A/N: Eep! And now for the second, concluding part of this story, at least the conclusion of what I'm gonna write of it lol. There is plenty of room for more and it could turn into its own giant story, which is what I was going for, since this is supposed to be Summer's story and hers needs to be longer than two really big chapters lol. But anyway, thank you to everyone who reviewed the first part, and I hope you all like this part as well :D I'll put a trigger warning here for some talk and threats of rape and talk of miscarriage, just in case, because I don't want to accidentally trigger anybody, but there's nothing graphic ahead, of course. And a HUGE thank you to midnightwings96 for helping a ton with this story and easing my mind when I was nitpicking the crap out of it lol. Let me know what you guys think and thanks for reading! :D

The sun was scorching on a late Friday morning, a day which Summer had been dreading and pretending would not come for a week. It was here now, and as the moments creeped closer to the noon hour, so also crept reality in the form of her husband's imminent return to the farm. He would be home in a matter of minutes.

She was in her safe place, the place she went to escape the world - her garden. The wide-brimmed hat that she wore blocked the sun's rays from her eyes, enabling her to occasionally glance over at a certain hired hand who was carrying large boards from a dismantled shed to a new one. Despite the heaviness of the day and the dread of having to once again face daily life with Marshall after more than a month without him, there was no stopping the butterflies in her belly nor the smile that would cross her face when their eyes would meet. He'd flash her a grin and she would bite her lip before looking away, almost forgetting entirely about why this day was automatically a terrible one.

Suffice it to say, the last week had been the best of her life. And he reminded her of that with every look and every smile he sent her way.

The barn had become their unofficial "place", the spot where they would steal kisses in during the day and, at night, steal far more. Her first night with him there had been a mere taste of what he could give her and make her feel, just a glimmer of what was yet to come. And that night had sated neither of them. On the contrary, it only stoked the flames between them to a growing roar, and neither of them were interested in putting it out.

But for now, she shoved those thoughts away and focused on her flowers. They kept her somewhat calm until she heard the crunch of tires coming down the gravel driveway, up towards the house and away from her garden sanctuary. She peeked up towards the driveway and felt her stomach drop a little at the sight of Marshall's small black car, but rather than shrink from reality, she signed and stood up, then brushed off her knees and straightened her dress. She looked over at Bucky, whose expression had gone from playful to slightly dark after he too saw the car , and then she drew a breath and started walking towards the car.

The last time they had spoken over the phone, Marshall had called her useless and ranted about her apparently outrageous decision to use "his" money to replace a broken tractor. Now, he was exiting the car and then opening one of the backseat doors, and after closing it, had a giant bouquet of flowers in his hands.

She stopped in her tracks. He walked the rest of the way to her.

"I am so sorry, Summer," he said, not bothering to say hello or beat around the bush. She stared at the flower arrangement and then looked up at him once he was closer. "I was a jerk, I really was, and I have no excuse. Forgive me?"

He handed the flowers to her, and she took them slowly, having not expected this. Of course, it was completely in-character for him to act like a complete douchebag and then come groveling back to her, but she just hadn't thought he would even bother with the effort this time. "Uh... well, do you even remember the things you said?"

He nodded, looking down shamefully. "Yes, I do, and I'm sorry. I was just under a lot of stress and the trip was just exhausting and lasted way longer than I wanted it to."

Right. Stress was always his excuse. She sighed and looked down at the flowers, thinking it was hilarious that after all this time, he still didn't get that she wasn't a fan of tulips. She had a whole garden of flowers that she loved and yet he never bothered to figure out their names and buy those.

"Are you okay?" he asked with sudden concern.

She looked up at him and nodded. "Yeah. I'm fine. Thanks for the... tulips."

"You like tulips, right?"

She paused. "I... well..."

"Oh my God."

Her head snapped up at his words, automatically and irrationally thinking that he had somehow just figured out what, or more specially whom, she had been doing over the past week. But instead, he was staring at the land, and soon enough, a smile crossed his face.

"Everything looks great. Wow! The old shed's finally down. The fences are fixed. Did you move some of the pins?"

"Yeah. Well, I didn't. The new guy did," she explained. He looked at her in surprise, and she said, "Yeah, he's good." So good. "He's rebuilt a bunch of the pins and fixed the roof on the barn. He's working on the new shed now." Really good with his hands. "He's been really helpful too because he speaks Spanish and helps me communicate with the other guys." Very talented tongue. "So you did a good job hiring him." It's the one thing you ever did right.

"Wow. Okay. That's good! I'm glad to hear it. Let's go have a look."

She nodded, he walked past her, and then she realized belatedly what he had actually said. Awkwardly holding the tulips still, she turned and followed him, hoping that this wouldn't be as awkward as she knew it would be.

Then again, the first rule of getting away with something was to not appear guilty, and that meant acting normal. Normal, for who she was with with Marshall, meant detached and neutral. And it definitely meant no more gushing over the new guy, regardless of how much he deserved it.

She just hated the idea of having to "get away" with what she and Bucky were doing when her marriage was nothing more than a formality at this point. She also hated the sudden guilt that had manifested within the very moment Marshall had stepped out of the car. She had done well avoiding even the slightest trace of guilt, but now faced with the evidence that she was indeed legally quite married... the shame had officially arrived.

Trying to ignore these things, she followed Marshall down the driveway and into the farm that she loved and he pretended not to hate. He walked about, admiring all the things that Bucky had repaired and built over the last month, and she nodded and stayed mostly silent, now hyperaware of her every word and movement. They had made their way to the goats and Marshall was observing the new additions to the group when Bucky reappeared.

He had thrown on a glove and an unbuttoned plaid shirt, apparently not willing to have his metal arm on display around Marshall. He only glanced at the flowers Summer was still holding before looking up at Marshall and showcasing his acting skills.

Marshall shook his hand, greeted him, and began to rave. "Everything looks great. I'm impressed! Last time I had a trip that long I came back and everything was almost in shambles."

Summer stayed silent but felt her shame dissolve into much more familiar anger. Yes, shambles, because I'm completely useless and it was my fault that a storm came and blew away half the damn farm...

"Thank you, sir," Bucky nodded, all quiet politeness, just as before.

"Yeah... you know, since you speak English and all," Marshall chuckled, looking out over everything, "I think I should put you in charge. Especially now that I can see you know what you're doing."

Summer froze as quickly as Bucky did. He paused and quietly repeated, "In... charge?"

"Yeah. Like a foreman." Marshall turned to Summer and asked, "Don't you agree?"

"I... yeah," she nodded. He was certainly good enough for the job, though she felt bad for the others who had been there much longer and deserved the job and the raise that came with it. She'd always suspected that Marshall had a racially bigoted side, though, and this seemed like further evidence.

"Then it's settled. You're promoted," Marshall smiled.

Bucky looked dumbfounded and confused, but he still managed to reply, "... Okay. Wow. Thanks."

"You're welcome. Hey," Marshall said, "since you're going to be around for awhile and we'll be seeing a lot of each other, why don't you come to the house for dinner tonight?"

Now Summer gave herself permission to panic.

She caught the split-second look that Bucky shot her before he shook his head and replied, "I wouldn't want to impose or..."

"You wouldn't be!" Marshall assured him. "Not at all. Besides, it'll give my wife here a reason to get in the kitchen, and she never turns one of those down."

She groaned inside of her head. Yes, she liked cooking but he didn't have to make it sound so caveman-like. But that wasn't even half as troublesome as the idea of sitting down and having to eat an actual meal sitting between her husband and her... well... lover, as Bucky was so fond of saying.

To his credit, Bucky really did try to get out of it. "Really, it's fine. I wouldn't want either of you to go through the trouble..."

"It's no trouble. I insist. Come on over at 7:30. I won't take no for an answer."

Her heart sunk, and Bucky had no choice but to nod and smile tightly. "All right."

"Good!" Marshall beamed. "I'll see you then." He turned and gestured to Summer and added, "Come with me, I've got some stuff to talk to you about."

"Okay," she nodded quietly as Marshall walked past her towards the house. Bucky's gaze met hers and she made a face of miserable, still panicked, dread, and he mouthed I'm sorry. She nodded, knowing there was nothing he could have done, and then she turned and headed back towards the house.

This was going to be the most awkward dinner of her life.

While stirring sauce in a pot later that day, Summer used her free hand to text Bucky and try a few last ditch efforts to escape her doom.

I could burn the food on purpose. Whoops. No dinner.

His reply came quickly. No. We just need to get it over with.

She groaned. But I could suddenly come down with a very contagious germ. Cough cough.

You need to act normal. Like I'm just one of the other guys and we haven't been tearing the barn apart every night.

She rolled her eyes. He wasn't exactly helping matters by reminding her of that. She was blushing already and he wasn't even there yet. How am I supposed to do that? I'm the world's worst liar.

I know. I'm sorry. I tried to say no.

She sighed. And I greatly appreciate that. I hate how he just forced the issue.

A few minutes passed by before her phone buzzed again. It'll be all right. I'll be on my best behavior. You should be fine so long as you can keep from blushing every time you look at me.

She blew out a long breath and suppressed a groan, quickly typing back, Fat chance.

Another few moments passed, and he replied, Be good and I'll reward you later.

She dropped the large spoon in her hand, face flaring up as she aggressively typed back, Okay, so not helping. That is the opposite of helping.

Sorry. Couldn't resist.

She sighed and set her phone down, but not after deleting all of the texts. This secrecy was already getting to her, keeping that sense of guilt lingering in her head, and she wasn't even a full day into Marshall's return. If the last week had been a dream come true, pretending what life could be like with a good man who knew how to treat her and valued her as a person, then this was cold, hard reality coming back to punch her in the face.

Estranged, separated, only married on paper - it was all true, but so was the sneaking around and the deception of what was happening. And this damn dinner would likely prove to be exhibit A.

At 7:20, with the table set and dinner ready, Summer was busy uncorking a bottle of wine she was going to need to get through the meal when Marshall walked into the dining room, looked at her jeans and t-shirt, and made a face.

"Is that what you're wearing?"

She looked up from the wine bottle and raised an eyebrow. "... Yeah?" When he continued to make the face of distaste, she said, "It's not exactly a dinner party."

"No, but he's our employee. You have to pay attention to the kind of impressions you make on employees."

Oh, I think I've made a pretty big impression on him. "I don't think he really cares. I mean, I've been working with him for over a month."

Marshall nodded and sighed. "Can you just put something better on?"

She bit her tongue and pulled the cork free, then tossed it down on the table and muttered, "Fine."

It made sense, she thought as she half-stomped to her room to change. Marshall was all about appearances, regardless of what their lives were actually like, and he always wanted to project a certain image of them. That meant her having to dress up even for just a simple dinner with a single farmhand. Well, foreman, as of a few hours ago.

