A/N: So now that I wrote this I realize that I now have two one-shots having to do with letters and I don't care. They're pretty different though. Like the other one (Dear the Public) will make you go "damn, didn't think of that," and hopefully this one will make you cry. Oops, sorry not sorry.
~September 18, 1976~
Dear Cato,
I miss you a lot. You've been gone for less than a week and I already miss you like crazy. I hate being so far away from you. I see you in everything. If I even get a glimpse of my ring I have to stare at it for five minuets and think of when you purposed. I'm constantly get weird looks because I always laugh when I think of your face when you noticed the ring wasn't in the box. But the grin on your face when I said yes is still the highlight.
Your mom misses you to, by the way. She's reading this over my shoulder as I write and now giving me "the look." She's gone now. No offence, but your mother can be really annoying. Now I get why you inlisted after she moved in, but wanting to get to know your son's new wife isn't a very good reason for freeloading in our apartment. I am glad she's here, though. I would hate to be here all alone.
How is it over there? You better not be getting shot at or I'll be blowing some guy's head off. Remember, your main goal is not to get killed. And how's Marvel? You're watching out for him, right? You better be or the soldiers shooting at you won't be your biggest problem. But if you need to, you have my permission to use him as a shield. I would rather lose my idiot brother over you any day. Just, whatever you do, don't get killed ok, I don't know what I'd do with myself if you came home in a casket.
On a brighter note, I am enjoying all the wedding gifts. You know Marvel has a death threat engraved into our coffee maker? I thought your uncle gave us that too. I would trade everything for you to be here with me though. I swear when you get home you are not leaving my side for a whole month.
It's fall here in New York. It's just starting to get cold and the leaves are turning different colors. It's really beautiful, in my opinion. I know you would be cursing the cold and wishing you were back in Florida where it's always warm. I would be living alone in Florida right now if I wasn't convinced it was the state of murder, wouldn't I? But I know you love New York. It's hard not to. I know it's better than wherever you are, but I would gladly move to anywhere if I could be with you.
I love and miss you, Clove
~October 20, 1976~
Dear Clove,
I get you five bucks I miss you more. There is no possible way you miss me more then I miss you. Sorry it took me so long to write. It takes us forever to get and send letters out here. You probably won't read this until December. I just got yours a whole twenty minuets ago and have already read it five times.
Marvel misses you like crazy. He's written your parents about ten letters already. He's written you a few too. They're mostly about how annoying I am. Seriously, has he ever mat himself? He is the king of annoying. I know he's my best friend and your brother, but seriously why do we hang out with him? Tell you the truth, he's my tie to you. You guys have the same eyes, you know. I never noticed until I looked at him one day and saw you. I'll tell you, it was creepy but in the nicest way.
I can't say where exactly I am, but I can tell you there are a lot of trees. It's humid and hot here, like Florida. When the war ends we're going to on vacation to Florida, ok? I can promise you, you're not going to get killed especially with your hot, soldier husband to protect you.
I might not be able to write for a while. I don't know when I'll get any more of your letters either. We're moving camp and who knows where the closest post office will be or if we'll be close enough to a base to get mail. I'm counting the days until I get to see you again. I love you.
Love, Cato
~January 9, 1977~
Dear Cato,
I am sorry it took me so long to write. I got your letter two weeks ago, but I haven't had the nerve to tell you this. It really should be done in person, but given your on the other side of the world this'll have to do. Gosh, now I'm rambling.
I'm pregnant.
There's going to be another person living in this shoe box apartment by the time you get home. I'm about three months along and I'm sorry for not telling you sooner, but you know me. I was in denial for the longest time and then I was freaking out about telling you.
I hope your happy. I think you would be. If I were to tell you in person, you would have probably passed out and then afterwards you would have been bouncing off the walls in happiness. It's a wedding night baby too or at least a pretty damn close to wedding night baby. I can't wait to meet him or her. I can't wait for you to meet him or her and we'll be a happy family.
Tell Marvel I love him and you have my permission to use him as a human shield. You're staying alive for two people now. Our baby can live without an uncle, especially one as annoying as him.
And I am not going to Florida! Ever! You can take me wherever in the world you please, just not Florida. I love you, but not enough to go to Florida with you or even let you go to Florida.
Love, Clove
~February 6, 1977~
Dear Mrs. Hadley,
I am very sorry to inform you that your husband, Cato Hadley, had gone missing in action on July 3. His platoon was ambushed by enemy troops late at night and the camp was completely burned down by the time help arrived. So far there are no survivors and we believe your husband is dead.
I am sorry for your loss.
~A2ML~
Sincerely, Commander Evan Banks
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Harold Sevina,
I am very sorry to inform you that your son, Marvel Sevina, has gone missing in action on July 3. His platoon was ambushed by enemy troops late at night and the camp was completely burned down by the time help arrived. So far there are no survivors and we believe your son is dead.
I am sorry for your loss.
Sincerely, Commander Evan Banks
~June 2, 1977~
Dear Cato,
I know your gone. I'm reminded every morning when I see your side of the bed empty. It's like being hit in the face with a brick and I feel it every morning. For the first few months I was so hopeful that you got out and were in the jungle somewhere, alive. Part of me still believes that, but most of me knows you're gone. I know you're gone, so don't go telling all your angel friends that I'm crazy.
We have a son. That's why I'm writing this, because yesterday you would have became a dad and not even known it. It just doesn't feel real until I tell you and I wish more then anything to get a letter back about how happy you are and can't wait to see him. His name is John Cato Hadley and he has your eyes.
I still love you. I doubt I'll ever stop,
Your Clove
~March 27, 1978~
Dear Clove,
Open the door.
Love, your husband
P.S. I love you.
~A2ML~
Clove had seen the note slide under the door and into her apartment. So had her nine month old son who was crawling around on the wooden floor. His baby blue eyes lit up in curiosity and he tried to crawl over to the slip of paper, but his mother scooped him up in her arms before she reached it.
"That's not for you sweetie," she smiled, placing him down in his playpen before picking up the note.
It froze her in her tracks. Was it a joke? It had to be a joke! Some punk kid was playing a joke on the twenty two year old widow. That was reassured herself several times, trying to keep her mind from the face that the note could be real and Cato could be standing on the other side of that door, just waiting for her to open it.
Her hand moved to the handle on her own, and opened the door without her consent. Her heart stopped when he saw who was standing on the other side of her door.
He was skinnier, scratches and scars littered his face and his usually long, blond hair was cut short, almost buzzed. Her knees blocked when he smiled at her. "Are you real?" She asked her voice barely over a whisper.
"Yeah," was all he said before Clove jumped into his arms and her lips crashed into his. When they pulled away, Clove cried into his shoulder while Cato's eyes landed on the blue eyed, raven haired baby boy. "Is that him?" His voice cracked and he had a hard time swallowing the lump in his throat.
Clove took his hand and pulled him to the play pen and placed the baby boy in father's arms for the first time. "His name is John," Clove told him and Cato let the tears fall.
He pressed his lips to his son's forehead and pulled his wife into his chest. He was finally home.