Marge waits for Gale in Eternity, but so does John. Marge thinks he's waiting for his wife, but she comes and goes, John gently breaking to Josephine that he at least needs to try, that he feels it in his bones that he and Gale would've been happy together if things had been different. This is his last chance and he's sorry. He kisses her tears and tells her he does love her, he did, but the unspoken acknowledgement is he loves Gale more. She doesn't deserve eternity with someone filled with regret.
Marge waits 55 years. John waits 47. They talk a lot, get to know each other better than they ever did while living. John admits what she's already begun to suspect. I'm in love with your husband. I always have been. They're sitting at the bar with whisky soured breath. Marge is quiet for a long time.
When she finally speaks it's with a bittersweet determination. He talked about you every day. I'm sure he still does now. He and I, well, our happiness was brief but it was tangible. John, you and Gale deserve that too. The world wasn't ready for it yet, but this isn't that world. He chose me because he loved me, but I think I always knew part of it was because he had to. I won't let him make that choice again. It wouldn't be fair to any of us.
John looks down into his empty glass. Are you sure?
She laughs. No, but it's what I'm going to do, and when he gets here I'll tell him so. I want to wait for our girls. I never did get to see them grow up. There's so many things I'd like to ask them.
But who knows how much longer you'll have to wait?
Marge shrugs, wipes her eyes. John takes her hand where it's resting on the bar top and squeezes. He doesn't know how to put into words how grateful he is.
What if it's all a mistake, what if he doesn't want me?
He will, Marge says. He will.
John waits in the lounge every day, leg bouncing restlessly. He chain smokes gloriously. It's like they said: smoking can't kill you twice.
Gale walks through the front doors to the after life exactly how John remembers him. Like in the next moment, they'll be shaking hands on the tarmac and going back up in the air.
John stands. Gale Cleven, your two o'clock. Gale turns and the smile that bursts across his face is illuminating.
John tries not to let his voice break, but he's trembling. What took you so long?
Gale doesn't reply to the taunt, just pulls John against him. I missed you, he murmurs. Missed you so goddamn much, Bucky.
I know, John soothes. I know. I ain't ever leaving you again.
Gale was raised going to church on Sundays and saying Grace before dinner. He sets the altar for John to worship at and finds, despite the war, some things are still Holy.
"Solved the crossword, finally."
"Good boy," Gale says, hand stilling on John's head. It comes out without his meaning to, the words slipping off his tongue with the same ease as the verses he'd recited as a boy amidst church pews. His cheeks colour, and he tries to move away, but John reaches up and grabs Gale's hand.
He's sitting at Gale's dining table with the newspaper. Marge is at her parents for the weekend while John's here, something about giving them space. Gale doesn't know what she's thinking they need space for. Probably to talk about the war, but they never talk about it.
"What did you say?" John asks. Gale watches his Adams apple as he speaks.
the lovely @avonne-writes inspired me to upload the last two AU drabbles I had written for August (full collection here) that I never posted so have some early 2000s gale self-acceptance <3
For Gale, dancing felt like biking at night; fourteen again, guided by street lamps and a busted MP3 player—aimless as long as he was going fast. When he closed his eyes and felt the music move within him, blood coursing with bass so loud it replaced his heart beat, nothing mattered. Memories were shaken loose like glitter strewn across hardwood, to be trampled by heels and boots into a semblance of freedom.
When he walked home with John, hands swinging between them—it was like turning around as he crested a hill, and his hometown fell away behind him.
both their povs just for you :-) sorry this took so long!!!
Bucky leans his weight into Gale, presses him against the wall to grind their hips together. It’s not enough—Gale pulls Bucky by the belt loops and rolls into the solidness of Bucky’s hard-on—an agonizing molasses drip of pleasure spreads through Gale and it’s the best thing he’s ever felt in his life. He doesn’t moan, just quietly gasps against Bucky’s mouth.
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“Fuck Gale,” Bucky whines, sucks on Gale’s bottom lip and shivers as Gale’s hips buck up into him. He feels hot and needy, the enormity of his want a living thing that threatens to overwhelm them both. There’s so much Bucky wants to ask for, so many parts of Gale he’s been dying to see and touch and savor, but he’s terrified of the gaping emptiness that’ll be left behind if Gale slips through his fingers again, if he retreats back to the safety of pretending nothing exists between them.
Bonus look at what all my first drafts look like LOL
got tagged by @swifty-fox for the last sentence game (better late than never) so here's some bucky pov i wrote last night...
He doesn't want to go back. Of course he wants to see his sister; she's a teenager now and he feels like he barely knows her. When had they stopped chasing each other with sticks in the backyard? He just didn't want to be under that roof, inside the house that turns him into the worst version of himself-- something ugly and small and weeping. He could endure it, and he would do so willingly. He cared about his family, he loved them. He wanted them to be happy, at least.
sorry if youve been tagged recently but here we go @shipstorms @feyd-meowtha @thoughpoppiesblow @trashbag-baby666
He can only go back by one day. He should’ve used it more, spent every day with Bucky a hundred times. This is the last time, he thinks, closing his eyes and waking up yesterday. Marge is making tea, a dog barks across the road, he reaches for the phone.
“Hello?”
“John. It’s Gale.”
“Buck! Something wrong?”
“No… You still coming down this weekend?”
“Course! Dodi’s looking forward to seeing Marge. I for one could do without your ugly mug.”
John laughs and Gale’s throat burns. He needs more time. Just one more day in a world where Bucky’s alive.