Just to spite him a little, she put on a dress that Bucky had mentioned his affection for a few days ago. It was dark blue and moderately short, and it was as dressy as she was willing to get for this dinner. The last time she had worn it was five days ago, and it had survived being half clawed off as Bucky had shoved her against the wall of the barn and had his way with her.

When she got back downstairs, the clock hit 7:30 and there was a soft knock at the front door. Marshall immediately looked at her, apparently expecting her to play the hostess and go let him in, and rather than snap at his expectant expression, she bit her tongue again and went to the door.

She opened it to find Bucky dressed better than she had ever seen thus far, though still casual, in dark jeans and a black button down shirt. He even fixed his hair, as opposed to its usual state of work-induced disarray.

But she couldn't stand there and drool over him like she wanted to. And she could tell by the lightning-fast way his eyes swept over her that he was facing the same dilemma.

"Hi. Come on in," she said lightly, voice coming out a little higher pitched than she intended. If Bucky had ever doubted that this was her first time hiding an affair, he was definitely going to be convinced by the bumbling she feared was yet to come.

He thanked her quietly and walked inside, and as she closed the door after him, Marshall greeted their guest in his usual almost too-friendly way. He was a salesman in every sense of the word, and he never turned it off.

When the initial hellos and small talk had thankfully subsided, Summer led them into the dining room and then looked with dismay at the small table. No matter where she sat, she was going to be in the middle of them. Maybe it was just fitting.

Marshall went to one end and Bucky went to the other. She sat in the middle and wasted no time in picking up the bottle of wine and asking cheerfully, "Wine?"

"Yes, please," Bucky replied, the picture of quiet politeness. She filled his glass and fought the urge to skip hers and just drink straight from the bottle, trying not to look at him but at the same time trying to look at him enough so that it didn't appear that she was trying not to look at him.

She hadn't even picked up her fork yet and her stomach was already in knots.

"I'm glad we're doing this," Marshall said happily, waving off her offer of wine. Instead, he started piling his plate with food as he added, "And I have to say, sweetie, I missed your cooking."

Sweetie. She stared at Marshall for a moment, at a loss for why he would use a term of endearment for her now when he hadn't for roughly three years.

He appeared not to notice, asking Bucky instead, "Have you tried her cooking yet?"

"Couple times," Bucky replied, briefly looking her way. "When she cooked for all of us."

"She's generous like that," Marshall nodded, which was code for I wouldn't spend a dime to feed you guys but she's dumb enough to. "So, Bucky, tell us about yourself."

Summer nearly panicked on Bucky's behalf. They had been friends for awhile and had talked about everything under the sun except for his life story, because he always gave the distinct impression that he didn't want to talk about it, and she was fine with that.

"There's not much to tell," he shrugged, taking a bite while she took a healthy sip of wine.

"I'm sure that's not true," Marshall replied. "Where'd you learn to be so handy?"

Bucky paused before answering, "I didn't have much growing up. Knowing how to build things and fix stuff helped."

Marshall nodded. "Okay, makes sense. Where did you grow up?"

"Brooklyn."

"Brooklyn? Kinda rough these days," Marshall observed.

Bucky shrugged a little. "It's kinda rough everywhere."

"Well, can't argue that, I guess," Marshall nodded. "So, Army, right?"

Bucky nodded, and Summer kept drinking, wishing Marshall would just leave him alone.

"How did that work out?"

"Well, I got out," Bucky said a bit dryly. "It doesn't really make for good... dinner conversation."

"Gotcha," Marshall nodded. "Yeah, one of my guys at the dealership is a vet too." Then he quickly explained, "I own a car dealership."

"Oh," Bucky said, and Summer chewed a mouthful of food somewhat harder than necessary to keep from smiling. Bucky already knew Marshall owned a car dealership, of course. He knew more than he didn't know, but he was good at playing dumb.

"Yeah. That's why I was gone for so long. Big conference, lots of meetings."

You are so full of crap. Summer smiled pleasantly rather than voice the sentiment in her head.

"You got family here?"

Bucky shook his head. "Nah."

"What brought you down here from Brooklyn?"

He paused. "Fresh start, I guess."

Marshall nodded. "Yeah. We used to live in the city too, back when we were first married. Coming here was like a fresh start for us, too."

Summer almost choked on another mouthful of wine. He merely glanced at her and then continued on.

"Summer here, I never thought I'd convince her to move out here permanently. Real city girl through and through, always had a Starbucks cup in her hand," he smiled. "But when I inherited the place we spent a weekend out here and it was actually pretty romantic. Didn't take much convincing after that."

Beyond the obvious discomfort of the situation, Summer could not believe the revisionist history that she was hearing. She had been the one to push for moving to the place, not him. And if having routine, underwhelming sex that she hadn't really wanted to have right before he passed out snoring counted as romantic, then, well... maybe he needed to read more romance novels or something.

She glanced at Bucky when Marshall looked down at his plate, and he met her eyes for all of a second before taking another drink of his own wine.

Uncomfortable wasn't nearly strong enough of a word for how she felt, and they still had half the dinner to go.

She was surprised when she heard Bucky ask a question of his own. "How did you two meet?"

At first she wondered what the hell he was doing, especially since he already knew that story. Then she realized he was probably curious to see how different Marshall's version would be.

"Actually, that's a funny story," he grinned. "She came in to the dealership to buy her first car. I was just a sales associate back then. I sold her a '06 Honda, and we really clicked, you know. I called her to follow up after a few weeks, took a chance and asked her out, and the rest is history."

He left out the fact that she had actually initially turned him down because she found him too eager and mildly creepy. But then, going on bad advice from friends who had just wanted her to get out and date somebody - she was 18 and single, after all - she relented.

"I take it you haven't found the right girl yet, since if you were, you wouldn't be living here with us," Marshall said.

Bucky didn't miss a beat, shrugging slightly and replying, "I don't know. I might have."

"Really? Does she live in town?"

Bucky shook his head. "Nobody you know."

He then picked up his glass of wine again, looking at Summer long enough for the meaning of his words to sink in. Once it did, she had to look down and take a breath.

It was incredibly true, however. Marshall didn't have a clue about who Bucky was talking about. He didn't know her, though she had his last name.

"Well, best advice I can give is not to take her for granted. Gotta treat 'em well or else they'll find someone who will."

She actually did choke this time, on a piece of broccoli.

"Yeah," Bucky agreed as Summer recovered and finished her wine. "Yeah, I think you're right."

Then Marshall reached beneath the table and conspicuously placed his hand on Summer's knee. They both missed the almost imperceptibly harder grip Bucky suddenly had on his fork as his acting skills were put to the test.

"Good thing we don't have to worry about that, right honey?" Marshall smiled at her.

"... Yeah," she said dully. For a moment she wondered if the man actually knew and was doing this on purpose, but the truth was that he really was just that delusional.

He gave her knee a squeeze and the let go. She breathed a sigh of relief, resolving to stab his hand with her fork if he tried to pull that again. He never acted like this when they were alone, never. It was all for show, and it made the sudden and unwanted signs of affection even worse.

"Well, in any case," Marshall sighed, "I'm glad you're here helping us. You've done a really great job with the place in just, what, barely more than a month? And now that I'm back, we can really get it into shape."

Bucky then said in the most polite, respectful way possible, "Yeah. But your wife did a very good job running things while you were gone. Most of what I did was under her direction. So most of the credit should go to her."

Marshall seemed flabbergasted by this, at a loss, even. Summer didn't notice, because she was smiling at Bucky in what she hoped was a purely professional way. "Thanks, but you did all the hard work."

Bucky shrugged, and Marshall continued to flounder for words. Summer turned back to her second glass of wine, sipping it and finally starting to feel the warmth take the edge off of her anxiety.

"Well, great!" Marshall finally said. "Glad the farm was in good hands, then."

The rest of the dinner passed by without incident, no more unwanted touches and mostly harmless talk. Summer offered dessert but neither man seemed to want it, and frankly neither did she, and the lack of it helped speed along Bucky's departure.

When the time came, she and Marshall walked him to the door, and she stood there in polite silence as Marshall bade him goodnight. Bucky thanked them for the dinner - specifically, and respectfully complimenting her cooking - and when she opened her mouth to reply, Marshall's arm was suddenly around her waist.

She only paused for half a second. "Thank you. I'm glad you liked it."

Bucky nodded, and she greatly admired his self-control and the fact that he wasn't glaring at Marshall - even though she could tell that under the surface, he probably wanted to beat the other man's face in.

"We'll have to do it again sometime," Marshall said, smiling obliviously. "Have a good night."

"You too. Thanks again," Bucky said before ducking out the door, one last very subtle glance passing between him and Summer before the door closed.

She silently let out the breath she had been holding all night.

"Well, he's nice," Marshall observed. "But why do you think he kept that glove on his hand the whole time?"

She shrugged. "No idea."

Relieved now that it was finally over, she let her shoulders slump and headed for the sink. Marshall was no help with dishes, so she had a date with the dishwasher for the next half hour or so.

As soon as she had walked to the sink and flipped on the water, she felt a hand on her back and flinched. She looked back at Marshall, whose face resembled that of a puppy as he said, "I'm still really sorry. You never said if you forgive me or not."

She knocked his hand away and replied, "Because I don't forgive you yet. And cut out the touching. I don't care if you want us to look perfect to the world. I don't like it and you know that so leave me the hell alone."

He held up his hands in surrender. "Fine. Fine. God forbid I touch my wife."

He then stalked off, up the stairs and towards his separate room. She sighed, then noticed her phone lighting up on the counter nearby.

She picked it up and found a new text from Bucky. Barn. As soon as he's asleep.

Dread and excitement filled her, leaving her unsure as to what she felt exactly. All she knew was that her week long fantasy was over, and as much as she wanted to, there was no going back. She had to deal with reality, and she couldn't pretend that Marshall didn't exist anymore.

She also had to sharpen up her sneaking out skills to make sure that Marshall didn't notice her leaving later for her rendezvous in the barn.

It was nearly midnight by the time Summer made it out to the barn. Marshall was in his bed snoring heavily, and she had changed from her dress to her least embarrassing pajamas - which were, unfortunately, Hello Kitty ones. Then she threw on a hoodie though she wasn't even sure why - maybe because all illicit activities seemed to involve at least one person in a hoodie? - and quietly tiptoed out of the house.

Across the property, the barn door was slightly open when she got there. She pushed it open and found it lit by the single bulb hanging, but seemingly empty.

"... Bucky?"

As soon as the word left her lips, two hands reached out from behind her, one flesh and one metal, and they spun her around and brought her crashing into two strong arms. She yelped in surprise but quickly fell silent as Bucky's lips descended upon hers with a fury, blanking out her mind and leaving her clinging to him like he was her only anchor to the world.

