This is not the Endgame

Bucky woke up once in the night to use the bathroom; Ava was breathing fine, deep in sleep. He curled up behind her protectively and went back to sleep. He woke up again around 10, feeling unusually perky. He was content to lie there with his metal arm around her; it didn't seem like she'd moved at all while she slept. He admired her hair, braided for sleep, and luxuriated in the feeling of her so close to him. So trusting. Maybe the doctors and his therapist were right; he wasn't going to go all Asset on waking up in an unfamiliar situation. Course, he hadn't had a nightmare with her around, either. His sleep had been remarkably untroubled. And for the first time in awhile, he woke up with a stiffie. He eased back a bit; it seemed rude to subject her to a hard on; he was there to help. He decided that he was up now, and carefully and regretfully scooted away, returning to his apartment to pee, brush his teeth--it seemed presumptuous to use her toothbrush even though they'd kissed--and gather some things for breakfast. He slipped back into Ava's place, deposited the breakfast offerings, and since she was still sleeping, slid back under the covers, glad not to have morning after beer breath.

This woke her up a little, and she rolled over, reaching across the mattress for him. She smiled, then opened her eyes. "This is nice," she said groggily. "Good morning."

"Morning, doll," Bucky said, pleased that she didn't seem uncomfortable with his presence in her bed. She cuddled in. He wasn't sure what to do next. "I thought I could make breakfast. I brought some things over." Her eyes popped open.

"Really?" she said brightly, and he smiled. "I'm up, then." Bucky got up, walking around the screen to make pancake batter, and she hustled into the bathroom.

His griddle was hot, the droplets of water skittering around before evaporating, and he plopped some butter on to melt. He ladled batter on for the pancakes, and smiled as arms went around him from the back. He put the ladle back into the batter and turned around, kissing her. Her hair was only partly braided, and he eased his fingers through the silky strands. Her lips parted for him, and their tongues teased each other. Her hand found the hem of his shirt and slipped under, up his back. He was hungry to be touched, to feel her skin on his, and his free hand raised her shirt too, stroking along her ribs, stopping just shy of her breast. She gasped, then broke the kiss long enough to strip off the long sleeved t shirt she wore to bed, then dragged his head back down for another kiss. He thought he was going to combust, between the pleasures of her mouth and her soft skin. His hand cupped her breast, thumb teasing the nipple. He was aware of her hands dipping under the drawstring of his flannel pants, smoothing over the top of his butt, and trailed kisses and nips down her throat. She dropped her head back, and he kissed his way to a breast, teasing with nips and sucks and licks. His morning erection was back with interest.

He turned slightly to use the metal hand to pull the griddle off the heat, pulling the drawstring of her fleece pajama bottoms loose and pushing them slowly over her hips. She followed his lead and broke their kiss again. "Do you want this?" she asked, panting a bit. "Because if you're ready, I'm ready."

"I want you," he said, quite pleased with the desire that he'd managed to provoke in her. She pulled off his shirt, dropping it on the kitchen table, before conducting her own exploration of his body with tongue and lips and hands. He held her loosely, caught up in the moment, until he tensed as she approached his left shoulder. But she covered his ugly scarring with accepting kisses, and kissed down the metal arm to the hand. She turned it and kissed the palm before stepping away, tugging his arm. She tripped a little over her pajamas that had pooled around her ankles, and he stepped out of his prudently. She led him back to bed, pulling back the comforter and blankets, hopping on and turning around. He took a moment to appreciate her curves, looking so... squishable, then kneewalked over to her, easing her down onto her back, kissing and nibbling, sucking and licking his way over her body. Her thighs parted around him and he stroked one as he parted the folds between her legs with his tongue. He flicked rapidly over her clit as his finger slid inside, finding her wet already. She moaned, plunging her fingers into his hair as he pleased her. It didn't take much to make her come, and he did it a second time just because he could before working his way back up, making sure she was satisfied. Her look was languid with her orgasm, but also anticipatory. She rolled him onto his back, disappearing as she opened a box under the chair at the bedside, then came back up and moved to straddle him.

"What do you want, Bucky? Do you still want me? Do you want my mouth on you, or do you want to be inside me?"

