Chapter Three:
Bucky

There's only two transportation options available to get to Mongolia. Flying or by boat. Unfortunately flying isn't an option. I have no identity or passport, and while I'm sure I could find someone to create those for me here, I don't have the patience or care to do so, so going by boat is my best option. It will take about a week to get from D.C. to Hong Kong, then I'll steal a car and drive for about two days until I reach Erdenet.

It's not ideal, but it will have to do.

At the shipping harbor I'm currently at, only a couple boats are heading to Hong Kong. One of them is rather large, filled to the brim with crates, so it could be easy to hide there, but I also see a lot of workers, so it will be equally as easy to get caught. Another one of the ships has a similar problem. But the third option, I see only three or four people on board. There aren't nearly as many crates and shipping containers on board, but it looks to be the safest option.

I hide behind a pile of crap traps as I scan the boat for the workers, but they are either below deck or off somewhere else on the dock. Now is my chance to sneak aboard.

I dash out from behind the traps and run towards the dock's ledge, jumping when I reach it's end and grabbing hold of the ship's stern. I recognize that walking aboard the ramp would have been easiest, but I'm not risking being seen, so I haul myself onto the boat from the back. Now that I'm on the ship, I notice that there's a wide staircase leading below deck, which presumably is used for storage. Staying there is my best bet, up here I'm just a walking target. As swiftly and silently as I can, I head below deck and scan around to find someplace to hide. Down here there's a couple doors, one of which leads to a bedroom with two large beds, another room is filled with bunk beds, which look cheap and old so they must be for crew members, another door leads to a bathroom, and the last door near the stern is a supply closet.

That will have to do.

I slip inside and shut the door gently behind me, and in just enough time as well. A few seconds after I step away from the door, footsteps clunk above me. More footsteps follow a few minutes later, I count a total of five. If things go south I can handle five crewmen, though I'm hoping to avoid any altercations while on this voyage. I hope I can just hide in here, unnoticed and undisturbed.

It's a new and strange feeling to want to back out from a fight instead of run headlong into one. Perhaps the old me didn't like fighting all that much and the instinct for peace is starting to come back to me. I didn't even consider that: that more than just my memories would return, that my instincts, my beliefs, my behavior would start to reappear.

I feel like a snake shedding it's skin, like the Winter Soldier has grown unfit for my body, so bit by bit I'm removing him and becoming James Barnes.

This line of thinking makes my head begin to ache, so I go to sit down on the floor and begin to rub my temples. I really wish my memories and every other aspect of my old self would just come back to me all at once, it's frustrating and near torturous to—

"Hello!" A tiny voice says to my left.

I slowly turn my head to find a small boy standing a couple feet away, holding a toy boat in one hand and a toy plane in the other.

I cautiously give him a wave. "Hi."

"What are you doing on my daddy's boat?" He asks innocently.

I take a look around this supply closet and notice that it's a bit bigger than most closets, and it seems to double as a children's playroom. There is an open chest filled to the brim with toys in the far right corner, a colorful rug laid out on the cold metal floor, and children's drawings taped onto the white painted walls.

It appears I'm losing my observational skills as well as my fighting instincts.

I have to be tactical about this. If I scare him he'll go run off to his father and I'll be screwed. So I give the boy my most sincere smile and tell him: "I am trying to get away from some bad people. I need to get to Hong Kong so I can be safe, so I'm hiding on your dad's boat until we get there."

The boy accepts this explanation and genuinely looks concerned. "Bad people? What bad people? Should I get my dad—"

"No, no don't get your dad. No one but you can know I'm here. It has to be our secret."

The boy pinches his tiny fingers together and wipes them across his mouth. "My lips are sealed."

I smile once again, and this time I don't have to force it. "What's your name, kid?"

"I'm Paul," He says it like his name is a badge of honor. "What about you?"

"James."

Paul gives me a smile, and I notice he's missing his two front teeth. "Do you like planes and boats?" He gestures to the toys in his hands.

"I guess?"

"Will you play with me? You can be the plane or the boat, but I gotta say, the plane is much cooler. In a plane you can go in all these directions so fast and in a boat it takes a long time. I want to fly planes one day. I'll be the bestest pilot in the whole wide world."

"I have no doubts you will." I tell him through a chuckle.

He waves the boat in the air and urges me with his eyes for me to take it. After a second I do, rationalizing that I have several days on this boat to kill, so why not indulge this child to occupy my time? 

Once I take the small toy boat, Paul grins up at me. "I'm glad you're here, James. It's been a while since I've had a friend."

Not knowing what to say and trying to ignore the growing ache in my chest, I hold up the boat and smile down at him. "Shall we get started?"