He spun her again, placing her back to the barn door and shutting it. He broke away only for a moment, and she drew in a heavy breath as her eyes took in his hungry, passionate, maybe even angry appearance. Then he was kissing her again, harder than before, and she moaned as she pulled him closer and opened her mouth to let him plunder it.

His hands were at her hips, pulling them against his the next time he broke away, panting with his forehead against hers, "I wanted to kill him."

Then he lifted her up, her legs wrapping around his hips and his lips now at her neck, and she held on with a handful of his hair in her hand as she replied, "I could tell. I'm sorry, I didn't think he'd..." she trailed off when she felt him sucking hotly on the side of her neck, and she tugged urgently at his hair. "Don't leave marks! You really can't leave them now!"

He groaned, almost miserably, lifting his head and cradling hers with one hand. "I need to, Summer."

She gulped, almost able to feel the possessiveness roll off of him in a heated wave from his skin to hers. It was a stark change from how this had all began and how he had been every night thus far, and the intensity in his eyes shocked her a little.

She knew he felt something for her. She knew he craved her, desired her, valued her for who she was and who she wanted to be. She knew their connection was based in friendship and deepened in something more. But she didn't know that what he felt ran as deeply as his current actions seemed to suggest. And it was as terrifying as it was exhilarating.

"I'm sorry," she said again, unsure of what to say or do. "He knows I don't want him touching me. I chewed him out for it after you left."

He kissed her again, made her head spin with the almost sloppy intensity of it, and then pulled away to plead, "Tell me you won't let him touch you."

She shook her head. "I won't."

"Promise me."

His left hand, the metal one, tightened its grip on her hip while his hand on her face and in her hair remained incredibly gentle. She expected to find bruises tomorrow, but for now she replied softly, "I promise you, Bucky."

Then he kissed her again, moaning helplessly into her mouth, and her insides were a mess of flipping and melting as he lifted her again and, this time, moved them to the floor on top of a soft pile of hay.

Impatiently yanking at her clothes from his place on top of her, he reluctantly tore his lips away from hers to unzip her unnecessary hoodie, and after he tore that from her body, he paused at the pajama tank that laid beneath it.

She suspected that she should feel embarrassed to be seen by her disgustingly attractive lover in a black tank top with a pink heart in the middle with a big Hello Kitty face on it, not to mention the pants which he just now noticed were covered in tons of little tiny Hello Kitties. But she wasn't embarrassed, and the little amused grin that crossed his lips made sure of that. It was the sole lighthearted moment before he began quickly and roughly removing the clothes from her body. She sat up and did the same for him, frantically undoing the buttons of his shirt and only just getting his belt undone before he pushed her back down and resumed his ravaging kisses. He took her hands and stretched her arms up and over her head so that they laid in the hay, and his left hand held her wrists in a gentle grip as he claimed her for his own.

Normally, he took his time in working her up and making her all but beg for more. She was also used to him flipping her into different positions or her doing the same to him, all of it exploratory and fun and at the same time overwhelming, but this time, he had a different purpose. He covered every inch of her body with his, never once relinquished control to her, took her mercilessly but skillfully and somehow perfectly, like he knew what they both needed that might and had no choice but to give in.

He was wordless, all gasps and moans that made her very bones shudder with pleasure, at least until the very end. He slowed down suddenly, leaving her to whimper in confusion and look up into his eyes. The blue left in them was as stormy as the emotions within them as he half-whispered, half-growled, "Tell me you're mine."

Her voice came out as a shaky moan. "I'm yours."

"I mean it," he said, brows drawing together in an almost heartbreaking way as he searched her eyes.

"So do I," she assured him quietly, fingers tracing the lines of cheekbone down to his jaw, trying to comfort him from whatever was causing this. It suddenly struck her how little she truly knew about him, how clueless she was as to what past hurts or wounds could be behind this.

He reached up and took her hand from his face, entwined his fingers with hers, then lowered their hands down to the hay next to her head as he began to speed up again. She watched his eyes roll shut and mouth drop open in a low, almost broken moan, and then he buried his face in her neck as they raced each other to the end.

For a long time after, there was nothing but silence, save for the sound of their heavy breaths. He stayed collapsed on top of her, their hands still joined, his breath tickling her neck and heart competing with hers for whose could beat the fastest. She didn't want to move, content to lay there under his weight and just fall asleep, but such things weren't possible anymore.

Eventually he kissed her neck softly, then shifted his weight off of her and rolled to her side. She quickly followed him, curling up to his side and laying her head on his chest, craning her neck slightly to look up at him.

He was staring at the ceiling, looking tired and... troubled.

"You okay?" she asked softly.

He exhaled slowly, looking down at her and replying, "I... yeah. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. That was amazing."

He half-grinned for all of a second before it disappeared under his still-faraway stare. Fingertips playing idly over his chest, she added, "You can tell me what's bothering you."

He closed his eyes for a moment, staring again at the ceiling as he tried to form words. Eventually, he muttered, "I know we haven't known each other long. If that scared you, I didn't mean for it to. I just..." He trailed off, sadness and something even more hollow flashing through his eyes. "I'm used to losing."

At first, hearing the way that he said that, she thought he was going to add something to that sentence. Like he was used to losing something specific. Instead, it seemed that he simply was truly used to losing.

"You didn't scare me," she assured him. "Not at all. I just wondered what... made you... feel that way."

He was silent for a long moment. Metal fingers were trailing through her hair when he spoke again. "I hate the thought of him in that house with you. The way that he talks about you and treats you, touches you..."

"He only touched me for show," she replied. "He doesn't do those things when it's just us. All he cares about are appearances."

"He's an ass," Bucky grumbled.

"He is," she agreed. "And I hate it too."

She almost - almost - admitted her feelings of guilt to him in that moment. It would have been incredibly easy and she felt more than safe enough to be vulnerable like that with him. Instead, however, she held the feelings inside, not wanting to burden him with her silly, self-created problems.

"Do you regret this?"

The question caught her off guard. She looked up to find uncertainty on Bucky's face.

She didn't hesitate with her answer. "No. I don't. The only thing I regret is marrying him." She reached up and touched his face, thumb running over the dimple on his chin as she added, "I think you're the one thing I've gotten right."

He searched her eyes then, looking for signs of doubt or insincerity. When he found none, he leaned in and kissed her lazily. He took her deeper within his arms, and she laid there and didn't say another word, kissing him back like they had all the time in the world. They didn't, though, and all too soon, they both had to get dressed and go their separate ways for the night.

The walk back to the house didn't exactly feel like a walk of shame, but it didn't feel particularly honorable either. She knew that she was stuck in a gray area of life, and those were much harder to understand than simple black and white ones.

She slipped inside unnoticed and quietly made her way to bed, not surprised when the mattress somehow didn't feel as comfortable or safe as the floor of the barn.

After that first day, things fell into a bit of a new routine. Marshall worked five or six days a week at the dealership, so he wasn't around much during the day. At night, he would come home and have dinner, and Summer would do her best to keep things friendly or at least cordial while also keeping him at arm's length until they both went to bed. It was easy this way, and her initial guilt and anxiety calmed some as time went on.

She didn't sneak out at night anymore. Instead, when he was taking a break or had an hour to himself during the daylight hours, Bucky would come over and escape the heat, taking refuge in her home and it's air conditioning. She would feed him, they would talk like they used to do out on the porch while Marshall had been gone, and then they would usually end up in her bed or in her shower, depending on the day. Sometimes she'd find herself on top of the table or on the couch, and what was adventurous to her seemed to be almost routine to him. He had clearly had a much more satisfying life so far than she had, at least when it came to that, but she was grateful for it.

Then, when night came and she was in her bed alone, her phone would light up with texts that she would always remember to delete before she fell asleep. She would always fall asleep before he did, her phone still in her hand, always the first to stop texting. She didn't know that it was because he barely slept when he was alone.

Then, on the one or two days a week when Marshall was home, the routine would time out and Summer would watch slightly nervously as he would traipse around the farm, playing boss. He was still a jerk to the other workers, but he acted like Bucky was the best thing that ever happened to the farm and would drag him around like they were new best friends. Summer had no idea how to feel about it. She had expected the opposite to happen and had been unprepared for this.

She kept to herself and avoided them on those days, for the most part. She'd check up on the animals and take care of her flowers, and when Marshall and Bucky would pass by in mid-conversation, she'd strain her ears to hear what they were talking about.

She heard nothing particularly interesting until about three weeks following Marshall's return. The temperatures were starting to cool now that the tail end of the summer season had arrived, so she wasn't slowly baking as she pruned one of her rose bushes. She was, however, carefully listening to a conversation taking place behind her garden.

There were trees between her and the two men, blocking either from being able to see her and thus know she was even there as she eavesdropped.

"... And I said no, no, I don't run that kind of farm," Marshall laughed. "Although I'm not gonna lie, I bet I'd make a much bigger profit if I did run a marijuana farm."

She rolled her eyes, then heard Bucky reply, "Maybe, but I bet your wife wouldn't be very happy with that."

"Probably not," Marshall agreed.

"This place has always reminded me of one of those farms on old TV shows, real family-type place."

"Yeah," Marshall said, "it's always been that way. I did spend a lot of my childhood here. I was hoping my future kids would too."

Frowning at that sentence, Summer thought about ignoring the rest of the conversation but continued to listen anyway.

Bucky's next question surprised her. "You guys want kids, or..."

They started to walk away then, and she got up and started quietly following them out of sight to hear how that question got answered.

"We did," Marshall said. "We tried. But it didn't work out. I don't think she can carry babies."

She stopped in her tracks then, a sudden chill running down the center of her chest at his words. After all this time, hearing him say that was like opening an old wound and pouring salt directly into it.

"After that, she didn't want to try anymore."

"Oh," Bucky replied. "I'm sorry. She would have been a good mother."

His kind words didn't lessen the sting of tears suddenly in her eyes. Not wanting to hear anymore, she turned and threw off her gloves and left them in her garden as she headed for the house. Once there, she made a beeline for her room and only once she was safely behind her closed door did she let the tears finally fall.

She had sworn the last time he'd made her cry had been the last, that he'd never get to her again. But this... this was beyond her control, and far beyond her ability to turn off her feelings. Some wounds never healed, and some never stopped hurting. And Marshall, having been the only one there with her through the loss of their baby, should have known that. He might not have known that she was listening, but some things shouldn't be said at all, to anyone, especially when they weren't true.

She sat down on her bed, against the pillows at the top of it, and let herself cry out a mixture of old sadness and new anger. It took awhile, but when the tears ran dry and she could feel herself calm down some, she sniffed back the last of the tears and reached for a photo album that she kept in the drawer next to her bed.

She had spent no more than five minutes staring sadly at a particular picture when she heard a gentle knock at the door.

"Go away," she immediately yelled, not wanting to see Marshall's face right now.

"It's not him," a quiet voice said from the other side, just before the door slowly opened. She looked up in shock to see Bucky standing there.

