky tucked the letter into his breast pocket, careful not to damage the paper, and closed the book. He would put it in his bag once they had spoken, wrapped in his spare uniform, hidden away and protected from harm. This tiny piece of her had instantly become Bucky Barnes' most prized possession.

*

Elizabeth had checked the mailbox every day for a week. It usually took around three weeks after her letter was sent for a new one to arrive. That never stopped her from checking every single day though.

In the months that had passed between the fateful night she had met Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes and now, she had grown attached. There were no two ways about it. James Barnes was her person. What troubled her though was knowing if she was his. Sure, his letters had always felt special. There was a tone of attachment, of longing even, but she worried her interpretation was clouded by her own desire. And so, when she went to check for a letter for the second time that day and Sarah spoke up, Elizabeth did what she did best. She lied to herself, and to her roommate.

"Elizabeth, I swear to God, if you don't stop running to check the post box I will steal the next letter that arrives and post it in the next days paper for the whole of New York to read."

Elizabeth snapped her head round to stare at her friend before sitting back down and tapping her heel on the floor repeatedly. "Fine," she huffed. "But it's late. His letter has never been late."

"Lizzie," Sarah sighed. "You know this is insane, right? You met the guy once. You had a lovely first date. I know... but he left for the war the day after Liz. His family don't even know you exist so if anything happens you won't find out. You cannot get so attached." Elizabeth glanced up at her before averting her gaze and looking out the window. "I'm not saying this to be cruel," she continued, "I just don't think it's healthy to be writing love letters to a man you might never get to know."

"They aren't love letters, Sarah," Elizabeth snapped. "They're just companionship. He's alone out there, and he's scared. They are all scared. So yes, I write letters to a man I met twice, not once, letters to keep him company. And his letters keep me company too. They aren't love letters."

Elizabeth got to her feet and took another look at her roommate. Of course Sarah didn't understand. She hadn't spent even a second in Bucky's company. If she had, she would never have judged Elizabeth's choices. She grabbed her coat from the rack by the door and opened the front door.

"I'll be back in a little while."

When she stepped outside into the misty rain of early winter in New York she let herself have a moment to cry. His letters were never late and Sarah had very clearly expressed why it might be the case this time. It was a thought she had pushed aside many times herself. She composed herself quickly, brushing away the moisture on her face, and took off towards the hospital. Maybe she could get a few more shifts this week if she asked the right person.