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[It's not been long after the fight over the Potomac. He's not sure how long exactly, time has blurred together and he keeps losing chunks of it, but he knows it can't be more than three months. Perhaps less. He went to ground pretty thoroughly after seeing the exhibit at the Smithsonian, all that evidence in black and white of exactly who this body used to be.
James Buchanan Barnes.
He doesn't remember any of it. Just vague impressions of the man from the bridge, a strange tight sensation in his chest whenever he imagines the man-- Steve-- falling into the water. But that's it. It's a malfunction, he should return to his handlers and request a fix, but he finds himself doggedly avoiding all attempts to track him down or pursue him.
He doesn't really have a plan of action for where to go, he moves like a ghost picking up food and money where he can. How he got to this strange hanger, he doesn't quite know, but the plane that stands gleaming in front of him is too much of a temptation. He can sneak aboard, hide somewhere, and get taken to another country. Safer that way. He isn't expecting it to look so much like living quarters when he gets aboard, and he spends a good half hour silently padding through the various rooms until he gets to one that looks like an office.
It's the comic that draws his attention. Old, framed, a pristine Captain America vol. 1 dated in the early years of the war. He sort of remembers seeing those, a propaganda tool after an experiment? Serum? He doesn't know, all he knows is that the comic is holding his attention very sharply. It's why he moves to stand behind the desk and, without care for how old it is and how carefully it has been preserved, takes it out of the frame to begin flicking through the pages.
He's so enthralled that he doesn't even hear footsteps approaching.]
James Buchanan Barnes.
He doesn't remember any of it. Just vague impressions of the man from the bridge, a strange tight sensation in his chest whenever he imagines the man-- Steve-- falling into the water. But that's it. It's a malfunction, he should return to his handlers and request a fix, but he finds himself doggedly avoiding all attempts to track him down or pursue him.
He doesn't really have a plan of action for where to go, he moves like a ghost picking up food and money where he can. How he got to this strange hanger, he doesn't quite know, but the plane that stands gleaming in front of him is too much of a temptation. He can sneak aboard, hide somewhere, and get taken to another country. Safer that way. He isn't expecting it to look so much like living quarters when he gets aboard, and he spends a good half hour silently padding through the various rooms until he gets to one that looks like an office.
It's the comic that draws his attention. Old, framed, a pristine Captain America vol. 1 dated in the early years of the war. He sort of remembers seeing those, a propaganda tool after an experiment? Serum? He doesn't know, all he knows is that the comic is holding his attention very sharply. It's why he moves to stand behind the desk and, without care for how old it is and how carefully it has been preserved, takes it out of the frame to begin flicking through the pages.
He's so enthralled that he doesn't even hear footsteps approaching.]
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