"What are you doing in here?" she whisper-yelled, wondering how the hell he had the nerve to actually show up to her room while Marshall was around.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. "He left," Bucky explained, eyes full of concern as he looked her over. "Crisis at the car dealership or... something." Then he paused and asked quietly, "Are you okay?"

She shook her head, closing the photo album as he walked to the bed. "Yeah. I'll be fine. I really should be used to it by now."

"You shouldn't have to be," he said, climbing in bed to sit beside her. "I didn't know you were listening until I saw you start heading for the house."

She sighed and wiped her eyes with her hands. "He's always blamed me. I knew that, but then to hear him say that I can't have babies, which isn't even true..."

His arm was around her then, pulling her closer to his side. "He's an idiot."

"I know," she said, laying her head on his shoulder. "But it doesn't make it hurt any less."

He nodded, letting her be hurt instead of trying to persuade her otherwise. It was refreshing to not be told how to feel and to simply be allowed to feel whatever it was that she needed to.

After a few moments had passed, Bucky gestured to the photo album still in her lap and asked, "Do I get to see embarrassing pictures of you from high school now?"

She chuckled and shook her head. "No. That's actually my wedding album. I don't know if you want to see those pictures."

"Only if you don't mind," he replied.

"I don't," she said, opening the book to the first page and starting from the beginning.

Her wedding seven years ago had been a small affair, mostly because it had happened quickly and she hadn't had much family of her own to attend, just a few friends and then Marshall's family. She had been younger and incredibly naive, but she looked like the picture of happiness in all of the photos. They even looked good together in them - after all, Marshall wasn't a hideous man. He was average from a physical standpoint. It was the ugliness within that made her recoil from him now.

"You looked beautiful," Bucky said quietly, once they got to a few of the pictures that were of her by herself.

"Yeah, I looked pretty good that day," she agreed. "I thought I was just the luckiest girl. I know he's a dick now but he really did act perfect for a long time. Explains my raging trust issues."

"I can understand that," he said quietly.

They looked through a few more pictures, and then when Bucky caught sight of a small picture with white edges trying to fall out from between two of the latter pages, he pointed to it and said, "What's that?"

She swallowed and for a moment considered just pushing it back between the pages and saying that it was nothing, but it would have been a lie. And on top of that, she was really tired of pretending that it was nothing when really it was the single worst thing that she had ever experienced. She didn't like sharing it with anyone, but Bucky already knew about it and though she hadn't known him that long and she did have raging trust issues... she felt safe sharing this with him.

She pulled out the small, weathered picture and said, "This is the only ultrasound picture I ever got of my baby."

He carefully took the picture from her hand, and he thoughtfully looked it over as she stared at it and was silent for a long moment.

"That was at seven weeks," she explained. "That little dot right there," she pointed at a specific spot, "was its heartbeat. I lost it the next week."

He furrowed his brows, looking to her from the photo and asking, "Did they ever say why it happened?"

She shook her head. "No. But they said that half of first pregnancies end that way, so... it's pretty common. Usually 'chromosomal defects', or at least that's what they think. I could have tried again but... I was scared to death that I'd lose another baby, plus Marshall was such a jerk by then that I didn't really want to have his kids anymore."

Bucky nodded, looking back to the picture and staying quiet. Feeling a little better to have this off her chest, Summer said sadly, "I just really wanted to be a mother."

He took a breath, handing the picture back to her. Then he asked softly, "Your parents are gone, right?"

She nodded, a little confused at the seeming change of topic. Then he said, "But you're still a daughter, even though they're not around." She looked at him in lingering confusion, but he added, "What I'm saying is, just because your baby wasn't born, it doesn't mean you weren't its mother. You are a mother."

While she had thought that she had all but cried herself out earlier, her eyes almost instantly filled with tears the moment the words left his lips. Nobody had ever said anything like that to her before, not even the kind nurses who had treated her when she had lost the baby. She had no idea how else to respond but to wrap her arms around him and hug him like he had just given her a precious gift.

He held her gently in his arms, not saying a word, just being there and letting his presence and comfort show that he cared. It was all she had ever asked of Marshall but far less than she had received, and it made her cry even more to think that maybe, she had finally found what she had been looking for in the wrong place for too long.

Something changed that day, and Summer knew what it was. It was a deeper level of trust on her part, and a mutual but unspoken understanding that whatever it was between them that they had started all those weeks ago, it was something truly substantial. They had known that from the beginning, but now it could no longer be ignored or downplayed in either of their minds. And neither of them were willing to even consider giving it up.

As a result, they started getting a bit sloppy and had two close calls with nearly getting caught together. The first time occurred because Summer had watched Bucky give her a very specific look before disappearing into the barn, in the middle of the afternoon, and she had looked around and determined that it was safe to follow him. Marshall was inside the house on a conference call that he'd just started, and those usually lasted at least an hour.

And so, they tempted fate, devouring one another against one of the walls of the barn. And when Marshall came wandering outside following the cancellation of his call, he headed straight for the barn to grab some supplies out of it, only to be stopped by one of the other hands, named Arturo.

"No, no, no," the young man said, standing in his way and gesturing somewhat wildly with his hands. He fumbled around with his poor English before eventually getting the message across that one of the other guys had fallen ill and was currently laying in the barn with a fever until he felt well enough to walk back to the building in which they lodged. Marshall grumbled about it but headed back to the house anyway. Later, when Arturo told Bucky about the incident, Bucky thanked him profusely and then comforted Summer when she wanted to die of embarrassment.

The next near-miss came a week later, when Summer forgot about Marshall's tendency to come home from work earlier than usual on Fridays. As the sun began to set outside, she headed up to her bedroom and set her sights on her shower, but not before texting Bucky an open invitation first.

She left her phone on her bed and took her time in undressing, giving Bucky time to accept if he wished. Five minutes passed before she stepped into the shower, closing the door behind her and getting under the soothing stream of hot water. Not two more minutes went by before she heard the door open, and she smiled to herself as arms slid around her waist and lips pressed against her shoulder.

"I thought you'd come," she said, melting against him and biting her lip as he kissed up her neck.

"I'll always come for you," he grinned, turning her face towards him so that he could kiss her lips and see the blush on her cheeks.

They took their time in the shower but only teased each other, neither in the mood for anything quick or fleeting, and she was desperate for more by the time he turned off the water and picked her up. He barely took even a moment to dry himself or her off at all, dripping everywhere as he carried her to her bed and dropped her on top of it. She giggled and he grinned, then groaned as he kissed her and picked up where he had left off.

He slowly kissed a trail down her body, driving her to the brink of begging with just the actions of his mouth on her breasts. By now she well knew that they were among his favorite parts of her, and he knew just what to do with them that would make her hips move and seek friction against him and her voice escape her control to start moaning.

Then, right when he had her where he wanted her, he slid down to where she needed him and finally ended the teasing. His mouth set to her with a passion, and all she could do was hold on to his hair and arch off of the bed, disjointed and ragged moans leaving her open mouth. The only thing better than what he could make her feel was how she could tell, beyond a doubt, how much he enjoyed it himself. He loved pleasing her, relished her every moan and every quiver, and there was nothing she could do but happily succumb to him.

At least until she heard the faint slam of the front door downstairs. She froze and so did he, his head shooting up as he looked back at the door and she realized with horror that it was Friday.

"Crap!" She hissed, pushing him off of her and scrambling off of the bed for clothes. She grabbed his and threw them at him, and when he mouthed the words "calm down", she narrowed her eyes and screamed in a whisper, "Don't tell me to calm down! This is bad! You can't just jump out the window!"

He looked at her vaguely, quickly getting his clothes back on while she took a shortcut and just threw a bathrobe on that was luckily laying nearby. She then watched with ever-growing horror and disbelief as he looked towards her window and then walked calmly to it, unlocking it and then lifting it up.

She was at his side in a flash. "Bucky, don't even think about it. You'll hurt yourself, like you could really hurt yourself -"

He interrupted her by kissing her, tongue sliding against hers in an unexpectedly deep kiss that shorted out her brain and almost made her forget that Marshall was probably heading up the staircase by now. She was suddenly all too aware of how Marshall's intrusion had left her teetering on a brink that she now wouldn't get to have, and to make matters so much worse, Bucky then broke the kiss and grinned maddeningly at her as he whispered, "See how good you taste?"

Her face suddenly the color of the tomatoes she grew, her mouth fell open and he merely grinned wider at her before not climbing out of the window but leaping from it. She watched with her jaw on the floor when he tumbled like a ninja the minute he hit the ground, then smoothly propelled himself to his feet and looked up at her from the ground in smug amusement. She watched him then disappear into the trees, like he had never been there at all.

She would deal with his filthy mouth and questions of when and how he had learned to jump from buildings like that later. She had just barely gotten the window down and then turned just in time to deal with the knocking on her door.

Miffed that he had ruined a rather enjoyable moment, she fanned her face to get off the last traces of her blush as she walked to the door and threw it opened, immediately demanding of Marshall, "What?"

His eyebrows furrowed at her unexpected snapping, but then he shook it off and said, "Sorry to... bother you. Just wanted to let you know I brought dinner home."

"Oh. Okay. Thanks," she said, trying to soften her tone and get it together.

He nodded, looking past her into her room for a moment before saying, "And one other thing... I was talking to a guy I sold a car to awhile ago, and a friend of his just opened a new restaurant in town, and it's supposed to be pretty nice. He said he could help get us in for next Thursday."

"Next Thursday?"

"Yeah." He paused, then added, "Our anniversary?"

Oh, crap. "Right, right. Of course, yeah."

He nodded. "So... is that a yes, then?"

She didn't want to say yes, but in that moment she felt trapped and blurted out the first thing that popped into her head. "Okay, sure."

He smiled. "Awesome. You'll love it."

She smiled back weakly. "Yeah, I'm sure I will."

After he headed back down the stairs to get started on dinner, she closed the door and turned around with the intention of getting dressed. Instead, she face-planted into her bed and groaned, wondering why she allowed herself to get into these awkward, weird, miserable situations.

Next to her face, some minutes later, her phone buzzed, and she wearily picked it up to read a new text from Bucky. She was right to be slightly nervous about what it might say.

Imagining your mouth instead of my hand just doesn't compare to the real thing.

Does help though.

She groaned again, though it was more of a whimper this time, and she dropped the phone to the floor, her arm dangling off the bed as her pillow muffled her noise of despair. Her husband was oblivious, and her lover was trying to utterly kill her.

How in the world was all of this going to end?

The night before her anniversary "date", Bucky texted her to come and meet him in the barn. Unable to say no to him and not wanting to in the least, she waited until she was absolutely sure that Marshall was asleep in his room and headed out into the balmy night.