His only reply is another toothless grin.

-

Paul and I play with the plane and boat for well over two hours. The plane apparently was raging war on the boat over stolen government documents. The boat is run by pirates who stole the documents and plan on selling them to an enemy race of lizard people, who want them because they contain the location of a jewel that can destoy the world. The plane is trying to stop this from happening. The enemy lizard people are represented by stick figures Paul made out of green pipe cleaners.

Children have very active imaginations.

As strange and ridiculous as this is, I find myself enjoying Paul's company. After spending decades in HYDRA, being around someone so innocent and carefree and joyful is quite relaxing. To Paul, everything in the world is wonderful and bright, and I can't help but envy that naive view point. Spending time with Paul also brings back a couple memories involving me and my younger siblings. According to the museum I had three, but the memories that have resurfaced only involved two. One memory was of me picking up a little girl in a kitchen and spinning her around, making her burst out laughing. In this memory I was wearing an army uniform and the girl was wearing my hat. The other memory was of me and a slightly older, different girl, and I was braiding her hair on a sofa.

They're such inconsequential memories...but to me they mean everything.

Around five o'clock Paul leaves to go eat dinner with his father and the crew, so I take the free time to go through my backpack of supplies and double check I have what I need.

Not that I could do anything if I missed an item, but it gives me something to do.

I have some small packages of artificial food, some bottles of water, a gun, extra ammunition, a knife, a brochure from the Captain America exhibit, and a small notebook and pencil, which I bought for one simple purpose.

I take said notebook and pencil out and begin writing, keeping it short and simple:

You are not the Winter Soldier. Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. You were born March 10th, 1917. You were a soldier before HYDRA kidnapped you and brainwashed you. Don't trust what they tell you. Don't trust anyone.

I close the notebook and shove it and the pencil back into my backpack before zipping the whole thing up and setting it aside. I really hope I will never need that letter, but since I'll be going to several HYDRA bases one can never be too safe.

At least now if I'm ever brainwashed again, I can find my way back and not have to suffer the fate of not knowing who I truly am.

It's a fate I would wish on no one.

About a half an hour later, Paul reappears, clutching onto something wrapped in a cloth napkin. He approaches me and reveals what the napkin holds; a buttered biscuit, some cooked asparagus, and a small cutlet of chicken.

Paul wears one of his toothless grins. "Thought you might be hungry."

"Thank you." I take the bundle and set it on my lap, biting into the roll as Paul sits down across from me, crossing his legs, gazing up at me like I'm a new toy.

"How old are you?" He asks.

Good question. I do a little bit of math and determine that I'm ninety seven, but I don't want to explain why I look so young to this child. So I lie and tell him: "I'm thirty. How about you?"

"I'm eight," He declares proudly. "Do you have any family?"

"Not anymore. They died."

"My mommy died when I was a baby. She had cancer," Paul shrugs his tiny shoulders. "I don't remember her so I don't get sad about it. My daddy doe though. He misses her."

I wonder if my family missed me when they thought I had died. I assume they did. The little girls I saw in my resurfaced memories, my sisters, did they even remember me enough to miss me? Or were they like Paul, where I was simply a ghost to them, someone they couldn't recall the face of, or remember the voice or laughter of?

It's hard enough knowing I can't remember them, I hope they at least remembered me.

"I'm sorry about your mom." I saw around a bite of the biscuit.

Paul shrugs again. "I have my daddy, and my uncles. They help my daddy with the boat."

His uncles must be the other crew I heard walking on deck earlier. "Do you stay on this boat all the time?"

"This boat is my home." Paul replies.

"What about school? Friends?"

"My uncles teach me school but it's summertime. And I've made a couple friends. Sometimes my daddy has new people come aboard and they play with me, but for the most part it's just my family." His shoulders slump a little and his expression turns wistful.

"Do you spend a lot of time in here alone? Do your uncles or dad ever hang out with you?"

"Sometimes."

My chest aches again as I stare at this child. I'm reminded of how excited he looked to find me in here, how quickly he asked me to play with him. He must be really lonely, I certainly would be in his position.

The need to comfort him is overwhelming, and I find myself saying: "After I finish eating how about we play some more? The plane never did finish it's quest to beat the lizards."

Paul's whole person perks up like a wilted flower that's just been given sunlight. He eagerly nods his head. "Yeah! We can't let the lizard people destroy earth!"

"No we can't." I agree, pleased that I was able to make a smile return to his face, that I was able to make him happy. It's reassuring knowing there's enough humanity left in me that I can have a positive effect on someone.

It gives me hope that the man I used to be isn't completely out of my reach.