This is not the Endgame

Bucky went home and to Ava's apartment so that he could bring her a fresh set of clothes. He peeked into the bathroom; it was small, with only the shower stall, but at least she wouldn't have to try to get in and out of the big tubs that had been used. He couldn't think of anything else he could do, so he ran errands, including replacing his phone, until it was time to go pick her up. She still looked tired, but signed herself out and took the mass of aftercare instructions without complaint. The nurse rolled her wheelchair down to the cab; Bucky carried the crutches. Ava nodded off on the ride home, listing gently to the side until her head was on Bucky's flesh shoulder and drooling slightly. She was embarrassed when they pulled up in front of the building; he shouldn't have been charmed but he was a little, it meant a lot to him that he was trusted enough to sleep around. Bucky paid the cabbie and carried Ava's bag and the plastic bag from the hospital with what was salvageable from the previous day--her underwear, socks, and shoes, mainly. Her clothes, including her coat, had been torn and bloodstained. Ava extracted herself from the cab with Bucky's help and crutched awkwardly to the door; the fatigue and painkillers were making her clumsy. Bucky walked slightly behind so that he could grab her if she fell, moving quickly to open and hold the door and calling the elevator.

Ava was losing power when they reached her floor and Bucky asked and received permission to pick her up. It strained her leg a bit, which was painful, and his ribs, which also hurt, but was faster and required less exertion on her part to reach her apartment. He set her down gently and helped with her shoes and coat. "What do you need, doll?"

"I'm hungry and filthy," she said after a moment.

"I have a few meal replacement shakes for snacks," he said. "They're not too bad. You could have one to help with your strength but not fill your stomach up too much in case you get nauseated, then... you could wrap your leg in plastic wrap and take a shower, then take a nap." She looked thoughtful.

"That sounds pretty good," she said. "I'm so tired. The surgery wasn't bad, they told me, mostly cleaning the wounds and sewing things up. Got a tetanus booster. But the nurses kept waking me up. And I'm stiff and sore from falling during the explosion." She snorted. "Listen to me whine. I'm lucky to be here."

"I'm just glad it wasn't worse, Ava," he said quietly, then left to bring a couple of the chilled plastic bottles for her. He sat patiently while she sipped, then brought over her bathrobe--a new one, a soft and fluffy plum fleece--and turned around while she got undressed and put the robe on. In the bathroom, she sat on the toilet lid while he moved the shower head so it would hit at a good angle when she sat on the built-in little bench, turning on the water so it would warm up. She quickly wrapped some plastic wrap over the bandages, then leaned on him as she hopped the few steps to the door. He turned around again, staying until she said she was set, then exited the bathroom to stand by the door, ready to help when she called. He used her shower time to text Steve, letting him know she was home, tired but ok, and turned down her bed, plumping her pillows a bit. Her nightgown was stashed under her pillow. She had an electric blanket, which he turned on to warm up. He heard the hairdryer, and shortly afterward, she opened the door. The small exertions had tired her out again, but she said she felt better for the beverage. Her leg was aching something fierce and it was time for her medications. Rather than straining her leg by carrying her around bridal style or in a fireman's carry, he wrapped his arms around her middle, lifted, and carried her that way to her bed. He turned around again and stayed there until she said she was set.

"My medicines are in the bag," she said wearily, and he retrieved the whole bag, fishing out the orange plastic vials and placing the bag on the floor where she could get to it easily, going to get her a glass of water. "Thanks, Bucky. I really appreciate it."

"It's not a problem," he assured her. "We've been given time off until after Christmas."

"Oh, that's good news," she said.

"I'm going to be making some chicken noodle soup," he said. "Would you like some, later?"

"That sounds fantastic," she said, her eyelids drooping. "I think you put the keys by the door." He checked and put her phone on the charger by her bed.