"I'm not going to last long," he managed to say. "It's been a long time. I want to be in you." She smiled at him and ripped open a condom packet.

"I just got these last week," she said, giving the head of his cock a quick lick before rolling it over him. He groaned a little, and first arranged him so he was leaning back on the headboard before she raised herself up enough to slide over him. His hands swept up her thighs as she started to move. Knowing that he was going to come faster than he'd originally anticipated, he snuck a finger between them and teased her nerves. She moved faster, looking dazed as she came, then he flipped her onto her back and pumped into her; her ankles crossed behind his back and her hands ran over his back and butt, moaning. Not a dozen strokes later, he came, feeling like a grenade had gone off in his body. He fell onto his metal forearm, trying not to smother her, then reached between them to keep the condom on as he gently slid out and rolled onto his back, breathing like he'd just won a sprint.

"Are you ok, sweetheart?" he asked, sitting up enough to see her. She was sprawled out on the bed, mouth swollen from the kissing, between her legs also red from the fucking. His cock twitched. She looked completely desirable. He winced. She had beard burn around her mouth, over her breasts, down her stomach, and between her legs.

"I feel amazing," she purred. "You make me feel extraordinary. You didn't hurt me at all."

"I should have shaved first," he muttered.

"You're dead sexy with stubble, though," she said, and he grinned. After a bit of rest, she disappeared into the bathroom and he investigated what had happened to their breakfast. He had to toss the first pancakes and make new batter, but they sat down to pancakes, bacon, and fruit. Ava insisted on cleaning up, so he went down to his apartment to shave and make himself as nice as possible for her before returning. She was in the shower; he thought about joining her but they hadn't discussed it and didn't want to frighten her. He straightened the bed instead. She came out in a robe, and they retreated to the bed where he combed her her hair until it was dry. They spent the afternoon exploring each other's bodies and talking, snuggling under the blankets. He insisted on ordering pizza, and after they'd eaten, their touching got more erotic.

"I thought you had some difficulties with erections," she said once, pulling her mouth off him and flirting with her eyes. "Couldn't prove it by me."

"My therapist backed my antidepressant dose down," he remembered. "That might be helping. But I've wanted you for a long time."

"I love being with you," she murmured. "You're amazing." He watched as his cock disappeared into her mouth, one hand on his cock for more stimulation, her other stroking his thighs, his balls, sliding a little ways up his abdomen. It felt glorious.

"Wait," he gritted, and her head raised. "I'm going to come soon."

"Ok," she said. "This is your time." And she increased her suction a little, drawing away slowly until just the head was in her mouth before plunging him deep again, over and over again. His muscles jittered and he came; she had him at the back of her mouth, letting him slide out as he softened. After that, he made a long and leisurely exploration of her pussy, taking her to the edge of orgasm and backing off several times. When she finally came, she shuddered limply for long enough that he started to get worried. And before they had to go to sleep, he slid inside her and they tried a few positions from the book; he was getting quite attached to cowgirl, being able to watch her face and the movement of her gorgeous tits, put his hands wherever he wanted. She said that she didn't have a preference just yet and would require further experimentation to find a winner. He just laughed and played with her so she would come before he did.

It was unfortunate that they had to work the next morning.

Additionally, Bucky, who had not so much as glanced at his phone Sunday or even thought about it, had to deal with it. There was a message from Steve, wanting to hang out, and several from Sam, getting increasingly more concerned. About whether Ava had another asthma attack, whether Bucky was ok, where was Bucky, was Sam going to have to go off on a Bucky hunt, WTF, Barnes, where are you and what are you doing. Call me. Bucky smirked.

"Barnes!" Sam barked, picking up on the first ring. "Is everything ok? Why didn't you call, damn it? I was about ready to round up a bunch of people to find you."

"Everything's fine, Sam," Bucky soothed, amused.

"What were you up to? It's not like you to go dark like that. Or have you learned something nefarious?" Bucky's grin was big and beautiful. Sam actually said 'nefarious.'

"I was getting laid. A lot. Completely forgot about my phone."

"Oh," Sam said after a moment to analyze this development. "Good for you, man. Ava's ok today?"