Bucky knew about the date and wasn't happy about it, but he also didn't seem to fault her for going along with it for the sake of peace. He did, however, spend that night in the barn mercilessly marking every inch of her flesh that would be covered by her clothes, and she half-wondered that if she played connect-the-dots with the marks, if it would reveal his name temporarily tattooed upon her.

He was also different that night, quieter than usual but intense, and she suspected that it was anger she was seeing in his eyes every time they would open and bore into hers. He took her not once but twice, nearly without pausing to take a breath in between, and she worried at just what kind of turmoil within could cause that kind of stamina.

She found out the answer as they laid there afterwards, silent for a long time until he spoke first. And just as she suspected, he was angry, but he still spoke in soft, easy tones.

"What are we doing?" he asked, staring up at the ceiling.

She peeked up from his shoulder, her previous relaxation falling away into anxiety as she furrowed her brows. "What do you mean?"

He paused, taking a moment to think and gather his words before he spoke again. "I mean... I know you hate him. He makes you miserable and you want him gone but then you... you go and agree to a date with him."

"I told you why I did that," she said quietly, dreading where this conversation was going.

"I know," he said, shifting down so that his face was nearly level with hers. "I know, but the way that you're handling this, he's gonna get false hope and nothing is ever gonna change. He'll never leave. He loves you, in his own twisted way -"

"No he doesn't," she insisted, briefly aghast that he'd even say that.

"Yes he does," Bucky argued softly. "It's not... real love, but he thinks it is and I know that from talking to him. He's never gonna let you go on his own. And every bone you throw him, he's gonna take it as a lot more than it actually is."

"What else am I supposed to do?" she asked. "I hate this too, but I can't leave yet. I've got a stash that I'm trying to build up for a lawyer but it's taking forever and..."

"We could leave," he interrupted, and the words caught her completely by surprise. "We could."

She stared at him in shock for a moment before her brain caught up. "Where would we go? How would we live? Your job is here and I have barely any money of my own. I haven't worked in years - I mean I could work, but it wouldn't be a good job and I wouldn't make much, and -"

"We'd figure it out," he shrugged, but she looked at him doubtfully.

"What if we didn't? Running away like that never even works in the movies, let alone in real life. And what about everybody here? He'd treat them even worse and I wouldn't be around to give them extra money when I can, and -"

"They're not your responsibility," he pointed out. "They're grown men."

"Yeah, but they're in a bad situation too. They don't want to be here. You weren't here when I had to drive Manny to the ER with heat exhaustion because of how hard Marshall worked him one day last year."

Bucky paused but replied, "Thinking about yourself for once in your life wouldn't make you a bad person, Summer."

"No, but really think through what you're saying," she said. "It's not practical. And you would have to start over again somewhere, and find new work, and I don't want to do that to you just because of me and my stupid issues."

"So don't do it for you," he said. "Do it for me."

She paused, searching his eyes and feeling her heart sink a little at what she feared he was trying to say. "Please don't turn this into something where you make me choose between you and something else because that's really not fair."

"None of this is fair," he replied. "It's not fair to me either."

She then watched with wide eyes and growing fear as he sat up, gently easing her out of his arms in the process as he went on. "I can barely stand this anymore. I can be patient and wait but I can't sit here and watch him with you. You don't know what it does to me."

She sat up, her mind racing immediately to the worst conclusion possible because the worst was what she had long learned to get used to. "What are you saying?"

He paused as he searched for words, looking down first and then, when he looked back to her, widening his eyes and asking quietly, "Why are you crying?"

She wasn't crying yet, but he apparently knew exactly what she looked like just before the tears were about to come. "Because," she blurted out, "I know what you're about to say and I'm such an idiot..."

Before she could completely lose it and start crying, his hand was on the side of her face and he said, "God, Summer, I'm not going anywhere, if that's what you're thinking."

Genuinely surprised because she really had thought the worst, she blinked and sniffed back the ridiculous tears. "... Really?"

"Yes," he sighed, looking at her sadly, like the fact that she had believed such a thing truly pained him.

She sighed and covered her face with her hand in embarrassment. "I'm sorry. You must think I'm crazy."

He shook his head. "Not crazy. Just... married to a man who's never treated you well a day in your life."

She laughed despite the lack of humor in his words. "Yeah. You're not wrong."

His fingers under her chin tipped her head up a little bit, and he said, "I'm not going anywhere. I wouldn't leave you here. You should know that by now."

"... Trust issues?" she smiled weakly.

He frowned for a moment. "I know. But the thing is... this is hard for me. I'm not good at sharing."

"You're not sharing," she said. "I don't even wear a ring. I don't touch him."

"But you live with him. You have his name. He feeds you, he clothes you," Bucky muttered. "And tomorrow you're gonna be drinking champagne with him celebrating your anniversary while I'm sitting here waiting for you to get back so I can have my one hour a day with you. Maybe get you to come out here so I can do this to you," he gestured to the wide array of marks his mouth had left on her body, "and pretend that you're mine."

"You're not pretending," she shook her head. "I am yours. I'm yours in every way that counts. I lo-"

She snapped her mouth shut in sudden awareness of what was about to fly out of it. The silence following her near-confession was louder than a if a hurricane had swept by and left nothing standing. The look of hope on his face followed by possibly hurt resignation when she didn't finish her sentence made her face flare up in sudden shame, but whatever she did, she couldn't finish the word. She just couldn't.

"I want to say it, Bucky," she said quietly, no use in pretending that the moment hadn't happened. "But I am really scared to because we haven't been together that long, and I went too fast with him too, and look how we turned out - I don't want the same thing to happen to us, or..."

"It's okay," he nodded, shushing her. "I understand."

"You do?"

He nodded again. "You don't have to say anything you're not ready to."

She breathed in relief, though she wished that she had just said it. That hopeful look on his face had just about been the death of her.

Then his hand slid down to hers, held it gently as his thumb ran over the back of her hand, and her eyes snapped up to his in shock when he spoke again.

"But I do love you."

Her mouth fell open and she gaped, knowing she looked ridiculous and not caring. But the way that he was looking at her as he said those words - soft and caring and real and, yes, even loving - it was too much and she suddenly felt like she might faint.

"I do," he said, pulling her closer, still holding on to her hand. He smiled to himself and, looking down at their hands, said, "I don't know when it started but I do know it was never just about sex or having you. And I know it hasn't been long, but I don't care."

Her heart felt like it might burst in her chest, and one part of her wanted to smile wide enough to potentially break her own face, while the other wanted to cry for all of this being so damn perfect but so stuck within a terrible situation. She should have been shouting with joy from the rooftops, having this incredible man in love with her, but their love was trapped inside of the barn that they were sitting in.

It had to change. He was right. It wasn't fair to him. It wasn't fair to her. It wasn't even fair to Marshall.

"How can you know?" she asked, the last of her doubts making themselves known.

He didn't answer right away. She watched a lot of emotions flicker across his face - sadness, fear, apprehension - but the softness had come back to his eyes by the time he replied to her. "Because for a long time, I felt nothing. Like you before, but a lot worse. I might as well have been dead. It took me a long time to start living again. Took me even longer to want to."

She listened carefully, committing every word to memory, because he had never opened up like this before. He turned her hand over and ran his thumb across her palm before looking up at her. "I came here to get away and forget everything."

"Did you?" she asked.

"No," he smiled faintly. "You helped me remember."

"Good things, though, right?" she asked, not sure how much more of this she could take before she would simply burst.

"Only good things," he replied just above a whisper before leaning in and kissing her softly.

She hugged him close to her and kissed him back, in shock at how the night had ended up, and incredibly grateful for it. She wondered how she had missed it all this time, the loving way that he touched her and looked at her - was she just really that unfamiliar with it that she simply hadn't known what to look for?

"One other thing you helped me remember," he said, kissing her cheek. "I'm a jealous bastard."

She chuckled, running her fingers through the ends of his hair above his neck. "I noticed. But I don't mind."

He kissed her again, then murmured, "You kind of look like you have chicken pox now."

She looked down and then burst out laughing for a moment. "Really dark chicken pox. Do your lips hurt after doing all of that?"

"A little," he admitted. "But I had to."

"I know," she said quietly, kissing him one more time before signing and resting her chin on his shoulder, closing her eyes as his hand rubbed down her back. "I need to tell him."

"Yeah," Bucky agreed.

"I don't know how."

"We'll figure it out," he assured her.

She hoped they would, because like him, she knew now that she couldn't live like this for much longer. It was time for a change, and time to be brave.

If only it wasn't easier said than done.

The next day, she dressed for her anniversary dinner on autopilot. Marshall had pulled out all the stops, even buying her a new dress for the occasion, and she couldn't even pretend that she didn't really like the dress. He didn't know her taste in flowers or most anything else, but he did apparently know how she liked to dress.

The restaurant was in the heart of the bustling nearby town, and it was as nice as he had claimed it was. He bought the most expensive bottle of champagne on the menu, told her to order whatever she wanted, and all in all looked rather excited about the date.

He had no idea that she spent the entire meal agonizing internally over how to tell him that she had fallen in love with the farm hand that he'd promoted to foreman and considered to be a friend, and that they had been in a relationship for nearly four months now and were quite serious.

As horrible as he had been to her over the years, Summer immediately realized that she couldn't tell him during an anniversary dinner of all things. He might have been mean, insensitive, and a whole slew of other things, but even now, despite how she was deceiving him on a daily basis, she still couldn't find in herself to be mean back and crush his hopes and their entire marriage over dinner.

She was almost disappointed in herself, but she couldn't muster up a single grain of truth throughout the hour they spent eating and chatting. He was trying to be charming again, acting a bit like he used to, before everything had gone to hell years ago, but it didn't work now like it had then. She knew all his tricks, everything he did to make people like him and trust him, and there was truly no going back. If Bucky hadn't existed or had found work somewhere else and she had never met him, it wouldn't have changed that fact.

So while she smiled and toasted eight years with her third glass of champagne, inside she was merely debating how and when to drop the bomb on him. Sitting there, in an expensive dress and eating a dinner worth more than what he paid the other hands in two weeks, it had never been more clear how little money mattered in the grand scheme of things. Maybe Bucky had been right about running away, because she decided that she would rather live on a prayer with him than spend another day in the comfort of Marshall's money, if it meant no longer living a blatant lie.

She'd lose the farm, and that would hurt. It was the one place that felt like home, the thing that had been a source of joy and comfort when nothing else had been. But what else could she do?

She was silent most of the way home, too lost in thought and preoccupied with appearing as if she was perfectly fine to talk or even be present. Marshall was fine with that, listening to a game on a sports talk radio station, and she merely counted the minutes until they were home and she could take refuge in her room.

And that was exactly what she did once the car pulled up on the familiar driveway. She thanked him politely for the dinner and then was inside and up the stairs before he had even locked the car. It really wasn't that out of character for her or beyond what he should expect from her at this point, so she didn't think twice about it.

