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Title: Marriage Part 3- The stag night

Author: Cat_13145

Pairing: Toro/Anne, hints of Toro/Bucky

Rating: PG 13

Warnings: Some mild swearing, I think that's it.

Summary: It's his stag night. so what is he doing at Bucky's grave?


Why was he here?

It was the night before his wedding, he should be out getting drunk with other guys, not seeking into a cemetery in the moonlight.

It wasn’t as though no one had offered, Anna’s brother had been itching at the teeth to throw him a stag party.

So why had he refused? And not just refused, lied? Why had he said that some of his old army buddies wanted to throw him a party as the first one of them to get hitched?
It wasn’t true. Since Pappy’s death he’d barely spoken to anyone he’d known then, and he hadn’t really being speaking to those he once called his friends in...a while.

He was sure Nick and the Commandos would have thrown him one if they’d known, but he hadn’t told them. Didn’t want to. They (especially Pinky) would want to know why. And he didn’t want to, he couldn’t tell them.  Roger’s reaction had proved that to him.

But maybe he could tell him.

It was easy to find the gravestone, even though it’s plain. The simple headstone for a child soldier, nowhere near what Bucky deserved, but when they won’t admit what he was, he can’t be surprised.

It’s clean, unlike others in the cemetery, and there are flowers on it. White Jasmine. Gwenny must have been here. It’s the only way he knows she’s still alive.

He sent her an invitation to the wedding, along with Davey’s. Gwenny’s came back with a white paper poppy attached, and a load of characters underneath he couldn’t read, but that couldn’t be good. Davey hadn’t even bothered to reply.

“hey Buck.” He said, sinking down. “Sorry I haven’t visited in a while. Things...they’ve been a little crazy.”

He pulled the hip flask from his pocket and sat down, taking a long swig from it. He was careful not disturb the Jasmine, as he really didn’t need more reasons for Gwenny to hate him.

“I’m getting married tomorrow.” He said, conversationally. “And you’re supposed to spend your last night as a bachelor with your friends.”

He shook his head. “Kinda pathetic that that’s you huh? If you were here, you’d be having a great laugh at my expense.” He paused, staring up at the words, James Buchan Barnes, so formal, so stiff sounding, so...unBuckylike.

“You’d like Anna.” He said, softly. “She’s a great gal. She’s smart, funny,” he shrugged. Maybe stopping at that bar for a shot of whisky hadn’t been the greatest idea in the world, but screw it. It was his stag night and he’d choose what he did. “I...” He shook his head. “You know what?  Screw this! McCarthy’s gone, and there’s no one here, but ghosts.” He sighed. “Anna’s a great gal, but she’s...she’s” he sighed, glancing around the deserted graveyard.

“You must think I’m a real troll, marrying a woman I’m not in love with. Remember what Bri and Roger used to say about guys who did that?” He shook his head. “Thing is, isn’t that simple. I don’t love, but she doesn’t love me either.” He shrugged. “not sure if that makes it any better.”

“She’s got a son, from a previous marriage. Her ex husband was a complete and utter,” He glanced around the graveyard, half expecting to see the ghost of Cap frowning down at him. “Bastard.” He laughed. “It isn’t funny really. Not the way he treated her. You used to say stuff as bad as we saw in the field went on everyday behind closed doors and net curtains. Guess you were right.” He paused. “She wants a father for her child. But she doesn’t want a husband. She told me she wasn’t sure she could ever be a wife again.” He shrugged. “Good thing I’m not interested in...that, least not with a dame.”

He sighed, pulling himself up and nearly knocking over the vase with the jasmine. Hugging his knees he continued.

“America’s gone mad. That’s the only way I can explain it. There was this guy McCarthy...”He trailed off, unable to say more, which was stupid as the guy hadn’t been a proper threat for five years and had been dead for two. And he’s not an actor, so it’s HUAC has very little interest in him. “He kept yelling at guys for being Red, even guys we fought alongside.” He hugged himself closer. “if you don’t fit then...” he trailed off. “You’d call me a coward and a baby. But you’re not here.” He punched his fist into the head stone.

“Dam it, Buck. You’re not here and we need you. Everyone goes on about Cap, but you were the guy who wasn’t afraid to call a general a Fascist to his face, or punch a guy for making fun of pink triangles. You’re the guy who held us all together, you’d have gone in there and attack McCarthy, and maybe this madness would have ended a few years earlier. Dam it Bucky why weren’t you there?”

The stone stared back at him in a stone silence, and he realised his hand was bleeding. Glancing down, he saw the remains of the delicate white vase gazing up at him, mocking him.

“Well,” he muttered, though he knew it was stupid. “you never did like White Jasmine.”

He brushed the broken pieces away, and lay back down on the wreath, staring up at the sky.

“I’m getting married in,” He glanced at his watch, “twelve hours. Guess I should head back.”

But he made no mood to get up. Out here, under the stars, lying a top Bucky’s grave was the nearest he’d known to peace in a long time. He remembered reading somewhere about marriage being an adventure, like going to war. It felt fitting to have the same guy who’d seen him though that, seeing him though this. And the guy he’d most like to be going though the ceremony with tomorrow.

“I don’t even dare think that you’ll ever understand this, or be comfortable with it.” He said, softly. “Just asking that you’ll still be O.K. with me coming here sometimes.” He didn’t get anything that counted as a negative response, and from Bucky that was the same thing as a positive.

“O.K. Glad we’re alright.” And with that Thomas “Toro” Raymond lay back and looked up at the stars.



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May 2011

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