They rushed into marriage too soon.
Of course, they did; it was war.
Hermione Granger had decided to accompany her best friend Peggy Carter to a pub with the lure that there might be handsome soldiers with whom to dance and it spiralled out of control from there. With Hermione's insistence, Peggy danced with the man she had been sweet on and Hermione danced with his best friend.
Sergeant Bucky Barnes had made her laugh when all she had wanted to do since her parents had died in the blitz—since the war started, really—was cry. He was charismatic and flirtatious and it wasn't any wonder that after a few too many drinks he drunkenly proposed to her. It was more shocking that Hermione accepted.
Two days later they were back in the pub sharing congratulatory drinks with his squad after a hasty wedding in front of a reluctant clergyman and two witnesses. They had three days of married bliss that Hermione found both terrifying and enlightening and then he was being sent back to the front lines.
Communications were erratic and it wasn't until Hermione's pregnancy was showing that Bucky received word that she was expecting their child. Their little girl was five months old by the time he returned to them, less a man than he was.
She was never told exactly what happened that cost him his left arm. All she knew was the man that had made her laugh had lost the spark in his soul that let him smile and joke and tease. While she spent her days at factory work, with little Rebecca Jane staying with Peggy's mum, Bucky remained in bed, healing. Less than two months later, word came that Peggy's sweetheart and Bucky's best friend, Steve Rogers, had been killed in action.
It was a difficult period. Bucky's mood swings and nightmares were enough to have Hermione guiltily wishing for the days when it was just her and Rebecca in their little flat but then she would scold herself for thinking so. He was hurting and it was her job to help him through it.
When the war in Europe was declared won, Bucky let her drag him to the pub to join his squad for a celebratory drink. It wasn't until she saw the looks others gave him, where she had neatly pinned his left sleeve so the fabric wouldn't be bothersome, that she realised his reluctance was due to shame and the distaste for pity. They returned to their flat and for the first time since he came home, he let her seduce him into bed.
At first, things had been difficult. He still tried to do things he would have before. Undressing her, laying over her. His right arm shook as he held himself up and he winced when he tipped and fell over onto his stump so as not to crush her. She took his accidental show of weakness in stride, following after him, shifting over his lap and bringing them both to the sweet conclusion. It had been the first time she'd taken such an active role, the first time she'd understood that secret word orgasm, the first time she'd felt like she'd done work.
Smiling and sweaty, wisps of her otherwise bushy hair plastered to her face in what she was sure was unkempt and messy, she slipped off his lap. He was looking at her differently. She nervously brushed at her hair with her fingers and felt the slickness of her skin. She made a face. "I must look a fright," she said, embarrassed. She moved to get off the bed, to go clean up and make herself more presentable, but he grabbed her wrist and stopped her.
"No. You're beautiful." His words were heartfelt and there was a little less pain in his eyes as he spoke. She ducked her head, feeling like she would have blushed had she not already been overheated from their lovemaking. He reached up and cupped her face with his hand. "Thank you, Hermione."
She didn't know what he was thanking her for but she was reluctant to ask and ruin the moment. He put his hand on her shoulder and jostled her, pulling her closer. She leaned down to kiss him again, pleased that she'd brought some sort of spark back to his eyes. They slept and in the early hours as dawn was just starting to peak through the thin curtains and he stirred awake from a nightmare, they made love a second time with him coming into her from behind as they had slept, curled into one another.
Things started to change after that. Bucky spent more time up and active and soon started hinting at wanting to go home. Hermione was uncertain. "Who will take care of Rebecca?" she asked once when he brought up the topic of returning to New York.
He opened his mouth, the words 'you will' already seemingly formed on his lips but then he stopped and glanced down. His stump swung and twitched as if he were trying to move a phantom limb. He looked back up at her. "We'll manage. I want you to meet my ma and my sisters, seeing as you named our daughter after one of them. Was that just a coincidence or...?"
"You mentioned her on our wedding day," she explained. "Well, you said 'Becky' and I just assumed..." she trailed off.
He nodded.
