Cruel Summer

Chapter 26

A/N: This one's a bit rough, with mentions of past sexual assault. If my final goes well today, I'll do a double update later haha! Anyways, as always, let me know what you think!

Chapter Text

July 1944

Meg didn't necessarily know what she was doing as a mother. But that wouldn't stop her from trying. Wouldn't stop her from doing her best. Sandra had insisted that she move into Sandra's apartment while Sandra was in France, if only to ensure that she and baby Flo were safe from any further assassination attempts.

It wasn't the ideal situation, but Meg was grateful. Truth be told, there were many nights when Meg just wanted to break down and just stop doing everything. It was exhausting, being a spy and a handler and a single mother all at once. She didn't know how to be everything to everyone, didn't know how to be a mother at all .

But here she was, attempting her hand at it all. Meg wasn't sure what she had done in order to deserve having Flo in her life. That little girl was as perfect as they came—and Meg was no saint. No person who deserved something as good as this in her life.

Florence Clara Egan was certainly a fighter like her mother. She was colicky at times, as calm as a summer sea on other days—she consistently slept and ate on a schedule that worked for Meg just fine. And anytime that Meg began to sing to her or talk about her father, Florence seemed to calm at her mother's gentle tone.

She just wished that Bucky could be there with them—he deserved to be there and to see the birth of his daughter. Deserved to know that she was healthy and a happy baby. Deserved to be part of every single portion of their lives.

But that wasn't their reality.

Meg was no fan of baby talk, as most women were prone to. No, she spoke in her dulcet and soft tones, having full on one-sided conversations with her daughter. And as the month drew on and Flo grew more hair, Meg was absolutely certain that her genetics had totally lost whatever battle they had been waging with Bucky's.

If nothing else, Flo was certainly Bucky's Egan's daughter. She was the spitting image of her father with those dark blue eyes and dark curls—no one would think anything otherwise. It almost made her bitter, the thought of going back to the base for any reason. Of her father finding out about this beautiful child of hers—

No, she was doing what she had to do in order to protect her daughter. She was a mother first and foremost, a spy second.

As she rocked Flo back to sleep in the middle of the night, Meg wondered what kind of mother hers had to be to let what happened to her go on for so long. And so sitting there, in Sandra's flat in London, Meg just pressed a kiss to her daughter's head.

"I will never let anything happen to you, sweetheart," Meg murmured. It felt like a mantra and a promise—a resounding call that she'd be damned if she didn't keep.

But God, she was lonely.

Maybe she was damned and this was her punishment. To feel alone, to be alone, to never feel as though she were enough for anyone.

Meg had started praying again. Started praying that God would protect Flo. Would protect Bucky and Alex. And that the small family she was building would be able to come back together. It wasn't necessarily Catholic guilt that had brought the entire situation upon herself, but Meg had certainly felt a need for divine protection as far as her daughter was involved.

Considering how D-Day (Delivery Day) had gone, Meg was absolutely certain that the cards and universe were stacked against Florence Clara Egan. And she fully intended to make sure that her daughter had the best damn life and that her life was better than Meg's had been by tenfold.