Deep breath. He shuts the door, circles to the driver's side. Part of him wants to redline the vehicle until he blows the transmission, but the other part hears walk, don't run over and over like a mantra. He obeys all the traffic laws, stops at cross-walks, signals for 2.5 seconds before he pulls into other lanes. Gradually, the urban streets fade to warehouses and shops, and then they become intermittent. Sparse.

He has it in his mind to drive to the next big city, but they need to lie low. He'll contact Stark in a few days and beg a favour (there's no one else he'd do it for but Bucky) and maybe they can disappear to-- somewhere, anywhere else. But in the immediate future, they need a nondescript hotel off the grid, a room paid full in cash, and time. God, they need seventy years of it.