AUTHOR'S NOTES: At first this was going to be a one shot but I sorta decided that each Commando deserved their own chapter. The relationships between the women and the commandos will range across the board.

Private Julia Lorraine was not, in anyway shape or form, pleased when her guy, Corporal Timothy Aloysius Cadwallader "Dum Dum" Dugan, showed back up at base camp with a purple heart. Furious, wouldn't even begin to describe it. The Old Testament wrath of God probably would pale in comparison to the anger she was feeling at the news. They had argued, loudly in fact, about whether or not the award was an honor to receive. He kept pointing out that it was okay because he came home. She kept pointing out that coming home is not the point, rather vulgarly in fact because she had been spending too much time with him. Nearly getting himself nearly blown up in the first place is in fact the damn point. That getting a purple heart and a folded flag instead of a leaving breathing body does not make up for the loss of a loved one. In the long run its nothing more than an empty conciliation prize.

"Here," she had said more than a touch of bitterness in her voice. "Here's an award and piece of fabric in place of your son, husband, brother, father, uncle, cousin, or anyone else under the sun. Thanks for letting us use him as cannon fodder."

And they both knew this because they both lost a father to the first World War in some form or another. His father had died in active combat. He still remembered what it was like to watch his mother fall apart as she was handed the folded up flag. Her father had died while battling a leg infection that kept resurfacing and they had to keep amputating more and more until one day there was nothing left to amputate and it reached his heart. And that was the end.

Dum Dum didn't want that fate for her but he had a cause that he believed in and she believed in it too. That was perhaps part of the problem. Dum Dum's mother had eventually stabilized and resettled into her widowed life. Julia's mother never had and had continued to drink more and more until her death a few years later. After that she had grown up with her mother's biblical strict mother and less strict, but still a minister, father.

It had been her grandfather who had driven the point of nothing being a good enough conciliation prize home with her. When she was fifteen she had crept downstairs to the kitchen for a drink of water and had found her grandfather sitting at the kitchen table writing a eulogy.

"Julia," he had said all those years ago with a soft sigh as he rubbed the space between his eyes. "There is nothing in the world that you, me or anyone else can say that will take the hurt away."

She had nodded because, even though she had been a toddler when her father died she still to some extent remembered how little the words of comfort had done for her mother. She certainly remembered how little it had done for her at her mother's funeral.

"One cannot," he had gone on to say. "Wrap up a single person's life in a few short sentences and let that be that. It doesn't work that way. You can tell a person, 'sorry for your loss' until the you're blue in the face. But it won't help. It won't let the pain go away and in some cases will only make it worse. Remember that. And if you ever have to do it. Make sure you do it as best you can and leave out all the bullshit that is nothing more than empty platitudes that don't mean a hill of beans."

"I will."

And she did her best to use her grandfather's advice as she wrote condolence letter after condolence letter in the war. She never dreamed of the possibility of one day nearly being on the other end of one. At least not until Dugan had come into her life.

Dugan was well associated with death his uncle had been one of the ones to write the condolence letters or to make the condolence knocks. He had always claimed it was the cause of his alcoholism. And with all the death Dugan as seen lately he can certainly see why. He prays he never as to make the same house stop his uncle did. After all there was only so much heartbreak a person could deliver and sometimes they had to hand out more than one a day, before they either became indifferent or crazy. Dugan's uncle had warned him to be careful of the ones who became indifferent they were always going to be the worst.

And if they were both?

"Well sometimes," his uncle had said and this is burned into Dugan's head. "Sometimes, you have nothing left to do but put down the rabid dog before his rabies spread and cause more heartbreak. Those were always the worst. Having to tell someone that the good man they thought they knew had lost it and tried to take out other innocent lives."

His uncle had sighed then, a heavy sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world.

"It never gets easier," his uncle had gone on to say. "You just have to take a deep breath and pray to whatever deity is listening that you can do it as gently and smoothly as possible. But no matter how gentle or smooth you do it, it will always, always be horrible. There will be screams, curses, tears, and you will always know that you have just made that day a living hell for them."

That's why Dugan fights so hard and so long as he does. Because he doesn't want to be the cause of the condolence letters. He doesn't want a condolence letter to go out to someone close to him, because of him if he can help it. So him being a subject of one didn't really bother him. That was why he existed to fight the good fight for others to make it home alive. There was no one alive to mourn his death.

Not until Julia.

When Julia graduated from high school a year early and had gotten the hell outta dodge as soon as she could. At college she had meet the man who was going to be her husband and for awhile they were happy. But after Pearl Harbor and getting smacked around for telling him off for cheating on her she had up and divorced him, with some help from a few friends who knew people. She had then promptly enlisted in the army. Once again getting the hell outta dodge. Because she knew her name was mud after divorcing her husband even if the entire town knew he had been cheating and beating on her left and right. Of course, she hadn't expected to fall in love again so soon. Not for a long time actually. She had admitted to being infatuated with Captain America but she had been brought up not to mess with another woman's man and once she found out that he was Agent Carter's that put an end to that. But seeing Dum Dum and Mister Stark help the good Captain with his motorcycle had caused a familiar wanting ache inside of her.

He wasn't her type.

It was a mantra she repeated to herself over and over again as they kissed. Dugan was not her type. And it was now a lie, perhaps it had been from the start, because while at one time it had been true it wasn't true now. And she wanted him desperately. Oh how she wanted him. She wanted his hands on her which at times were so skilled he could work her to an orgasm simply by stroking her rare and thighs. But when she first realized she was falling for a soldier, actually falling for one, the panic had set in and it was everything she could do not to scream in terror.

Love shouldn't cause that sort of reaction in anyone. He had understood because he had the same fear and they both agreed to work it out as they went. And for awhile things went smoothly and then the bomb happened and the panic and fear rushed forward with a vengeance.

"Dollface," he said, pulling her into his arms despite her struggling. "It's okay. I came home."

"This time!" she screamed, pounding her fists into his chest. "This time you came home. What about next time? Or the time after that? Or the one after that? What about them?"

"And I promise that I will come home next time."

"But you don't know that!"

"As long as I have you I will always come home."

Dugan pulled her tight into his embrace and rested his head on hers. His hand running up and down her spine. Letting her sob as he continued to whisper that he would always come home to her. Hoping it was a promise he could keep. He would continue to fight the same way he always had but now he would fight so he wouldn't be a condolence letter.

He wouldn't put her through that. Not when he had a ring to buy that he had his eyes on and a future that looked brighter than ever. He had a girl, friends, and a future to fight for. A purple heart award and a flag wouldn't cut it for him. Not anymore. Not when there was someone and later someones who would be depending on him. He would always, always fight. But now he had more to fight for and in the end that was all he needed to be complete.