"Call if you need anything," he said, then turned down the heat by habit. She liked sleeping under a pile of blankets in a cold room, and Steve had installed thermostats programmable with a phone app. He'd have also cracked the window for her, but that would mean she'd have to get up to close it. This was going to be his first attempt at making chicken soup from scratch. He had bought two chickens, so that if the first try failed, he had a back up. And as a Plan C, there was a deli on the way home; Steve could stop by since he had a late studio today if absolutely necessary. Bucky'd consulted Julia Child's classic, a Martha Stewart cookbook, and the Joy of Cooking, and felt like he could do it, though. He followed instructions for making the chicken stock carefully, and sat down to be attentive while it simmered. He had library books to read and a cat to pet, and his Happy playlist had been started at the beginning, so he was good for hours. He texted his friends off and on, and an office email came through just before he was ready to strain the stock and make the soup; Ben's funeral would be on the 23rd, for those who could attend. Management said that anyone in the office could go on company time, but those out on site visits or in meetings during that time needed to attend to business. Later he'd check to see if Ava wanted to go.

The soup tasted good, he thought; not overly rich but flavorful. There was a knock on the door; Steve.

"Smells good," he said hopefully.

"I made it for Ava, but you could have some," he said, inviting his friend in.

"Great," Steve said happily, holding up a bag. "I stopped by the bakery and got rolls. I was going to have them for dinner, don't mind sharing." Bucky ladled out a bowl for each of them, and Steve was impressed. Bucky couldn't help preening a bit; it had carrots and celery for some nutrition, good egg noodles, and a generous amount of chicken. The rolls were tasty, and they got each other caught up. Bucky divided the rest up into a few smaller containers and left them out to cool a bit, and Steve contributed the rest of the rolls for Ava. He'd eat more later; a bowl of soup wasn't enough to fill up either man for a meal, but it was a really good starter.

Ava called before the soup was cool enough to be refrigerated, sounding groggy, and Steve accompanied Bucky, helping to carry the soup. Bucky tapped on the door before unlocking it, and Steve stayed on the threshold, waving, before Ava invited him in too. She was waking up, and although she still looked tired, she looked better than when Bucky'd picked her up at the hospital. She thanked them both for the soup and rolls, and Steve asked if there was anything he could do for her. Bucky placed some of the containers in the fridge and heated another in the microwave.

"I was going to come up later," she said, smiling a little. "My sister is coming for Christmas, when I told her about my leg she arranged to come early. I was wondering if I could borrow a spare key for her to use while she's visiting."

"Oh, that's nice that she's able to help," Steve said. "It's no trouble. Your sister is a doctor, right?"

"Yeah, she works at a hospital now but I think she prefers public health and epidemiology. When she was working for Doctors without Borders, she did her fair share of working one on one with patients, but she was especially good at mapping outbreaks of disease and talking to community leaders about simple ways to help keep the population healthy. They used to send her out on little tours, talking about ways to safeguard the water supplies, handle contagious diseases. But it'll be nice to have a professional on hand to deal with my little puncture wound."

"Buck's been my brother since grade school, I miss him when he's not around," Steve said. "It must be hard for you to be so far apart."

"Well, we're eight years apart. I idolized her when I was a kid, used to follow her around a lot, pesky, which was irritating to her especially as a popular teenager. I try not to be demanding."

"Becky was like that with Bucky," he said, chuckling. "She thought he hung the stars, but pretty much everybody did, he was that popular. We had a hard time breaking free sometimes." Bucky blushed. "Let me go get that key so you'll have it and not need to come up. I remember what it was like to be hurt, before the serum." He strode energetically to the door, closing it behind. Bucky and Ava looked after him.

"Was he always this... bouncy?" Ava asked. "He's exhausting." Bucky chuckled.

"No, that's the serum. When we were kids, the chip on his shoulder weighed him down, then his responsibilities as Cap. Since he's made himself at home in this time, he's gotten downright chipper. I feel like a little old man around him sometimes."

"Well, you kind of are," she pointed out, and he gave in and laughed.

"I'm an inch shorter and one year older, but about thirty pounds lighter. That's what happens when you get the knock-off serum," he said, smiling as he served the soup. "He's just exhausting."

"This is delicious," she said after the first mouthful. "I love the thyme."

"Added it toward the end for a bit of freshness." He enjoyed watching her enjoy the soup he'd made.

"I can't tell you how much I appreciate this," she said.

"I owe you."

"For what?" She looked surprised.

