April, 1943
Dear Kat,
I hope this letter finds you - my last two bounced back because I reckon you were travelling at the time, but I hear the V-Mail boys are better at tracking down the Nurses Corps now. Don't worry, you didn't miss me saying much interesting in those letters. Things about the boat and stopping off in London, but I'm sure you know I can't tell you a thing about where I actually am in case any of this gets intercepted. Can't even put the exact date on my letters in case that gives away our camps. Mom seems to find that rule harsh, but I know you'll get it.
What I'm trying to say is, I'm sorry if you've been waiting to hear from me - I haven't forgotten you, I swear. I'm missing you like crazy, Doll.
The boys probably think I'm an ass for talking so much about a girl I met three times, but I can't help it. Feels like I've known you longer anyway, but I wish I'd gotten to ask you out on a real date. That's what I think about, when I'm looking at our picture, I'm thinking about all the places I'm gonna take you when this war is done.
I'm thinking about our kiss, too. But I wouldn't mention that to the guys.
They're a good group though, the 107th. Bit of an odd mix but I can trust they've got my back, and they know I've got theirs, which I guess is all you need to know when you're out here. Makes it a bit easier when we get sent out to the front.
I won't bother jollying around the subject, Kat, because I know you know better. I'm not out here just having a laugh with the boys and getting teased for having a sweetheart - it's rough. It's really rough, and some days I'm real scared, but I know I have to keep going, just like everyone else.
It can't last very long though, all this fighting. Some folks say it'll be done by the time the summer's out, others reckon we'll be home for Christmas.
How fine would that be, Doll? To bring you home to meet the family around Christmas? You'd love it, the house is crazy - and Ma would love you. I showed her our picture, before I left, and I think she knew you were something special. Steve always comes over for Christmas too, and I think he'd be glad I have someone to keep me in check. I wrote to him about you, but he hasn't gotten back. I wrote to him a few times actually, but maybe he's busy. I just hope he isn't too sore about not being let into the army.
I can't write much more though, it's getting dark and the Jerries have been shelling the area trying to find our camp, so it's lights out until morning.
Don't worry though, I'll be alright. I think of you more often than you know.
I wish we'd had a little more time, Kat.
Yours, (and Lord, doesn't it feel funny to write that? I am yours though. You've got me hook, line and sinker.)
Bucky
May, 1943
Dear Bucky,
I can't tell you how glad I was to get your letter. They've been bouncing us around different field hospitals since we arrived but now we seem to finally have settled in one place - they've set up a new one where they reckon we'll be needed most. I think the fighting's going to be pretty bad around these parts, I'm supposing you could probably guess where we are roughly, but of course we can't breathe a word of it.
How strange to think we might only be a few hundred miles apart, but there's an entire war between us.
I'm glad you're getting on well with your company, the girls here are really nice too - and Laura and I got to stay together, which helps. Nothing seems to bond people like having to go through this together.
Thank you for telling me the truth, Bucky, because I'm scared too, and I didn't want to tell you if you were set on putting on a brave face. You're so brave anyway, you don't need to pretend. I'm trying to be brave too, but some of the things we see out here... In some ways our training didn't prepare us at all. Some days we're playing nurse, doctor, surgeon and undertaker all at once.
We've all had to grow up real fast. Sometimes I forget when I look around the ward that nearly everyone here is just a kid - and that's counting the soliders in the beds too.
But I'm alright. I promise. I think about you a lot too, and that keeps me going. Christmas sounds like it would be wonderful, you could meet my father too - I wrote to him about you, just after I left. I think he'd like you very much, Bucky.
I'm sure your friend will write back to you soon too, I imagine he's just worried about you. It must be so tough being far away from all of this and wanting to be involved, even if it is all terrible.
I hope you're safe. I lay in bed every night hoping you're safe. I wish we'd had more time too but I'm so glad we met in the first place. I'm glad I'm not out here with no thoughts of you to keep me smiling. I do smile when I think of you, half the time it has the girls asking what I'm thinking about and I wish I had a picture of you to show them - but Laura's seen you before, and she's very good as playing up how handsome you are for the others. I'm glad you're not here to hear it, your head might just swell up!
I can't tell you how much I smiled when you called me your sweetheart in your letter. I like that, I really like being your sweetheart, Bucky Barnes.