"Ava seemed very happy and relaxed when she went to work today, no more asthma attacks," Bucky said. Complacently. Sam snorted and the conversation turned to some information he needed. And his week firmed up. In addition to his work, he had an appointment to see a career counselor.

He and Ava spent at least a little time together each day that week; she was disappointed not to get an offer as a result of her interview, but although she was disappointed, she said that she was fine. Their schedules didn't mesh much, even over the weekend. But Ava was on the waiting list officially for a rescue inhaler and other asthma medications, which made him feel better.

Fall turned into winter; he and Ava were seeing each other as much as possible with his crazy schedule. He looked into a few careers that he found interesting, did informational interviews and research, got his old school district to resurrect his high school transcript, and Ava helped him with his application to New York City College of Technology, where he could enroll in an associate degree for Architectural Technology, which would then qualify him for work in the field as he pursued his bachelors in this field. While he waited for the decision on his admission, he finished ironing out his GI educational benefits--he could have afforded school on his own money, but he figured that he should use the benefits since he was qualified for them, he'd certainly earned them--and started to study for writing and math placement tests.

The intimacy between him and Ava was growing; there were some hitches; he found he needed to have sex in positions that were face to face--personal, rather than impersonal positions where he was behind her--as a result of certain experiences he'd had during those tortuous decades as The Asset. The book she'd gotten was a big help in determining what he could do or thought they could try, but anything incorporating bondage or anal stimulation made him go white. She never pushed about the reasons, just made sure that he knew she was open to listening to whatever he had to say, and accepted the limitations without question. He felt guilty that he wasn't more adventurous for her--the old him would have been--but she said firmly that what mattered was that they were together. He did try to push his boundaries whenever the thought didn't make him sick, which sometimes was a pleasant success and sometimes... not. But Ava kept herself attuned to signs of distress, and broke things off before he had to say no. She also did research into the recovery of rape victims, and while hating to admit that experience was part of his past, he did find what she shared with him helpful. And on the other side of the experiences in his past were incidents where his Hydra handlers had made him rape women to see if they could produce a generation of supersoldiers without direct exposure to the serum, so he had to deal with those problems too. His therapy was a life saver.

Bucky felt increasingly better about Steve's return, although there was residual resentment to work through. And Steve still felt guilty about not having insisted at the time that they at least look for Bucky's body after the fall from the train, that his friend had suffered so terribly for so long. So the road back to their long friendship was bumpy with feelings that were both rational and irrational. Overall, however, at least Bucky felt that he was moving forward, out of the quicksand of his past. He continued to explore the world of popular culture that happened in the gap between the war and his escape, and found a considerable although inexplicable attachment to the music of the 1970s and 80s--aside from a lot of the disco--particularly the cocky wink and knowing smirk of the Rolling Stones, but also Paul Simon, Queen, Pat Benetar, Billy Joel, Elton John, Billy Idol, the Beatles, Madonna, Def Leppard, Wham!, Fleetwood Mac, Stevie Nicks, and the Go-Gos. He started buying books published in that gap between the war and now so he could fill in cultural awareness. He traced the development of important technologies and cultural movements and their declines, read history, watched movies and/or read plotlines on IMDB, and in general worked to be able to follow the cultural touchstones in casual conversations. Sometimes he could have contributed information but stayed silent, as with JFK's assassination. He hadn't actually done it, he'd been out of cryo long enough to have a little break in his conditioning and shot Connally instead. Oswald was a patsy, but Hydra had had a backup. It still was a sensitive matter and it was best not to bring it up. He didn't want to remember it anyway. He still had nightmares, but they weren't as frequent although they never decreased in severity.

Bucky sometimes had the feeling that Ava still didn't entirely approve of Steve, but she said, the only time they discussed it, was that it wasn't her friendship and Bucky needed to do what he wanted there. And frankly, he was just glad that Steve had returned, wiser and more thoughtful. Steve, Sam, Wanda, Bucky, and Ava went to a restaurant for Thanksgiving, and in early December, he passed the math and reading placement tests and was ready to start college in January. He rested on his laurels until Christmas, which Sam had at his place--Ava and Bucky exchanged presents at home, where they spent most of their time in her apartment--but small gifts were exchanged all around before they went out to another restaurant for a very late celebratory lunch. For New Years Eve, he and Ava dressed up and went to a bar, having sparkling wine at midnight, cheering, and kissing. A few days later, he started classes, having gotten credit for the first semester of English composition and taking Intro to Architecture, Architectural Designs I, Modern History for the common core, and College Algebra/Trigonometry. He wanted to start with a lighter load, not sure how the stress of class would be, and although he was easing out of his intelligence gathering role, he was still doing analysis and needed to be able to balance the work with the classes.