But she should have, and she should have locked her door as well. Having done neither of those things, she kicked off her high heels and then unzipped the back of her dress, pulling it down and then jumping in surprise when the door opened behind her and her husband walked inside nonchalantly, holding the purse that she had forgotten in the car like moron.

"What the -" she squeaked in surprise, trying to pull the dress up despite the fact that he wasn't seeing anything he hadn't seen before.

"Sorry, but you left your purse, so I... what is all of that on your skin?"

She froze. First came shock, then came horror, then denial as she zipped the dress back up and shrugged it off. "Nothing."

He looked at her in confusion. "That didn't look like nothing. It looked like..."

The world's biggest smattering of jealousy induced hickeys were the words he was looking for, but she sure as hell wasn't going to supply them for him.

"It's nothing," she insisted, though she knew her face was on fire and her terrible lying skills were coming back to bite her. "Just hand me my purse."

She reached for it, but he jerked it back, and she realized what was happening. He was adding two and two in his head and very possibly getting four.

"... Who did that to you?" he asked quietly.

"... Nobody did anything to me," she tried to say convincingly.

"God, Summer, I'm not that stupid," he said, wincing slightly. "Who was it?"

When she said nothing, suddenly completely unprepared for this conversation now that it was actually happening, Marshall decided to reach into her purse and grab her phone.

Her instant panicked response was the red flag he had been looking for. "Don't - dammit, just give me my phone!"

She tried to grab it, but he easily brushed her off and held the phone out of reach. She then watched helplessly as he found out the truth for himself, pulling up her texts with Bucky from that day that she hadn't gotten around to deleting yet.

They had talked about her date tonight, about when and how she would tell Marshall the truth, and how lucky she was that the dress he'd gotten her just so happened to cover the plethora of marks left by Bucky's mouth the night before. It was as damning as any evidence could be, and sharp, unavoidable, undeniable guilt pierced her heart at the look on Marshall's face as he read them.

It didn't matter that he technically deserved it after probably doing the same thing to her plenty of times over the years, not to mention all the other, deeper ways that he had hurt her through such trusty methods as verbal, emotional and even physical abuse. None of that mattered to her at that moment, because she was supposed to be better than this.

All the justifications and excuses in the world couldn't have done a damn thing to make her feel any better as he looked up at her in pure shock and dismay.

"How long?" he asked in a small voice.

She blinked, finding her voice. "Four months next week."

"He's only been here five months," he said a little breathlessly, dropping her purse and phone to the floor.

"I was going to tell you," she said quietly. "You saw that in the texts. I just didn't know how and..."

"I knew you hated me," he said, staring at the floor, face awash in confusion still. "I knew that but I never thought you'd..."

"... Like you didn't?" she asked carefully. "We haven't slept together in almost three years, Marshall. You can't tell me you haven't cheated since then."

He laughed, though it came out as more of a wheezing sound, and he replied, "Actually, no, I haven't, believe it or not. I did try once or twice. But I couldn't go through with it." Then he turned growing-colder eyes on her and said, "Obviously you didn't have that problem."

She wasn't sure if she believed him, but his last jab was what she focused on. "That is not fair and you know it. We're separated. I haven't worn a ring in years, we don't kiss, we don't do anything - we're only married on paper."

"I thought that piece of paper mattered to you, though," he said. "It used to. I don't know who you are anymore."

"You've never known me," she shrugged. It was nothing but true.

He raised an eyebrow. "And he does?"

She closed her eyes briefly and swallowed. "Don't... just don't do this, okay? You found out. You know now. I didn't do this to hurt you. Can we just... talk it out and... figure something out or..."

He laughed. This time it was a derisive sound. "Right, right, talk it out. Because there's so much to talk about now?"

She sighed. "Marshall..."

His hand suddenly slapped against the doorframe, and the sound made her jump a little. He shook his head and muttered, "Don't. Don't talk to me."

He then turned and stomped down the staircase. She walked to her doorframe and watched him make an angry beeline for the front door, and she quickly made her way down as well, wanting to make sure that he wasn't going to go find Bucky and try to start a fight that he had not a single hope in winning.

But she ended up watching him get into his car and peel out of the driveway instead. She sighed in relief, and only then did she realize how badly her legs were shaking.

As nerve wracking and horrific as that initial moment of discovery had been, and as nervous and unsure as she still was, there was something so distinctly relieving about it being out and over and done with that she wondered why she hadn't done this months ago.

Willing her legs to steady themselves, she went back up the stairs and grabbed her phone from the floor. She sent a very badly misspelled text to Bucky - her fingers were also apparently shaking - and then sat down on the edge of her bed.

He was inside the house and in her room so fast she almost laughed. When his face popped up in the doorway, he said with alarm written on his face, "He knows?"

She nodded. "Yep."

He hurried to sit down at her side. "How?"

She told him the story, steadiness returning to her limbs now that it was over and she could talk it out and make sense of it all. He listened quietly, apologizing when she mentioned how the marks on her body had been the giveaway, and then, after they had sat in a silence for a moment, he asked the one question that was at the forefront on both of their minds.

"What now?"

She shrugged. "I have no idea. Hopefully he calms down and comes home and we can talk about how we're gonna get divorced. He was actually kinda calm the whole time, so... maybe this will all go better than I expected."

Bucky was quiet for a moment. "Okay, but I'm gonna be close tonight when he comes back. Just in case. I'll be out in the barn. I want you to call me if you think there's even the smallest chance that he'll hurt you."

She nodded. "Okay. I don't think it'll come to that, but..."

"I hope it doesn't. But I'll be here in case it does."

"Okay. Thank you," she smiled.

He cocked his head a little at her smile, then observed with a small one of his own, "You seem pretty... okay with all of this."

"I think I'm just relieved," she sighed. "I'm embarrassed and my guilt just went through the roof, but... keeping us a secret was killing me and I didn't even know it."

He nodded, covering one of her hands with his and replying, "Well, it's over now. Whatever happens next, you're not alone."

She smiled at him. "I know. Thank you."

He smiled back and gave her a gentle kiss, neither of them aware that the real storm was yet to come.

True to his word, Bucky stayed close to the house all night. Summer had decided to turn in for the night, though she doubted that she'd get any sleep, and Bucky took up watch outside of the barn. He didn't care what she said - the bastard had hit her once before, and that meant that he could damn well do it again, especially now that he knew about their relationship.

It was nearly midnight when he heard footsteps approached and looked up to find Arturo heading his way. The man sat down next to him, handed him a bottle of beer, and asked in his native Spanish, "Why are you watching the house?"

"Boss found out," Bucky replied, easily shifting to the other language. "Just making sure I'm close by in case he tries to hurt her when he comes back."

Arturo's eyes widened and he said, "He'll try to kill you."

Bucky chuckled, taking a drink from the bottle. "I'm not worried about that. But I assume that I'm fired."

"You are crazy," the man laughed. "Crazy! I told you from the beginning."

"You're the one who got us to dance," Bucky pointed out. "You said we reminded you of some movie and belonged together or something."

"Yes, Titanic," Arturo nodded, "where the guy dies at the end."

Bucky shrugged. "I don't see any boats around here."

Arturo sighed, taking a long drink from his own bottle. "It's funny. He was the last to know. We all had bets going for how long you two could keep fooling him."

Bucky raised an eyebrow, having not known that everybody knew. "Who won?"

"I did," Arturo grinned. "Everyone else gave him too much credit, thought he'd figure it out sooner."

"I tried to be subtle," Bucky muttered.

"You were about as subtle as an elephant in the middle of Times Square, my friend," Arturo shrugged. "Even Hector figured it out and he barely knows a goat from a sheep." Bucky chuckled, shaking his head at himself, and Arturo gave his shoulder a pat. "Don't feel bad. You tried. And we are all for you and her."

Bucky glanced at him in surprise. "Why?"

"I have been here three years," Arturo said. "She never smiled until you came here. But she's always been good to us. She cares. He never has."

Bucky nodded, then looked up when he saw headlights coming down the driveway. He braced himself, thinking that this was the real moment of truth, and the moment where Marshall's real reaction would come out. He hoped for the best but expected the worst.

Setting his bottle down on the ground, he watched from afar as Marshall opened the car door and stumbled out of it, clutching a dark square-shaped bottle in his hand. He slammed the door shut, then half-slumped against it, taking a drink from the bottle, and then he straightened up and starting walking in the opposite direction of the house.

"He's drunk," Bucky said, stating the obvious. He stood up, watching carefully as the man wandered off, and then Bucky began to follow him without a second thought.

He stayed far enough behind that he wouldn't be noticed, and Arturo came with him. Marshall yelled at a few animals to shut up, stumbling a few more times, and Bucky considered it a miracle that the man had actually driven home in one piece.

But, he realized all too late where it was that Marshall was heading towards. Trying to remain hidden, he stood behind a tree and then watched Marshall step into Summer's garden. The bottle of whiskey in his hand was then emptied out all over the flowers that she spent every day tending to, and then before Bucky could do a thing to stop it, Marshall fumbled with a pack of matches in his pocket, lit one, and tossed it on the ground.

Arturo cursed and immediately ran off to grab the nearest hose. Bucky merely stood there and watched in horror as Summer's garden went up in flames.

Summer woke up with a sudden jerk, but she didn't know why. She laid there in the dark, all of the night's events rushing back to her, and she glanced at her clock on her nightstand. It wasn't even one in the morning yet.

She sighed and closed her eyes, trying to force herself back to sleep. But then she heard shouting. It was faint, but it made her eyes open and ears perk up. She sat up, squinting, and then she heard what sounded like glass shattering outside.

Scrambling out of bed, she hurried to her window and looked out, but she couldn't see much aside from Marshall's car back in the driveway. That along with the shouting was enough, however, so she quickly threw on a pair of shoes and then ran out of her room and down the stairs, bursting outside in her pajamas and hoping that some horrible fistfight wasn't happening.

As soon as the night air hit her nose, she smelled smoke. She saw it, too, and it was coming from the direction of her garden. That was also where the shouting was coming from.

She ran as fast as her feet could take her, and once her beloved garden came into view, her heart sunk at what she saw. It was on fire, every last bit of it, and two of her workers were taking hoses to the blaze to put it out while Marshall was yelling drunkenly at Bucky.

He had burned her garden. The one part of the farm that was really hers, the place that she had invested so much time and energy and love into... up in flames. Just like everything else of hers that he had ever touched.

He was punishing her.

She turned her head and watched Marshall take out his anger on the man she loved.

"... Her, I understand. Hasn't wanted me in years, but you - you. I gave you work, a home, I trusted you and you went behind my back and fu-"

Before he could finish his sentence, she marched right up to him and slapped him hard across the face. He hadn't known that she was even there, so he was doubly shocked and nearly stumbled on the ground as she yelled with all of her anger, "How could you?!"