I'd best sign off though, we're not supposed to have our lamps lit too late either. I hope you're right, and this wretched war is over soon. I can't wait to see you again.
Affectionately yours, (I couldn't resist one-upping you, Sarge. I'm yours too, though. Just so you know.)
Kat x
February, 1944
Hey Sweetheart,
Sorry it's been a few weeks since I wrote. We've been back and forth on the front lines all month, the weather's shit (if you'll pardon my language, you always do) and honestly, spirits are real low. Feels like we're not making much headway here, but we've gotta keep going.
I'm glad I've got your stack of letters to keep me company though. Can hardly believe we've been writing for almost a year now - remember when we thought this thing would be over by Christmas? Thank god I've got you to keep me going. I don't know what I'd do without you.
I know I've said it before, but it's so frustrating not being able to tell you a damn thing about where we are, or what's happened. I'm running out of stories about the guys to fill in the gaps. I wish I could just see you, and hold you and kiss you and tell you everything. I miss you so bad I feel sick, sometimes.
Sorry, I'm sounding a bit grim here, aren't I?
I know I can be honest with you though, you're always honest with me. I hope things are okay at your end, we've been hearing a lot about supplies being held up for the field hospitals. I hope it's not too bad for you.
Honestly, sometimes I feel jealous of the poor injured guys that get you to take care of them, but then I give myself a shake and I imagine you telling me to remember how lucky I am. Having all my arms and legs and a head on my shoulders and breath in my lungs - and you waiting for me, somewhere on this continent.
I'm a pretty lucky guy, all things considered.
I might be out of touch for the next while, Kat. I don't want you to worry, but we've got a few big jobs coming up, and I won't be able to write. It's not the first time we've gotten through something like this, I'll be okay, and you can bet the first thing I'll do when I get back to camp will be writing to you.
Stay safe, Doll. Keep thinking of me. This can't last much longer.
Forever yours, (and boy, do I mean it.)
Your Bucky
March, 1944
Darling Bucky,
Not much time to write, we're being moved to another field hospital, somewhere just behind the It- front. (I shouldn't have written that, it'll be redacted when someone goes through this, I'm sure, I'm just in a rush, sorry). I'll write again when I'm there, if you're not back from your mission yet.
I miss you. I hope you're safe. I want to say more.
Hastily (but adoringly) yours,
Kat x
March, 1944
Hey Soldier Boy,
I'm all settled into the new field hospital, we're attached to a pretty large camp, there's a lot of guys here getting pulled back from the front. It's busier, a little livelier than the last one. Every now and then I look around half expecting to see you, but them I remember I should be glad that you're not here, because that'd mean you were hurt, and I couldn't cope with that.
There's talk of that Captain America guy coming to bolster our spirits a bit in the next few weeks - have you heard much about him? Some of the nurses have written to get pictures of him, or the signed comic books. They think he's a bit of a dreamboat but I don't think he measures up to you (and I'm not just saying that, I swear!) Maybe he'll come by your encampment too, seeing as he's over here anyway. The boys here seem more excited about the girls he brings with him, you gotta promise me you won't forget me if they show up with you. I know you won't though, you're too sweet to have your head turned.
You've been quiet an awfully long time, Bucky. I'm trying not to worry, I know how these things are, but still... I hope you write soon.
Patiently yours,
Kat x
"Nurse Ivanov?"
Kat looked up from where she was changing the bandage on an officer's leg at the call of her name - looking down the length of the khaki tent being used as a ward in the field hospital as she saw a young corporal jogging towards her with a letter outstretched in his hand. For a moment her heart leapt, before he got closer and she saw her own handwriting on the envelope. The letter she'd dropped into the postal sack that morning.
"This was headed for the 107th?" The young man questioned as he handed it back to her.
"Yes, did I address it wrong?" She frowned, glancing down at the paper to check her writing.
"No ma'am - the 107th were based out of this encampment before they were sent out." He informed her, "All of their mail is being held here until they return or we get word that they've reached another checkpoint. Thought you might want to hold on to it until then?"
"Yes- yes thank you." Kat breathed out a hasty nod as she absorbed his words, slipping the letter into the pocket of her apron. The realisation that dawned on her was nearly blinding - this was where Bucky had been based. Here, a few miles back from the Italian front, in the very camp she stood in now. By some wonderful twist of fate, she had found herself exactly where he would be returning to.
"You got some good news, Miss?"