At the end of January, Bucky was provisionally ready to think that he could handle his schedule. His therapist cautioned him against pushing too much, but he felt good. It was hard work, and his free time was down to 1%, but Ava was with him every step of the way, encouraging him, proofreading his essays, and helping him with the math. He and Sam called each other, usually when Bucky was on the way to class, or saw each other at meetings. He texted Steve a lot, met for meals when they could fit it in. Steve was attending York College, majoring in psychology, minoring in fine art, with the goal of getting a masters degree in art therapy. He was continuing with his therapy, but pushed it to every other week instead of every week. He was happy, if feeling stretched, and productive. Ava was also interested in architecture due to her work in civil engineering, and it was helpful for them to talk about his reading assignments.

They took a break on the evening of Valentine's day. Bucky had bought some truffles, roses, and wine, and Ava made chicken Alfredo and steamed vegetables for dinner. He taught her how to jitterbug and they danced for awhile, having fun before their clothes came off and they finished the evening in bed.

The rest of the month seemed to slog. The weather was vile--NOAA had been right, it was a cold and wet winter where the only places he felt warm was in bed or the shower. Sometimes he felt in way over his head, but Steve and Ava both said that this was common for college students, especially freshmen. His sleep got more disturbed; at least he was waking up briefly with nightmares more often, but in the morning, he could never remember what they were.

It all came to a head on the very last day of February, which also happened to be Ava's birthday. He took her out to dinner and gave her some rose red leather gloves, lined and insulated for warmth. She loved them, the pop of color against her black winter coat, and he was pleased that she liked her gift. They went back to The Shithole, he studied a bit, and they went to bed.

He saw sickening images in the dark, gasping for breath, flailing his limbs, tangling in the sheets. A memory of casual tortures at the hands of black-clad Hydra sadists, who enjoyed seeing how much pain The Asset could endure. His blood on their hands--"Bucky."

"Bucky," a female voice said. "Wake up, Bucky. It's a bad dream." But terrified, he swept his arm out, hitting someone. There was a thump, and he woke up completely but disoriented. A light flicked on, and he saw Ava on the floor; there was a red mark on her cheek that was going to bruise, he recognized, stricken.

"Bucky, you're safe," she said, trying to reach him, but he pulled away.

"This is what I was worried about," he blurted. "I hurt you."

She said soothingly. "I fell off the bed in surprise. I'm ok, Bucky. It was an accident, it's just a double bed, there wasn't room to--"

"I did," he insisted, pointing at her face. "I did that."

"It was an accident. You were having a nightmare."

"No. It could have been so much worse." He drew away and sat up. "I could have been choking the life out of you. No. I knew I was going to hurt you." She wisely kept her distance.

"Bucky, it's five am," she said quietly. "Can you try to relax, get a little more rest? You've got a lot to do today--"

"I'm not an invalid," he snapped, and she frowned.

"I never said you were."

"I don't need to be coddled like a baby," he said, shoving the mess of bedclothes back and getting out of bed on the other side. "I don't need to be pushed or managed or ignored, and you need to wise up. I'm not the man you think I am. I'm a killer, and you just have no self-preservation skills." He pulled his clothes on as he spoke angrily. He strode over to the door, grabbing his keys as he went, flipped open the lock, and left.

And after that, he left a message on his therapist's voicemail and turned in his resignation to the Avengers later that morning after turning over all the material he had for them. He wouldn't talk to Sam or Steve about it, telling them only that he'd hurt Ava, and took to staying out of The Shithole until late at night. He started going to VA therapy groups around his classes. A week later, he came home at eleven one night to find a bag with the odds and ends he'd left in Ava's apartment on his doorknob. After that, she stopped calling.