→ you get mistaken for strangers by your own friends

[yourbestguysgun]

[ There's a clear view of the Rogers-Barnes kitchen coming through on the feed, Bucky hunched over the counter with a pen and a pad of paper, a half bitten pen between his fingers. He scrawls for a minute before it ends up propped by a coffee mug for the whole world to see. Why, he has no idea, it just feels like a good idea at the time. ]

Dear Santa,

Sorry I told Steve y'weren't real when we were eight, okay buddy? It was a mistake, but Johnny did tell me first, so I can't be blamed for the big fuss it caused, right? Anyway, I figure as it is the season an' all, I should write.

For Christmas I kinda only want like a few things, so don't worry.

A carton of those fancy cigarettes Jones smokes, cause I kinda miss the taste.
A bagel from Marcy's Diner, that's impossible, I got it, but you don't get good cream cheese here like Marcy does.
My Johnson. I guess Santa don't know much about guns, so it's the M1941. We served well together. And I want mine, not just anyones, it's kinda important.
For the people I care about to catch a break, okay?
I want Steve to have a good Christmas. Yeah, I don't care, he's usually sick, or alone, or working, and then there's the war, and I just want him to have a good time, so you can ignore the crap I've written there if you do this one thing for me. If anyone can swing it, it'd be you.

Thanks,

J. Barnes.

[ There's a moment of silence as it all finally registers, and Bucky starts swearing. ] Oh, you've got to be fuckin' kiddin' me, what is this crap?

[ Then the pad is snatched up, Bucky's hand hovering in place holding an old silver lighter, and the whole thing goes up in smoke. ] Shit. [ Feed snapped off. ]

Comments

[primrosella.livejournal.com]

...A war?

--Oh, I'm terribly sorry, I didn't mean to pry.

[yourbestguysgun]

Hey, it's okay. I'm the idiot that broadcast a whole bunch o' crazy crap.

Rosella, right? We met before, but I'm still gettin' the hang of names.

[primrosella.livejournal.com]

It happens to everyone, believe me. It's a rather unfortunate trick of these devices--and of the curses, too.

That's right! We met on the street that day, when you were listening to your music. And I think I may know your friend Steve, as well, if he's the same one I'm thinking of. Is he a captain of some sort? We spoke once about a song my lake monster was singing for me.

[yourbestguysgun]

Yeah, that was probably him. Unless there are other Captains called Steve that I don't know about.

[ ... ] Lake monster?

[primrosella.livejournal.com]

Oh, then I do so hope your wish comes true, and you both have a nice Christmas. He's wonderfully nice, and terribly polite too.

Er...yes. The one in the lake. He's something of--well, I suppose you could say I look after him now and then, and one of the things he likes to do is to sing.

[yourbestguysgun]

[ Grinning. ] Yeah, that’d be Steve. [ A beat. ] Uh, okay. What does a lake monster like? Show tunes? Ballads? A bit of Sinatra?

[primrosella.livejournal.com]

Swing music, I think! He knows one about a boogie-woogie bugle boy of company B that has a lovely beat to it, and he's quite on pitch if one can forgive a bit of warble.

[yourbestguysgun]

[ Bucky laughs. ] Now that's somethin' familiar.

[primrosella.livejournal.com]

I like that one very much, too. It reminds me of a friend of mine. He was in a war, too, but he would never talk about it much. Especially not around me.

[yourbestguysgun]

Don't reckon soldiers much like talkin' about it.