Letters Between Lovers From Faraway 1/7
Title: Letters Between Lovers From Faraway [1/7]
Rating: T?
Genre: romance, angst, drama
Fandom: Captain America: The First Avenger
Pairing: Steve Rogers/James "Bucky" Barnes
Warnings: none
Summary: Steve and Bucky are separated by war. Letters are all they have.
A/n: For
mwildsides's prompt of "Steve/Bucky, war romance" on capkink.
Dear Steve,
Sorry I didn't write sooner. Tonight is the first real chance I've had to write a letter, since I didn't pass out after dinner for once.
Basic is hell and I want to come home so bad I can taste it. I miss you, I miss our shitty apartment, and I miss Brooklyn. Hell, I even miss the upstairs neighbor and his showtunes at three in the morning! Bugles are the worst possible way to wake up and the food is terrible. I'll take your culinary misadventures with rations anytime over the slop they call food. And worst of all, the beds are empty and cold. Guess I got too used to waking up to warm, beautiful blonds in the morning, huh? Anyway, they have us training and doing drills all day, every day, except Sundays (what's this thing you call a "weekend"?). It's all crawling under barbed wire through the mud, running with packs, endless pushups and way too much marching to be healthy. We haven't even fired a gun yet.
My CO is a lot like Sammy, that guy who used to stop by the YMCA two years ago. Remember him? Big fella, snapped his suspenders all the time, and wore that stupid hat? Every time I see my CO, I think of that drawing you did of Sammy as a little dog and have to try not to laugh.
The guys in my squad aren't so bad, though.
- There's Danny McCullough, a guy from Indiana. He has some good stories about the cops in South Bend, where he grew up. When this is over, he wants to go to Notre Dame and get a law degree, he says, and maybe replace the current dynasty of police chiefs in there. He says they're a bunch of weenies.
- Bedros Arvanigian is an Armenian kid from a little town out in California (he says it's easier to call him Pete and I can see why. What a name!). He's got a pretty girl and they've got a couple kids. He wouldn't quit showing us the pictures he has of them for about the first two days. I guess he's nervous about being so far away.
- Jack Savoi is a guy from New Orleans and he has got the thickest damn accent I ever heard. He says the same thing about me, though, in between muttering about being thrown in with a bunch of Yankees, and we have to slow down and repeat things for each other all the time. I have never said "pass the salt" so many times in my life as I did the first day.
- We also have a guy from Michigan who calls himself a "yooper", whatever that is. His name is David Erikson, and he's giant, blond, and the grimmest, most sarcastic person I have ever met. Sometimes he's funny, but a lot of the time he's just bitter. I don't know why. He doesn't talk too much, except for one liners that I'm convinced he rehearses in from of the mirror every morning, so I haven't been able to figure him out just yet.
But anyway, how is it at home? How are you and those lungs of yours? You're not getting into any fights, are you? My pay should be coming soon and tell everyone else I said hi.
Can't wait to come home,
Bucky
Dear Bucky,
Don't worry about the fact that it took you a while to be able to write. I'm happy to have letters at all. I miss you, too! Everyone says hi back and that you can expect the care packages to start descending on you soon.
Basic does sound terrible, especially if you're longing for my food. I could start including recipes for you to give to the cook, if you want. Steve Roger's powdered egg and wilty carrot soup would be a hit, right? You'd be the toast of the mess hall! Sorry about the cold and the bugle, though. I'm too far away to help you with the blond problem but maybe I could send some earmuffs? I bet Mrs. Nowak would knit some if I told her who they were for. And yeah, I remember Sammy and that drawing (see enclosed). Him and his pork pie hat.
Your squad sounds interesting (did you tell Jack it's all about the Dodgers?). I have no idea what a "yooper" is, either. Has David explained it yet?
Home is too quiet without you to liven it up, but it's OK. We've sort of got a community victory garden on the roof now, though I fear for those plants' welfare when summer arrives and the sun makes its annual attempt to cook Brooklyn into submission. Mr. Clearwater has steady work for me, as he'll take the men he can get, he says, and I guess I'm it. Almost everybody else is dames. I feel a little out of place, being one of three fellas left on the job, but it's not a big deal. It just means I spend more time holding doors open for my co-workers, I guess. I haven't been more sick than usual. Just the ever preset cough, and yes I'm painfully aware you're not here to fish me out of my own messes. I've been keeping my mouth too myself as much as I can stand it.