She bit her lip to try and contain her smile at the question from the officer she had been tending to, remembering her role and hurrying to finish off changing his bandage. "Yeah, yeah I... I think I might have just hit a real stroke of good luck."
She didn't feel lucky at all though, two weeks later, when what was left of the 107th marched into the camp.
Word spread quickly. They had been ambushed at Azzano, and by the looks of the men, it had been a bloody, brutal fight. They had been outnumbered to begin with, and it was feared that the men who hadn't been killed had been taken as prisoners of war.
Kat almost didn't dare speak Bucky's name, as she scanned the crowds being herded into the hospital, but when she found the courage, the answer she received sent her heart plummeting to her toes.
He wasn't with them.
He had been right at the front, holding the line. Keeping his men safe, holding their position when there was no hope of winning. No one had seen Sergeant Barnes fall, but he hadn't marched back with the retreat.
He was gone.
Laura had been the one to usher her back to her bunk as she reeled with the news, encouraging her to sit, to take a drink of water as she numbly shook her head.
"Kat, I'm so sorry..."
"He can't... Laura he can't be, I... I was going to be able to see him..." She croaked hoarsely.
"It's alright, just take your time."
"No, I... He can't be gone, Laura." Kat whimpered, the numb shock suddenly giving way to the most devastating ache that spread from her chest with every beat of her heart. "He can't... I... I didn't get to see him, we were supposed to... I thought... I thought if something happened I would know... I would feel it... It- I- I don't..."
"It's the shock, Kat." Her friend assured her softly, "Just try and breathe through it, he wouldn't want you to be upset."
She shook her head as her hands rose to feel the moisture dripping down her cheeks, Her breaths coming in unsteady gasps, unable to put into words what she was feeling. The crushing dispair, the unspeakable heartache and the sheer disbelief.
Because she had been sure, if he had been lost, if he had been killed, she would feel it in her heart. She would know.
Right now, she couldn't bring herself to believe he was gone. Perhaps it was denial, but her heart wouldn't let go of Bucky Barnes. She wouldn't allow him to be dead.
Perhaps that was the only thing that allowed her to keep going, in the weeks that followed. Because if she had stopped for a moment and allowed herself to imagine him left to die in a trench, bleeding out from some bullet wound or marched off to be tortured and killed in some camp, it would have surely broken her. If she stopped to consider the fact that he might have died completely alone, frightened and cold, in pain, knowing that he would never be found, thinking of his family who would never know the truth of what had happened, thinking of her...
The only option was to throw herself into her work, to tirelessly strive to save and comfort the men who came before her in need of care - because if Bucky had died alone and in agony, out of her reach, then she could at least make sure that no one within her reach faced the same fate.
She didn't venture out from the medical tents often, but she knew that tensions in the encampment were running high though spirits were desperately low. High ranking Colonels and agents littered the area, examining maps and making plans. Evidently whatever enemy they were located near was one that required extensive observations and carefully planned operations. Kat couldn't find it in her heart to believe it would make any difference. This war seemed endless, too many people had been lost and not enough ground gained. It felt like one way or another, every soul on this continent was destined to die in some lonely, muddy field.
And what did it matter anyway? Even if the war was won, even if she was sent home, could she ever go back to the person she had been? The person she had been before Bucky Barnes had kissed her under a streetlight and poured his heart out to her in the dozens of letters sent throughout a wretched year? She wasn't even sure she could go back to the hopeful person she had been, before the ragged remains of the 107th marched back into the camp.
She wondered if his family had even heard yet. If that hideous letter of condolences had been sent yet or not.
Kat could barely bring herself to move beyond her work, even when Laura urged her to come and watch the show being put on for the servicemen, she made her excuses. Someone needed to stay with the men who couldn't go. She heard the music from the makeshift stage, the cheers for the singing girls and the boos and jeers when a male voice tried to make some speech to bolster their spirits. The men were too jaded for words of encouragement, they had lost too many of their friends and comrades for that. The romanticism of war seen from afar was gone, and not even the Star-Spangled Man With a Plan could bring it back.
Outside of her work, there was only sleep, and she could never quite decide if it was a reprieve or not. Usually, she was so exhausted that there was only welcoming darkness to fall into, but previously there might have been snippets of light, fragments of memories of laughter and dances, music and soft, streetlight-lit kisses. Those were gone now.
