This is not the Endgame

When Steve woke up the next morning, he found that many things had happened after the hearing. It seemed pretty well settled that there would be some kind of inquiry into Tony Stark's actions as Iron Man, but being dead, he'd still be escaping the consequences of his actions. Stock prices for Stark Industries had tanked, but it would recover as memory of the scandal faded. There were also questions about what Pepper Potts had known about Tony's activities, particularly regarding Peter Parker, and there was evidence that she had known that Tony was deliberately endangering a child. She and Happy would be on the hot seat for that. In other arenas, people were examining her past; the jump from Tony's personal assistant who followed him around and cleaned up his messes straight to the CEO of the business empire had raised a few brows back in the day, she was smart and capable but it wasn't clear if she had a college degree, let alone an MBA or law degree, and there were calls for an audit to determine if she'd funneled assets from the company to her husband's superhero activities to the detriment of the business. Commentators noted that her promotion appeared to coincide with the beginning of their on-and-off relationship, and it was conceded that even though she had done good work with the board of directors, the optics of it were terrible. Less charitable people were saying she'd earned her promotion on her back. Death threats aimed both at her and Morgan Stark had already started. Steve shook his head. Tony was responsible for Tony's poor choices; Pepper had tried to keep him reined in but ultimately had little power over him, and the child had no responsibility at all. It wasn't her fault. Reluctantly, he made himself a Twitter account. It seemed like the format was best for short statements, which were his favorite kind. His first tweet was to acknowledge the incredible damage done by Stark's decisions, but stressed that his daughter had no responsibility for her father or his actions, and added that people who threatened the well-being of a child should be ashamed of themselves.

It probably wouldn't have any effect anyway.

He met Bucky and Sam for breakfast, and they checked out of the hotel and took the train back home. By the time they reached New York, Steve was done with Fullmetal Alchemist and hit a bookstore on the way home to buy the next volume. And he picked up the first volumes of Berserk, Death Note, D Grey-man, Slam Dunk, Vagabond, Gunsmith Cats. And he got recommendations from the store clerk for anime too, along with an explanation of the difference, including Howl's Moving Castle, Spirited Away, Princess Mononoke, InuYasha, and A Wind Named Amnesia. What Studio Ghibli was. Bucky, who had waited with him while he browsed this new interest, said that he should get a Netflix account. Or Hulu. Amazon Prime.

"You don't have one?" the clerk asked incredulously. "Man, even my grandparents have Netflix, and they're ancient." Steve flushed and handed over his credit card. "Oh, uh. Sorry, Captain Rogers," he said weakly, and moved quickly to bag his new books.

Bucky kindly waited until they were out of the store before bursting into laughter.

"And how long have you known about Netflix?" Steve asked, nettled. "Because you're even older than me."

"Since after the Unsnappening," Bucky conceded, not wanting to revisit the misstep of "Netflix and chill." Or share it with his best friend. They walked down the street, making the correct turnings for the apartment building, where Steve had just moved in. As the owner, he claimed a corner apartment, the first one that was mostly finished. There were some details still to go in, and he'd personally selected finishes he liked, higher end. That some construction was going on was the reason he'd not really unpacked. That, plus he didn't have much anymore, having given away almost everything before going back for the debacle in the past. Bucky was still in his old apartment and refusing to move because he didn't want to box and move his stuff or worse, have to deal with the hassle of updating his address with everything, but he'd agreed to have the wall knocked down and the small studio apartment next door added to his so he could have a one-bedroom apartment. Steve had allowed him to pick out the finishes and details that he liked the best too since he was determined to hunker down. The building was feeling a lot more like home for both of them these days.