"Thanksgiving dinner, but also, for the way I ended our relationship. I had concerns about how safe it is to be around me, but I had no right to break things off and say that it was for your own good. It was condescending, and I've been a jerk." Her big eyes seemed stuck wide open, making her look like an illustration in the manga that Steve liked so much.

"Wow. That is unexpected." She gathered her wits. "I was not expecting that. But I don't think you owe me anything."

"I think that I do."

"We can call it even, then. You've literally been carrying my carcass around, and this soup is the best apology I've ever gotten." Her eyes started to water.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

"The whole garage thing, the Ben thing, my sister's coming, which on the one hand is nice because she's the only family I have left and she's a doctor, she'll be able to tell if anything starts to go wrong like an infection, but I always feel like the little sister screw up around her. You're being so nice and I don't deserve it." She wiped her cheeks irritably, and Bucky whipped out a travel packet of tissues from her stash in the wardrobe.

"It has been a terrible couple of days," he said. "You have every right to feel bad about it. It was scary and awful." He carefully placed his flesh hand over hers. "You're not a screw up, you're brave and loyal and tenacious and compassionate, and you deserve everything good in life. Your sister can't think honestly think that." He started to feel pugnacious about this other woman. His words had the effect of making Ava full on bawl, and he scooted over gingerly to put his arm around her. She buried her face in her hands, then turned to the solid support of Bucky's shoulder, the metal one. The door opened and Steve held up the key, observed the situation, and placed the key on the table before quietly closing the door. Bucky let Ava cry herself out, then moved some hair that was stuck to her cheeks. She was not a pretty crier. "It's good not to repress that," he said, getting up for more tissues, wincing.

"What's wrong, Bucky?"

"Oh, I cracked some ribs in the garage. They're healing fast, though, the serum."

"You've been carrying me around and you're hurt too? My god, you kept lifting me up in the garage." She looked horrified.

"See, this is why I didn't say anything. The pain is negligible and it's an irritation but not more. You're not used to serious injuries, I think you've suffered enough."

"Why are you doing this, Bucky?"

"Because it's something nice that I can do. Because I'm grateful that the bombing isn't something that I caused. Because it makes me feel good to do something for you." He looked at her sternly. "It's not a competition, doll. Both of us have had bad things happen to us, and your trauma is a lot more recent than mine. I am finally at a point in my life where I can be the one to extend a hand to help." Please don't take that away from me.

She always seemed to hear subtext that he didn't vocalize. "It had to have been bad for you too," she said reflectively. "Is there anything I can do for you? Do you want to talk about it?"

He did, just not with her. He'd talk about it with Steve, who'd understand the flashbacks, his situation, because he had those shared life experiences. Powering past your body, getting the mission done. And he'd understand how each small act of kindness helped to ease the burden on his soul from the suffering he'd caused, unwillingly, as The Asset. It wasn't because he didn't think she could handle hearing his thoughts and feelings, or that she'd turn away from him; he simply didn't want her to be touched by it.

"You can let me be helpful." His therapist would be proud that he was stating what he needed. She bit her lip.

"You don't have to, you probably have plans, but... do you think you could spend the night?"

"I can do that, doll," he said immediately. "I have to clean up from making the soup, do a couple of things, but yeah." And so it was arranged. He put the rest of the soup in the refrigerator, her bowl in the dishwasher, and walked with her back to her bed, making sure she had water and some books, plumping her pillows and getting her settled before leaving. He was under no illusion that they were getting back together, just acknowledging that another person's presence could be comforting.

First stop was Steve's, where he brought him up to date, then he left the building to run necessary errands, including a new shirt and tie for the funeral. And dress socks. And replaced his phone. He had to do his grocery shopping, and hit the bakery on the way home for cookies, and a florist for some flowers. He chose a winter-themed arrangement, with pine greens, beautiful white flowers, a red bow and jingle bells in a square green glass vase. That would be delivered to Ava the next day. He put everything away, then spent some time playing with Natasha until evening, when she went to curl up on her spot on the sofa. He put down more dry food for her, changed the water in her little fountain, scooped the cat box, and left a nightlight on for her before taking a small bag of his things to Ava's. They sat on the sofa, nibbling the cookies, and watched White Christmas and the cartoon version of How The Grinch Stole Christmas on Netflix, and stayed up longer to talk, catching him up on other important cinematic Christmas touchstones that he'd missed. It was still fairly early when she started to yawn, but it was around ten when they were both ready to sleep. Though Bucky liked to be the big spoon, he made no complaint at being the little spoon, both because his knee wouldn't bump her injury and because this put him between her and anything coming through the door.

