This is not the Endgame

Do you think you're better every day

Later that week, Bucky pulled up to a gas station after a session with his therapist. He loved motorcycles, the intimacy of the speed and the air passing over the rider, but he didn't particularly care for the one he had. Steve had given him the Harley Davidson Street 750 before he left. It had great performance, it was all black, but its gas mileage in the city was in the low 30s. And it felt like sort of a fire sale sort of thing, given away because its owner just didn't want it anymore. Didn't want his friendship, either, for that matter, and they'd had words about that before Steve ran off. Nevertheless, it ran well and was reliable transportation; Bucky couldn't be bothered to replace it. Couldn't justify it, anyway; free from Hydra conditioning, he'd reverted to his upbringing where everything was worn out before it was discarded. He drove to the garage, parking and walking to The Shithole in the gathering dark. He usually didn't bother with a helmet unless he was on a mission.

In the lobby, he crossed to the mailboxes. The woman with the shiny dark hair--pulled back today in an intricate braid--was cursing under her breath, reading a letter. He withdrew the only mail he ever got--junk mail--and sorted it into the recycling. He took a chance on socializing. "Bad news?" he asked, carefully casual, and the woman looked up at him.

"Yeah. It won't affect you until your lease comes up again, but they're going to raise the rents $200 a month. Shit. Most of us barely earn enough for the rent as it is, it's extortionate already." She seemed torn between tears and rage. Bucky wasn't sure what to do.

"I'm sorry to hear that. As you said, it's hard to find affordable housing." He hesitated. "What are you going to do?"

"I'll think of something. Probably a second job, if I can find one." She exhaled, then summoned a smile. "My name's Ava. Ava Mignot. I think you live a couple places down the hall from me." She put out her hand.  Bucky shook it gingerly. Her grip was firm.

"I'm... Jim," he decided on the spot. "Barnes." He hated the nickname, but it put another layer between him and the unsuspecting public. It was rare, talking to a stranger, finding cursory commonplaces, and he didn't want to jeopardize his anonymity, especially where he lived. By now, people had accepted the public explanation for the Snap--that an immensely powerful being had the power and used it, that the Avengers had tried and failed to stop him, that they'd managed to finally bring the disappeared people back. The government had said that the means by which they'd done it was classified, and that was that. If they knew the whole truth, it could get ugly.

"Nice to meet you," she said, smiling at him. Huh. That was also rare. "I should have introduced myself before now, it wasn't neighborly."

"This doesn't seem like a really neighborly place," he ventured. She tipped her hand back and forth.

"Depends. The first two floors have most of the people who are ... better left to themselves. There are a couple of drug dealers, some gang members. They're kind of dangerous, but generally, they keep worse off the street outside, so nobody hassles them, and they've never caused problems in the building. You can ask them for help of you're being harassed. If there's a security issue, like someone strange coming into the building, they'll take care of it. Some people, I don't know what they do, but they give off a definite vibe that they'd like to be left alone, and we do. Things are friendlier on the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth floors. Not everybody is open with each other, but we know each other to say hi to, and there's a barter economy going on. You do something for another resident, they owe you a favor, and everybody has some sort of skill. For example, Matt on the fourth floor is a fantastic stylist; he works at a salon, but he'll trade me haircuts for keeping his appliances running. I'd introduce you." Her smile widened, and he pushed his luck a little farther.

"Are you saying I need a haircut?" The ghost of a smile touched his mouth briefly.

"You have such gorgeous thick hair, it's a shame that it's not maximized," she said tactfully. He couldn't figure out if she was flirting with him. Best to assume not.  He agreed, and they went upstairs to see if this Matt was home.