"How could I?" he slurred, trying to get back on his feet. "How could you?"

Bucky grabbed on to her arms to hold her back and also protect her from Marshall as she let her fury take over. "You can't let me have anything, can you? Not one thing, even -"

"No, I've given you everything you have," he said, pointing at her. "You had nothing when I found you."

"And I have nothing now!" she retorted. "But I'd rather have nothing than spend one more day married to you. I'm done."

He shook his head. "We're not done til I say we're done."

He then went off towards the house, and Bucky was caught between restraining Summer and helping his fellow workers put out the fire. They were yelling for his help, but he didn't want to let Summer go. She broke free anyway.

"Summer, let him go, please," Bucky pleaded, taking her hand when she tried to dash off.

She turned back and looked at him, shaking her head. "I can't."

"He's drunk, he's dangerous."

"He burned my garden," she said, choking on the words a little. It was just so cruel. "I'm not taking his crap anymore. He doesn't get to hurt me again. Let me go, Bucky."

She saw in his eyes how much he didn't want to, but in the end, he did let go. She thanked him and then took one more look at her garden, or what had once been it, and her anger provided all the courage she needed to to walk back inside the house and confront Marshall one more time.

She found him in the kitchen, searching their cabinets for more liquor. She kept a safe distance at first, observing, "I think you're drunk enough."

He laughed and found a half-empty bottle of vodka. "I'm not even near drunk enough."

She sighed. "I don't get it. I know that I hid something from you. I get that you're hurt, but look at us. We haven't actually been together in years. We've been on the brink of way divorce longer than we were ever happy - what is this?"

"Because you checked out years ago, I get that," he muttered, leaning against the counter with vodka in hand. "But unlike you, I actually still love you. I was stupid enough to hold out hope and try to get you to love me back and -"

"You've got a weird way of doing that," she said incredulously. "Are you even aware of how you treat me?"

"Is that your excuse?" he asked. "Sometimes I lose my temper, so you decide to go and fuck the help?"

She flinched a little and muttered, "It was not like that."

"So what was it like? I don't even remember what you're like in bed. What's he like? You always asked me to be more, what was it - spontaneous? Adventurous, or something? Is that what he is?"

"I'm not talking to you until you're sober," she frowned, turning around and intending to leave him be until morning. Instead, he followed her and grabbed her arm, turning her back around to face him.

"No, we're talking now. And I asked you a question."

The grip on her arm tight enough to just hurt, she tried to pry his hand off while giving him a look of distaste. "I'm not answering you. Let me go."

He didn't let go. Instead he turned her towards the counter, and he had her pinned against it before she could realize it. "Maybe I could be like him. I know you hate me but maybe if you let me touch you once in your fucking life..."

Alarms started to ring in her head, and she realized that this could go very bad very quickly. He was beyond drunk, beyond reason, and both of his hands now gripped her arms in rather painful holds. But she stood her ground and said through gritted teeth, "Let me go."

"I don't want to," he replied. "You'll just run to him. I'm sick of you running from me."

"So what are you gonna do," she asked, "force yourself on me?"

"You're my wife," he muttered. "It's not forcing if it's your job."

One of his hands then left her arm, and while it moved down to presumably start ripping her clothes off, she warned in a slightly shaky voice, "Let me go or I'll -"

"What? What'll you do?" he taunted, laughing, holding her tighter.

She showed rather than told what she'd do. She reached across the counter, grabbed a frying pan sitting on the stove, and whacked him over the head with it. It caught him completely by surprise, and he fell back against the kitchen island with a shocked wail, though she could have hit him much harder.

"What the hell," he cried, stumbling to the floor, holding his head where she had hit it and staring at her with shock and even fear.

A little in shock herself over what she had just done - she had never really hit anyone before, and especially not with something - a sudden surge of courage and purpose flooded her veins. While she had always played it off to Bucky, the truth was that she did fear Marshall and always had. But seeing him like this now and standing over him after having finally, finally, defended herself, she could see who and what he was more clearly than she ever had before.

"I don't love you," she told him for the first time. "And you don't love me either, not really, because if you did, you wouldn't hurt me like you have since day one." He looked up at her in bewilderment, eyes wide and hands still clutching his head. She dropped the frying pan back on the stove and said, "That's the last time you ever touch me. Or hurt me."

Then she turned and walked away, and where earlier there had been shaking in her legs, now there was steadiness. She had been waiting years to walk away from this man, and the relief and satisfaction of finally doing it calmed her and balanced the riptide of emotions within - to a point.

Whatever happened next, regardless of whether he tried to fight her or if he gladly let her go, she wasn't going back, not for anything. After all, following what had happened in the kitchen those few moments ago, there could be no going back.

When she got outside, Bucky was on his way in, the fire now put out. He caught her halfway to the door and asked, "Are you okay? Did he -"

She shook her head. "I'm fine. I'm okay. But can I stay with you tonight?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course," he said, taking her hand and leading her away from the house. He glanced back at it and asked, "What happened?"

"... He threatened to rape me, basically, so I hit him over the head with a frying pan."

Bucky stopped dead in his tracks, and she stopped too, looking at the sudden murderous gleam in his eye. Her eyes widened, suddenly struck at his expression because she had never seen that kind of look from him before - and he looked like he really was capable of killing.

Wordlessly, he turned to march towards the house, but she stopped him. "Bucky, no - he's not worth it, and I took care of it."

"I'll kill him," Bucky said, trying to gently ease her away from him so he could go on his way.

"I believe you," she said with still-wide eyes, "and that's why you need to not go in there."

"But-"

"I'm fine," she assured him. "But I kinda need you right now and if you kill him you'll go to jail and that would really suck."

Reason slowly returned to his eyes, and he took a steadying breath, eventually nodding, though the darkness didn't leave his eyes. She sighed in relief, and then he took her hand and said, "Let's go before I change my mind."

A short trek across the property later, Summer found herself somewhere she hadn't been before - his rather small room in the building that the other hands lodged in. It was on the ground floor, in the corner of the building. The first thing that struck her about the building was how hot it was - there was no way that the air conditioning was working properly, but not once had Bucky or anyone else mentioned it to her.

She stayed quiet when he brought her inside of his room and shut the door behind him. He had never wanted to bring her here, and she could see why - it was very small, the bed probably barely big enough for just him, and somehow the barn was always cooler than what it felt like in there. He had very few belongings from the looks of it, just a few boxes on the floor and and clothes that sat in a basket for lack of a closet or furniture.

She suddenly felt bad for being unaware of the living conditions of her workers. The size of the room wasn't the problem, but the heat was. She watched him go to the sole window in the room and open it, then turn on a tiny fan in the corner before turning to her and saying, "I know it's not very comfortable in here, but..."

"Yeah, we need to replace the AC, obviously," she said, "but I don't mind. I'd sleep in a cardboard box tonight before I'd sleep anywhere near him."

He nodded, then somewhat unexpectedly pulled her into a hug as they stood there in the middle of his room. His hand was on top of her hair as he asked quietly near her ear, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"... I think so," she said, drawing back a little. His fingers moved her hair behind her ear as she shrugged, "I didn't think he'd do that, but... he was drunk and angry, and..."

"Don't make excuses for him," Bucky said quietly but seriously. "There's no excuse for what he did."

"I know. I know, I just... I'm glad that frying pan was nearby." She smiled and tried to make light of it all, but Bucky wasn't smiling back.

His eyes "If he had touched one hair on your head..."

"He didn't," she pointed out.

"But he could have," Bucky said. "If he's still here in the morning, we've got to leave."

Before, she would have argued. Now, she could think of nothing to say to possibly dispute what he was saying, so she nodded. "Okay."

"We'll find somewhere to live. I have a friend we can stay with for awhile if we need to."

"You do?"

"Yes. We'll just... we'll figure it out in the morning. You should sleep."

She wasn't sure that she could sleep at this point, but she nodded anyway and let him lead her to his small bed. She sat down on the side of it, and she was a little surprised when he knelt down in front of her and started taking her shoes off. Once he had them on the floor, he looked up at her, then the bed, and said, "If you want more room I can sleep on the floor, or..."

"No," she shook her head, taking his hand and scooting back on the bed to make room for him. "I don't think I'll be able to fall asleep without you."

He understood, and though fitting them both on the bed meant both of them halfway falling off of the sides, they somehow made it work. None of the difficulties mattered, because after the day and the night that Summer had, being able to end it all in the arms of someone she trusted and felt safe with was far more than she thought she would ever have.

Her garden was burned, her marriage was more over than it had ever been, and she expected to wake up to being kicked off the farm and tossed into the street. She had no idea what the future held or how she would cope with it, but what she did know was that standing up to her fears and to Marshall left her feeling finally good about herself for the first time in a long time.

If she could do that, then surely she could take whatever life threw at her next and make it. She'd survived this long, and maybe now she would finally have a shot at really living.

And having a man at her side who loved her and would kill to protect her certainly didn't hurt her chances.

Summer woke up in the morning to find Marshall's car gone. She tried to avoid looking at the burned remains of her garden as she made her way to the front door of her home, Bucky trailing behind her, both of them sore from uncomfortable sleep but neither caring. The plan was to get in, get what she needed, and then leave.

But, life had a way of turning plans on their heads, and this time was no exception. Summer walked into the kitchen and found a handwritten letter on the table that changed everything.

Stepping to the table, she picked up the piece of paper and expected the worst. Instead, as she read it, she got the opposite.

Summer,

I don't know what's wrong with me. I don't know what to say. Sorry won't ever be good enough. I don't think anything will, and I don't deserve your forgiveness anyway. What I did and said last night was unforgivable and I hate myself. I don't think you could hate me more than I do.

I don't know what to do but I obviously need help. There's something wrong with me and I don't think realized it until you hit me with that frying pan. All this time I thought I loved you and was fighting for us but if last night was what came out of all of that then maybe I should have let you go the first time you tried to leave like four years ago. I think you're right. Love doesn't do what I did. Maybe I don't know what love is. Maybe I never have.

In the past, she had heard things along these lines before from him. Not exactly like this, but they had broken up and come back together so many times that these elaborate apologies and self-flagellation had become part of the routine, to an extent. With a skeptical eye, she read on.

I don't want to hurt you anymore. You can have the farm. We both know I'm no good with it anyway. I'll move to the city. I'm sorry about the garden. I just wanted to hurt you so bad and I didn't even think about what I was doing. I just wish that you had been honest with me about him. I want to blame you for everything I did, because it wasn't right and it was deceptive and I just didn't see it coming, but that's what else makes me think there's something wrong with me. I sound like one of those lowlifes who blames the victim and that's the last thing I ever wanted to be.

... Was this a trick? Was he sincere or was this another act of manipulation? Did he really feel as bad about himself as his words suggested, or was he only interested in giving her what she wanted in order to keep her silent on last night's events? He prided himself on how everyone at work and in his social circle loved him, and surely he would do anything to keep his reputation intact. The fact was, after all she had seen from him, she simply could know if his sentiments were real or not.