The process to move to America was not a pleasant one. Bucky was allowed and expected to leave without her. She and Rebecca were both forced to undergo a humiliating exam by a doctor with the bedside manner of a cactus. Rebecca got the sniffles on the ship over and coupled with Hermione's seasickness, they made a miserable pair, but Bucky was waiting on the docks for them, a smile on his face she hadn't seen since their wedding.
He took her back to his mother's house, still shared by his three sisters, Caroline, Millie, and Becky. They were welcomed with tight smiles and polite nods. The meal Mrs Barnes provided was warm and tasty even spread thin as it was. As Bucky snuggled close to her that night in his childhood bed, his family each turned in their beds toward the walls to provide them with some privacy, he whispered in Hermione's ear how he'd already started looking for a place of their own. His hand wandered down to her breasts to caress them and he pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. "Not with your family in the room, Bucky," she whispered. She felt him nod and rest his hand on her hip as she fell asleep.
Finding a place of their own wasn't as easy as it sounded. They spent two months living in the tiny flat let by Mrs Barnes and Hermione felt trapped taking care of Rebecca all day. Bucky spent his days out of the house. He'd come home with money or a few groceries but he didn't confide in her what he was doing or how he was managing.
One day, after dealing with a feverish child and slicing her hand while she cut sickly vegetables for the meal Mrs Barnes was preparing, Bucky came in, shoulders hunched. He didn't greet them or smile but instead snapped at Hermione, "Hush the baby up!"
She didn't take kindly to being yelled at, much less in front of his family, and her fingers curled tightly around the knife in her hand. She took a deep breath and set it down before wiping her hands on her apron and turning toward him. His hand was pressed against his temple and his eyes were dark and haunted. She felt a moment's sympathy for his pain but she wasn't going to let him speak to her like that. She marched over to him and grabbed the front of his clothes, her hand closing over his tie and the lapel of his jacket. She continued walking and tugged him along behind her as she stepped out of the door he'd just come in. She could feel the gazes of his mother and sisters on her back as she closed the door behind him. She poked a finger into his chest and stepped into his space. Bucky backed up a step until he was pressed against the door, he tipped his head back and watched her, his eyes focused on her stabbing finger. Before she could articulate her anger he spoke.
"You're bleeding."
She glanced down at her hand, the cut she'd made only a few moments ago was welling up with blood. She moved her hand away from him, not wanting to stain his clothing, and wrapped her apron around it. She turned and took another deep breath. "You don't get to speak to me that way," she told him without looking at him.
"I'm sorry, I'm just—"
"No, Bucky. No excuses," she turned back to him and tilted her head as she looked up at him. She could see pain in his eyes and her heart ached for him. "If I have to compromise and fight for us, I will, but you have to as well."
His lips twisted into a cruel sneer before he turned his face away from her. "I've already fought. Can't you at least keep the baby quiet when I've got a headache?"
"She's sick," she explained, "She doesn't feel well." She let her own lips twist into an unpleasant expression. "She's much like you in that regard. When she doesn't feel well, she's tetchy and miserable and makes sure everyone else is miserable too."
His gaze snapped to hers, and his cruel expression slipped away. He blinked at her and he looked so weary. "I'm sorry. I'm trying."
"I know."
"I didn't realise how good we had it in London. I thought being home would make things easier." She nodded and leaned against him, pressing her cheek to his chest and wrapping her arms around his waist. His arm came up behind her and held her to him. "I can't get a job. No one wants a cripple. Can't even do a dame's work slinging coffee at an automat. The owner said my disfigurement would cost customers their appetite."
She leaned back a little to look up at him and pressed her non-bleeding hand to his cheek. "You are not disfigured. You lost an arm in the service of your country; protecting them from the tyranny of Nazism."
His lips almost curled into a grin and she dropped her hand. "You sound like all the propaganda posters." He paused, his blue-grey eyes seemed to darken. "They didn't talk about this," he said, swinging his stump a little. "They just talked about glory and pride."
She didn't like the haunted look in his eyes and tried to fix it with her next words, feeble as they felt. "I'm proud of you."
He looked away from her and muttered, "You shouldn't be."
