October, 2014.

Oslo, Norway.

It didn't take long for either of us to realize how different Oslo would be from Aberdeen. The city was loud and crowded. It wasn't like our rural hideaway at all. I knew the language, but Bucky struggled to pick it up.

A plan was concocted on the drive from the seaside. Our old passports from the UK would be used to exchange all of our cash in one fell swoop from as many different banks across the city as possible. Bucky wanted to find work for himself again, and we decided he could do that while I scouted apartments and abandoned buildings. We hoped for simplicity.

Our first day greeted us with a sunny sky and paradoxically cold temperatures. Exchanging the money was slow and a bit haphazard. The majority of it had to be freed from vacuum sealing before it could be turned in for Euros. Thankfully, exchanging it here meant we were done with that particular chore as long as we stayed in Europe.

After splitting the money between the two of us, we made a pact to meet at a touristy spot before dinner. Bucky set off for the nearest piers in hopes of finding work, and I started exploring the city.

It wasn't what I expected. The closest thing I could find to homeless shelters were the basements and back rooms of churches. That was too claustrophobic, too dangerous for us. Not a single apartment building would take me without a visa or proof of employment. Venturing into the neighborhoods that tourists were warned about provided even less. No one trusted me, even with a handful of big bills.

I decided to tell Bucky Oslo was a bust. We could give it tomorrow, but our best bet would be to leave the city and meet up with a contact who had access to a safe house. We could spare a little money for that kind of luxury.

Then I saw it. A plain grey building with perfectly spaced out windows and not a trace of occupancy. It was only ten or twelve floors, but the door and windows on the lower level were thoroughly boarded up. I circled the building until I found an alley and slipped into it. The angle of the sun and height of the building made the alley significantly colder than the street, and I shoved my hands into my pockets. I wasn't looking forward to this weather, but I could tough it out.

The only door at the back of the building wasn't what I expected.

It blended into the greyscale of the brick, right down to the paint over the hinges. There wasn't a single warning or keep out sign to be seen, and the door knob was missing. The deadbolt was rusted out. There was nothing to keep a vagrant like myself or Bucky Barnes from waltzing right inside.

Which is exactly what I did. The hallway on the other side was just as monochromatic, but it was white-washed instead of grey. I took quiet, smooth steps down the hallway and looked at the tags on each and every door that I passed. Electrical Access, Water Services Access, Elevator Systems Access, Property Manager's Office, Stairwell. That last door was propped open with a cinderblock. I moved the block out of the way with ease, happy to know the results of my meager amounts of strength training hadn't dissipated yet.

"Where are you going?" a voice asked behind me. Without meaning to, my eyes widened as I turned to face him. Old, scruffy, dressed for the weather. Those were my first impressions of him. While I sorted through Norwegian in my head, I continued sizing him up while he did the same to me. He was short and slight from what I could tell through his layers of clothing. There was no grimace in his features. He looked quite friendly, really.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know anyone was in here," I told him, using the same low volume he had.

"Did you want to go upstairs? I can show you around if you want," he offered. Without hearing my answer, he walked right past me and pulled the door open further. There was nothing about him that warned me to run away. He walked ahead of me, putting himself in the compromised position. I followed him hesitantly. "Last time I counted, there were about a dozen people living here. I wouldn't want you to walk into someone's house on accident."

"Living here?" I asked, curiosity breaking my unintentional silence. My tour guide looked over his shoulder and nodded at me.

"The building was meant to be for university students, but the contractor didn't get the right permits during construction so the city won't let anyone live here unless everything gets redone. Costs too much to be worth it," he explained further. "It was all hooked up to water and most of the rooms had electricity by that point, and the city turned a blind eye to passers-through staying here as long as the numbers are low."

"Passers-through," I repeated. We came to the third floor landing, and he stopped. With a hand on the door knob, he answered yet another question.

"People who need a place to sleep and cook their dinner," he said. "Not many people like to hike upstairs, so most of my tenants stay on the second and third floors."

He pulled the door open and gave it a hard enough shove that I was able to make it through the threshold before it closed. The sound of it slamming shut rang through the hallway we had entered. There was a wide purple stripe running the length of the wall as far as I could see, even continuing over the doors of the unused elevator. The carpeting wasn't discolored, but there were a couple dingy boot prints right outside the stairwell door.

I stayed a few steps behind him as he walked down the hall. He ambled, really, with no trace of nervousness or suspicion about me. Either he was incredibly trusting or dumb, although my line of work had made those two words synonyms.

"All of the rooms look like this one," he announced, opening an unlocked door and stepping inside. "Room for a little furniture, all a student needs. The kitchen appliances hadn't been installed yet, so most people have a camp stove or a hot plate."

I stood in the doorway as he paced around the room. The exterior wall was a bank of floor to ceiling windows, but curtains were gathered on either end.

"These rooms have electricity?" I checked.

"In the wall outlets. No light, I'm afraid," he answered. The kitchen he mentioned was about four square feet of counter space, an overhead cabinet, and space for an oven and narrow refrigerator.

"Would you let me live here? My friend and I haven't been able to find work yet. We just came to the city," I explained, meeting his eye.

"I don't see why not. Plenty of rooms left all over the place," he assured me.

"Would it be rude of me to ask for a specific one?"

My new landlord only laughed and took my request as we went downstairs again. I told him I would come back and bring my friend, and I began thinking of the things we needed in the little room. There was a chill in the air, even within the walls of the building and with the warmth of the sun coming through the windows. We couldn't just sleep on the floor. And we could stand to have one of those camp stoves as well.

I left the building through the same door I came. I finally learnt my host's name, Stig, as he showed me out. I had no problem finding my way through the streets to mine and Bucky's agreed upon meeting place. I made it there first and found somewhere to wait discreetly. No more than fifteen minutes later, Bucky showed up. He spotted me in the decent sized crowd as if I was the only person there. He had been trained to find his target easily, and he hadn't lost his touch.

"Do we have a place to live?" he asked right away. We began walking away from our rendezvous and immediately fell into step with each other.

"We do, but it's not glamorous," I warned him. We both stood out compared to the standard Norwegian. We both had dark hair. I could bleach mine, but Bucky's was still short enough not to attract a lot of attention.

"How bad is it?" he checked. I silently directed him to take a turn by nudging him with my shoulder.

"We have a landlord, but we don't have rent," I said, trying to summarize my experience with Stig. "Water and power, but no guarantees about privacy."

"At least you found a place," he told me, and it seemed like he was trying to find a silver lining amongst our many, many clouds. "No jobs."

"There's always tomorrow, Buck," I assured him. I stopped at the curb, across the street from our new abode. Bucky examined the building and put two and two together. "We're on the top floor, close to roof access. Our windows face the back side of the building, not the street."

"Tactically defendable," he summed up. "What else do we need for it? Not glamorous sounds like not furnished."

"No bed. I think we can get away with sleeping bags and pallets," I told him. We walked across the street, but I led him past the building. I wasn't spending an October night in Norway without the guarantee of warmth. "We might need a hot plate too. No appliances."

"That's manageable," Buck agreed. "I think we can handle Norway."

*

Author's Note:

It appears Wattpad no longer likes it when I copy and paste from a Word document. If you see any seemingly out of place 'special characters', please ignore them. I think I found them all in my last read through. 

Also, I apologize for disappearing since March. Life can be hectic, and Internet access can be scarce. Thanks for sticking around, though! Keep on the lookout for a couple more updates soon.