Not that I'm trying to defend myself at all, but I want you to know that I was telling the truth about cheating on you. I never have, aside from two kisses that I felt horrible about. I guess that's the one thing I didn't do to you. I wish I had instead of the things I did do.

I'll call my lawyer and get the papers filed. You can have the farm and whatever else you want. I'll send someone by for my things. It'll probably take a few weeks to draw up stuff to get ownership of the property transferred over to you but I'll get on it. Least I can do after everything you've suffered because of me.

I wish everything had been different. I wish I was different.

M.

By the time she finished reading the letter, her hands were shaking again, but not in the way that they had been the day before. Her heart was suddenly pounding and her eyes were filling with tears, and Bucky thought at first that she had read something horrible, but she put the letter down and looked at him with wide, shiny, incredibly shocked eyes.

"Holy crap."

Unable to say anything else, she pushed the letter towards him and then half-collapsed into a chair, all of the emotions she had been dealing with - the good and the bad - bubbling up into a lump in her throat and tears that started falling from her eyes beyond her control.

It was over. It was truly, finally, completely over. And she got to keep her home.

"My God," Bucky said, setting down the letter when he was done.

She looked up at him. "I know. I'm in shock. Am I dreaming?"

He shook his head, then took the seat next to hers. "I sure as hell hope not."

She laughed, wiping away the tears of confusion and happiness mixed. "This is so weird. I never thought he'd do this in a million years."

"You must have literally knocked some sense into him with that frying pan."

She laughed again. "I mean, I still hate him and this doesn't change anything as far as he goes, but my God... what do I even do now?"

Bucky's answer came without hesitation. "You start over."

"How?"

He paused, looking down before taking a breath and looking up at her. She knew that he spoke his next words from experience. "You just... do. Take it all a day at a time. Next thing you know you're somewhere you never thought you'd be."

"Is that what you did?" she asked with a small smile.

He nodded, mirroring her smile. "Yeah."

She took a deep breath then, looking around the room and out the window above the sink across the kitchen, where the morning sun was lighting the new day, and the thought of everything around her soon being truly and legally hers made the smile on her face grow even more. What had been dim and damn near hopeless months ago now was bright and promising, even if it took her fair share of fire to get there.

She turned back to Bucky, who was not her savior but rather the catalyst that had set into motion events that had resulted in her saving herself, and she knew then in that moment that she loved him. She adored him, treasured him, and would go to her grave owing more to him than she thought she could ever repay him. But, she said none of those things, because the turn of events had not magically erased her underlying fears or lack of trust in herself to not screw things up.

Some things took a lot more than a letter to fix. But there was time to work on those things now, so she merely smiled at him while inside, her heart swelled with new hope for the future. Their future.

"Guess I gotta start calling you boss now," he said with a certain look in his eye, lips turning up at the corner in half of a grin.

She smiled and giggled, the sound so light that it sounded strange, but a good strange.

Everything was about to change. For the first time in a very long time, however, she wasn't terrified at the prospect of such change. The time for allowing fear to rule was over; now it was time to be brave.

And she couldn't wait to be brave.

A month passed. In that time, Summer became the official owner of the farm and also became legally separated pending divorce proceedings. If all went well, and if Marshall kept to his word about letting her have what she wanted and not fighting over it, she could be legally free of him in mere months.

Other things changed, as well. Bucky moved into the house upon her insistence. They celebrated this development over nearly every inch of the house in ever-more interesting and creative ways, never getting tired of their new freedom. Something else that she gave high priority to was having the air conditioning fixed in the building that her workers lived in, and she used some extra funds to have the building renovated.

More changes were also in order. The day that her name was officially the only one affixed to the land, she had Bucky gather the workers to the front of the property and stood in front of them with a big smile on her face, ready to go over the new rules with them while Bucky served as translator.

Under the cool autumn morning sky, she began, "So... as you all know, Marshall's gone. I'm officially owner of this farm now, so naturally... I'm gonna change some stuff."

Bucky translating this into smooth-sounding Spanish was a little distracting, but she kept her head about her, even when he turned and flashed her a grin. "First things first - you're all getting raises and more time off."

If the men weren't already incredibly fond of her, they certainly were then.

Smiling at the quiet cheers and words of gratitude that they called out to her, she went on, "I'm no slavedriver, and none of you are slaves. You're all good, hard working men, and I'm sorry that you haven't been treated that way, but that changes now. Oh, and play your music as loud as you want whenever you want. You can throw parties too, as long as I'm invited."

They laughed at this, and she smiled back before concluding, "Anything any of you need, let me know and I'll do the best I can. I'm still figuring out how to do this but I'm getting there, and you're all amazing. I mean it. Thank you for all that every one of you has done."

It felt good to see the guys smile and know that a new day really had come. There would be no going back to their old way of life, and as they dispersed, some came up to her and hugged her while others shook her hand and expressed their gratitude in words that Bucky helpfully translated for her. When the last one had gone, she sighed and turned to Bucky, smiling and musing, "Well, that went well."

"You knew it would," he grinned, stepping closer to her and fixing a strap of her dress that was trying to fall down her shoulder. "Hey, do you have a minute?"

"For you, I probably have like five," she teased, and he grinned before placing a quick but sweet kiss to her lips.

"Good. Because I've got something to show you."

"Okay," she replied, letting his hand take hers as he led her away from the house.

She had learned a lot about him in the last month. She learned about the nightmares that plagued his mind at night, which he had kept from her before, and the effects that the war had on him. She had begun to scratch the surface of the darkness within him, but only just. He wasn't quite ready yet to tell her the story of his arm, or what haunted his dreams at night, and she was okay with that. They were growing together at their own paces, and the lack of pressure between them was not only refreshing but necessary. Neither of them were whole or unblemished, and neither of them needed to be.

He took her through some trees and down a short path that took them to a clearing. In that clearing, she saw with suddenly surprised eyes as they came to a stop, was a an impeccably groomed fenced in area. It looked strangely out of place in the clearing, and it reminded her of something that she couldn't put her finger on at first. Then she remembered - it reminded her of her garden.

"What is this?" she asked him with a small, confused smile.

"Something I've been working on," he said quietly, running his hand through his hair like he was nervous. "Hold on, there's something you need to see for it to make sense."

"Okay," she chuckled, watching him briefly disappear behind a tree. He reemerged carrying a white box, and in that white box was dirt and what appeared to be a tiny rose bush, or at least a part of one.

"When your garden... burned," he said softly, knowing the subject was a very sore spot for her, "I managed to find a little bit of one of your rose bushes that looked like it might have been okay. I didn't know for sure so I put it in this and I've been taking care of it, though I barely knew what I was doing, but anyway... look at what just popped up today."

Stunned by what he had just told her, she looked at the plant and then saw a tiny little rose bud, right in the center. She then looked at him, mouth falling open and voice failing her because he had saved this from her torched, beloved garden, and just the thought of him doing that and taking care of it for a month to nurse it back to health was enough to melt her on the spot.

"Oh my God," she marveled, looking back at the little bud. "I don't even know what to say. I can't believe you did this. I can't believe it survived."

"Yeah... me either," he admitted. "But I thought that with this... you could start a new garden here, in this spot. Sunlight's pretty good and there's shade too. I put some fencing around it to make it look like your old one."

It was too much. She was fresh out of words, simply dumbstruck by this sweet gesture, but the smile on her face was all he needed to see to know that she loved it.

"Come here," he grinned, gesturing for her to follow him as he carried the box inside the empty garden and set it down, right in the middle. It sat at their feet as he turned to her and slid his hands on her waist, smiling as he asked, "Like it?"

"I love it," she breathed, melting into his arms and wrapping hers around his neck. "I really do. It's perfect."

"Good," he grinned before leaning in and kissing her softly.

But the words just weren't enough to convey what she was truly feeling. After years of everything going wrong, suddenly now it was all going right, and this garden symbolized it all in her mind - the fresh start, a new beginning, the proverbial rising from the ashes of an old life that had been burned away to make room for the new, better, stronger, happier one.

She broke the kiss, lightly touching her fingertips to his face as his eyes opened and he looked down at her in slight concern. "You okay?"

She nodded and smiled. "Oh yeah. I just... sometimes I don't know what to say because I'm still not used to this, or you and the way that you do these things for me, and -"

"I know, it's okay."

"But it's not," she insisted. "It's not. There's just something I need to say to you."

His expression grew more serious then, and as he nodded, she saw that hopeful gleam in his eyes once again, just as she had one time before, when she had been on the cusp of saying the same thing.

"This still scares me and... a lot of things scare me, but I'm learning to get over it and just... do things anyway. I never used to be able to do that, but then you came along and now I'm doing all kinds of things I wasn't able to do then, and it's just wow, you know, and -"

He smiled affectionately at her rambling. "Summer."

"... So much has changed, and it's so weird but amazing at the same time and I am seriously happy, like happier than I even remember being, and -"

He raised an eyebrow. "Summer."

"... And I love you," she blurted out. "I love you, okay, so much, like it hurts how much I love you and I'm sick of not saying it because you deserve to hear it, over and over. I love you, and -"

His mouth on hers swallowed the rest of her words, and she gave in happily, kissing him back as warmth flooded her veins not just from the kiss, but from the relief of having finally said those three words to him. She had felt them for a long time, but saying them had taken courage that she had simply needed time to grow and nurture.

He kissed her deeply, passionately, then broke away and leaned his forehead against hers. "I love you, too."

She smiled, looking up and finding him smiling down at her too, and she felt so incredibly happy in that moment that she thought she might burst.

"I'm sorry it took me awhile to say it," she said quietly, but he just shook his head.

"Don't be. I wouldn't change a thing," he assured her, kissing her again, more softly this time.

She let herself get lost in the touch of his lips on hers before she laughed quietly to herself and said, "Look at me. You used to call me a shot of whiskey. Now I'm all soft and mushy."

"You're still my shot of whiskey," he grinned, though his tone was sincere. "I just don't know what I am."

She knew what he was. He was fire that has swept into her life out of nowhere and burned everything to ground, illuminating how very shaky the ground she had been standing upon truly was. She had been flammable, as dry as the summer heat and desperate as the rain that couldn't quench it, but his fire had brought new life to her veins and new sight to her eyes.

Still, she settled on a simpler way of expressing this. "You're you. And I love you."

He smiled, and as they kissed once more, she began to suspect that things might turn out all right after all. They may burn each other at times,and they may even be destructive when placed together and ignited, but she would burn a thousand times more if it meant getting to keep this life and this man. The road that brought her here had not been easy, and nor had it been for him, but it was worth every single day of the journey there.

The best journey, however, was still yet to come. And for first time in her life, Summer finally believed it.