In their place she only heard the distant shelling that echoed over the camp, flashes of explosions over treetops - the dying cries of men in their cots. Her feet sucked into mires of deep, cloying mud as she staggered across a battlefield, searching for a man whos face she could almost barley remember.
Because after a year of the horrors of war, with only letters to provide that link between herself and Bucky, that image of his features in her mind - that soft smile under the streetlight and the affectionate light in his eyes - that image had become blurred with time. Part of her truly wished she had kept the photograph he had tried to give her, so that she could look at his face and remember. She wouldn't be able to see his perfectly blue eyes, but it would be something.
Kat was sure that photograph was lost forever, now. The only part of Bucky she could cling to were his words on a few precious pages.
She had taken the time to glance over those pages, just before she had risen for the dawn shift. Drinking in his words that had bolstered her when she had written to confess how exhausted she was, how frightened she felt and how much she missed home.
Hang tight, Doll. This can't last forever and you're strong enough to see it out. Just think of how close I'm gonna hold you when I see you again. That's what's keeping me going.
She played those words over in her mind as she worked, dressing wounds, administering what little medicines they had, disinfecting instruments. She was so caught up in her work that she almost didn't hear the shouts beyond the medical tents, the sounds of feet pounding across the earth on the other side of the canvas - by the time she realised, the other nurses had already frozen, fearing the commotion might mean they were under attack.
"Roll down the doors." Kat breathed quickly, knowing it was a poor defence, but the flaps of canvas were the only barrier they had. "Try the get the patients under their cots-"
"Medic- we need medics!"
Her instruction was interrupted by a frantic call, as a young soldier barreled through the doorway; "Quickly- we got wounded men-"
"What's happened?" Kat demanded, already reaching for one of the supply kits stationed around the space, her hand freezing at what the man said next.
"It's the 107th."
"What?"
"They've come back- the rest of the 107th."
The noise was almost deafening as the nurses and helmeted field medics were buoyed along on the tide of people rushing towards the centre of the camp. There was cheering, applause - cries for medical attention that the others rushed to give, but Kat could barely put two thoughts together as she strained to see over the heads of men who had gathered to watch.
"They're saying Captain America brought them back-"
Snippets of conversation washed over her, the shouts of people searching for friends. Some answered, some didn't. Exhausted, battle-worn men clapped one another on the backs, congratulating each other on their survival - a tank rolled to a halt - and still Kat could barely understand what was happening, her heart was thundering in her ears too loudly, her hands shaking. They were back, what looked like hundreds of men had just marched into the camp... But she couldn't let herself build false hope. It was his company, but she couldn't see him, he might not be here...
"Hey-"
One voice rose above the others, demanding attention as the crowd began to hush.
"Let's hear it for Captain America!"
A voice Kat knew. A voice, though it was strained with exhaustion, still carried the lilt of a Brooklyn accent.
And then her hands were pushing against the crowd as a deafening cheer erupted, almost drowning out the panicked thumping in her chest. Her body squeezed and shoved its way between cracks in the crowd, her feet carrying her on sheer instinct as she fought to get to the centre of the group-
And then she saw him, clamping his hand down on the shoulder of a helmeted man who stood taller than the others - but that man wasn't the one her eyes locked onto. Her eyes found a face she feared she had forgotten - one who's details came rushing back in that aching second of recognition.
It was him. It really was him.
"Bucky- Bucky!"
Her own voice joined the cheers, rising over them with such frantic need that even with several bodies between them, he heard. His head turned towards her, his gaze confused at the sound of his name being called, and then searching for the source of it - before his eyes met hers.
Blue. God, his eyes were so blue - and in that moment, as the confusion in those blue eyes gave way to realisation and shock, Kat was sure she had never seen anything so beautiful.
"Kat? Kat-"
His desperate call of her name came with a lurch towards her, his hands throwing down the rifle he had been holding just as Kat made the final push through the soldiers who were now giving way to her-
And suddenly she was in his arms - locked tightly against his chest as her own were flung around his shoulders, clinging to him with such a pained sound of desperation she thought she might never be able to speak again. His face pressed to her neck with an urgent gasp, his hands splaying on her back as if he had to touch as much of her as possible to prove that she was real.
"Kat- God, Kat..."
"Bucky-"
Maybe she could still speak, if only to repeat his name. She'd vow to only ever speak his name again if it meant that she could keep him here, his body warm against hers, his arms tight around her, crushing her to him but she didn't mind. Her hands ran from his shoulders to his face as she looked up from his chest, cradling his stubbled jaw in her palms as she gazed up at him breathlessly.