She pressed her face against his chest again and breathed in the scent of him. She looked up at him again and tugged on his jacket to get him to look back at her. When he did she said, "Then let me work. Let me take care of us." He was quiet for a while and she added, "I feel trapped in this house all day. Your family is well-meaning but this flat is too small for the seven of us."
"I thought you'd like having family to help take care of Becca," he said.
"I do but we disagree about how she should be raised. It feels like every day is a struggle. Every time I try to teach her something, your mum unravels it, countermines me in everything. I respect her for raising you and your sisters... but..."
He nodded and pulled her closer again. He kissed her on the forehead before whispering, "You're very different from my sisters." They were quiet for what felt like a long time, content to rest in each other's arms. "I'll bring home a newspaper tomorrow so you can look through the wanted ads."
* . * . *
"Barnes?" The gruff man asked, "Isn't that the name of that cripple who came sniffing around a few days ago looking for work? Said he was a widower with a kid to feed?" The calculating look he gave her as his gaze raked over her, pausing at her hips and her breasts, made Hermione feel dirty. "You this dead wife he talk about?"
She pressed her lips together and nodded. This was the third place that had a similar reaction to her name when she inquired about work. She wondered what stories Bucky had been telling. She nodded politely when the gruff man dismissed her, saying he wanted a young, single, girl working for him not some British upstart with a cripple husband and child.
Hermione had exhausted the list of job opportunities for this side of the city and herself as well, unused to walking such long distances as she'd become. As she stopped to rest at a crosswalk for a moment she heard a familiar voice call out her name.
"Hermione? Hermione Granger? What are you doing here?" She turned and looked up to see Peggy a few feet away. She expected to see a smile on her friend's face but it seemed to be missing, instead replaced with a look of worry.
"You're looking great, Peggy, I didn't know you were in the States," Hermione greeted her friend. "And it's Barnes, remember? You were at my wedding."
Peggy squinted as she looked Hermione up and down. "Are you all right? What are you doing in the city?"
"Just tired. I think I've walked several miles today, crisscrossing the city looking for work. Now I know why Bucky always looks so tired when he comes home in the evenings." She paused for a moment when what Peggy asked sunk in. "I sent you post about moving here a few months ago."
She did smile at that but it didn't reach her eyes. "You know how the Royal Mail is. If it didn't get lost on the way to Mum's house it was lost when she forwarded it to me here." She glanced around as a few people walked past them to cross the street. "Why don't you join me for tea at the Automat right around the corner?"
Hermione ran a hand down her skirt in a nervous gesture; she didn't have the money to treat herself to tea. "Oh, I couldn't bother you—"
"When have you ever been a bother? I insist; my treat," the words were friendly. They felt like the sweet banter they'd always shared but Hermione felt unease wash down her spine. She agreed without protesting further and found herself sitting in a quaint diner in a booth against the wall, stirring cream into her tea with a spoon.
"What's wrong, Peggy?" Hermione asked when her friend had yet to speak.
Peggy looked up from her teacup and there were tears in her eyes. "You're going to hate me," she said quietly.
* . * . *
"James Buchanan Barnes!" Hermione's tone was sharp and her voice was raised when she entered the small flat. Her outburst had been heard by everyone and the five adults all congregated in the front room to see what was going on. Bucky had stayed home today and seemed relaxed. He wasn't wearing his jacket or dress shirt and his vest was tucked into his trousers. He had taken a few steps into the room but halted when he saw the look on her face.
Now that she had his attention, she spoke quietly, "Three separate places that I went today asked me if I was the dead wife you'd told them about when you'd gone to apply." Her anger was simmering just beneath the surface and she wanted to rage at him but a deeper part of her wanted answers.
He glanced down, his gaze shifting away from her where she was standing in the centre of the room. "I thought it would draw sympathy. Make people more likely to hire me if I gave 'em a sob story."
She nodded. For excuses, it didn't seem all that implausible, but it still hurt. "I also ran into Peggy Carter today. Didn't even know she was in the city. She was shocked to see me, of course." Hermione paused to peel off one of her gloves as she took a slow step in his direction. His expression stayed impassive but Hermione was sure there was a flicker of something in his eyes. "Shocked because she thought we'd got divorced." She took another step towards him, taking her time to slip the glove off her other hand. "So shocked that she told me all about what you two spoke about last week when you met for lunch."
