Set during the 1st Gulf War. Booth's rank is purely arbitrary at this point. Inspired by Stevie Nicks' "Desert Angel," which was dedicated to those serving in Operation Desert Storm.


"Mail call!"

All of the men in the ward perked up their ears--it's a military cliché, but truly, when you're flat on your back or confined to bed, those pieces of home are all the more precious.

Corporal Seeley Booth groaned as he tried to shift in his bed. There hadn't been a letter from home in a while due to his sudden relocation to the hospital ship and he had hopes that they might have finally forwarded them.

"Anderson, Steven!"

There was an advantage to having a last name close to the beginning of the alphabet--he didn't have to wait too long. There were disadvantages, too, but at the moment, those didn't matter.

"Benton, Brian!"

"Booth, Seeley!"

Yes! Oh. There was only one, addressed to "any soldier." A girl's handwriting, unfamiliar. Damn.

He went ahead and opened it. Any letter was better than none, he supposed.

Hi! My name's Angela. And you are supposed to be an extremely hot soldier in a country almost as hot as I hope you are. I'm going to pretend you look like Tom Cruise. Hope you don't mind! Anyway, consider me your beam of sunshine and one-person cheering squad. I suppose I should tell you a little about myself--I live in California with my mom and sometimes with my dad when he's home. [here she had drawn a little waterfall of music notes along the margin] I'm an artist and better with pencil than pen if you know what I mean. That's what I hope to do with my life. Exciting, right?

I don't really know what I should say to a man fighting a war. I don't know anything about war or fighting or anything you're going thru, except the TV says it's miserable. And I don't know how old you are--you could be barely older than me or old enough to be my dad. You might like country music or rap or love sci-fi flicks. A jock or a complete nerd in school. That's all right if you're a nerd--there's some cute ones in my class and they are always so helpful when you need it.

But not knowing these things makes it hard to know what to write, you know? So I think I should fall back on what I know.

The rest of the page was filled with small sketches: befuddled camels and veiled Bedouins, palm trees, an ocean view with a surfer falling off his board, a mountain range and forest marked simply "home." A big city with rushing cartoon cars screaming at each other. Superman. Wildly patterned fish with weirdly shaped bubbles. A well defined iris. What looked like a Catholic schoolgirl, complete with plaid skirt and a cape, labeled "Super Sophomore." A small cheerleader with pom-poms bigger than her yelling "GO USA!"

At the very bottom was one more line of writing: You guys are doing a great job over there. I hope and pray you all return safely. A.

And a last sketch of praying hands. Booth set it down on his lap, both amused and touched. She may not have known what to say, but she had said it, nonetheless.

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Surprised ya, didn't I? At least I hope I did.

(Yes, I know she wasn't born Angela, but go with me on this, please--we don't know when she had that dream, just that she changed her name when she was 18)