One Night In Brooklyn | Bucky Barnes 1940's

Winter of 1944

October

The first month passed rather quickly. Eloise buried herself in work. She no longer scoffed at Peggy every time she brought the newspaper into work. She didn't protest as much when Peggy decided to read out loud from it, either.

She tried not to get too riled up about the coverage on the war. A few times she found herself comforting an almost hysterical Peggy, worried sick about Steve, while she was trying to steady her own shaking hands. It was an unfamiliar feeling. This deep caring for someone else. Part of her resented it, feeling like it had weakened her somehow. Left her more exposed and vulnerable to the horrors of life. Constantly worried for someone else's safety, always thinking about what Bucky might be doing, thinking, feeling.

She found herself going to sleep earlier each night, trying to get through her days with as much ease as she could muster for herself.

When Bucky's first letter arrived Eloise read it 5 times. She clutched at the paper, knowing his hands had touched it. She giggled to herself over the way he crossed his T's so perfectly. Much different from her own erratic-and-rushed-looking penmanship. But she took her time in responding, wanting to make sure he could read every word.

Peggy insisted that Eloise spray her papers with whatever perfume it was that she wore. Eloise thought it was a nauseatingly romantic gesture and decided quickly that she would refuse to do such an embarrassingly love-struck idiotic thing. She was fond of this man, sure. Maybe even, very fond. But she hadn't lost her mind. At least, not yet. 

December

By the third month, they had managed to exchange at least 5 letters. But the post offices were beginning to drag under the pressure of so many people writing to their loved ones, that by the time they hit 5 months, the wait was growing much longer between each letter. Christmas was around the corner, and the homesickness for many of the men overseas was becoming unbearable.

Bucky wrote a lot about what the camp looked like, felt like, smelled like. He talked about the new recruits. A group of them had been sent over from France, where the fighting was going well enough for them to spare some men to the German side. One of the new arrivals was Private Sam Wilson. Bucky said that Sam's optimism and luster for life sometimes made them forget that they were in the middle of a war camp. And that they now found themselves singing late into the night and laughing more. Eloise always responded with rich details of Brooklyn, and he was always sure to let her know how much he appreciated it. He missed home, and said he sometimes would read parts of her letter out loud to the other boys. They all missed home. 

He had managed to turn her into quite the writer. Eloise was not much for sharing details of her own everyday, finding it rather boring and had a hard time believing anyone would care enough to want to know. But Bucky made her describe the most unimportant events. Such as folding the laundry. Making a run to the grocery store. What she was planning to make for dinner all throughout the week. What her nosy neighbor was getting up to, and how she kept asking if that "friend" of hers had any new updates from the front each time Eloise caught the mailman outside to ask for letters. She wrote about how the owner of the bodega down the street had a son who was also off fighting. And sometimes they would compare letters, news, and share a simple "did you hear?". 

She couldn't have known then, that Bucky clung to her descriptions, to  the casual one ended conversation, and gentle questions that awaited an answer in his next letter. At times, it was only her letters that made it all feel worth something. Like it was more important now than ever to step straight and watch where you were going. Because there was some sense of relief and perhaps even peace, in an old apartment in Brooklyn, waiting for him.