Mixed Mail
It was a week to Thanksgiving, and Darcy had checked with her mom, who was spending the holiday at her aunt's house. Her mom said she was welcome to come too, but because her aunt's husband had some of his family coming, and Darcy's grandmother and uncle were also coming, there were no rooms with doors on them to sleep in. That she'd have to sleep in the living room with her cousins, and their other cousins, and she wasn't even guaranteed to get the couch at least. She had followed that by calling her half-sister, shared father, but she and her mom were going out of town to other relatives. And her father apparently had some kind of plans as well. Which meant, Darcy was looking at her first Thanksgiving totally alone. The past couple years she'd had Jane, and before that, she'd had college friends and roommates who didn't always get home for Thanksgiving either. She wasn't exactly sure how to feel about it yet.
She had ventured out in the morning to another holiday market in the city. She hadn't bought much, but it was a nice place to walk around and look at things. It was just after noon when she returned and checked her mailbox. Darcy rolled her eyes, yet again the mail carrier had put her neighbor's mail in with her own, but this time, it was not just junk mail, there was a small package that had a new name on it. She'd seen the movers on Saturday, but no signs of the actual neighbor. Yesterday she'd thought she'd heard some clanking pots through the wall, but that was it. After depositing her things in her apartment, she crossed the hall to her neighbor's door and knocked, miss-delivered mail in hand.
After Darcy knocked, she heard clanking and a grunt. Then it was quiet, she waited for a whole minute, maybe a little more and nothing. She knocked again and futilely tried to peer into the peephole. "Hello?"
"Kind of busy!" She heard a man's voice from the other side of the door.
"I'm sorry, I'm your neighbor, and the mail carrier put your mail in my box, it happens from time to time here. Most of it is junk, but there is a package here for James Grant, I assume that's you, cause the guy who moved out a few weeks ago was named Craig. Return address is just over in Brooklyn." She then heard the lock turn and the door start to open.
Bucky hadn't really left the apartment since he'd arrived about three days earlier. He'd gotten his computer going and was reading up on a lot of things he had missed being only given as much information as Hydra needed to give him to do a job, and some of that was fuzzy, given the number of times he'd been wiped after missions. He knew the doctors said he was okay to be out in the world, but he wasn't really sure what that meant, or what it meant to be out in the world. Even though he'd been free from Hydra for months, he'd moved around from place to place every few weeks to keep off the radar, living in dingy apartments, bought only what he could manage to scrape up some cash for, and could easily eat, or pack and move with. Only speaking to people when necessary to do an odd job, buy food, or anything else. Otherwise, he'd hidden out and tried to piece himself back together.
When someone knocked on his door, he'd checked, making sure it wasn't someone he'd need to fight. Even through the peephole, she was pretty. Bucky didn't figure her a threat, though he never completely discounted anything, but mostly he wasn't sure about talking to random people. When she mentioned the package though, he knew it was from Steve. He wanted the package. Bucky engaged the holographic display for his arm before unlocking the door. It was very high tech, but he'd only used it a few times, it was so realistic it could fool airport security procedures, and many other things, it looked and felt like a real arm to anyone who might come into contact with it. Perhaps that was why he didn't go out much either, it meant turning it on, and Bucky couldn't let himself forget it was not at all a normal arm. He wasn't like most people, and if they knew the truth about who or what he had been for the past sixty plus years, at best they'd run, but chances were they'd send someone after him.
He opened the door enough to reach out and take the package and other mail, barely glancing at her, "thanks." Then he closed the door. It wasn't that he slammed it, it actually closed rather softly.
"You're welcome, I guess." Darcy had only gotten a quick look at him, all tall, dark, and broody. Like she needed some handsome, moody neighbor, with everything else going on in her life.
She started back toward her door when his door opened again. "I'm sorry, that was really rude. I'm James." He held out his hand, and Darcy stepped back toward him and shook it. The shake lingered only a moment.
"A little, but I guess it is New York. Besides, does anyone actually get to know their neighbors anywhere anymore? I'm Darcy, though. Just across the hall." She smiled slightly. Maybe she was desperately lonely, trying to make small talk with someone who less than a minute ago had closed a door in her face.
"I don't know. Maybe they don't. I feel like I haven't actually spoken to anyone in a while." Bucky had talked to Steve and had one conversation with Bruce that wasn't purely answering medical evaluation questions, his computer tutorial with Tony had mostly been listening. But other than that, he actually was still fuzzy on when the last time he'd had a real, normal conversation was. It was possible Bucky no longer knew how.
"How do you manage that?" Darcy was curious, and maybe his eyes were a little bit enthralling. They somehow looked so haunted, but so innocent at the same time.
"I work from home, computers. Not a lot of human interaction. I apologize for being terrible at it. It's been a busy few weeks, moving and such." Bucky was pulling on all the things Steve had said to say about where he came from and his history if anyone inquired. Not that this woman had really asked, but he hadn't meant to close the door on her, it was just a panic reflex. Not to engage unless required.
"Sometimes work consumes more of us than we think it will." Darcy had been thinking about how much of her life was wrapped up in Jane and her work, and the Tower. And without it to occupy her, she was finding how little else she had around her. Yes, she had a few hobbies to keep her busy, but back when she first met Jane she was still keeping up with her Facebook, talking to family and friends more regularly, even if only through Facebook posts, but she barely did that every couple weeks anymore, sometimes less.
"I guess so." Bucky was leaning on the door frame, the door more fully open.
"Still unpacking?" She could see a box sitting open on the floor.
He glanced over his shoulder, "yeah, I guess I've just been pulling out what I needed each day, but now the mess of boxes is kind of getting to me."
"Do you need any help? I've kind of got nothing but time this week." Darcy shrugged with a little smile, one that he attempted to return, though he wasn't sure if he did it right. The smile looked a little timid and a bit more to one side than the other, but it was kind of cute.
"Thanks, I'm almost there. Especially after my greeting, you definitely don't owe me any help." He had been slowly making the place look half normal all day, and he just had a few boxes left.
"Okay. Well, if you need anything, I'm just there." Darcy pointed at her door before backing toward it somewhat haphazardly.
Bucky nodded, the corner of his mouth trying another smile for a moment. "Thanks. I'll see you around then, and if I get any of your mail, I'll bring it over."
"Sounds good." She opened her door and waved, he waved back, and she closed her door behind her.
Bucky stood a moment longer before retreating into his apartment and closing the door with a soft sigh. For perhaps thirty seconds he stood there in a pleasant haze. The way she smiled lingering with him before he looked down to see his left hand, looking like a normal hand. His face scrunched and he shook his head at himself. Letting his mind get lost in a beautiful woman for even a few minutes. He could never have that. He disengaged the hologram and his hand was metal again, he was just a monster. Even if they said he was okay, he knew he wasn't. The metal arm was only a visual reminder of all the mess in his head. Maybe he wasn't the assassin anymore, but he had been.