The winter gave way to a wet spring, and Steve watched his buddy go through a few new phases, one of which he liked and one of which he wasn't sure he approved of. The first was that Bucky started paying more attention to his surroundings and his wardrobe. Steve quietly had the blueprints for that apartment altered to include a walk-in closet. Bucky moved beyond jeans and henleys to a clean and classic style, suitably updated for a new millennium: well-tailored suits, better fitting jeans (now that he was no longer trying to be anonymous, time and events had pretty much washed him from the public consciousness), shamelessly tight t-shirts, dress shirts that highlighted his broad shoulders and trim waist, dress slacks, sleek sweaters, and in what Steve privately considered a fit of insanity (but one that did amazing things for Bucky's butt and thighs) leather pants. His leather motorcycle jacket. A long overcoat for cold winters, gloves, scarves. He kept only his favorite retro Brooklyn Dodgers ball cap. Good shoes and boots. He looked effortlessly magnetic, masculine, and up-to-date, but with old fashioned touches like the crisp-pressed linen handkerchiefs, monogrammed silver cuff links, and the bay rum aftershave he still favored.

The trend that Steve was more concerned with was what he privately thought of as Bucky's promiscuous phase, where he seemed to be banging anybody who caught his eye. All he could do was gingerly ask if Buck was using protection. He'd smirked and showed Steve the cabinet in his nightstand, impressively stocked with a rather astonishing variety of condoms, a few different kinds of lube, and an assortment of sex toys. Steve's face had flamed, and Bucky had dropped the subject, blandly talking about school instead. Steve talked to Sam about it privately, and Sam thought that it was more of a way to pass the time than a descent into sex addiction, pointing out that Bucky was really busy, with a heavy class load and serious therapy commitments, and that sex was the only social activity he had aside from school, working out, and the odd movie or outing to a bar with his narrow circle of friends. He thought that Bucky treated sex like an intimate and fun workout rather than a bonding activity.

Spring, aside from this concern, was shaping up to be good for them. Both Steve and Bucky were doing well in their classes, Sam was settling well into his role as Captain America, and although Steve got plenty of on-line hate for his appearances in Washington and 'tarnishing the legacy of the American hero Tony Stark,' he rarely had anybody actually approach him. Even then, they drew close with requests for selfies or autographs. Summer was hot and dry, with prolonged heat waves that had everybody grouchy. Not even Steve and Bucky, no fans of the cold, enjoyed quite that much atmospheric warmth. As summer semester passed the halfway mark, Bucky started looking for a job, and Steve started to feel like he might be getting done with the survivor group. Ava made him think about why he was still attending; he'd pretty much made his peace with his actions after the Snap, realizing that he couldn't in fact go back to change anything but could do better going forward. She'd worked through her issues arising from that time, and she was firmly pointed ahead into the future , an inspiration to him. At the end of meeting in the first week of August, she'd addressed the group.

"I want to thank you all for everything you've done to help me deal with the issues I had as a result of the Hiatus and all," she said. "I think it's time for me to move on now." And there was a range of emotions from the others, who'd formed a tight-knit group in that undistinguished room of the community center. Everybody was happy for her, although some of their members struggled with anger and sorrow that they weren't progressing fast enough to step away from the support of the group, anyway. Afterward, Steve took her to the pub they frequented and bought celebratory drinks. He was in the part of the group of being happy for her--and she seemed lighter, as if the mental weight she'd shed was also physical, carrying baggage the size of a little purse rather than the steamer trunks they'd both been lugging around--but also concerned about being left behind. He circled his glass of ale on the table.

"I'm really glad for you," he said sincerely, then looked at her with a wry smile. "But I'm also going to miss this." He gestured to the pub around them, where the musicians were tuning up.

"We can still get together," she said. "There was a time when I never thought I could say this truthfully, but I'd miss not seeing you, Steve." They smiled at each other. He felt better.

"When are you coming by to look at the apartments?" he said.

"Soon," she said. He pressed her a little. "I'm just finishing up my first project on my new job. I'm getting a promotion to project manager for my next one, so I promise I will stop when I can." He was content with that, not wanting to press her. He had other worries, a little concern on another front, because Bucky had apparently turned into a monk, just like that. And said he wasn't ready to talk about it yet.

