#buckbucky

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.