Yours,
Steve
Rating: T?
Genre: romance, angst, drama
Fandom: Captain America: The First Avenger
Pairing: Steve Rogers/James "Bucky" Barnes
Warnings: none
Summary: Steve and Bucky are separated by war. Letters are all they have.
A/n: For
mwildsides's prompt of "Steve/Bucky, war romance" on capkink.
Dear Steve,
Sorry I didn't write sooner. Tonight is the first real chance I've had to write a letter, since I didn't pass out after dinner for once.
Basic is hell and I want to come home so bad I can taste it. I miss you, I miss our shitty apartment, and I miss Brooklyn. Hell, I even miss the upstairs neighbor and his showtunes at three in the morning! Bugles are the worst possible way to wake up and the food is terrible. I'll take your culinary misadventures with rations anytime over the slop they call food. And worst of all, the beds are empty and cold. Guess I got too used to waking up to warm, beautiful blonds in the morning, huh? Anyway, they have us training and doing drills all day, every day, except Sundays (what's this thing you call a "weekend"?). It's all crawling under barbed wire through the mud, running with packs, endless pushups and way too much marching to be healthy. We haven't even fired a gun yet.
My CO is a lot like Sammy, that guy who used to stop by the YMCA two years ago. Remember him? Big fella, snapped his suspenders all the time, and wore that stupid hat? Every time I see my CO, I think of that drawing you did of Sammy as a little dog and have to try not to laugh.
The guys in my squad aren't so bad, though.
- There's Danny McCullough, a guy from Indiana. He has some good stories about the cops in South Bend, where he grew up. When this is over, he wants to go to Notre Dame and get a law degree, he says, and maybe replace the current dynasty of police chiefs in there. He says they're a bunch of weenies.
- Bedros Arvanigian is an Armenian kid from a little town out in California (he says it's easier to call him Pete and I can see why. What a name!). He's got a pretty girl and they've got a couple kids. He wouldn't quit showing us the pictures he has of them for about the first two days. I guess he's nervous about being so far away.
- Jack Savoi is a guy from New Orleans and he has got the thickest damn accent I ever heard. He says the same thing about me, though, in between muttering about being thrown in with a bunch of Yankees, and we have to slow down and repeat things for each other all the time. I have never said "pass the salt" so many times in my life as I did the first day.
- We also have a guy from Michigan who calls himself a "yooper", whatever that is. His name is David Erikson, and he's giant, blond, and the grimmest, most sarcastic person I have ever met. Sometimes he's funny, but a lot of the time he's just bitter. I don't know why. He doesn't talk too much, except for one liners that I'm convinced he rehearses in from of the mirror every morning, so I haven't been able to figure him out just yet.
But anyway, how is it at home? How are you and those lungs of yours? You're not getting into any fights, are you? My pay should be coming soon and tell everyone else I said hi.
Can't wait to come home,
Bucky
Dear Bucky,
Don't worry about the fact that it took you a while to be able to write. I'm happy to have letters at all. I miss you, too! Everyone says hi back and that you can expect the care packages to start descending on you soon.
Basic does sound terrible, especially if you're longing for my food. I could start including recipes for you to give to the cook, if you want. Steve Roger's powdered egg and wilty carrot soup would be a hit, right? You'd be the toast of the mess hall! Sorry about the cold and the bugle, though. I'm too far away to help you with the blond problem but maybe I could send some earmuffs? I bet Mrs. Nowak would knit some if I told her who they were for. And yeah, I remember Sammy and that drawing (see enclosed). Him and his pork pie hat.
Your squad sounds interesting (did you tell Jack it's all about the Dodgers?). I have no idea what a "yooper" is, either. Has David explained it yet?
Home is too quiet without you to liven it up, but it's OK. We've sort of got a community victory garden on the roof now, though I fear for those plants' welfare when summer arrives and the sun makes its annual attempt to cook Brooklyn into submission. Mr. Clearwater has steady work for me, as he'll take the men he can get, he says, and I guess I'm it. Almost everybody else is dames. I feel a little out of place, being one of three fellas left on the job, but it's not a big deal. It just means I spend more time holding doors open for my co-workers, I guess. I haven't been more sick than usual. Just the ever preset cough, and yes I'm painfully aware you're not here to fish me out of my own messes. I've been keeping my mouth too myself as much as I can stand it.
Yours,
Steve