Cruel Summer

Chapter 29

A/N: I'm here for the unhinged energy this chapter has. So enjoy, have a nice drink while I work on finals and wrapping up the story! And let me know what you think! What you want to see with the domestic stuff! Thank you :) Also!  If you wanna chat, head on over to tumblr, i'm luminouslywriting over there and i'd love to hear from you all!  Thank you!

Chapter Text

December 22nd, 1944

Christmas of 1944 came all too early for Meg's taste. She was in no mood to celebrate, let alone be around other people. But the simple fact of the matter was that her father had invited her to come and spend Christmas at Thorpe Abbotts. She had considered declining the offer, given the sole fact that she hadn't even told him about little Flo yet—but Marge was making her reconsider the entire thing.

Marge wanted to meet the other men on the base that were still there that had known Buck. She wanted to see where he had worked and lived and done things for what seemed like forever. Meg couldn't say that she blamed her for that. She supposed that she would be curious too.

And besides, Marge had argued, wouldn't her father be glad to see her? Wouldn't he be softened by the sight of Flo?

While she wasn't necessarily certain about that, Meg had written back to her father and accepted the invitation, somewhat begrudgingly. If Marge hadn't been there, Meg certainly wouldn't have accepted the offer and she certainly wouldn't have taken the time to go and make nice with a bunch of people whilst she was still attempting to emotionally recover from the things she had endured in France.

God help her if Bucky ever found out about that—he'd kill her himself for putting herself in that situation.

The car ride to Thorpe Abbotts was a bag of mixed emotions. Marge was a chatterbox of excitement, taking turns holding baby Flo and asking questions—a large smile on her face the entire time. Meg, on the other hand, felt as though she were slowly sinking into some sort of abyss.

Being back in this place, coming back to it—the person she had been when she first returned from her espionage felt like a whole lifetime ago. That Meg had been so irrevocably broken and angry at everything. This Meg was still broken, but now she was just sad. And there was no fixing that, no way to make the ache in her chest go away or to fill the hollow portion of her body.

Snow was lightly falling as the car tires crunched to a stop, the base looming like some sort of larger than life shadow. Meg just stared at it for a long time—Flo asleep in her arms as she swallowed down her anxieties and her fears.

"Hey, it's going to be alright," Marge said, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. "Your father loves you, I'm sure of it."

Right, he loved her so much that he let her nearly die—and he kept on ignoring what he had let happen to her.

Before Meg could even answer that, her father was exiting the main building, a hopeful expression on his face. Well, Meg supposed, it was now or never. So she squared her shoulders and she exited the car—

And the minute that her father's eyes landed on the baby in her arms, she knew that he knew. If only by the way that his jaw tightened and the way that he looked like he wanted to just take her inside and weep over her situation.

"Why—why don't you come inside? I think we've got a lot to talk about."

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She could tell that her father was irritated by the fact that she insisted Marge stay at her side. But the simple fact of the matter was that whatever her father had to say to her, he could say in front of Marge or not at all.