A week later, he threw a small graduation party for Bucky, who was able to announce that he'd also gotten a new job. A good company, fairly new, but rising on the scene and well respected. He'd be an architectural technician, and after his first year, they'd start paying for the classes he'd need to get his bachelor's degree. He'd been assigned to an experienced technician to show him the ropes, and would spend the first month shadowing him before getting his own responsibilities, still working with his mentor.

"And...?" Wanda prompted him, sensing something. Bucky huffed a breath.

"Ava works at the firm. In fact, she's the project manager I'll be reporting to." Sam whistled. Everyone exchanged glances.

"How do you feel about that?" Steve asked, mindful of his psychology classes. "How did that happen?"

"She was brought into the room with the technician who'll be training me, the HR rep when they were making me the offer wanted her to meet me," he said. "They wanted her impression, since I'll be working on her team first. She said she was fine with it, but because she wasn't sure of the company policies, she wanted to disclose a prior relationship with me. They asked if it would be a problem for her, and she said no, in fact that she expected me to be creative and diligent and excel. She left, the HR guy muttered that he wished his ex was like that, and they asked me if I'd have a problem working for her. When I said no, they made the offer. I went over after my last final to do the paperwork, they introduced me to the team, and she went out of her way to welcome me to the first project meeting."

"That's good, but it's unlikely she'd be unprofessional," Sam said. "You knew she was classy to begin with. How do YOU feel."

"Do they have rules about dating coworkers?" Wanda asked slyly at the same time. Bucky went red.

"No. But she's not going to want to date me," he said flatly. "Not after I overreacted and dumped her. She's moved on, anyway. I saw a guy waiting for her after work one day. Besides, I really like it at the company. I don't want to mess that up." He brooded briefly. "It seems like a great team; everybody knows what they're doing, they use computer programs to keep everybody in the loop, plus the subteams communicate in their own chats and channel, it seems fun. It's not just work, people post GIFs, jokes along with the information. There's beer o'clock Friday afternoon or Happy Hour at one of the bars nearby. We apparently get donuts at every team meeting."

"Well, donuts," Wanda said, smiling. "We don't get donuts at team meetings." Sam just rolled his eyes. Sometimes being the Captain was a pain in the ass. Besides, he couldn't eat too many donuts or he wouldn't be able to get into his tac suit, which showed off his own very fine butt. He didn't have Steve's metabolism, the bastard.

"It's going to be a great learning experience. And they said that if there's a problem, that there are places on two of the other three teams where I could work. They're working on expanding to another team, too." And they'd said that if the relationship started up again to tell them, they'd place him on one of those teams so that the relationship wouldn't interfere with the project or the development of either of their careers, not that they expected Ava to take advantage like that. But he wasn't going to mention that. He felt so lucky she hadn't raised valid concerns about his mental stability or complain that he was a jackass.

A couple hours later, Sam and Wanda left. "Thanks for the party," Bucky said to Steve, helping him clean up the little mess. Mainly, it was just him using the vacuum for the crumbs, and Steve tying up the trash.

"You're welcome, Buck, your first degree needs a celebration. And I'm going to be angling for one when I graduate, just so you're prepared. So is the job why you've been spending your nights alone these days?" Steve asked. "Not that I'm passing judgment, it's just I can't imagine how you maintained your GPA on such little sleep." Then wanted to bite his tongue; he knew that The Asset had often been kept up for days at a stretch in order to accomplish Hydra's goals. But Bucky smiled a little.

"Realized that I was trying to fill her place in my bed," he said. "It was all just exercise anyway." He batted idly at the balloons that Steve had gotten for his party. "And I was wondering." Steve waited.

"Yes?" he asked with exaggerated patience.

"What's the landlord's policy on pets?" he asked, turning his stormy blue-gray eyes to meet Steve's bright blues squarely.