She didn't need to say it, and he didn't need to speak either. The sentiments passed between them in a single look.
I thought I'd lost you.
I'm sorry. I can't believe you're here.
She couldn't wait a second longer, pressing up onto her toes, Kat kissed him with all the relief and grief and love that threatened to overflow from her body if she didn't express it all in this moment. Every ounce of fear and gladness she had experienced between the last few weeks and the last few seconds was poured into the touch of her lips - a sentiment that was reciprocated with desperate enthusiasm. Bucky's strong arms lifted her clear off her feet as he kissed her like a man starved, his lips near bruising hers with sheer need. The need to be closer, the need to prove to himself that he had come back to her.
It wasn't like their tender, thrilling kiss under the streetlight. There was no endearing hesitance, no romantic glances and building of anticipation - but it was the kiss Kat needed in this moment. Heavy and clasping and dizzying. A kiss she would have needed upon their first meeting again even if she didn't feel as if he had been clawed back from the jaws of death. A kiss that bridged their year apart, erasing any fear of awkward greetings and shyness in a single, deeply meaningful gesture.
But then she felt him smile against her lips, and for a moment she was transported back to that street corner. For a moment she was back in the arms of that charming, nervous young Sergeant, and she could have cried with the relief of knowing that he was still there. Under this ragged, war-weary exterior, he was there.
Her own breathless smile broke the contact of their lips, the world around them rushing back as Bucky's forehead pressed to hers tenderly, his hold on Kat never once loosening as he gazed down at her as if they weren't stood in the middle of a warzone.
"Hey Doll."
"Hey..." Her greeting came unsteadily as her eyes blurred with tears, which were carefully swept from her cheeks by a calloused hand. "Oh Bucky, I can't... I thought..."
"I know, I know sweetheart- I'm so sorry..." He breathed as she looked him up and down, her hands sliding over the tattered undershirt thick with grime and weeks of wear. He looked exhausted, despite the brightness of those eyes, they were ringed with dark shadows, his sharp cheekbones marred with scrapes and bruises. She couldn't begin to imagine what he had been through, what he had seen in the time they had been apart - or what had been done to him.
It wasn't until she finally managed to usher him into the medical tents that she was able to fully take in the extent of his ordeal. When he no longer stood tall amongst his comrades, when a curtain had been drawn between them and the rest of the world, that was when he allowed his shoulders to slump a little, allowed his head to bow under the weight of this dreadful war and all that it had done to him.
When Kat managed to guide him to sit on the edge of a cot, when she knelt before him and wrapped his hands in her own, she could feel that they were shaking.
"It's okay, Buck- James..." She whispered softly, reaching to sweep his hair back from his pale features and taking her time in letting her palm trail along the side of his stubbled jaw, letting him lean into that touch as his eyes fell shut. "You can rest now, you're safe here."
A small, tired nod from him was all the answer she received, but it was all she needed as she ran her hand down his arm to take his pulse at his wrist. As much as he needed wrapped in all the love and affection she could give him, he needed her as a nurse too.
The beats under her thumb were steady, though his skin was a little warm. She wouldn't be surprised if he was running a fever after all he had been through - she just needed to be sure it didn't stem from any infected wounds that were hidden from her sight. He was quiet as she cleaned the scrapes on his face, his eyes remaining closed as she wiped over his split knuckles and the crescent shaped marks on his palms where it looked like he had driven his own nails into his flesh. She didn't ask what had driven him to do so.
Carefully, she laid aside her cloth and lightly touched her fingers to the metal dog tags that hung over his torn shirtfront, coaxing his eyes open with the soft touch. "Can I...?" She ran her fingers over the faded khaki fabric as his jaw clenched slightly at the suggestion.
"M'okay Doll, don't worry about that."
"You getting shy with me, Buck?" She teased softly, her smile assuring him that there was no judgement in her words.
"I, uh..." He huffed out a small breath and hung his head, "S'just not how I imagined... Thought I'd stink less when I let you get my shirt off is all." He shrugged awkwardly and offered her a half smile as Kat leaned forward to sweetly kiss his cheek.
"I've smelt worse, believe me." She reassured him, "And right now I'm just your nurse - you can worry about getting your kit off in front of your sweetheart another time."
