postscript. [bucky barnes x reader]

September 19, 1943 - October 9, 1943

The picture you choose for Bucky isn't anything special, in your opinion. One of your friends captured it on a Sunday afternoon: just you leaning up on the railing on the pier and only half-looking at the camera, enraptured by the hazel shine of the water as you were. Still, you enclose it in the envelope and compose your letter.

19 September 1943

Dear Bucky,

Who is this Captain Sobel person? I'll write a strongly-worded letter just for him, just say the word. What are you supposed to do on a weekend without a pass, anyway? Sounds worse than detention, believe it or not. Now, to be fair, I only got detention that one time. If memory serves, you were in there a little more frequently than I was. I won't forget the time we spent there together, though. Happy memories, in the end, since it won me a good friend like yourself.

I don't think I ever apologized for that, by the way. Now's as good a time as any since I don't know when I'll see you in person next. I wish I'd known how difficult that year was for you. I wish a lot of things had been different, actually. It wasn't fair to you that you had to work so hard and go without, and meanwhile I was oblivious to all of that and just made things even harder than they had to be. Now, there's this war on that sort of makes all those wishes for different circumstances seem small and unimportant. I still look at them from time to time though sort of through the looking glass, and I imagine a world where there isn't a war at all and things have been dandy between us our whole lives. That way I can better enjoy it when you call me your best friend even if it's only a running gag.

And, on that note, what's a picture between friends? I hope the one I've enclosed is sufficient for bragging rights. That one was taken by John Hall. Do you remember him? He's a few years younger than us, and I think he knows Steve better. Anyway, he's getting ready to ship out with the rest of you... I think he's trying to become the next Eisenhower. I hope by the time the punk reaches that level of seniority, the war is long over. If you see him sometime, say hi for me. I did manage to get a hold of Steve, and he laughed at you making me "Buck's messenger girl." He told me to tell you that he gets your letters and he knows you're getting his, so stop bothering me. (Don't quit bothering me, I'll never forgive you.)

I truly don't know how my mother would feel about being your division's patron saint, but it sure gets a laugh out of me. I say go for it, but don't tell her I said so and don't let anyone make a pin-up of her. I mean it! I'll know if you do.

She doesn't know yet that I'm writing to you. I think, honestly, I just want to see first if we keep it up. I'm sure you'll get so busy after a while that it will be hard to think of writing letters, and I want you to know that I won't be angry if they start to peter out. Until then, I'm happy to give you any news of New York that you would like, short of sending you the Times. Just be a dear and let me know what about me you'd most like to hear about.

For the time being, I'll let you know that the rubber business is booming and keeps a poor old maid secretary like myself from finding a good husband. This breaking headline I've heard from the women at church. I credit it more to a love of being mostly ALONE. I'd have to really love somebody to want their presence all the time.

I remain affectionately,

Your Friend and maybe even your best one.

P.S. Sorry to hear you don't get Jack Benny! But in that case, I hope you don't mind if I repurpose some of his gags. I'll be your one-woman USO show.

-... -...

27 September 1943

Best Friend (the absolute truth, not a gag),