This is not the Endgame

Bucky started keeping more normal hours once he got back from his swing through Chicago, Seattle, San Francisco, Los Angeles, El Paso, New Orleans, and Miami. He was very satisfied with what he'd found out. He started running into Ava more in the building as his hours got increasingly regular; one evening he helped her bring up a large flat box. "Thanks," she said. "It's not heavy but it's awkward."

"For the short, maybe," he said absently, teasingly, then stiffened, worried that he'd insulted her. But she laughed, and he relaxed.

"I'm a slave to my genetics," she said lightly, and went ahead to unlock her door. She held it open for him, and and he placed the box on the sofa. The label said it was a two-burner induction cooktop. He was glad he hadn't accidentally bashed it on the banister. "Mine gave out last week, and Stan the Schmuck said he'd put me on the list. I'll die of old age before he replaces it."

"Do you need help replacing it?"

"Naw, it's an easy fix. I'll just put the old one in the box, stash it in the corner, and replace it if I ever get to move out, just to be mean."

"Matt said you did a lot of appliance repair."

"Yeah, people need their fridges and cooktops, the window AC units, the ancient electric heaters. And we can't have microwaves because they'll overload the circuits." She shook her head in disbelief.

"I thought you were a civil engineer?"

"Well, I knew I wanted to be an engineer when I first went to college, but I didn't know what flavor. So the first semester, I took an intro course for non-majors that focused on mechanical, electrical, and civil engineering, took a liking to civil. But the mechanical and electrical units gave me a basis to learn how to fix some appliances. And these are all really old, so they're easier to fix. People have to pay for the parts--and I know where you can get less expensive parts, recycling centers, junkyards, in case you need to fix something. But maybe you can do it yourself. You look like you might be pretty handy, Jim."

"It's nice to know I can get help if I'm in over my head." He smiled at her. "How long did it take to complete that degree program?" He didn't miss how her smile dimmed.

"It took me six years, but I had to drop out for a semester after the Snap." She picked at a cuticle. "My parents were killed in a traffic accident, like a lot of people. The driver had dusted. They had been paying for my college, same as they had for my sister, and they had good life insurance, so it shouldn't have been a problem. But it turned out that the insurance refused to pay; they called the Snap an act of God. There's still a class-action lawsuit against the companies, but again, I'll probably be dead before it settles, if it's not just thrown out. The car insurance paid out some, as little as possible, but we had to pay outstanding debt and there wasn't much left. My sister and I couldn't afford the mortgage payments for the house, couldn't get it refinanced when the real estate market tanked, and it was foreclosed. I ended up taking off a semester while I applied for scholarships, got my financial aid redone. Got used to everybody not being there. And I had to retake a couple of classes that I didn't do well enough in, from that semester that the Snap happened. I worked for a few years before starting my masters; I did better with that, got that in two years. There's a really good on-line civil engineering program with an available focus in construction engineering from NC State. It was non-thesis, so I didn't have to travel to defend it, a real help."

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I was dusted. For me, it was just like taking a nap. We missed out on all the chaos."

"Don't apologize, it wasn't your fault." She smiled at him a little.

"I like your place." Topic jump, but he did. The walls were brighter white in here, she had curtains over the battered metal-slat blinds that came with the place. He'd expected the furniture to be worn too, but it was unexpectedly magnificent. They couldn't put nails in the walls because the ancient plaster would crack and fall off, more than it had already, but she had pretty, lightweight posters put up with clear reusable tape. The doors were taken off the upper cabinets, and her plates were placed in wire racks, bowls and glasses upside down on a wire riser. He recognized anti-cockroach measures when he saw them. There were pretty little rugs on the floor and colorful towels on a drying rod screwed into the end of the kitchen cabinet. The clothesline was present. "It's cozy here. You've got some nice pieces," he said, and she wouldn't meet his eye. She had a six drawer step cabinet, hand forged iron corner protectors and drawer pulls, aged wood. A half moon table with gracefully curved, carved legs and a marble top by the door where she set her keys. An interesting Art Deco piece that had a small wardrobe with a mirror on the door of one side and an integrated bureau with five drawers, original hardware on the other side. A solid, snug, beautiful wood sleigh bed, a carved Asian screen to partition the studio apartment. A shiny chrome kitchen table and two chairs, like from an old diner. A wood valet folding chair and a dining room chair, used as bedside tables, and a comfortable leather sofa, the most modern-looking of the furniture.

"Well, I'm a thief," she said after blowing out a lungful of air, and that piqued his interest. "After the Snap, there were all these houses empty. People were scavenging almost from the start. Later, I went for a rummage myself, salvaging the furniture. It seemed like a real shame to let such beautiful pieces go to ruin. A lot of people were doing it, not that it's an excuse. The food, jewelry and valuables went first; furniture wasn't as big a deal. There wasn't a big market for it. But I had a storage unit, my sister and I got one together before she left, and I kept things for awhile, then there was more demand once things had stabilized and I started selling. I kept the pieces I liked most in the storage unit, and the resale provided enough money for me to live and get this apartment. Nobody knew that the Snap could be undone. I feel bad now that many people have come back, but I don't even remember where I got them. And I can't return what I sold."