The next morning he was pleased to see that she looked much better, and could attest to her having a good sleep since she'd snuggled up to his back like a limpet and stayed put. He made her breakfast and offered to pick her sister up from the airport (Ava didn't like this form of transportation but realized it wasn't her choice to make) but the sister would be coming in a taxi. He took his things back to his apartment and checked once more. She did allow him to pick up her mail although she was doing much better on her crutches. While he was down there, he let in the florist who apparently had a couple of deliveries to make including his, and a woman who just had to be Ava's sister. She had a suitcase, a beautiful leather messenger bag, was older than Ava and with lighter brown hair, but there was a distinct facial similarity.

The woman gave him a sharp look, holding out her hand to him in the elevator. "Marguerite Mignot," she said. "My sister is Ava, she lives here." Bucky shook her hand, sizing her up. Intense, kind of bossy like other doctors he'd met--and like a worried sister--which he liked, but also kind of snooty, an irritation at having to deal with nobodies. His sister had been bossy and sometimes a pain in the butt, but one thing she'd never been was snooty or superior, and he had an understanding why Ava might feel inferior. But she was here, and that counted for a lot.

"Bucky Barnes. I work with Ava, my apartment's a couple floors down." She looked tired, which probably increased the sisters' similarity. "I can show you up--"

"You're her ex, aren't you?" Bucky nodded. "I think I can manage. Thank you."

"You might as well take her mail up, too," he said mildly, passing her the wad of envelopes and catalogs along with the key. "Nice meeting you." He got off on his floor and took the stairs up to Steve's. His finals were over and he said he was going to dedicate the holiday between semesters to goofing off. Bucky smiled, wondering how long that was actually going to last, ribbing him when he said he had his classes for the next semester picked out, had registered, and had ordered the textbooks so he could read ahead. He told Steve that Ava's sister had arrived, and Steve was also glad that she'd been able to come and be a support for her little sister. Bucky kept what Ava had told him about her feelings to himself, treating them like a confidence although she hadn't asked for that.

"Makes me miss Becca," he said.

"And how do you feel about that?" Steve asked absently.

"Well, sad, dumbass," Bucky said, and Steve laughed. "But she'd be happy that I got a second chance even though she's not around to see it. So I thought about going skating at Rockefeller Center. I took Becca skating there once the year after it opened." Steve smiled.

"I remember. You saved for a month and you were her hero, she talked about it for weeks, her friends were jealous. Let's see about reservations so we don't have to wait in line." They purchased a package; tickets for late afternoon followed by dinner and a performance of the Rockettes' Christmas Spectacular at Radio City Music Hall. This would require some consideration of their wardrobe choices and Bucky left to flip through his clothes, settling on some black trousers that looked dressy and were wool with a little spandex for comfort and a warm black cashmere turtleneck sweater. That decided and inspired by Steve's relentless work ethic, Bucky went online himself and checked out the classes he'd need to take for his bachelor's degree, ordering some of the textbooks. He had about eight months before work would support him going back, but he could learn before that and the classes would be slightly easier with the background. He could discuss concepts with the other techs as well. He had time to run his Christmas shopping list before it was time to get ready, and Steve met him in the lobby, looking dapper in a dark blue slacks and a chunky marled blue and silver gray sweater.

Neither had skated since before the war, but the serum had enhanced their ability to pick things up quickly, and it wasn't long before they were skating fluidly and proficiently. Forward, at least; backward was still a little problematic. They skated their ninety minutes, then turned in their skates and went to dinner. Delicious food and lots of it, perfect for hungry super ex-soldiers. They were a little early to Radio City, but that was ok; it was lit up with the giant gold Christmas tree on top, and Bucky shook his head. Steve looked at him questioningly.

