An hour and thirty-seven minutes later we got out of the taxi at the wharf and, throwing our bags over our shoulders, made our way down to docks. Barnes had stood uncomfortably in the doorway of my studio apartment as I rushed around, trying to assemble my most comfortable and utilitarian clothing into a gym bag. I felt self conscious as he watched me, wishing he would look somewhere else as I dove into my underwear drawer, pulled out a fistful at random, and stuffed them into the bottom of the bag. I ducked into the bathroom and emerged with an armful of items. Barnes had scoffed as I tossed in a small bag of makeup.

"Trust me," I said lightly, shoving a hairbrush into a side pocket, "you do not want to see what my real eyebrows look like." He had not cracked a smile.

We walked now between rows and rows of boats of varying shapes and sizes, and I wondered how in the hell Barnes had managed to set up an arrangement for naval passage under the circumstances. I began to feel nervous. What the fuck am I doing? I thought to myself. I just agreed to flee the country with a man I just met, who just so happens to also be the most wanted criminal in America. And a super soldier. If I got caught, everything I was working for would be for nothing. I would be going to prison for aiding and abetting for the rest of my life.

So why was I so… excited?

At last we reached a boat at the edge of the dock and Barnes held out a hand for me to stop. It was smaller than many on the wharf, with just a small cabin and a navigation room attached, panelled on three sides with windows, and a deck area a few yards wide. Barnes called out in a language I did not understand - possibly Russian - and a small, bald man poked his head out of the cabin door and responded. I suspected they were exchanging passwords of some kind. The bald man disembarked the boat and limped over to us, held out a key, and began a long explanation in Russian to Barnes, presumably regarding the workings of the boat. He shot me a curious glance, but did not address me, and I was glad of it. He had a long scar that seemed to go from the top of his head all the way down his temple to his neck, and I shivered imagining how he got it. After a moment of speaking, Barnes and the bald man nodded at each other and shook hands, and we stood and watched him limp away down the dock before turning and boarding the boat ourselves.

"When you said the boat was leaving in two hours, I thought you were planning on stowing away," I said, confused but relieved. Being alone meant a far less chance of discovery. It also meant only each other for company. I tried to push that thought away.

"In a sense," said Barnes, putting the key into the boat's ignition and pressing some buttons on the dashboard. "The boat is auto piloted. If I had not shown up on time, I'm sure Kristov would have programmed it to go to the wrong place. Or to explode."

"Explode?!" I took a step back away from the dashboard, alarmed.

"He is an old Soviet spy. Old habits die hard. If I was not on time he would become paranoid that I would tip off the Americans to his location."

"How did you get a Soviet spy to give you a boat?" I asked, a panicky laugh rising to my throat at the ridiculous question. What the fuck am I doing?

"I did him a favor."

I decided not to touch that one. If I was going to keep my head on, there were some things about Barnes that were better off unknown for now. Instead I ducked through the door to the living quarters and surveyed the interior of the cabin. It was bigger than it looked from the outside: there was a small couch and chair wedged together near the door, surrounding a small ash wood coffee table; two chairs crowded a dining table that extended from the far wall, and a small twin bed jutted out into the middle of the room that appeared to fold up and lock into the wall for space-saving. In the opposite corner from the door was a tiny kitchenette, complete with a small fridge, cutting board, and two-burner stove. I tossed my bag on the couch and walked over to inspect the cabinets above the countertop, pleased to find them full of various cans and boxed side dishes. The fridge, too, was stocked with fruit and vegetables, a quart of milk, a box of butter, a loaf of bread, a carton of eggs. The small freezer even held a few frozen packs of meat. Kristov evidently did the supermarket shopping for his family; he hadn't missed a thing.

It occured to me then, as I took in how much food was there, that I had no idea where we were headed or how long it would take to get there. The idea of being alone with the Winter Soldier on this boat for as long as it would take to get through all of this food made my stomach flip nervously. What the fuck am I doing?

Before I could make up my mind to jump off the boat and run for my life, I was nearly knocked off my feet as the boat began moving. Pulling myself up I stumbled back across the cabin and into the navi booth. I watched out the large windshield as we pulled farther and farther away from the dock, swung around, and plunged forward into the black depths of the night sky.

"Hope you've got good sea legs," said Barnes, turning towards me. He looked haggard, but strangely serene, as if pulling away from the shore was a relief.

"Where are we going?" I asked. I hated how pathetic and nervous I sounded.

"Romania."

"And how long is that going to take?"

He cocked his head at me, and I would have sworn a ghost of an amused smile played at the corner of his mouth.

"Two weeks."