"Well, there was an amnesty for looters, at least in the city," Bucky said gently. They'd all had to catch up with what had happened while they were dust bunnies. "A lot of it would have been ruined anyway, in five years of disrepair, no pest control. It would have been a shame." He gently patted her shoulder with his right hand.

"What about you? What were you before the Snap?"

"I was a cop first," he said slowly. "Then I went into the Army, where I was a marksman. It messed me up." She nodded.

"You don't have to say more if you don't want. I noticed you don't move your left arm much. I just figured you were injured at some point." It was his turn to nod. He'd developed the habit of treating it like it wasn't functional in public, knowing that people would understand his desire to conceal it under long sleeves and a glove.

"I have a prosthetic. I don't like to show it."

"You won't be bothered about it," she said, and he relaxed a bit. "People tend to keep to themselves here, you don't have to talk if you don't want." She hesitated a moment. "Do you have any family?"

"No, they died before the Snap," he said, summarizing things neatly, he felt. "My best friend since we were kids was just like a brother, though. We were both in the military. He wasn't Snapped, I was... I was counting on him after the Unsnappening, but he... just said goodbye and left to chase after a woman he'd known once."

"He didn't stay to help get you acclimated?" Her voice was incredulous.

"No, I think Steve figured others would help. And they did. But it wasn't the same."

"All that history, you think that he'd have your back." Her voice was sharp and judgmental, and he wondered what it would be like to have somebody like that as his friend.

"Yeah. Uh, well, I'll get out of your hair," he said awkwardly.

"You're not a bother," she said, smiling, softening. "I'll let you know if I need some solitude."

"Well, I need to get going anyway." He wasn't sure if this was an invitation to stay, but he had some surveillance to conduct plus there was a meeting, and said good night. He kept his mind on business; it wouldn't do to be surprised while he was working, but when he got out to the Avengers complex, he found himself thinking about her. He didn't say anything, but Sam noted a certain light brightening in his demeanor from Supercell Thunderstorm back a notch to a Multicell Thunderstorm. Perhaps erroneously, he attributed this to the removal of stressors like Pepper Potts, who had carried over her husband's grudges from his life, as well as a growing adjustment to modern life, and anonymity. An increasing affinity for independence. The Winter Soldier was a big topic before the Snap; now nobody cared.

Bucky's good mood from the meeting received a blow when he got home; the heater in his studio had gone on the fritz. Newer heaters, like microwaves, were forbidden in the old building because the power draw blew the frail circuits. His eyes narrowed in frustration; the night was cold and he was chilled from the ride back from the Avengers compound despite his cold-weather riding clothes. Then the ghost of a smile traced his lips and he went two doors down the hall and knocked. Ava opened her door and smiled. "Jim. How are you tonight?'

"My heater died, I think. Sorry for just barging in." He hadn't really needed to; the forecast wasn't calling for the temperature to go below freezing, and he was used to the cold, anyway.He could have made do, might still have to.

"It's no trouble. Nobody wants to sleep in a freezing cold apartment," she said. "Let me get some tools." She invited him in. For all her talk, her apartment wasn't very warm either, but the cost of energy was sky high. He picked up a box that was half out of a shopping tote. It was a clear plastic film that you taped over windows, hit it with a hairdryer; it shrunk to provide some insulation against winter drafts.

"You might want to get some for your windows too," she advised, turning back to him with two handsful of tools. "It gets really drafty when the winds hit this side of the building. The windows are single-pane too, there's not much insulation. Every little bit helps."

"Where do you get them?"

"At the grocery," she said, following him into the hall and locking her door. They went to his apartment and she went over to the heater. "They sell out fast, though." She looked at the appliance, her hands moving quickly and competently in a way that suggested great familiarity with the heaters and their defects. "Yeah, this isn't a problem. I can get it working, but it needs a new cord too. I'd appreciate it if you could get it tomorrow, I'll change it out. Nobody wants the building to burn down."

"Now, that would be... not neighborly," he said, and she grinned at him. She used a couple of tools, then turned it to the lowest setting. Meager heat emitted after it had a chance to warm up.

"This looks nice," she said, looking around. "Monochrome is chic." It was kind of her to say; the white and gray was, after her apartment, boring and sterile.

"I'll buy the cord tomorrow," he promised, and she told him that if he went to a hole-in-the-wall hardware store nearby and told the salespeople what he needed, they'd sell him the right kind for the ancient heaters. That was helpful. He had a highly specialized and elite skillset, but that was for assassination and retrieval rather than appliance repair. "I could owe you a favor, or I could do something for you," he said, realizing that they hadn't talked about this. "I noticed that you have the standard crappy locks here. If you got a new lockset, I could install it for you. Deadbolts too, if you want." She looked intrigued.