"Looks mostly like how I remember it when it first opened," he said. "Weird flashback." Steve nodded.

"I remember when it opened during the Depression," he said. "Swanky. Beautiful Art Deco. Never thought I'd get to see the inside of the place." Even if the tickets hadn't have been out of reach, the cost of the clothing that he'd have needed to wear certainly made his wistful dream of attendance for some program far beyond his means. Dress standards had relaxed a lot, for which he wasn't entirely in approval. On one hand, it was nice that people who couldn't afford expensive clothing could go; on the other hand, it's respectful to yourself, the other attendees, and the occasion to dress up, showing the artists that you value the hard work and talent that goes into the performance. Standards aren't always a bad thing. Inside, the lobby and the interior of the theater were still grand and exciting, and the show was a real spectacle, fun for everyone. They had drinks afterward, then headed for home.

The next day, Bucky realized that he both could and wanted to decorate his apartment for the holidays. He went shopping with a list and a game plan, having rented a vehicle for the day. His apartment was still pretty small, so he found a very realistic table-top artificial tree, pre-lit with white lights, and he bought some small glass icicles, fragile jewel-toned glass balls with glitter, and some old-fashioned mercury-glass shaped ornaments, the kind he remembered from his childhood. A small green velvet tree skirt with silver trim. Red velvet ribbons twined in artificial seasonal greenery swags for the tops of his doors. A wreath and hanger for his front door. Then he kind of lost his head. He bought a small electric fireplace, a nice rug to place in front of that, some white candles in the form of trees to place on top of that. Some Christmas dish towels and potholders, and a nice tablecloth and cloth napkins. He even bought some small plates with penguins doing festive things on them. Invitations for a cocktail party for his friends to be held between Christmas and New Years that he thought up on the spot. He could put snacks on the penguin plates. And some velvet throw pillows to match the ornaments for the couch. And his last big purchase was a cat tree for Natasha, tall and thin. It was ivory carpet and sisal-wrapped posts, with a house at the top and a couple of curved platforms underneath for napping.

He took this bounty home, then hit the stores for his gifts, a man possessed. He first bought beautiful wrapping paper and extravagant bows, needing scissors and tape as well. For Sam, he got a gift card to a specialty automotive store for the '64 1/2 classic Mustang he was restoring, a six pack of the shitty beer he liked, and some dark blue tac gloves he could use for Avenging. He was on more uncertain ground with Wanda, but a package at the Shibui Spa and some unique and beautiful silver earrings seemed ok; he knew she liked going to a spa when she had the time. Natalia wasn't difficult--she was smooth and polished on the outside, a perfect porcelain shell, but inside was warm and vulnerable, all the things Black Widow was afraid to show to the world, so he got her an exquisite silk robe, a warm embroidered flannel nightshirt, and fuzzy warm socks. For Thor, a bottle of a wonderful mead and helpful textbooks on Earth governments and histories that should help him fit New Asgard into place; he seemed somewhat adrift, and information on what the UN considered protections for citizens and comparative studies on different forms of government should help. Steve was the easiest. He went to an art supply store. Steve was resisting the 21st century's art innovations, but he bought a digital paper sketch pad as well as a regular one for him to play around with and a water drawing board, where the work faded when the water dried, and a massive box of candies containing old favorites like malted milk balls, peppermint sticks, and root beer barrels, as well as more modern treats from Salty Road taffy, Liddabit caramels, and high-end chocolates. Steve tried to hide the fact that he had an enormous sweet tooth because of the children who looked up to him. Smaller presents for more casual friends. The one he was stuck on was Ava. There were a lot of practical things that he could have gotten her that she'd like, but he wanted something impractical. But something that wouldn't make her feel pressured. He sighed. He ended up with a gift card for therapeutic massages to help her recover from the bombing and a box of high-end chocolates that cost more than the massages. Because he would deliver the gift before Christmas, he also bought a different box of candies for the rather inappropriately named Marguerite; she was one of the least daisy-like women he'd ever met. There was no need to be rude to her, though, especially since she'd come to help her sister.