September, 2014.

South of Aberdeen, Scotland, United Kingdom.

Ever since our impromptu family meeting to plan the next leg of our criminalized vacation, I opened up the laptop once or twice a week to see if anyone had replied to my request. My attachment to the username Honeycutt hadn't been realized yet, and I was safe from counter offers wanting personal, sexual favors in exchange for help. If I stayed too active and introduced myself as the face of Honeycutt, I could expect that reaction soon. I'd have to ask Bucky how he felt about being me.

I logged onto the computer while Bucky was at work. Arty had asked him and a couple other night shift men to work a daylight shift and a couple hours of overtime each day for the previous week. Arty wanted to take his wife on a weekend getaway, but he was too nice to cut the hours of any of his employees. I expected Bucky home by dinner instead of in the wee hours of the morning.

There were a few comments on the original thread from users I didn't recognize. I knew SHIELD agents had their own codenames on the site.

There was nothing to see. A couple people were willing to get me across the English Channel and into France, but that was no help. One person wanted an arm and a leg for a holey wooden boat and two oars. Also, not a lot of help.

Instead of simply logging out and shutting the computer down, I backed up a page and checked the darkened local news. It was common courtesy to alert fellow fugitives to law enforcement activity.

I scanned the section on the British Isles, trying to pick out the important stuff. A failed IRA plot in Dublin, which the IRA was taking credit for nonetheless. But one caught my eye in particular.

DamnedFool: PSA, Phalanx running ops in LHR. California spotted solo in the city. 26-9-14.

Well, shit.

Bucky knocked on the door from outside, and then he was turning the key in the lock. I didn't look up as he came in, but soon he was sitting front of me. He dropped a pair of leather work gloves on the table and groaned.

"I'm tired," he said.

"Coffee's on," I answered. We had enough grounds left for one more pot, then I'd have to get more.

"You never stare at the screen like that," he pointed out. He took a mug from the clean side of the sink and shook the water out of it.

"Steve's in London, Buck," I said quickly. He froze in place, but then he was filling the mug like what I had said meant very little.

"How do you know?" he asked. He sat his cup in front of his seat and came to stand behind me. He leaned over my shoulder as usual and looked where I pointed. "California? Is that his codename?"

"The two letter code for California is CA. CA for Captain America. Very simple, kind of stupid, but yes. That's Steve, and Phalanx is the codename for SHIELD, even though I doubt they're running anything anymore," I answered. "They don't give any specific coordinates besides the airport code for London Heathrow, just a date. Yesterday, to be specific."

"Do you think he's tracking us?"

"I doubt it," I comforted him.

"Leave tonight or tomorrow?" Bucky asked. He straightened up, and I stared at his rigid frame as he stalked across the room. "We could both use the sleep, so I think tomorrow."

"Bucky, it's Steve. There were no other codes mentioned. He's alone," I interjected. I stood up from my chair and nearly knocked it over as my legs and the table legs and the chair legs all twisted around each other. I recovered smoothly and practically chased Bucky into the bedroom. "I could go to London and double check. I could bring him here."

"No, don't do that," he cut in, panicking suddenly. "I barely remember him. I could very well try to kill him."

"I doubt that," I laughed tensely. He stared daggers at me. Maybe just butter knives.

"I don't want to see him yet. Pack your stuff," he told me. I cocked my head to the side, and he rolled his eyes. "Please, pack your stuff."

"Let's remember that please on the first try next time," I suggested. He turned away from me and pulled his backpack from under the bed. "I'm going to shut down my computer."

I left him to pack his things and did as I said I would. I carried the laptop into the bedroom and dropped it on the bed roughly. Bucky was rolling a shirt to fit into his bag, and I ignored him very conspicuously.

We packed silently, Bucky working from the side of the bed and me at the footboard. Our bags were about the same size, but mine was much heavier with the old and renovated laptop in it. I let Bucky carry my .45, knowing I'd rather us each have an equal half of the guns. One person gets searched, we stood a chance of losing two instead of three. He tucked his gun in between layers of shirts and socks.

Dinner was also a silent affair. We ate leftovers instead of cooking dinner, and I tersely told Bucky we would drop off what we hadn't used with Gerald before we left. He agreed and ate. My food took twice as long as usual to cool off after coming out of the microwave. Coincidentally, the microwave was the last thing Bucky "fixed."

I took a bath that night while Bucky checked to make sure the Jeep was ready for a longer drive. I packed a little of my shampoo and conditioner into the empty travel bottles I'd had the forethought to bring. I'd miss them if I couldn't get more. I packed up everything except my toothbrush and toothpaste that night, and I set out clothes and socks for the next day on the brick stoop on the fireplace in the bedroom. When Bucky came in, he did the same. We were two old soldiers who went through two different types of training, but we arranged our things in an eerily similar way. Backpack in the floor and our shoes, half tied, right next to them with the toes pointing towards the brick of the fireplace. Clothes folded neatly and waiting for us.

"What's the plan for the morning?" Bucky asked. He left his t-shirt on but ditched his pants and the button down he normally wore to work. He folded both of them and packed them into his open backpack.

"Drive," I told him. I laid back in the bed and covered myself up. I stayed on my back, even though the position bothered me. It left a lot of vital organs pretty open to attack. I'd roll onto my side once Bucky laid down too. "There are a lot of fishing boats around here, to the north and south. We pick a direction, drive until we see a pretty big and pretty dilapidated boat, pay the skipper to ferry us to Norway. I doubt we can get into Oslo, but we can at least hit Norwegian coastline and steal a car."

"More illegal activity," he muttered. He sat down on the edge of the bed and set the alarm clock.

"You're going to have to get used to that," I told him. He nodded and put the clock back in its place. God only knows how early he had set it to wake us. He laid down flat on his back, and I rolled over to look at him. I preferred to have my back to the wall anyway. "Running from the federal government is also illegal. So is entering a country without going through customs or getting a job without a visa or paying taxes. We've done all those things though, and we'll do more. I'm sure of it."

"I know," he grumbled. I tried to hide my quiet laughter. Bucky tossed and turned his way onto his side, putting his back to the wall as well. "But I still don't like it."