"No snakes," he said immediately. "Or spiders, for Christ's sake. Or rodents, don't want any escapees after we've just gotten rid of the rat colony in the basement. I guess I could be persuaded for cats or dogs, as long as they're housetrained and not destructive or too barky." Then he leaned forward and tugged at Bucky's t-shirt. There were some short darker hairs on his side. Steve quirked a smile.

"I found a stray cat," Bucky said apologetically. "Starving, scared. She's at the vet, she's got a couple of issues, and she's getting spayed. I want to be a responsible owner." Steve's smile gentled.

"What kind of a cat is it?"

"Mostly Russian Blue," Bucky said. "According to the vet. The fur is darker and thicker than usual, but she's got the bright green eyes. Dainty."

"What are you going to name her?"

"Natasha." The two friends smiled at each other. "That was good cake," Bucky said. "I liked the frosting." Steve's impressive chest puffed out.

"I made it," he bragged. "Southern Living recipe. I remember my mom making me a plain cake like that, my last birthday before I went to art school." That was shortly before she'd died. "Thought I'd try an ambitious frosting." It was an French meringue buttercream, dashed with colorful sprinkles.

"I remember that," Bucky said. "She gave you a sketchbook." Mrs Rogers had stopped taking medicine by then; it wasn't doing anything and she didn't want to waste the money. She'd put it toward the sketchbook, the expensive sugar and vanilla for the cake, and a nice dinner to which Bucky'd been invited. He'd given Steve colored and regular pencils and some charcoal sticks. That cake hadn't had frosting. "She'd be surprised you turned into such a good cook." Steve grinned.

"It took awhile; I used to make food either burned or raw, couldn't afford to waste it and throw it out. You stopped coming over for dinner, then you came up with the tactic of volunteering to make it, you'd say sit down, you've had a long day." Bucky smiled back. Steve snorted. "You were the one on patrol, I was just sketching."

And frequently sick, or getting sick, or just getting over something. "Learning and practicing takes a lot of concentration and energy," Bucky said. "Normally, I just walked my beat, talked to people, broke up a few fights."

"I'm so glad I have this second chance," Steve said. "With you, here. It's a weird time, but I'm glad I'm here."

"Me too, punk." They smiled at each other. "So do you have any plans for Labor Day?"

"Nope," Steve said, stretching. "Want to go to Coney Island?"

"We could ride the Cyclone," Bucky said wickedly, and Steve laughed.

"I can take it, jerk. Next year the roof will be fixed, there'll be a little garden area, a place to cook out, some tables and chairs. We could have some people over for a barbecue." They talked, making plans, and Bucky couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this content. This warm, like he really belonged. Before the war, for certain. As the sun started to set, Bucky stretched.

"I'm glad you came back, Stevie. I missed you." He stood up, gathering his gifts.

"Home's where the heart is, Buck. And it's never home without you."

"You're such a flirt, Rogers."

"Took long enough to learn," he said. Before the war, he'd been at best prickly, at worst surly, the chip on his shoulder so big he couldn't walk straight that also served as an effective shield for his heart of gold and sterling qualities. "But no, I'm terrible at it. It's for the best that I'm not looking to settle down with a missus."

"Friends last longer anyway," Bucky muttered. Wisely, Steve said nothing, because it was Bucky's fault that he was alone.

"Took me awhile to figure out that what I wanted wasn't the past, it was the future. Wide open, not limitless, but this is a time when we have so many possibilities, Buck. Our future can be free of the things that marked us back then. Dark times, hard actions, no money, few prospects... we find our friends and family, and life is rich." Bucky smiled at him; optimism looked good on Steve Rogers. And in the late summer sun, he looked like the golden boy he was. Bucky felt more like a creature of the night, needing to hide in corners to avoid scaring the children, but he also knew that on the surface, his face was still handsome, his body attractive. People didn't even seem to mind the arm any more. It was just his soul that was marked.