"Never had a nurse kiss my cheek before - I mean, not since I was getting my shots at the pediatrician's, but I don't think that counts..."
She giggled softly at his ambling story, rising to her feet to help him slip the worn garment over his head, letting him talk if it helped take his mind off the way her eyes widened as they landed on the yellowing bruising that littered his ribs - some still a deep, angry blue over certain points.
She has expected him to look worse, though. She had seen men pulled back from the front - even those that hadn't been prisoners of war - transformed into little more than skin and bone. Wasted muscles clinging to protruding ribs after weeks of living on barely enough rations to keep them fighting.
Bucky still looked strong. Despite his greying complexion that screamed of exhaustion and a lack of nutrition, his arms were still bound with visible muscle, his chest and abdomen defined in a clear, lean fighter's form - if he didn't look so battered, he might have been turning up for a regular physical examination at his doctor's in Brooklyn, to be told he was a specimen of strength and ready to be marched off to war.
"What's the verdict, Nurse?"
His soft question dragged her eyes up from his impressive physique, catching the note of vulnerability in his voice that was reflected in his eyes and forcibly reminding her of the role she should be playing here.
"Let me check those bruises." She murmured, shifting closer to lightly touch her fingers to his left side, "Breathe as deeply as you can, and let me know if anything hurts?"
She didn't ask what had caused the aggressive marks, but she could imagine. She could see the blurred outlines of what might have been a boot print, the harsh stripe across his shoulder blades that looked to be a strike from a baton. None of his ribs seemed to be broken by some miracle, but it was the strange pinprick bruises on his inner arms that made her hesitate in her examination.
He could see her looking at them, and she could feel him watching her as she examined the reddened skin around the tiny breaks, almost as if something had pierced him, and in that location alone his body seemed to be fighting the intrusion.
"I..." She frowned, biting her lip as she counted the marks at regular intervals along his limb, and their mirror copies on his other side. Whatever they were, they were deliberate.
"I don't remember getting those."
His hoarse whisper jolted her back into the present moment, away from whatever causes she had been imagining.
"Someone did this to you?"
He nodded slowly, his hand reaching for hers to gently tug her down to sit on the cot beside him. "I don't want to scare you, Kat. You don't need to know about what happened in there."
"But you need to talk about it." She reasoned softly, threading her fingers through his. "I won't go anywhere, Bucky. Nothing you can say will chase me away from you."
His soft smile that followed her words reassured her that he believed them, but there was a lingering sadness there. Something that told her that he knew whatever he said couldn't be taken back. He knew that she might see him differently afterwards - but they were both different now. They couldn't go back to the people they had been when they had met, they could only keep moving forward.
So he told her. He told her about the ambush, being marched to the weapons factory and being kept in cages like animals. How he watched his men die without medical care or enough food to keep going. How he watched their spirits break and how he kept the last shreds of his by thinking of her, of his family and his best friend. He told her about how he was worked for weeks until he collapsed, and how he was dragged away from his company - to die, he had thought. He confessed in barely a whisper where there were moments he had almost wished for it. In the moments he had phased in and out of consciousness, waking with a fire in his veins that threatened to consume him, he had been sure he would die. He knew they had performed some experiment on him, but he couldn't say what. All he knew was that he was pulled from his delirium by the face and voice of his best friend - the man he had thought he had left behind in Brooklyn, now changed beyond belief and charging behind enemy lines under the title of Captain America.
He didn't know what had been done to him, but he knew that once the fire had passed, once his head had cleared, his body hadn't ached as sharply any more. He had been able to walk the hundreds of miles back to the camp by his friend's side when he shouldn't have been able to.
When Kat had offered to find a doctor to check him over, he had simply shaken his head, leaning closer to press a kiss to her temple.
"They wouldn't know what to do with me, Kat." He whispered softly. "Look at me, physically I'd be well enough to march back out there after a solid meal."
"Don't you dare." She breathed, clutching his hand all the tighter, "I just got you back, Bucky. I'm not ready to let you go again."
His soft breath of a sound that might have been laughter warmed her heart, almost as much as the tender kiss he laid on the corner of her lips did. "Just try and get rid of me now, Doll."
[A/N: I can't get enough of these guys, they're just so precious! Thank you as always to JimboSmoothie for this beautiful premise, I really hope you're enjoying where I've taken it! X]