She was close enough to see him swallow. "I can explain—"
"I don't want excuses, Bucky," she said, closing the last distance between them until she was directly in front of him. She let her gloves smack into his chest and he grabbed her hand with his and held tight. "I won't hesitate. I will take your next government cheque, take Becca, and we will go back to London. You'll never see us again."
He squeezed her hand tighter and his stoic expression shifted into one of deep hurt. When he spoke, his voice broke a little. "Don't take my daughter from me. I love my little girl."
His words—or rather the ones he omitted—seemed to stun the adults in the room but for Hermione, they rang in her head like the clanging of manacles. She jerked her hand from his and turned, dropping her gloves and all but running for the door. She didn't bother slamming it behind her and heard Mrs Barnes's disappointed, "How could you, Bucky?" as she hurried down the stairs.
"Hermione, wait!" Bucky called out to her but she didn't expect him to follow. He was only wearing his vest; his stump was exposed. She expected him to scramble for his jacket at least.
She was wrong. He must have jumped half the stairs because he caught up with her at the second landing, his hand reaching out to grab her elbow and haul her back to him. She brushed at the hot tears that were streaking down her face, brought on by anger and betrayal and adrenaline. He turned her and backed her against the wall and that's when she saw he'd not bothered with a jacket. The skin of his shoulders, his arm, and his stump glowed a golden hue in the late evening sunlight as it filtered through the nicotine-stained window.
"Hermione, where are you going? You don't have anywhere to go," he murmured, his voice quiet as he tried to calm her down.
"I'll go to Peggy's."
"She sublets a room from a friend. They share a Murphy bed; she wouldn't have a place for you to sleep."
His betrayal had been intellectual before. Hearing about it from Peggy was one thing but hearing the intimate details of Peggy's sleeping arrangements from him caused a swooping sensation in her stomach. She wanted to be sick.
She glared up at him, anger and hurt belaying her tongue for a moment. She knew she shouldn't be curious, the knowledge would only bring more pain but she couldn't stop herself from asking. "How many more?"
His mouth opened like he didn't expect the question and he looked away from her. "A few."
"I should have known you'd keep chasing skirts. Why? Why Peggy?"
He took a deep breath and shook his head, finally returning his gaze to her. "Peggy because when I first started talking to her it was about Steve and then it just... we were both lonely."
"I've been right here the entire time."
"Have you? When was the last time we..." he tipped his head, the words tripping him up.
Hermione couldn't stop her words from becoming an angry hiss. "We sleep in the same room as your mother, your sisters, and your daughter! Of course, I wouldn't be intimate with you with an audience!" She pressed her lips together to keep the hurtful words she wanted to skewer him with inside. "I don't understand why your government cheque can't at least cover a flat."
"It is covering an apartment! That one!" He said, pointing across his chest towards the flat they shared with his family two flights up. Spittal had gathered on his bottom lip in his anger and his tongue darted out to collect it. "There's not enough for two!"
She'd not expected that. How had they survived before the war? Where had they lived? Hermione sagged and felt the scratchy brick of the wall press into her back. Her anger was still prevalent but her temper had cooled a little. She only had one question left and it was the one that scared her the most. Would she be able to live with the answer? In a voice quiet, already preparing for the devastation she expected she'd feel, she asked her last question. "Did you ever love me?"
She hadn't expected the devastation to appear across his features first. His lips cracked open and his head tipped back, then disbelief shown in his eyes. "Of course." The pause that followed was pregnant with anticipation. She expected a gentle let-down, another excuse to try and explain why he didn't now. A small part of her hoped for reassurance, a toothy grin and declaration that he still did.
She got neither.
There were footsteps on the stairs headed up and suddenly the tenant in the flat below theirs was on the landing with them, greeting them with a nod and hat tip as he unlocked his door, breaking up the tension in the air surrounding them.
