Bring Me Home // Bucky Barnes

Chapter IV - Far From Home

Lizzie,

I'm sorry my letter is late. We moved base a few weeks ago and your letter has only just reached me. I don't know if you even noticed that the letter was late but if you did, please know it is not because anything is wrong. How are things at the hospital? I hope Dr. Maxwell has backed down and left you to your job? I hate that I can't be there to talk to you about it all in person.

I imagine it's wet and miserable in New York by now? Cold too. It's not much different here. Except maybe the mud. It is always muddy here. I can't remember the feeling of being clean and warm. Hell, I can't remember the feeling of being dry at this point. It's not all bad, of course. This week I beat the boys in a game of cards. I'm not sure I could do it again, but the look of surprise when I did will stay with me forever.

How is Sarah? And the child you were treating in the last letter- did he manage to get strong enough to leave the hospital?

If I were in New York right now, I think I'd like to take you to dinner. There's a restaurant in Brooklyn, near where Steve and I grew up. My dad took my mom there when they first met and it's still standing now. I think you'd like it. There are paintings hanging on the walls of different places in the world. Places you might one day like to see.

Thinking of you, always.

Bucky

**

Bucky,

You do not need to apologise. I'm just grateful for another letter. I know you have other people to write to and I feel honoured that you choose to entertain me at all. I've read in the papers that the army is moving in closer to enemy lines every day. I'm sure you are all perfectly safe and secure at your base, but I worry... promise me you are being careful?

I have taken on more hours, once again. We have a shortage of beds, and we can't seem to keep staff long enough to see everyone quickly enough to free up the beds. Our hospital now has a wing specifically for men returning from the war, and those of us who have signed up to work within it are now members of the Army Nurse Corps. I check the list every day for the men you mention are injured in your letters. Only once have I met one though. He spoke highly of you... he said he was proud to serve beside you. I thought you might like to hear that.

Doctor Maxwell is no longer involved in my work as I am now taking orders from a Colonel. I believe Maxwell just wanted what was best for the patients, and did not mean to offend me or suggest my work was not up to standard, but it is nice not having his watchful eye on me at all times, and I can say I feel I have done well in the ANC so far. Right now the plan is to stay in New York, we have agents in and out of the hospital every day who check our files and decide who is fit for active duty, and there is a lot to do. I think I'm grateful for that. Who knows how delayed our letters would be if I were not here at home.

New York has been grey for some time now, and the bite of snow is in the air once again. There is a buzz in the city, filled with anticipation for the first snow fall, but I can't claim to be excited. Cold here means it is colder for you and I can think of nothing else.

James Buchanan Barnes, you won a card game!? How the men must have been shocked! By all accounts your card skills have been lacking for the duration of your time away. I am impressed Sergeant Barnes, well done!

Sarah is well. She worries about many things, and she voices her opinions freely, but I only grow more fond of her each day for that. I must say, she does not approve of our arrangement, nor does she approve of my joining the ANC. But there is little she does approve of these days.

Unfortunately we lost the young boy. His fever overwhelmed him not two days after I sent my last letter. He was my last patient before transferring and I think of him most days.

I think I would like that dinner, if not for the restaurant, then for the company. It is strange how I knew your voice for such a short time and yet I do miss it. I look forward to hearing your stories in person when this is all over. You can tell me all about the places you have seen and I will happily imagine them through your eyes.

You mention Steve in every letter but have told me very little about him. Tell me more? He seems very important to you.

Yours,

Lizzie

**

The letters became a fixed part of Elizabeth's routine. When one would arrive she would tear the envelope with the same excitement as a child on Christmas morning and she would devour his words, soaking in the slant of his handwriting, the twist of his pen. She memorised every word and every ink stain. She knew these letters like they were a part of herself and she protected them as if they were precious stones hidden away that only she could access.

In the bottom of her closet an old hat box sat, brimming with these letters and cut outs from papers that mentioned the 107th.

Sometimes Bucky's letters would come late again; an indication that the war effort was becoming more draining, more devastating. Sometimes Bucky would say nothing about himself and only ask about her. Her favourite letters though, the letters that she returned to when she needed to feel him with her, were his letters about his life before the war. His life with Steve.

Steve, he had told her, was a scrawny kid his whole life; plagued with illness after illness, and left without any family after his mother passed a few years ago. He was scrappy too, constantly getting into fights Bucky would inevitably have to end. When Bucky spoke about him, she could see the adoration there. They may not have been brothers by blood, but they were brothers by choice. James Buchanan Barnes loved Steve and he would do anything to protect him.

Elizabeth knew Bucky would have stayed for Steve, she knew it was his plan, and so as she read his letters detailing the chaotic antics of the two men when they were young boys she felt a sadness washing over her. These were stories of love and attachment, and she could see that Bucky feared leaving Steve with nothing and no one. So, despite not being a religious woman, each night, when she was getting ready to turn in, she prayed for Bucky's safe return to her, and to Steve, who she knew needed Bucky just as much as she felt she did.

As the weeks turned into months Elizabeth worked her way up the ranks in the Army Wing. She was determined and focused and her empathy meant that she had become quite popular among the men. They liked the fact that she listened to their stories and asked questions about them, not just the war. Occasionally the men would flirt, but Elizabeth paid them no mind. She was oblivious to their attention as hers was elsewhere.

Bucky continued to write. He told her he was proud of what she was doing, and how he was sure her parents would have been too. He worried she would overwork herself and wasn't looking after herself as she should be, and in her response she reassured him she was fine. His concern for her spread a warmth in her being. She felt, perhaps naively, that he could care for her as she did for him, but she was too afraid to ask.

And then the letters stopped.

When his next letter did not arrive she waited and she worked. Three weeks turned into four, and into five, and into six. By the time two months had passed Elizabeth had lost hope and she grieved for Bucky as she pushed herself into her work.

The men around her were a great comfort. They joked and laughed and she was trusted. She worked hours after her shifts would end and she reorganised the entire ANC system in the hospital. Her organisation skills, as well as her bedside manner, drew attention. The Colonel was pleased with her. As was the S.S.R. agent watching from the wings and monitoring the nurses as they worked.