Work Text:
Title: Letter
Word Count:715
Characters/Pairings: Malarkey and Buck
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Malarkey has a letter for Buck, <i>The Breaking Point</i>.
Disclaimer: So not mine
Author's Notes: For <lj user= 2dozenowies> Psychological trauma prompt. Betaed By the great <lj user=compli_cait>, she is wonderful and great.
Letter
It was cold.
But then it had been cold ever since they got here. He hadn’t been warm since they passed that sign reading Bastogne, and he didn’t know if he ever would be again.
Malarkey stomped his feet into the snow, staving off some of the cold as he looked up at the tent in front of him. The dark green looked odd and out of place. None of the other tents were so green. They were faded and tattered like everything else that had been here the whole time.
“Malarkey.”
“Ya, Doc,” he said turning to the sound of the familiar voice.
“You gone in yet?”
He looked back at the tent for a moment before turning back to Doc Roe to answer. “No, not yet. Just about to,” he said slowly.
He watched as Roe just nodded before turning back to the tent. Others were going in and out, but he…he hadn’t yet.
He slid his hand into one of his pockets, pausing when he felt the envelope held within. He slowly pulled it out and turned the beat up envelope over in his had and then turned it again.
It was why he was here, why he came, why he couldn’t wait any longer to be here…he wished the letter had never come.
Taking a breath he walked through the canvas door and took in the sight before him. He’d never seen an active aid station, never had the need. Doctors and medics were everywhere, but so were others. Some of the others were next to the beds talking, reading, writing…or just sitting.
“Lt. Compton,” he asked the man standing by the doorway. His eyes following the man’s gestures 'til he saw him.
Even here his hair stood out, set him apart from the rest. That was always the first thing you saw. That’s what made you look his way…but it was darker than it should have been.
He walked down the row of beds, past the other men. His eyes on his platoon leader, his Lieutenant, his brother in arms, his friend.
Malarkey studied his friend as he neared him, his olive uniform was still stained with dirt, mud, and blood, but it showed some signs of cleaning. Someone had tried to clean it. His hair was matted with dirt, staining it and darkening its glow even more than it had been on the line. As Malarkey sat down on a stool next to Buck’s bed, the older man turned to him for a moment. Malarkey couldn’t hide his reaction and he knew it. Buck’s eyes were red and blood shot; a stark contrast to the rest of him. His skin was so pale…so very pale. Buck quickly turned away and brought up a hand to his hair, running his fingers back and forth blocking the view of his face.
For a minute he just watched his friend 'til his eyes caught the letter still in his hand. Even then he was slow to do anything. Buck made no reaction to the letter or the offer to read it. He just kept running his hand through his hair shielding his face. So Malarkey started to read it.
At first nothing, but then halfway into it, during a part about football, Buck did something. He watched as Buck reached with his hand and brought his hand down on the letter. At first he thought Buck was going to take it, but the hand just slid down it 'til it came to his own hand then grabbed it.
Malarkey could feel Buck give his hand a squeeze and for a moment, just a moment, he thought Buck was going to just sit up and tell some joke and laugh like he used to and he’d be Buck again, like before Bastogne, before Holland, before everything.
But the moment passed and he just let go and pulled his arm back as he turned his body from Malarkey.
Malarkey looked down at the letter and started to fold it up. His Buck, the one he knew, was gone. This one had taken his place…but he changed once, he could change again. Malarkey placed the letter in Buck's jacket pocket, giving his friend a pat of encouragement as he sat and watched his friend…waited and hoped.
The End