"There's a real community here for people who want it, but not everybody does. Some people you have to be wary of. I've never replaced a lock, and I didn't want to risk drilling holes in the door and jamb in case I messed things up."

"It's an expense for a good lock, but if you'd prefer, I can install them as you get them," he said, awkwardly aware that she might not have room in her budget for them.

"I appreciate that," she said, a little relieved.

"Are you working this weekend?" he asked to change the subject. Usually she worked Friday and Saturday nights, a six hour shift and an eight hour shift.

"Yep," she confirmed. "Are you going to swing by for a drink?"

"Yeah, my friend Sam will be meeting me." Or he would be; Bucky would have to call him right after she left and ask the favor. He didn't feel like he really wanted to be mistaken for a creeper, tucked away at a table and trying not to stare at her. Or be a solo drinker, even though he'd never managed to get drunk after the initial treatments that Zola had given him. "Do you know any way to get internet service here? Wifi doesn't work." She flashed her smile again.

"Ethernet," she said, and he looked blank. "You can get a cable at the hardware store too. It's thick and yellow. The jack is right... let's see... over here. Most laptops are still ethernet compatible, a relief. Sometimes I bring work home at night and I'd be sunk without it. It's the biggest upgrade that was made in the last twenty years. Well, that and the WiFi router in the lobby. The WiFi is the biggest luxury here. Well, that and the hot water heaters. They're enormous."

"That makes me feel better," he said.

"Do you stream tv shows and movies on your laptop? Missing Netflix?" she asked. He wasn't sure what Netflix was, hadn't cared to look it up what sounded frivolous, but he'd heard people referencing it.

"Netflix and chill," he said, then worried what he'd said when surprise and a few other emotions flashed across her face.

"Well, you'll be up and running in no time," she said. "See you tomorrow, I'll fix the heater cord. I might not be able to get the new doorknob until the weekend."

"Whenever's convenient for you," he said, and held the door for her. He waited until he heard her door close and snuck down the hall to the stairs so that he could call Sam from the lobby. When he got there, there were several residents there. The drug dealers were going out again; Matt had identified them for him, along with the gang members, and a pair of prostitutes and their pimp. It was definitely a live-and-let-live environment, and Matt, coming home from work, introduced him to the leaders of the first two floors. Bucky was professional, and one of the gang members volunteered the information that they would take care of any troublemakers on the property, residents only had to ask.

"It benefits them too," Matt said. "Cops don't like to come down, but they have to if there's a big enough ruckus. This way they don't get hassled and the rest of us leave them in peace too. They do their business out of the building. It's as safe as you can get in this neighborhood."

Everybody nodded at each other, and Bucky leaned on the door of the decommissioned elevator out of the way of the mailboxes and door and pulled out his phone to text rather than have what was probably going to be a conversation that would made him look and feel stupid.

BB: Sam?

Sam Wilson: SUP

BB: Are you free Friday night?

SW: Got a job? TMYL

BB: What? I want to go to that bar again.

SW: Dive bar? Rly?

BB: Yes. Are you available?

SW: Yeah. Nice that ur going 2 b social, willingly.

BB: I also have a question. What's 'Netflix and chill?'

SW: Old slang for asking a woman over. Code for a booty call.

BB: What?

SW: SiS. Asking a woman over to watch movies but intent is to have sex.

SW: ...

SW: Buck?

SW: What did you do.

BB: SNAFU.

SW: WHT????

BB: I may have insinuated this to my nice neighbor. Shit.

SW: ROTFL.

BB: What?

SW: Will explain l8r. Unless u want to netflix/chill w/her, just don't bring it up again. Will b fine. YOLO tho.

SW: CU Fri 8 pm dive bar.

Bucky cringed, nervously swiped his right hand over his face. She probably thought he was a pervy old guy. He turned, rolling his shoulders along the wall, to go upstairs, then leaned on his shoulder and brought up a search engine on his phone. Netflix. Online streaming service, movies and TV. Oh, hey. They had Casablanca. He'd always wanted to see that. Well, until Hydra got hold of him, anyway, then he'd sort of forgotten about it. And The Wizard of Oz. The Adventures of Robin Hood, with Errol Flynn. The 39 Steps. His Girl Friday. Frankenstein. Bringing Up Baby. The Thin Man movies. He could watch on his computer, once he got the ethernet cable. Or they still shipped DVDs. The movies might hang up on ethernet, though, according to their stated system requirements. Did his computer have a DVD drive? Could he buy an external drive, or a laptop with the drive?

He needed to go shopping tomorrow.

His phone chimed once as he started for the stairs. It was a link that Sam sent to some website that had translations for the acronyms he'd used in the texts. Text me your location, snickering in silence, rolling on the floor laughing--why would anybody do that?--you only live once. Well, that was patently untrue. Bucky huffed out a breath as he climbed the stairs, wondering when he'd gotten to be such an old fogey.