"Come back upstairs, Hermione," Bucky said softly. His hand returning to her elbow to tug at her. She complied dutifully and walked up the stairs in front of him.
Dinner was silent except for the babbling of Becca as Millie fed her mashed peas and potatoes. Everyone but the baby was aware of the tension in the air but Hermione couldn't bring herself to smile and pretend everything was fine. When it was time for bed, she pushed herself close to the wall, trying to put space between her body and Bucky's. He climbed in behind her, following her across the narrow mattress to hold her against him. He pressed his face into her hair, letting his lips brush the skin of her cheek. She felt his whispered, "I'm sorry. I'll do better," more than she heard it.
The hurt that she had been carrying all day—from hearing that he routinely said she was dead to learning about his infidelity—burned in the back of her throat. "I don't believe you," she told him. If her heart hadn't already felt tender and sore, feeling the slip of warm tears dampen her hair and pool on her neck would have broken it. As it was, she shed a few tears into her pillow with him.
Hermione was awake and dressed before anyone else had awoken the following morning. She had a lot more walking to do and wanted to get a head start. She collected her list and started for the door when she remembered her gloves. Returning to the bedroom quietly, Hermione tip-toed to the dresser and picked up her gloves as Bucky jerked and gasped. It was his tell when he'd had a nightmare. His stump twitched as he flailed, realising she wasn't in the bed, and he turned his head quickly to take in the room. His eyes were wide and wild when he caught sight of her dressed and obviously leaving and he struggled a moment with the blanket across his chest. "Hermione!" his voice was urgent but whispered, instinctively knowing it was early and the others were sleeping.
She took pity on him and brought her finger up to her lips, "Shh. You're fine. Becca's still sleeping," she whispered and gestured with her eyes down at the makeshift crib near the foot of their mattress. The panic that had gripped him fled when he glanced down and saw their daughter curled on her side with her thumb suckled into her mouth. Bucky glanced back up at her, coming to the understanding that she wouldn't have left the baby to sleep if she'd been planning to run. Hermione nodded and moved back through the flat, pulling her gloves on and slipping out the door.
As she walked from prospective employer to prospective employer, Hermione let her mind stew on her problems. She had already finished with her list and started inquiring at every diner and shop she passed. As each rejection piled up, she felt a sort of desperation creeping slowly into her chest to grip at her heart. Finally heading towards home a few hours past lunch she let the words she'd been thinking around form in her mind. Could she really leave Bucky? Could she do as he asked and leave Becca with him? What sort of mother was she that she could even contemplate the idea of it? To leave her daughter to be raised by an adulterous, short-tempered man and his mother and sisters? To leave and go back to what? She had no other family. Her best friend was here. She didn't doubt that as women factory workers were let go to make way for able-bodied veterans here in the States the same would be happening in England. She was as alone and useless here as she'd be back home. And how would that look to everyone else? A woman leaving her crippled husband and child? For what? Because he'd sought to fulfil his needs elsewhere when she didn't provide? It wasn't like he hit her.
She stopped at the small green space near their flat and sat on the single bench. She must have been so absorbed in her thoughts that when someone sat down beside her she startled and apologised. "If I didn't know any better I'd think you were waiting for a bus," the familiar voice of her husband said. She glanced up to see Bucky offer her a pathetic attempt at a grin. "From the look on your face, you didn't find a job today either." She shook her head, finding words felt insurmountable just then. He reached out and took her hand in his. That tiny spark of hope she'd felt flicker last night when she hoped he'd tell her he still loved her erupted in her chest but he didn't speak and the flame burned low again. He didn't let go of her hand, though.
"We'll manage, Hermione." He squeezed her hand tighter and she turned her head to look at him. The sad smile he gave her was sincere. She had told him once that she would fight for them; then why had she been contemplating running away? Guilt gripped her heart and she squeezed his hand back as she forced a swallow past her dry throat. She nodded. He took a deep breath and stood up, "Come on, it looks like it's going to rain."
They didn't rush towards cover when the raincloud above them broke half a block from their flat. They just continued to walk hand-in-hand as the cold rain seeped through their clothes and onto their skin.