Cruel Summer

Chapter 7

A/N: This one gets a trigger warning because of some PTSD that Meg experiences towards the end of the chapter. It references some implied sexual abuse that she endured, so be aware of that. In other news, there will be another update later today! As always, please let me know your thoughts! I love hearing from you guys :)

Bucky Egan stood atop a plane—half-heartedly pouring out alcohol onto the tarmac below for those who had fallen. "Here's to Adams. Schmolenbok. Petrook. And all the other brave men—" He turned and flung the bottle of alcohol as hard as he could.

Curt Biddick, to his credit, did not flinch at the bottle breaking near him. He glanced up from the ground, a look of concern crossing his features. "You good?" He questioned.

The man in question just took a step forward— he was drunker than he should have been and it wasn't a good look for him . "You feel anything?" He questioned Curt.

"Huh?"

"Do you feel anything?" Bucky pressed. Maybe he was what was wrong in the situation—or maybe there were a thousand other things that were wrong. He just had no real way to discern between it all anymore. The things that were going on in his head were busy—between his men arriving in England, the missions, the deaths, the damn war, and now Meg's reappearance, it was just too much for him.

"Yeah, I miss those guys," Curt said in a sober tone—smile falling from his face as he looked at Bucky Egan.

"Cause me? I don't—I don't feel a thing!" Bucky exclaimed, stumbling forward. His frustration and pressure was building like an explosion waiting to go off or a dam that was ready to overflow. The simple fact of the matter was that he entirely felt too much rather than nothing at all. And it was overwhelming all of the time. He had to have ways to drown it.

Curt let out a breath and shook his head. "This is about more than just—"

"You're damn right it is!" Bucky exclaimed, wiping at his face tiredly—the sun was just beginning to rise in the distance and the pale light of morning made him nauseous. "She doesn't just get to come back here and throw everything off!"

Buck had mentioned the situation to Curt—knowing that one way or another, the man was going to pick up on Bucky's unease and discomfort. So it came as no surprise to Curt Biddick when Bucky began spiraling from the men to Meg Lewis.

Finally though, Bucky just let out a heavy sigh. "Can you do me a favor?"

"What?"

"Come here," Bucky said, gesturing towards himself with his head. "I want you to hit me, that's an order, come on!"

Frankly, Curt Biddick wasn't getting paid enough to hit his Commanding Officer/Air Exec in the face. "Alright," he mumbled, pushing off of the plane wing. He certainly wasn't getting paid enough to argue with Bucky about said stupid decisions.

"I want you to land one right on my beak!" Bucky tapped his nose, stumbling over his own feet as he tried to maintain balance.

"Major—"

"Oh don't give me Major, I don't want Major!" In an instant, Bucky had thrown his jacket off of the wing, annoyance shooting through him. "Rank's off."

"Stop horsin' around—"

"Horsin' around?" Bucky echoed. "Horse? Huh, huh—" he lightly hit at Curt's shoulder in annoyance. "You're from New York, right? So hit me—"

What he was entirely unprepared for was for Curt Biddick's fist to collide with his face, sending him nearly sprawling. Bucky just inhaled sharply, sinking to his knees and sucking in the worst wince of his life. "I felt that, Curt. I felt that." He let out a wild scream of frustration and annoyance.