The Hurt And The Healing: Bucky X OC

Chapter Four: Please Stop Interrupting My Grieving Process With Your Problems

Mara pressed her hands against the locked door, leaning her full body weight in as if that would do anything to stop him from breaking the door down if he wanted to. One night. Just one night she'd like to come home to an apartment that didn't require her to be "on." Where she could come in, change into PJs, eat, and then fall asleep all within thirty minutes. No small children requiring first aid, no neighborhood gossips overstaying their welcome, and no strange men with knives at the table. One night.

Mara finished cleaning up dinner and then quickly changed into her nightgown. It was too hot to try and sleep in pants. She took out her contact lenses, tied back her hair, washed her face, and finally sank down into the couch with the TV remote in one hand and a popsicle in the other. Just as she found a station playing something mindless enough that she didn't have to think but distracting enough that she didn't accidentally think, Nonna reentered the apartment.

"Isn't James just the sweetest man?" She gushed, clasping her hands. Mara looked at her, a single eyebrow dangerously arched.

"Since we don't know anything about him other than what he's told us, no, I don't think I can call him the sweetest man," she said coldly.

"Oh Mara, don't be such a pessimista," Nonna scolded. "If you had seen how he helped me carry the groceries in from the bus stop you'd know that he is a good man."

"Nonna, you have to stop taking in strays like this!" Mara exclaimed. "Just because he isn't a creep up front doesn't mean you can let him into our home and tell him all about how it's just two women living alone and half the time I'm not even here!"

"It's more than half," Nonna retorted.

"Seriously?" Mara exclaimed, rising to her feet. "Is that what this is about? You want me to be home more?"

"You work too much-" Nonna began but Mara laughed and shook her head.

"No, everything costs too much!" She cried, aggressively gesticulating with her popsicle. "You'd think a few intergalactic terrorist attacks would lower the rent, but no, New York still costs more and more every year. And without Alex's benefits I have no choice but to keep working. And the more this city goes to hell, the more people need medical care so it's not like I can transition to a low stress job." Mara threw her popsicle into the sink, her appetite gone. "So don't be sanctimonious and pretend that I'm some cold hearted bitch who doesn't care about people," she said, whipping around and glaring at Nonna. "Every minute of my life is consumed with caring about people!"

"I know that, carissima," Nonna said kindly, reaching out to her granddaughter. Mara waved away the embrace.

"I know you know," she said in a hurt tone, "but that doesn't make it any easier." She turned and walked away, resisting the urge to wipe her eyes until she was in her bedroom with the door closed. As she collapsed onto her bed, Mara felt the tears begin to choke her. She twisted her engagement ring on her finger, counting down each rotation.

Ten. That's how old she was when she met Alex. She had moved into the neighborhood with her parents after her father had gotten a job as a janitor for Stark Industries. She was so scared on her first day of class, but then a scrawny kid with a smile too big for his face asked her if she wanted to play four square with him and his friends and then she wasn't scared anymore.

Nine. That's how many years she had had a crush on him before he asked her out. He was always her playmate, her friend, her hero. When she got her first C on a test he was the one who told her how smart she was and that no letter on a page could change that. When her kitten died he was the one who played Taps on the little trumpet that Nonna had rented for his band class. When she was bullied in high school he was the one who always made her feel beautiful, took her to every dance, and then danced horribly so that when people looked at them she didn't think it was because they were judging her.

Eight. They had been dating for eight months before he proposed to her at the park two blocks away. It was a hot August day, just like this one, and he proposed in front of the water fountain where they used to splash around as children.

Seven. The number of words he said. "Mara Naomi Anderson, will you marry me?"

Six. She kissed him six times before remembering that she hadn't said "yes" yet. When she finally did answer his question, his face lit up and he lifted her into the air, spinning her around as they both laughed with joy.

Five. He had been called up for deployment five days before their wedding. They were supposed to have a month, but then he came home, his mouth a thin, hard line and a letter in his hand that ruined their lives.

Four. He had written her four letters between his last deployment and the visit from the man in a suit who shattered her world with a simple "I'm sorry."

Three. She nearly burst into tears three times during the funeral. The first time was when she gave the eulogy. How do you properly honor someone's life when they were supposed to live so much longer? How do you properly honor someone's death when you still hadn't processed that they were gone? How do you properly honor someone's memory when you were supposed to make so many more with them?

The second time she almost burst into tears was when she heard the pianist start playing "Nearer My God To Thee." Her father had to physically hold her up as the icey grief hit her veins and she practically seized from the shock of it. Nonna took her hand. That was the only thing that stopped her from screaming in pain in the middle of the sanctuary.

The last time was when they walked out of the church, the sun shining on them and the birds singing as if the world still existed. It didn't. Her world was gone. She wanted to cry. She wanted to wail. She wanted to curse at the sky and demand that either God give her back her love or make those fucking birds stop singing.

Two. The number of reasons why Alex had enlisted in the first place. She did eventually cry when the soldier handed her Alex's folded flag. As the sun warmed fabric hit her skin she felt the tears finally break through the dam. She knew she was supposed to be brave, stoic, the good military bride who knew what she was signing up for when she agreed to marry him. But she hadn't, not really. She had begged Alex to not enlist, telling him that there wasn't a fight in the world so important that she could accept losing him. He told her that he had to enlist, every man in his family had and he owed it to his father's memory to do so. When she reminded him that there were still people who were alive who he owed it to to stay alive, he told her the second reason: he wanted to. She had to accept it then. Alex was his Nonna's grandson, if he wanted to do something he did it. So he did it and she didn't cry when she dropped him off at the airport until she was certain that he couldn't see her. And now she couldn't stop crying.

One. The number of men she could love like she loved Alex. When she was with him she felt her seams coming apart from all of the joy and fear and love and pure adoration coursing through her veins. Even now, when he was gone, she still felt the love for him still. It was too much. It was too powerful. There was no way she could feel that way about someone twice in her life. And so when his casket was lowered into the ground and her father had to hold her up as her knees gave out from under her and she gripped onto that flag so tightly that it made her muscles ache she knew that her one love in this life was gone. He was dead and gone and she was alone and she would stay that way until she eventually reunited with him.

Mara curled up into a tight ball, pressing her pillow against her face. She had one of his old shirts wrapped around it, and as she buried her face into it she could almost imagine that he was breathing beneath her. Almost.

"Damn you, Alex," she whispered, the tears now falling from her face freely. "I still love you, but that doesn't mean I don't hate you for leaving me."